Brooklyn Blood Page 8

  After she was gone, Mary sank back onto the bed. The stark reality of what she was facing registered. Soon, she would be taken to the graveyard and burned at the stake. Her body began to shake and she became sick to her stomach. The end was near, and it would be the most horrible ending to her life that she could ever imagine.

  TWENTY

  I woke up late the next morning with a splitting headache. After a long, hot shower, I met up with my roommates in the living room.

  “Max and me made a decision to go with you to find your mom next weekend,” Amy said. “You can leave Sam in or out of the equation. It’s your choice.”

  “We can get separate rooms, if you decide to shack up with him,” Max said.

  “I’m not going to shack up with him—at least not right away,” I said. “I’ll tell him that you both decided to go with me for moral support. If he’s really interested in me, he’ll understand and ask me out again.”

  “It’s the Sopho test,” Amy said, looking at Max.

  I sipped my coffee. “What are you talking about?”

  “If Sam’s really got the hots for you, he’ll prove it by waiting until the third date to bump uglies. I read all about it in Sopho magazine. They said most women who go that route get dumped.”

  “Thanks for the support.” I took a breath. “I think I’d like to just put it all out of my mind for the rest of the weekend. What’s the latest on Alex Puig and his manager?”

  “I’m circling the cesspool on everything. That idiot Mojo is supposed to come by this morning, so we can talk about his duties.”

  “I think you should put him inside the gym,” Max said. “Maybe he can get eyes on Puig and his manager.”

  Amy looked at me. “Do you think he can pull it off, going undercover?”

  Images of Mojo wearing my underwear and hiding in my closet came to mind. I tried to keep a straight face. “He’s pretty sneaky, so maybe...” I shrugged. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot of other options.”

  We spent our morning tidying up our living quarters before Amy got a call from Thorndike, telling her that Mojo was in the chapel looking for her. Amy met her new employee and led him to our living quarters.

  After introducing Max to him, Mojo’s dark eyes held on the bank of freezers on our wall. “Don’t tell me you live in a morgue.”

  “They’re waiting for the spring thaw so they can be planted,” Amy said. “Have a seat, and let’s talk.”

  Mojo had worn dark clothing, including a heavy jacket that he took off, revealing a see-through mesh shirt, with cutouts for the nipples.

  “What’s with the shirt?” Amy asked, with obvious disgust in her voice. “It’s below freezing outside.”

  Mojo smiled, revealing his crooked teeth. “I went to a club last night and didn’t have a chance to change. He looked down at the shirt. “It’s a big hit in certain circles, especially when it’s cold out.”

  My thoughts about him having a brain tumor being nonsense returned as Max said to Amy, “He can’t wear something like that to the gym. If he does, he’ll get the crap beat out of him.”

  Amy levelled her blue eyes on Mojo. “I’m thinking about letting you do some undercover work, and Max is right. You can’t wear that stupid shirt.” She went on for a couple minutes, telling him about Sophia Puig, her husband, and Bobo Calderon. “Puig and his manager are a couple of hard-asses. I need you to snoop around, find out what you can, but keep a low profile.”

  Mojo’s stupid smile came back. “You can count on me. I can be very discrete. Just ask Madison.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just do what’s asked of you and report back to us what you find out about Puig and Calderon.”

  Mojo saluted me, then looked at Amy. “When do I start?”

  “This afternoon.” She handed him a slip of paper with the address of the gym. “Remember, wear normal clothing and don’t hit on anyone.”

  Mojo tucked the paper in his pocket. “There’s just the matter of my advance then. I charge two hundred a day, plus expenses.”

  “What?” Amy stood and went over to her purse. She came back with two twenties. “You need to prove yourself, then we’ll see about a raise.”

  Mojo took the bills and smiled. “It’s a deal, and, just so you know, I’ve never had a boss as hot as you. Maybe we could get a drink sometime.”

  “Sure, give me a call right after hell freezes over.”

  After he was gone, Amy told Max and me, “I’m going to go take a shower and gargle some antiseptic.”

  ***

  I spent a quiet afternoon surfing the Internet. I began by searching for information about William Jeffers. I came up with dozens of subjects that had the same name, but, since I didn’t have a birthdate or other identifying information, it was a losing battle. I then did a search on the town of Monticello in upstate New York. I learned that the area was home to about ten thousand people.

  I then googled the hospital where Sam had said my mother, or the woman using her identity, had been treated for what he’d said was cancer. I learned that it was located just up the interstate from Monticello. It was possible that my mother had lived nearby.

  I spontaneously picked up the phone and called Sam, asking him if he remembered Donna Wallace’s last known address. He said that he’d made some notes on a pad. It took him a moment to retrieve the information before coming back on the line. “The medical records showed that she lived at 172 Hudspeth Drive. I’m not sure how far that is from the hospital.”

  “Let me google it,” I said. A minute later, my voice pitched higher as I said, “The address is in Monticello, a few miles down the interstate from Catskill Medical Center. I wonder if she still lives in the neighborhood.”

  “Maybe.” Sam hesitated, then added, “After you left last night, I had a thought that maybe you got the wrong idea about my offer.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “When I said that we could go to Monticello to look for your mom, I didn’t mean...” He paused. “...I meant that we could go there, but separately. We would each have our own room if we decided to stay the night.”

  “Oh, I had no doubt that’s what you meant,” I lied. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or not. “Actually, when I mentioned what you told me to Amy and Max, they offered to come along. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in going with us next weekend.”

  He chuckled. “It sounds like it could be a crowd. Let me take a rain check.” There was another hesitation, then he said, “I’d still like to get together, though. Maybe we could go on a picnic in a couple of weeks.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the high was about thirty degrees today.”

  “I was thinking something more along the lines of a hike up near Forest Park in Queens. I could pack a lunch, and we could find someplace warm to hole up and eat.”

  “That sounds terrific. Let’s plan on it.”

  I was about to end the call when he said, “You sure you’re okay about what I told you last night? The truth is, I didn’t sleep a wink worrying about you.”

  “I’m fine, and thanks for your concern. I appreciate it and everything you told me about my mom.”

  I ended the call feeling elated that we were planning another date and it didn’t involve the complications of going someplace overnight. I went into the living room to tell Amy about it when I saw that she and Max were with Thorndike’s niece.

  “Come on over,” Amy said to me. “I asked Katerina to join us for a drink.”

  I said hello and took a seat on the sofa. I was again struck by how attractive Katerina was, as Amy poured me some wine. Thorndike’s niece had beautiful dark skin and large brown eyes. There was a youthful, innocent quality about her.

  “Katerina was just giving us the lowdown on Lola,” Max said to me. “You’re not gonna believe what she has to say about her uncle.”

  “The little troll really does have a doctorate in mortuary science,” Amy said. She looked at Kate
rina. “Tell Madison about him.”

  I had the impression that Thorndike’s niece was already feeling the effects of her wine. She seemed relaxed and a little giddy. “My Uncle Lola...he is sort of...how you say...famous in the old country. He do many experiments, some that get him into a little trouble.”

  My brow tightened. “What kind of experiments are you talking about?”

  “Lola find a way to make dead people seem alive. He very smart.”

  “He created zombies,” Amy said, her eyes growing wider. “I told you the little creepazoid couldn’t be trusted.”

  I looked at Katerina. “Do you know what a zombie is?”

  She laughed. “Of course. I think Amy give Lola too much credit. He use electricity to...how you say...make dead bodies look alive, but they don’t walk around.”

  “Unless he’s made some progress since leaving the old country,” Max said, shaking her head. “You ask me, it’s creepy as hell.”

  “What kind of trouble did Thor...I mean Lola get into in the old country?” I asked.

  “Some people get upset their family members were used in Lola’s experiments. They make him leave in hurry. He had to leave me behind. It was a difficult time.”

  “Sounds like he was chased out of town by people who didn’t want their relatives becoming zombies,” Amy said. “I knew there was something bad in his past.”

  “What about you?” I asked Katerina. “What did you do in...in the old country?”

  “I was actress on show called Midnight Friends. It was, how you say, like soap show in this country.”

  “A soap opera,” Amy said.

  “That’s it. I was a...”

  “What’s going on here?” We turned and saw that Thorndike was standing in our doorway, with his hands on his hips. He came over to his niece. “I told you to stay away from these three. They’re nothing but trouble.”

  Amy stood. “And you’re a zombie doctor. We know all about your background.”

  Thorndike looked at Katerina. “What did you tell them?”

  “Just that you...you are famous man where we come from.”

  “Before you was run out of town for electrocuting a bunch of corpses,” Max said.

  Thorndike scowled at her. “That’s nonsense. I won’t listen to this.” He took Katerina’s arm and said to her, “Let’s go. From now on, these three are strictly off limits.”

  As Katerina stumbled to the door, with her uncle tugging on her arm, she said to us, “Thank you for drink. I feeling better about living here.”

  After they were gone, Amy summed up what we’d learned. “We’re living with a zombie doctor and a soap opera star from Transylvania. I got me a feeling things are gonna get a whole lot crazier around here.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  On Monday, Max and I spent the morning at Precinct Blue, listening to a lecture from a Lieutenant Heywood, who had been brought in to discuss how to deal with domestic violence cases. The discussion had my interest, both because of Sophia Puig’s circumstances, and because Heywood had brought a recording of a domestic violence call that Nicole Brown Simpson had made to the police a few months before her murder.

  The recording was haunting because Nicole had told the dispatcher that O.J. Simpson was at her home, acting crazy, and had broken down their back door. She was clearly terrified during the incident, and it was heartbreaking, given what we all knew the future held for her.

  After the lecture, Max and I made a point of talking to Heywood to ask him if he had any knowledge of domestic violence between Alex Puig and his wife.

  “Puig’s a violent little bastard,” Heywood said. The lieutenant was a little guy in his fifties, with short wiry gray hair and acne scars. I knew, from his lecture, that he had a lot of street smarts, something much of the brass lacked. He went on. “A while back, I talked to the CO for the sixty-fourth precinct, where Puig and his wife lived. They had multiple calls that he’d battered her, but could never get her to testify against him.”

  I told him about Amy working on the case, and Sophia Puig’s fears that her estranged husband would harm her and her child. “My friend convinced Puig’s wife to go stay with a friend, but she’s still living in fear about what could happen if he finds her.”

  “She needs to stay away. From what I hear, he’s juicing.”

  “Steroids?” Max said. “Isn’t he tested by the boxing commission?”

  “We both know there are ways to beat the system.”

  If Puig was using steroids, it put a whole new spin on things. I decided that we needed to call Amy about what we learned, as Max asked about Puig’s manager. “From what we know, a guy named Bobo Calderon is running the show with Puig. Anything you can tell us about him?”

  “He’s probably the one supplying the drugs. Calderon operates a string of titty bars that are fronts for drugs and prostitution. I heard he’s running a lot of Natashas out of his clubs.”

  “Natashas?” I said, never having heard the term before.

  “High end Russian working girls. They’re tenacious, looking to work their way up to johns with money and influence. Once a girl finds a mark, she arranges a quickie marriage with someone either too love-struck or too stupid to get a prenup, or someone she can just steal from or blackmail. Calderon takes a cut of everything that’s made, and the girl moves on, looking for a new customer.”

  Max and I called Amy on our lunch hour and filled her in on what we’d learned. We were discussing Puig and his manager in the breakroom over lunch when Carmine O’Brien and Lenny Stearns took a seat at our table. Laverne Piper and Penny Kurtz were in the hallway, having an animated discussion, as Lenny mentioned our morning lecture.

  “I heard you guys asking the lieutenant about Alex Puig. I got a big bet on his upcoming fight with Montrose. He’s gonna wipe the floor with the meathead.”

  “Who’s Montrose?” Max asked.

  “You guys need to get out more,” Carmine answered. “He’s known as ‘Montrose the Mauler’. The fight is for the title.”

  “You might want to think twice about that bet,” I said. “According to Heywood, Puig’s on the juice.”

  The two men exchanged glances. “If that’s the case, I’m doubling my bet,” Lenny said.

  “A little gym candy might just seal the deal,” Carmine agreed. “Puig’s gonna put the big hurt on the Mauler.” He looked at us. “What’s your interest in the boxer, anyway?”

  I decided to give him only the barest of details. “I have a friend who thinks he’s been battering his wife.”

  “She better not mess up the fight,” Stearns said. “I’m looking for a big payday.”

  I was about to tell him that his priorities were out of order when Laverne and Penny came over. Penny looked like she’d spent the weekend under a sunlamp. She wore a low-cut blouse that attracted Carmine’s and Lenny’s gazes like a magnet.

  “I heard you two are being considered for a special assignment,” Penny said. “Try not to fuck it up.”

  “What are you talking about?” Max asked.

  Laverne, who looked like she’d stopped off in the restroom and doubled the day’s coat of makeup, answered. “According to what Rita told us, you two are gonna spend some time at Central Records over in Brooklyn. Guess they got a backlog of cases and need somebody to sort through the evidence.”

  Rita Jenkins was the secretary for Precinct Blue, someone who had a propensity to spread gossip. If she was saying we were being temporarily reassigned, it was probably likely.

  “The last guy that did time in Records said it was like spending every day taking out the trash,” Penny said. “Better lay in an extra supply of gloves and paper booties.”

  “These two look like the perfect trash collectors,” Carmine said, laughing at us.

  Max and I exchanged glances before we heard a man’s voice behind us.

  “Just so you know, you’ve got it all wrong,” Woody said.

  “What are you talking about?” Carmine said, standing and
going over to him.

  “You’ve got a family history of taking out the trash. I heard that you were so ugly when you were a kid, your mom got a fine for littering when she dropped you off at school.”

  Carmine stood and took a swing at Woody, but missed and slammed his fist into a cabinet. He let out a yelp like a wounded dog.

  Max and I walked away as she said to me, “I got a feeling that if we stick around Blue long enough, we’re gonna get another special assignment.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Investigating a homicide.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Max and I ended our day with Lieutenant Dennert confirming the rumors about our temporary reassignment. We were told to finish our week at Precinct Blue and report to the Records division the following week.

  We were leaving the station when Amy called. “Can you two meet me at Sophia Puig’s place? She’s staying with a friend over in Brooklyn Heights.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure exactly, but she called me and was hysterical. I think her husband has done something bad.”

  After getting the address, Max called a cab, then said, “What do you think is going on?”

  “Not sure, but it might be that Alex Puig has found out where Sophia is staying. If that’s the case, she could be in mortal danger.”

  A half hour later, Max and I met up with Amy on the street in front of the apartment where her client was staying. The neighborhood was undergoing renovation, with a lot of buildings under construction.

  “Any idea what’s happening?” I asked Amy, as she rang the bell.

  She shook her head. “No, just that it’s some kind of shit storm involving Sophia’s family.”

  We were let into the house by Sophia’s friend, Carmen Diaz, an attractive dark-haired woman, probably in her mid-thirties, who Sophia was staying with.

  “Sophia is in the study,” Diaz explained. “She’s been on the phone with her aunt most of the day.”

  We found Sophia on her phone, having an animated discussion in Spanish. When she ended the call, she burst into tears. “My mama...she has gone missing.”