Girl on a Mission: The Dead Do Speak

Chapters 13 & 14

Previously on Girl on a Mission:

Detective Jerry Hallowell interviews Eric Trammel, the building super who discovered Mrs. Kensington's murder, learning about an open hallway window and someone being in the apartment next door. Liza is pulled from school by her mob-connected Uncle T, who reveals Mrs. Kensington was "cut open and gutted like a pig" and expresses concern about Liza being seen in the building during the investigation. Meanwhile, the Play Dead Killer, preparing for a trip to the Hamptons to visit "Daddy," observes the police investigation from his window, confident they won't find his fingerprints due to his scorched fingertips.

Chapter 13

West Seventh and Avenue T is where the club is located. A corner entrance with two black double doors led to the inside with a small bar on the immediate left, poker table set up a few feet to the right of the small bar-strategically placed so players could get fast drinks without missing a card-with two additional poker tables set off behind the first inside a room that was thirty feet by thirty feet. The poker room led to the back room, where another bar sat on the right. Bar stools sat close to the bar-ten stools in all-with five round tables occupying the rest of the room. Further back was the kitchen and bathroom, and on the far left was a hidden door that led to the basement. Liza had never ventured into the basement. The room was off limits to children, although Liza knew what was in the basement. Guns, and lots of them. Cash too, hidden in the walls.

Uncle T parked the Monte Carlo and shut off the engine, pocketing the key.

“Alright, make sure you say hello to everyone, then hit the back bar. Sonny’s bartending today, so get yourself something to eat. We won’t be more than an hour.”

Liza knew the drill; it was the same every time. Pay your respects, then go and shut up for a while. It was that simple. She’d been coming to the club all her life and knew every player.

“Is Grandpa Tommy here?” asked Liza, although Grandpa Tommy wasn’t Liza’s actual grandpa, but he was the closest possible grandparent Liza had, her own having been dead a long time. Grandpa Tommy being Liza’s true grandfather’s cousin, who always felt personally responsible for his nephews, Boyd and Uncle T.

“When isn’t he?” said Uncle T as he opened the door.

Liza did the same, following Uncle T to the club, scuttling across the sidewalk as she kept her head down in the stinging bitter breeze. The door opened with a suctioned pop, and Liza noticed the guard standing by the door gave Uncle T a nod. Liza mouthed a hello on her way past him to the poker table, where four elderly gentlemen were engaged in their game. She heard Uncle T whisper to Grandpa Tommy that she was with him. Liza wrapped her arms around Grandpa Tommy, followed by a kiss on the cheek. Grandpa Tommy held onto her hand.

“How are you getting along today?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” said Liza, bobbing her head left and right. “Could be better though.”

“He’ll be fine. We’ve been through this before. Do you need anything?”

Liza knew what was coming next. The same thing happened every time she came to the club. Grandpa Tommy reached into his pocket and slipped Liza a C-note.

“Take this,” said Grandpa Tommy. “Go have some fun with your friends. Get your mind off it.”

“Thank you, Grandpa. You’re the best.”

Grandpa Tommy put his hands up with a shrug. His attention turned to the table. “We do what we have to.”

Liza gave a hello kiss and hug to the three remaining gentlemen-each handing Liza a crisp fifty-dollar bill. She pocketed each bill while making small talk about Boyd when Uncle T gestured for Liza to hit the back bar, which Liza obliged. She was starved and could already smell the food. Sonny was knee deep in the kitchen and the sweet scent of sausage and peppers was everywhere. Liza’s stomach growled in anticipation.

Sonny had been bartending at the club for as long as Liza could remember. He was always cordial and spot on with his drinks, but a little rough around the edges-tending to mob captains usually had that effect-but always one to be trusted. Liza was sure he’d witnessed his share of illegalities during his time as bartender. He was stuffing the cooler with beer when Liza walked up.

“Hey young lady, what’s the word these days?”

“The word is the bird, Sonny, you know that.” Liza sat on the barstool. The word is the bird was a running joke with Sonny since she was eight years old. The reference came from a movie, which one Liza never remembered. Sonny had Liza’s cola on the bar before she could even ask.

“That I do,” he answered and gestured behind Liza. “Sausage and peppers are out. Dive in, young lady. You look like you could gain a few pounds before you disappear.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Liza jumped off the stool when Uncle T walked up.

He said hello to Sonny before addressing Liza. “I’ll be back in a few. Stay here until I get back.” He looked at Sonny. “You got any work for her to do? Girl’s sixteen, she should be working.”

Great, thanks Uncle T.

Last thing Liza wanted right now was a job.

“Dishwasher never made it in today,” said Sonny as he cleaned a glass with a white rag. “Not much, but it’ll help me out a ton.”

Scene frozen as Liza looked at Sonny, then Uncle T, then to Grandpa Tommy and crew, knowing that the one thing you don’t do is say no. Disrespect was never tolerated.

“Sounds like a plan,” answered Liza.

“Good,” said Sonny, “Eat first. Hungry people never work hard.”

“Thank you, Sonny.” Uncle T turned to Liza, and mouthed, “The money,” with a hand gesture towards himself. Liza rolled her eyes. It was the same every time. Liza’s handed hundreds of dollars and then hundreds of dollars are handed to Uncle T or Boyd if he was here. Liza handed him the cash. “Perfect, thank you.” Uncle T stuffed the cash in his front pocket. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Where are you going?”

Uncle T’s eyes narrowed, a gesture she was used to. It meant Don’t ask or None of your business or even more, Better not to know. Uncle T had business to conduct, and that certain business was better accomplished when only those who need to know knew.

Liza crossed her arms, said, “Gotcha,” then, “Be careful.”

“I will. Eat something,” he said, stepping back. “You look too thin.”

And with that, he turned and was out the door while Liza watched him hit the street. Grandpa Tommy and his poker playing mob bosses paid her no mind. Her stomach rumbled and Liza went to get herself some food.

Chapter 14

Jerry knocked on Apartment 3B. A swarm of police, forensics, and firemen continued to occupy the hall. Frank and Eric were behind him. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. Jerry looked over his shoulder and scanned the hall. Seemed like everyone had paused what they were doing to watch Jerry knock on the door. The silence was deafening, all eyes on Jerry.

He turned to Eric Trammel. “You’re sure someone was in here?”

Eric used a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, nodding. “I heard the television when I came up. Someone was definitely in there.”

Jerry scanned the door from top to bottom. “Who’s the tenant?”

“The Wards, Boyd and his daughter.”

Jerry paused. He knew the name, a common surname in his district. Apparently, the Wards had come from Italy in the early 1900s, at the time they were called Monsanto, but when the family arrived at Ester Island, the name had been changed. Boyd’s father had been a major player in the Italian mafia for decades until his untimely demise a few years ago.

Jerry turned back to the door. Something felt off. He could sense energy in the apartment, a shallow energy with a vile vibration. “When was the last time you saw either of them?”

Eric cleared his throat. “Yesterday. Boyd asked if I could keep an eye on the apartment over the next month. Said he was going away on business.”

Jerry bobbed his head right and left. “Business?”

“I didn’t ask what that was,” said Eric.

Not that Eric had to elaborate. Jerry knew what kind of business Boyd Ward was into.

“So, no one’s supposed to be home, so why was the television on?” Jerry rolled his tongue inside his mouth, then clucked his tongue. He turned to Eric. “Can you open it?”

Eric’s eyes darted to the door; his mouth hung open. Jerry was sure that Eric Trammel’s heart just skipped a few beats.

“Probable cause,” said Jerry. “You’re in the clear.” He craned his head, staring at Eric with a slight smile across his lips.

Eric took his keys from his pocket, his hands shaking so much he dropped the keys. Jerry was sure Eric was attempting to be cordial and obedient, but it was apparent he did not want to open that door. Eric picked up the keys and stepped to the door, fitting the key in the lock, and twisted. Then the second lock, then the third, and he turned the doorknob. The door opened and Eric stepped away from the door.

“Thank you,” said Jerry, his hand on the door pushing it further open. He stood in the doorway, assessing. The apartment was clean, pristine even, except for the couch, which appeared as if someone had been sleeping there recently. The cushions were displaced as if someone jumped off the couch, and a blanket sat bunched up and halfway to the floor. Jerry turned quickly to Eric, whose guttural grunts and back of the throat whines provided distraction. A petrified stare filled with concern stained in his eyes. Jerry pulled out his snub nose .38 and looked at Frank, who did the same, then eyeballed Eric and gestured for him to leave. Two other officers approached, guns drawn. One flatfoot stepped up and went through the door first, followed by the second flatfoot, then Frank. They were clearing the apartment, making sure no one was in there, hiding, or flat out in the open. Jerry stepped in.

He wasn’t expecting the dead woman in the living room.