The Law Fought Me - Ch. 3

Chapter Three

Detective Schok drove us to the station while I reassembled papers into my suitcase on the floor of the cruiser.

“So… Who’s the lucky lady?”

I looked, not sure whether Schok meant Bianchi’s girlfriend, or mine. I resumed my organizing. “He didn’t say.”

“No, Gartner,” Lieutenant Carbone chuckled, “Who was the patient lady I dropped you off to see last night?”

Jesus. They must know she’s on Bianchi’s list of girlfriends. I wondered if I should even hide it.

“Vaness.”

“And what does she call you?” said Detective Schok. “Norm?”

I chuckled with them, but I guess it sounded too obviously phony, because Carbone said, “It’s a lovely name, abbreviated or not. Vanessa.”

I could tell what they were doing. Grilling me. After all the dirt I got Bianchi to spill. They couldn’t bring themselves to ask.

“What a coincidence too, her giving you the same socks as Bianchi.”

I answered immediately. “She bought them for my birthday yesterday.”

“Ohhh!” said Schok. “She bought them on your birthday?”

“Hah,” a fake remark, “I hope it wasn’t so last minute.” Even as I spoke I remembered my drunken remark to Vaness about my socks. I’d heard an “Ah-ha!” and a scraping of closet hangers over the line. She must have spotted them in her closet, socks her ex couldn’t stand and never wore, never took the packaging off of. She must have tried to hide the regifting by buying ties to present at dinner. Made me wonder where she got my watch.

“Hey Carbone, is it me or did Bianchi say ‘Vaness’ back there at the hospital?”

Using the exact same tact I used on Bianchi. Those jackasses.

I could strangle him. “Yes. Yes,” I hissed. “She’s on that list you compiled. I didn’t mention it before because I was trying to enjoy my birthday.”

“So he confesses,” said Carbone. 

“Not that he’d choose a place so obvious,” said Detective Schok, “But why don’t we search Bianchi’s place for that missing jewelry? I hear he’s living with his mother.”

Lieutenant Carbone put his hand to his chin as he gazed out the window. “Poor woman.”

“Not saying we go straightaway,” said Schok. “I got some paperwork to fill out at the office.” He rounded the corner to the station. “This ain’t my only assigned case.” He parked alongside the curb and creased his eyes. “But you ain’t coming with me, are you?”

“No,” said Carbone. His hand reached back and slapped the rear door. “And neither are you.” He turned his head slightly. “I want you with me.”

Schok’s lips parted in a kind of smile as he ducked out, dull brown eyes shiny. “Okey.”

Carbone took over the wheel. He didn’t need directions to find the Bianchi residence.

We walked up a worn wooden staircase to the second floor, where a little girl in a cap zipped by from a side staircase at the far end of the tight hall, yelling, “Mama, mama, there’s policemen!”

Carbone strolled right up to the door with a pleasant smile. The kid turned around and closed the door on his face.

I heard a few older gentlemen come into the hall behind us discussing the inner politics of some organization and turned around. “Thank you for your resignation,” a pinched faced man said to a short rotund one.

An older woman stepped into the hall from the side door at the other end. “Lieutenant Carbone.”

He whirled with a belated smile. “Hello.”

She motioned us to enter where she was. The men greeted Carbone as he approached from across the landing, and he greeted them all by name. The rotund man he called “Gianni” got the door for us into the apartment. “I’ll be right back,” the man said, closing the door from the outside.

It was a cozy place, nice wood chairs, almost straight floors, hundreds of pictures of the Virgin Mary on the fireplace, a massive crucifix on one wall, framed medals, American and Italian flags crisscrossing from small vases. Seemed a bit zealous. Carbone smiled with his hat between his fingers at a grey haired old woman that had to be the mother of the house.

“Mama Lucia Bianchi.”

Her creased face nearly fell apart at the sight of him. “How is Rocco? Is he alright? What’s happened to him?”

“Fine, Mrs. Bianchi. Although, he’s been transferred to prison.”

She clutched the neckline of her blouse. “Oh why, oh my poor boy. He was always so good. So good.” I had my doubts.

The little girl in the cap stared at Carbone with her arm hooked on a chair. Lucia Bianchi pointed to the girl. “You keep company to the Lieutenant and his partner.” She shook her folded hands as she shuffled backward. “I’ll be right with you. Please, have a seat.” She drew a pair of heavy sliding doors together. Carbone sat and tapped his hat on his leg. The girl stared.

“Think she’s hiding something?” I muttered.

Carbone inclined his head to a chair. “Get comfortable, Gartner. I know this woman. I see her almost every other day buying groceries. Papa Bianchi, from what I hear, lost his bid for VP in the Italian American Chamber of Commerce. Consequences, Gartner, consequences.”

The girl stared at him with a sort of streetwise poker face through this. Carbone went through the charade of unwrapping a piece of candy from some unknown place inside his suit. He hesitated before it could reach his mouth and offered it to her instead with an unnecessarily high raise of his eyebrows.

“Do you always carry those with you?” I said.

The girl fled. Carbone put the candy away. His disappointment read clear on his face. He brightened when Mrs. Bianchi came out with a tray with a crystal decanter and glasses. “Whoa. Thank you, Mama Lucia, you didn’t need to do that.”

“No trouble at all.” She filled the deep pair of glasses.

“I can only stay a few minutes.”

“Prego.”

Carbone raised it to his lips and set it back, but I doubt he drank anything. Me, on the other hand…

Mama Lucia didn’t sit. “What are they going to do with Rocco?”

Carbone lightly tapped his glass. “He did kill a policeman.”

She suddenly looked at me while I had the glass to my lips. I thought she might be wondering who I was. “Gartner, I’m a–”

“What?”

“G–my name is–I’m his assistant.”

“You are assistant?”

“He’s working for me,” said Carbone, patting the back of my arm.

I forced a smile, feeling like an idiot. “I’m Gartner.”

She acknowledged it in a way that showed she barely listened, because her face snapped to Carbone. “He always sent me money. He always took care of his family.”

He shook his hands. “Do you know where he got the money? What his job was?”

This distressed her more. The whole thing embarrassed me, so I looked into my glass. The wine wasn't bad. No matter how Carbone pressed her, she was clueless when it came to Rocco. “Did he ever bring home jewelry, say, two months ago?”

“No. No.”

“Did he ever keep things hidden in the house? Did you ever find things you couldn’t account for?”

The father who lost his VP spot entered and took Carbone’s arm. “Please, Lieutenant, do you know what they’re going to do to him? Can you do anything to–to sway them?”

“I’m sorry, Papa, but you know full well that Bianchi’s sort of crime isn’t one to inspire sympathy with the jury.”

More of the siblings, little and taller, came and passed out of the room, eavesdropping.

“He should have settled down by now like you and Papa. Speaking of…” Carbone tapped his large lower lip as if the thought was spontaneous. “Do you know if Bianchi is seeing a girl right now?”

Mama Bianchi fiddled with her folded fingers. “Wanda was a good girl, but, that was a long time ago.”

One of the small daughters blurted “Celestina Vergoni,” a name that we already had listed. The father turned a glare on her and shooed them all out like a team of dogs. 

Carbone reached for his hat. “We ought to go.”

An older boy about twelve came in through the rear door in the kitchen, kicking off his shoes. “If you see that rotten cop, don’t tell ‘im–”

“Tell him what?”

The boy’s head snapped to us. “Don’t–tell ya squat!” He walked out of view, then leaned backward to see if we were still there.

“Marco!” said his Papa, “Treat the Lieutenant with respect.”

I finished off Carbone’s glass for him before heading for the door.

“C’mon, Marco,” called Carbone, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

He dropped into a fighting stance at the door. “I don’t know squat and you can’t make me talk!” Then glared as he walked out of sight. “Or that other guy.”

His Papa grumbled.

Mama Lucia raced from the kitchen and tried to force a jar of soup on us in a brown paper bag. “Take this to Rocco. He needs it. Please, Lieutenant. Per favore.”

When it looked like he was going to relent, I stepped in. “Sorry, Mrs. Bianchi, but it’s against policy.” I took hold of the door. “Good day.”

Carbone went out after me with Mama Lucia halfway pleading. “Gartner,” he said when we were closed into the hall, “Try to show some sympathy.”

I knotted my eyebrows at him. Hadn’t we gone to the same funeral? I decided not to speak as we descended the stairs. Carbone looked grave as we boarded the cruiser.

“We can’t take soup to the penitentiary,” I said, “She might have left a shiv in there.”

Carbone turned the serious look on me. “Or his brother, at least…” I mumbled. I thought I was about to get chewed out. “I wanted to show you that I know people connected to Bianchi," he said. "I know the whole family. And they’re wonderful people. That doesn’t mean I’m connected to anything he’s done. And his deeds don’t necessarily speak for them. A very good person can have very bad friends.”

So that’s what this was about. “Thanks, Carbone. That does mean a lot coming from you.”

He changed gears. “I would have checked for a shiv.” He pulled into the street. “Your girl Vaness has nothing to worry about. Neither should you.”

I got chills. “You’re going to talk to her?” I asked, keeping it light and casual.

“No…” he said in a comforting voice. “Detective Schok’s already handling that as we speak.”

My stomach flipped. A thousand curses choked for space in my head. I should have known they were acting funny. “Oh.” I threw in a chuckle. The whole visit was a sham to prevent me from warning Vaness from the nearest payphone. The detectives had communicated nonverbally. They outsmarted me. Maybe Carbone even expected me to call the moment he let me off on my own, and he’d be listening in. I’d play it cool.

Every now and then while filing paperwork, adrenaline would flood my system before the coherent thought formed that Vaness might still be getting grilled over some case that frankly I didn’t think Bianchi had much to do with. If at all.

That desperate lawyer looking for Bianchi’s confession must have been getting a good paycheck from that guy in stir, Brock Lumsden, better one if Fates pulled it off. I threw my pen down; I should call her. Carbone had left over an hour ago on other detective business, and unless he planned to listen in, wait for hours–

I told myself to resist. I unplugged the phone from the wall, slightly, and wandered onto the main floor, where I politely greeted a secretary at her desk. An older woman with short curly hair whose name I never learned. “Hi. The phone in my office is on the fritz. Mind if I borrow that when you’re finished? If it’s not any trouble.” I gave her a polite smile as I picked up the phone and dialed.

Vaness picked up on the fifth ring. “Who is it?”

“Gartner. I have to tell you something–”

“Sorry, I’m not interested in a new radio at this time…”

“Where are the Bembo jewels?” It preempted a loud crash of wood. A hesitation. “I can’t stay on the line, sorry. No, I don’t need to tune in and listen to your commercials.”

I considered responding but heard the phone clack–not on the cradle, but a solid surface. The line was still open. I heard a chair drag across the floor. When it was done being loud I made out the voices.

“Who was that?” a man’s voice clapped.

“Radio salesman.”

“That’s what I heard. For once you’re telling the truth.”

“I am telling the truth.”

A hollow clap. “I am!” I shut my eyes tightly.

I heard a wooden rattle, like a cabinet shaking. I heard a drawer of silverware open and metal utensils crash.

“Watch it,” said the man. “Or I might ring you for assaulting an officer.”

An indistinguishable mumble. A wooden piece of furniture clapped and bounced on the floor. The man’s voice came farther away. “I’ll be back tomorrow with a warrant.” The forceful voice echoed at lower coherency, from across the apartment. “Don’t leave town.”

A door slam echoed over the speaker.

I strained to hear any other sound but the hiss letting you know the phone is connected.

I heard sounds like she was climbing onto a mattress. Her voice sounded winded. “Gartner?”

“I’m here.”

“A detective came into my apartment asking about Bianchi.”

I shifted away from the secretary’s desk. “Did he touch you?”

“No.” A pause. “But he threw a chair when he thought I wasn’t answering straight.”

I’d heard a hell of a lot more than a chair getting thrown. If that racket reached the phone kept down the hall in the bedroom, it could only be slightly more horrible in person. Because if I were there, I could throw Schok and it would be a lot quieter.

“Is your roommate home?”

The secretary shifted papers around in a needless way, suggesting she heard everything.

“No, I’m alone. My roommate Billie came home during it and the detective asked her to sit too. Her eyes bugged out like we were getting robbed. He spoke in a creepy monotone and looked like he was marinated in nicotine. Like a vampire buried facedown that dug his way out of his coffin backwards with his fingernails. He let her leave after a few minutes, though.”

I chuckled to myself, hitting my fist on my hip. “That was Schok.”

“You work with–?” She verbally shivered. “He asked me up and down about all things Bianchi. ‘Did you ever help him out? Maybe he bought you a necklace once? Did he ever leave things at your place? Have you ever pawned jewelry?’”

My lips tensed with the thought of Detective Schok feeding leading questions and pulling lies out of her mouth. “Did you answer any of them?”

Vaness scoffed. “Kinda hard to remember what I said and what I didn’t. I knew he was stringing me along somewhere. So I said, ‘Ask me already you clearly got somethin’ in mind.’ And he says, ‘Were those yellow socks a code for when the job was done?’ WHAAAT? How did Schok–I mean, what’s he asking about yellow socks for? Pfft. Bizarre. I thought he was accusing you of something. Since I had bought you socks the other day.”

“Vaness–” I hesitated. She asked me to go on and I figured: if not now, when?

“I know those socks were a gift for Bianchi.”

“Uhhmm, no? Yeah… You said you had these fun socks on over the phone and I thought it’d be nice to bring you something at lunch, cuz we hadn’t planned that ahead. I thought it’d be nice gift. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I dropped my voice to a murmur. “When did you buy them for him?

“A long time ago when we were first dating. He didn’t like them at all and he left them at my place. So I threw them in my closet. I couldn’t return them. I felt bad.”

I didn’t like to hear her apologize for something so trivial, so I forced some comforting words on how it didn’t matter to me because I was wearing them today–in a manner implying I liked them–which is how Bianchi and the other detectives found out–and by the way, he was doing swell.

“What lead Schok to throw a chair?”

“What ever makes men throw things? You think I know?”

I couldn’t help think Vaness had gotten used to something like that, either with Johnny or before. I told her if any other detective came around, to say nothing and request a lawyer, but under no circumstances use Fates–he had no experience in that area.

Vaness said she understood. “Gartner, they’re after me. They’re after me.”

I smiled and told her not to worry even as I sweated. It was hard to guess how astray he’d led her and how deeply involved Schok was making her out to be in the Bembo case at this very moment in his little cop notebook in that neat slanted handwriting of his. I knew Vaness; she could be easily swayed by words from a tough guy who knew how to twist them. Johnny, as a shining example.

“Gartner!” It sounded as if she’d said it for the second time. I had been staring at the dirt specks on and grime between the planks of the hardwood floor and lost track of her words. “Tomorrow they want to see me at the station. He talked about warrants–”

“Did he say the same thing to your roommate?”

“No. He was only grilling me! Gartner, you don’t understand. They’re after me, for something I didn’t do. They’re after me for someone I knew.”

In my mind I swore up and down over Schok, that bastard. He probably didn’t have a soul. In an hour he’d be back in the office, filling out paperwork and reports on her guilt. Getting me to file and assemble the damn so-called testimony for him. The dirtbag–

A hand clapped my shoulder and I jumped like a cat. But I had enough restraint not to shout. When I turned my head I caught a black suit and a blur of dark hair and eyes. The face wore a gentle smile. Carbone. “Sorry, Gartner. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll be in the office.”

He walked away, without asking questions. My forehead throbbed with the extra blood my heart thudded into my system. I’d thought it was Schok.

Vaness was in the midst of reiterating her nerves at going to the station tomorrow. I had to interrupt. “We’ll figure it out,” I told her. “I can find a good lawyer.”

“But I don’t want a lawyer. He’ll think–augh, I can’t say it. Somebody could be listening. I don’t want to go there alone. They’ll lock me in a room with him.” I immediately imagined looking down on her from a high angle, grey concrete, a small bulb in the ceiling, and Vaness with her palms down on a metal table, staring at the dull reflection between them in a black hat, locked in with only a high barred window behind her to keep her company. Schok would be there across the table, but he’d blend in with the surroundings perfectly, until it was the room itself that oppressed a confession from her.

“What do I do if I don’t say anything? Can’t they keep me there for days? With him?! God, I wish I could just leave–but I can’t leave! Anything I do will seem suspicious. ‘A glass of water? No? Is that a cyanide tablet in your mouth?!’ He knocks out my tooth–‘Sorry ma’am, I thought it was poison.’”

“I promise, I’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll look too, Gartner. I love you.”

I was so cracked I could barely return the phrase, but I knew I had to, even with the secretary straining to listen. I hung up with a half mumbled thank you to the secretary, who shifted papers around in a needless way, again.

Thankfully she didn’t have time to comment. I strode to the office before Carbone could place too much importance on the call. At the door, I slowed and casually opened it. Leisurely, I approached my desk, but faltered when I noticed that Carbone was behind it, crouched on the floor. He rose as I stood there, brushing his hands.

“That solves it. The phone line was out of the wall.” He pinched his fingers and winked. “By this much.”

He strode to his desk and sat on the front of it, as usual. “Don’t sweat it. Anyone could have missed that. I’m sure it was an important call.”

As he said this, hands curled over the edge of the desk, ankles crossed, I sat at my desk and lifted the phone off the hook to listen, vacantly scanning the white ceiling and its few brown water or coffee splatters. I grinned. “Ah, it rings at last.” I hung it up and looked at the papers on my desk. A police report with an updated witness statement–a hit and run case. Unlikely to be solved.

“Worried about your girl?” he asked, in his typical polite manner of speaking.

I couldn’t even bring a fake chuckle out. “No. She’s a sassy woman. She won’t like it, but she’ll be fine.” Now it came. With irony.

“Don’t worry.” He said in an unfinished way, dark eyes pointed at me, that required me to return eye contact. “Lots of people know people that get in trouble. It’s routine. We have to cover all our bases so we can attest that we’ve done our job and that there’s no room for a mistrial. We’ll know everything about everything about our man so that we can build the strongest case we can. Even if it gets messy, when we know every angle and detail there is to Bianchi, we can build a solid defense against silly questions, like, ‘what if so-and-so did it? Why not her?’”

One, I didn’t like Vaness being referred to as a base that needed to be covered. Second, in spite of his tone and intentions, this speech wasn’t helping at all. He was thinking in terms of comforting me about Vaness NOT being some criminal who would be treated in trial as a potential culprit swap-in. Nein.

“Then we can say, ‘It is impossible for her to have been involved. We have checked XYZ.’” He opened his arms, palms up. “We don’t have concrete evidence yet that Bianchi did pull the Bembo case. So until then, there isn’t a chance of Vanessa being tied to the police killing. Unless–” He chuckled. “Just kidding.”

Goddammit. Why did they think Bianchi was tied to some jewelry theft anyway? Because he happened to steal from some idiot that happened to know Mrs. Bembo? That sham of a lawyer, if he hadn’t barged into the hospital demanding a confession Carbone might not be so interested. I should have expected something so whimsical–Fates wasn’t exactly to order in the courtroom concerning Vaness’ restraining order against Johnny.

My hand was sweaty on my pen. I sorted more handwriting and typed it up for clearer filing. O’Grady wasn’t as neat as Schok.

“Oh, uh, Gartner, if you wouldn’t mind…” Carbone had raised a hooked finger. “I’d like you to type up a report on what we learned from the Bianchi family. It helps me to retell it. You might remember something I didn’t.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

That evening, I ate dinner listening to the wind and occasional voice through my open window. My apartment was tight and affordable. Sometimes when I made food, I bumped into my dining set. There were only two chairs that had never been occupied at the same time.

I sat at the table awhile after I had finished, thinking. I didn’t have much to pass the time until I slept. I didn’t have a book. I didn’t have a radio. I did have alcohol but I thought it’d be a bad idea. I would normally take a walk, but something about being in my apartment and knowing what I knew and thought about made me reluctant to leave it. I didn’t want to run into anyone, I wanted to be completely alone. I’d especially hate if someone out there wanted something from me, even if it was directions.

I paced around the apartment for another few hours: lying on my bed, thinking; I ate a snack, thought some more. To find a good lawyer I would have to do some footwork. Find a phonebook of advertisements and call to vet them or initiate the chance of vetting them.

Eventually, it was late, so I tried to sleep. But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking.

Why was Bianchi so adamant about keeping his girl a secret? Was it because she was involved in not maybe the Bembo case, but something else? Or really was it because, like me, he was concerned that once found by the police that the police wouldn’t let her go, innocent as she was? Maybe, like me, he was protecting her from getting as framed as he was undoubtedly being framed. It all came down to guilt. If you won’t tell us, you’re guilty. Anything we don’t know is a crime.

I’d have to ask the man myself.

I tossed in bed another few hours, assembling my plan. There were several problems to asking Bianchi anything. One being Carbone’s absence. I would need somebody with a legitimate reason to get me inside the prison, and not somebody who would let Carbone or Schok or O’Grady know–and I of course had the perfect man in mind.

I called Fates from a payphone in the early morning hours. A woman’s voice answered. “I’m sorry but he’s not in right now. May I leave a message?”

“Tell him it’s Gartner. I’d like his help getting to see you-know-who.”

“Oh erm, excuse me, it seems he just walked in.”

A suave voice joined the line. “Fates speaking.”

“How soon can you get to the prison?”

“And why do you want to see You-Know-Who without police supervision, may I inquire?”

“Less you know.”

“How will I explain your presence?”

“Say I’m your assistant. I play Bodily.”

“I’m sorry, Gartner, but I’m afraid I can’t take you on as a new partner. As a client, however…”

“I’ll make it worth your efforts.”

“I meant more along the lines of defending me from assault, but I believe we’ll make a deal. I can be there at seven sharp.”

“Sayonara.”

I hung out across the street from the prison, shaded under a tree planted in a brick square rising from the sidewalk until an off-white wide grey car with a low roof rolled along. Neat looking, with a chrome bumper with a narrow grille sitting atop it, white-walled tires, flat sides and a rounded trunk that cut off at the rear bumper like a quarter of a cheese wheel.

A balding man in a neat suit stepped out and waved across the street with a prim smile.

“Admiring my car?”

I looked both ways and ducked over to him.

“A Kaiser Special. I like to say it, it sounds like a threat.” He pulled off some white driving gloves. “The car, of course, looks completely harmless.” He leaned his body toward the sidewalk. “Shall we?”

“One thing,” I said. “I want to engage your services.”

“Now, I thought we agreed on that.” He eyed my hands as I removed my wallet. “Of course I’ll help you in for free.”

“I want your advice and something. I want to be your client.”

“You want client-attorney privilege, so I won’t talk about this, ah?”

I held up a quarter between two fingers. “Will you take this?”

“A single quarter?” He pocketed it. “You have me intrigued, Gartner, sir. You have me intrigued.”

We hiked up the prison steps together, and Fates announced himself as Rocco Bianchi’s defense attorney. “With assistant, of course.”

“Name?”

“Jerome,” I said. “Verazzo.”

Fates kept mum as they filled out some paperwork for us and we were off through the tomb-like corridors, this time led by another keyman, a short man with a wide gait. “Where’s Judson?” I asked.

“Oh, I got the morning shift.” He hiked up his pants. “Pain in the ass to wake up, but most of the men are still asleep.”

He opened the gate to Bianchi’s, but Fates hesitated. He stepped up to the keyman, name of Edwinton or something, and whispered in his ear, then he slipped him some money in a handshake. I could only tell because Edwinton walked away looking at his fisted hand.

Fates stood by the wall with his hands folded in front of himself. I stepped closer. “You gonna bribe me too?”

“No, but I’ll tell you what I want. I’m not here. But you’ll tell me everything you learn from him. You have thirty minutes.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “It’s what I wanted anyway. Tell me what you said to him to make him sock you, then I’ll do what you want.”

He smiled for a beat. “What I said, was, ‘Don’t you think you’d best confess, before your girl thinks less of you for fingering her?’”

More or less the same shtick Carbone went on about. “Detective Carbone didn’t get that treatment,” I said, “But he performed more or less the same trick.”

“Carbone doesn’t have what I do.” He raised his eyebrows. “Leverage.”

Before I could ask what that was, he turned away, but I caught him by the arm. “You may have noticed I work for Lieutenant Carbone. He might like to know about that leverage.”

Fates glanced down disdainfully at my hand on his arm, then my face.

“I’ll forget I heard that if you promise one thing. I was never here.”

“Of course, Gartner.” He reasserted his smile when I let go, and strolled away, saying, “Meet me at my office when you’ve finished.”

I swung open the barred door. Bianchi massaged his forehead with one palm. “Jeez. So I guess the gang’s all here. That muttering in the hall driving me crazy.”

“Nobody’s here but me.”

“Like hell!”

I backtracked to the door, gesturing to the hall. “You can get up and look for yourself. Look, the gate’s wide open. You could walk the hell out if you wanted. If you can walk.”

Bianchi leaned out of the bed, eager. He waved his hand. “Nahhh… this is a trap.”

“Why did you shoot that cop? Tell me about it.”

He eased back on his pillow. “Aaah… so we’re finally onto the real case.” He shrugged, and without further notice told me his criminal blues.

“Nuthin’ special, at first. I was in Viazzo’s listening to some silver haired guy brag about tossing money around in races. Stinkin’ drunk. I thought, Eh, if he’s lyin’ he won’t remember, if he ain’t, he won’t remember either. So I copped his wallet at the bar. I take a few dollars out, slip it back, y’know, so he doesn’t make some big complaint against the joint. I’m boutta leave when Antoinetta–ah, that’s Tony’s stage name–comes by sayin’ he heard the mark’s got the rest of his winnings taped around his body so he can get ‘em home safe to his vault. So I hang around, hear him brag on about the stuffs he’s got at home. Bronze and silver kinda statues on his mantel. Idaknow. Good stuff. I thought I’d follow him home, save his address for later.

Well I get a good distance behind this guy a couple blocks into this highball residential area, when he turns around and starts screamin’ at me. ‘This ain’t my house youse dirty–! I fooled you! You no good yadayada.’ I sez, ‘Whaddeya want? Why you yellin?’ and he yaks that I’m the punk who took his wallet. So I flick my switchblade, like, ‘I can take a lot more ‘n that if you don’t shaddup and scram. Goddamn freak.’ He starts hollerin’ for a policeman. So I pull my piece and order him to shaddap. He does. I take him to a doorway and pat him down and sure enough I pull up his pant leg he’s got a wad of cash taped around his calf. So I tell ‘im, ‘rip those off and throw it to me. Everything you got.’ He chucks them on the ground, don’t look happy doin’ it. I say, ‘I know you got one under ya armpit. C’mon!’ He rips off the last wad. Kinda nasty, the tape’s got hair on it. ‘Scram!’ I said. He takes off, coat flapping. I crouch down and stuff the goods in my pockets.”

Bianchi made direct eye contact and tapped his folded arm with a finger, his tone softer. “I put the gun away.”

He resumed his patter. “My plan is to take off.” Bianchi shrugged. “‘Bout five hundred bucks. Not a bad break, ey? So I straighten up, and–” He slammed the back of his hand into his palm. “WHAM! I lunge over like somebody socked the wind outta my back.” The further he went, the more he acted with his arms, subconsciously or not. “I remember grabbing the metal fence along those houses with my elbow. At first I thought it was somebody rippin’ me off for the winnings. I turn this way and across the street I see a mother lovin’ cop and I fire back, almost through the skin of my coat. Maybe I hit him, I don’t know, but in return I get two more slugs, maybe three and I hit the ground, screamin’. He’s killin’ me. I say for what? Now there’s this planted tree with one of those brick walls around it, gives me some cover. I drag myself toward it. I’m thinkin’ two things: I’m already dead, so what the hell? And pure denial, I can’t die. I get to the corner, holding my piece tight, tight. I get my other hand ready, my feet ready to push, kick against the brick and slide into view. That copper, he’s splattering fire everywhere, but I got him straight in the stomach he’s so close. The surprise on his face. I keep snapping off that trigger and more I don’t remember. Musta blacked out.”

I crossed my arms. “Convincing.”

Bianchi wiped his forehead and threw off his sheet. “God, is it hot in here?”

“Why don’t you open a window?”

“That supposed to be funny?”

“When’s the last time you saw Vanessa Baretto?”

He dragged his hand off his head. “Why the hell you asking about her? Did I leave her with that big a chip in her back?”

“Tell the truth, Bianchi. When’s the last time you spoke to her?”

“God… I don’t know… Years. We only dated–assuming we’re talking about that same dark brunette: short, real firecracker. She liked wearing heels to look a little taller. Heh, heh.”

“Tell me, Bianchi, is she your girlfriend?”

“No. She drove me crazy but, she was still cross-eyed about that–besides, she wasn’t Italian. Apparently, she’s Venezuelan.”

“Then who is?”

“Who is what? Venezuelan?”

“Forget it. Did you steal… those damn Bembo necklaces or rings or whatever.”

“No. No I didn’t not take, steal, nor look at no goddamn Bembo jewelry. All day they grind me on this gibberish.”

“Why did you punch the lawyer, Fates?”

He got a steely look on his face.

I stepped aside from the door. “Nobody’s out there. Look.”

“If you’re so pushy about it.” He straightened and hesitated. “As long as you don’t shoot me.”

I raised my arms and stepped aside.

Bianchi slowly placed his feet on the ground, in a pair of dirty white socks. He rose and bent to one side with a grimace, then straightened and limped over to the door, dragging his left leg. He made a sudden step with the right and I clattered the door shut, blocking him. I stiffened my eyebrows. “Feel free to look over my shoulder.”

He did, both ways. I kept my right hand in my pocket.

“Suppose I toss you outta my way right now and make a break for it?”

“You’ll be missing the one thing that can get you out of here, through the gates, without anyone stopping you.”

“Yeah, what?”

I grinned. “Tell me a few things first.”

“Like what?”

“What did Fates say that made you want to punch him?”

“What doesn’t a lawyer say that–”

I gripped the gate tighter. “What did he say?”

Bianchi narrowed his lids. “He said–why are you helping me, uh?”

“Maybe you wonder where I got those yellow socks.”

Bianchi pinched his lips together for a moment. “Aaahh. So you’re Vaness’s main squeeze now? Worried she’s involved? Might get pinched?”

“Is she?”

“Far as I know, no. I didn’t do the job, I can’t say. Knowing her.” He chuckled. “I doubt it.”

“You’re innocent of the Bembo theft?”

“Yes.”

“And the murder?”

“Yeah. Yes. Innocent.”

“What did Fates say?”

“Are there any more easy questions?”

“What do you think I’ve got in my pocket? A pencil? What did he say?”

“Tell me how to get outta here and I’ll tell you.”

“Are you prepared for what that entails? Escaping?”

“Yeah. I ain’t got a hope in here.” His sweaty face was only inches away but I kept my eyebrows cocked and my eyes slightly deranged in a manner of intimidation.

“You’re going to need a pass with a name of a visitor.”

“That’s it?” He smiled. “Why don’t I take yours?” He shoved me against the bars so I kneed him in the groin. He staggered back, crumpling, and fell on his rear at the foot of the bed. I walked toward him. “What did Fates say?”

Bianchi bit his lip. “He said he’d planted some of the jewels at my girlfriend’s place.” He cursed as he held his knees together. “And that–if I didn’t confess, he’d–turn her in.”

“What made you believe him?”

He tried to kick me in the ankle so I whacked his leg away, knocking him on his side. “What’s her name?”

“Better you don’t know!”

“I can protect her if it comes to that.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I’d do the same for Vaness. She needs to be kept out of this as much as your girl. Maybe more.”

“I still don’t trust you.”

“I wouldn’t either.” I placed a hand on my fedora. “Do me a favor, and give me a headstart.”

He still looked pained, angry, and distrusting. “Okay.”

I reached under my hat and let go of the slip that was inside, signed with my fake name. I ran for the exit and slammed the metal gate behind me before I could watch the fluttering paper hit the ground. Bianchi grunted as he tried to get to the door on his hands and knees. I yelled for the keyman.

Bianchi rose to one knee, pinching the slip. “You sonuva–!”

“Listen, Rocco,” I hissed, “A lock like this can be easily picked with a spoon. Edwinton the keyman is easily bribed. Figure it out and get in bed.”

He lurched over to the bed and lowered onto it, throwing the sheet over his legs.

I saw Edwinton amble down the hall. His voice echoed. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to leave without making sure he was locked in.”

Edwinton nodded, sorting his keyring. “Where’s that other lawyer?”

“Had an appointment.”

“Mhm.” The note sounded false, but I knew he was buying into the bribe. No questions asked.