chapter fifty four

Chapter 54

word count 475

Uncle Frank pulled his fedora down over his face and got out of the car, peering up and down the street. All looked quiet. Yellow tape draped around a nearby house, indicating the place was a crime scene. Regardless, he rushed up the sidewalk and tried the front door. Locked. Pulling a tool from his pocket, he jimmied it and popped the door to Bud Kramer's house wide open, then slipped in. Not a sound. With short, hurried steps he pushed his huge frame around the room to search the premises, gun cupped in his hands, ready for action. He was a big man, and the activity instigated deep wheezes in his chest. Apparently his people did a good job on that bastard, Ren. Now he just needed to get rid of Kramer, and he could move on and look for that jail guard and the whore.

The bathroom was a disaster of blood smears, like a whacked-out Rorschach Test on the walls. Whacked--ha--no pun intended...he smiled at his own brilliant humor. The body had been removed, of course. Frank nodded in satisfaction. Now where was that son of a bitch Kramer? Perhaps a clue lay around the place somewhere. The sooner he took him out the better.

Bud Kramer stepped into the hallway clutching a police revolver in his hands. His eyes were black marble, glinting with their own light. Without hesitation he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. Uncle Frank never knew what hit him.

A new morning's sun peeked through the café window as Vic and Jessa drank their morning coffee. They didn't talk. He held the newspaper up in front of his face reading. She, wearing her usual dower expression, stared into space. Now and then she took a compact out to study her face. Pushing brown shell glasses up with one finger, she struck a pose and pursed her lips, now colored in simple pale pink rather than blazing red.

"Oh my Gawd!" Vic flipped the paper down and stared her way.

"What is it?" She asked wearily, studying her plain nails with disdain. This incognito thing of theirs was making her crazy. She felt ugly.

"Uncle Frank is dead!"

"WHAT?" Her mind churned like a clunky machine. "Does this mean we can go home?"

"I dunno. Wait a minute." He read further, his eyes darting down the page. "Holy Hell! They found him murdered at Bud Kramer's house. And Kramer has dropped out of sight." He sat back, stunned. "This is incredible...they're all gone. Maybe we can go back."

Jessa leaned forward, grabbing Vic's hand. "Yeah. I want to go back. I want to go back and break Jason out of jail. You were a guard; you know how. We can do it. We can break him out. It's about time we did something I want."

chapter fifty three

word count: 591

"this whole thing has become a god damn cluster fuck..." uncle frank said out loud,, to no one... he had sequestered himself in his office... decisions had to be made..

"how in the fucking hell had this become so complicated?" it wasn't even his war... he had been drawn into it,, lured as it were, with the ever so long in coming death of that no account, crotch dropping, ruben,, the bane of his and his sainted brothers existence... may he rest in peace...

the body count was on the rise,, so far in franks favor, as just the pawns were going down.. ren, worthless piece of two faced shit that he was, check... bud kramers wife,, now that was out of his hands,, how the hell was he supposed to know the invalid woman was gonna croak on him??? and that fucking crooked doc guard,, what was his name?? white? black? gray? understandable,,, the world is a better place for his leaving....

it was time... frank concluded.. time to get the job done,, and he knew that if he wanted the job done,, and done right,, it was time to strap one on and hit the street..

frank hit the intercom to the boys that stood watch over his door... " tell manny to come in here." he barked into his speaker phone...

as if by magic,, there was an instantaneous knock at the door. "come on." frank called out,, and manny his driver, his body guard, his second,, whatever you wanted to call him, thundered into the room... he took a silent stance on the opposing side of franks desk. locked his arms behind his thickly muscled back and waited...

"i am going to tell you something. something that you will never repeat. i trust you. you know that. but i want to make it clear to you, the importance of the situation. do you understand?"

"yes." simple. silent. deadly. manny was a man among men.

"i am not a violent man. i never have been. i am however a man of action. i have been backed into a corner in this present situation... in this corner,, violence has become unavoidable.. the time has come for me to take action. i have decided that if this whole fucking mess is ever going to be put to bed, i will have to tuck it in personally. do you understand, then, why i have called you in here today?"

manny looked intently at uncle frank. he did not speak.

"it has become necessary for me to take a certain matter into my own hands.. that part i am sure you understand. in doing so,, i accept the distinct possibility that i will have to,, shall i say,, disappear.. for a lengthy amount of time.. very possibly forever.. no one, and i repeat, no one will know my status or my whereabouts... no one but you.. i am in essence entrusting my life to you, manny.. my fucking life... you understand now the importance of the agreement you and i are about to enter into?"

"i do." sticcado. emotionless.

frank pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.. he pulled off a rather non-descript looking key, and tossed it to manny.. "hold onto this. protect it with your life.. it opens the file cabinet you see by the window, should anything unmentionable go down,, use it. everything you need to know is in there."

he stared into mannys emotionless eyes. the sound of his own heart beating loudly in his ears over taking the dead silence in the room.

"get the car."

chapter fifty-two

Chapter 52
word count: 552

Two divers detached the cement bricks, then tied the bundle with strong ropes. More rugged men on the bridge waited, then tugging, hoisted up the package, their burly arms glistening with sweat even in the early morning sun. It was going to be a hot day. Bud wiped his brow while he rushed closer

"Well, let's see what we got" he yelled. "I'm curious to see who got on Frank's shit list this time. Poor schmuck!"

"It's not all that heavy," one of the strong men said. "Must be a skinny guy."

"Who ever heard of a skinny gangster?" Bud joked as his eyes watched the bundle being lifted over the railing and lowered to the deck. A strange pang shot through him, painful and sad. He shook it off. His line of work demanded objectivity...no room for emotional outbursts. Funny this one should bother him. He inspected gory crime scenes all the time. His cell rang just as he was going to have a look at the victim.

"Hello."

"Bud, you'd better get over here to your place. Ren's here, he's dead." It was his partner, Red.

"What?"

"Yeah, your cleaning lady found him. In the shower. Bullet through his heart."

"What the fuck? We were together. When I left him, he was sleeping on the couch. I gave him something to help him sleep."

"Well, he's sleeping permanently now. We're checking for prints."

"I'll be right there." Bud closed his eyes in disbelief.

"Mr. Kramer, we're ready." One of the strong men stood next to him.

"Okay," Bud replied, pulling gloves from his pocket. He bent over the bundle, pealing back folds of black plastic until a hand was revealed. Waterlogged and wrinkled, it wasn't pretty. A red polyester sleeve covered a delicate wrist.

"Good God! It's a woman," he muttered, gingerly pulling back more shards of plastic. A petite female form began to emerge. Small, but familiar, all too familiar. Bud's heart knew before his eyes confirmed it. Jane. It was his beloved Janie. As he pulled away the last of the black material, tears rolled down his cheeks. Could this be happening?

Jane's eyes were still wide open, frozen in time with fear. Choking, he pulled the lids down to put her at peace. Who had done this? He searched her body in a frantic rush, looking for bullet wounds or knife stabs, some indication of what and who had killed her. But her body was in perfect form, no violations, no bullets, no stab wounds.Then the magnitude of it hit him!

"It's my wife! It's my wife! Whoever did this is going to pay!" He cried. He jumped up and paced, waving his arms in the air. The others led him to his car, sat him in the front seat, hung around to make sure he was okay, waiting for the sobs to stop. Finally, rational thought returned. Whoever did this probably killed Ren, too, and others. And they probably intended to kill him, too. So what? He had nothing to live for.

Later, when he viewed Ren's body in his shower, blasted away with blood splattered everywhere, he was numb. He didn't care about Ren. He cared only about Janie. He'd find her murderers. He'd find them before they had a chance to locate him first.

chapter fifty one

word count: 621

ren rolled over and stuck his hand down the front of his pants... comforted,, he attempted to snuggle deeper into the thick warm mattress,, he reached for the soft down comforter,, but it was no where to be found.. in fact,, he was beginning to doubt he was in his bed at all,, as he seemed to be unable to roll over.. puzzled he opened his eyes and peered out at a totally unfamiliar surrounding...

"what the fuck?" was going thru his brain as he tried like hell to sit up,, only to me held by a set of inviable hands in the wide soft recliner he didn't even remember sitting down in... what the hell was going on,, where was he???

he scanned the room only to realize that he was at the kramers.. thats right,, bud had stopped in to clean up.. he must have fallen asleep here in front of the tv waiting for him... he glanced at his watch... holy shit!!! four hours had passed,, he struggled to find and then grabbed hard on the lever he finally located on the side of the chair and threw it into the upright position...

something was wrong... something was definitely wrong... the thought that he might have been duped,, more than likely drugged somehow too, crossed his mind. knowing full well the consequences if uncle frank found out about it,, he pushed it to the back of his mind and made his way,, staggering through the house room to room,, looking for bud,, but knowing all the while he was not going to be there...

he stopped off in the kitchen and noticed the coffee pot the warmer light was still on.. that was it. that had to be it. he had accepted a cup of coffee from bud,, somehow some way,, that sneaky son of a bitch, bud had succeeded in spiking the coffee... this was bad,, this was really bad....

he was beginning to come around and realize that he had to do something... but what?? he had no idea where to look for bud,, and he sure as hell didn't want to run into any of uncle frankies guys out there on the street,, with no bud kramer in tow... fuck... he couldn't think.. his head was so clouded.. a shower,, a nice hot shower,, that would wake him up and maybe then he could decide in what direction he should take this thing...

ren stripped down and hopped under the pulsating stream of hot water and steam.. he let the water pour over him,, he massaged the top of his head as the invigorating hot water and steam enveloped him,, struggling all the while to get a handle on his situation.. he grabbed the bar soap and lathered his short cropped hair,, he rubbed the soap gruffly over his face and throat... , and then leaned his thick arms against the wall surrounding the shower head for support as he stuck his head under the hot spray..

as he leaned there trying to decide between the better of the few evils that awaited him,, he felt the hint of cold air on his back,, it rose to his neck,, causing the hairs to stand on end.. he peeked out under his arm,, looking in back of him for the source of the brisk air,, and was surprised to see the slider door behind him ajar a few inches... ..

if he noticed the muzzle of the 38 as it let off a single silenced shot that connected almost immediately with his heart... no one will ever know....

"stupid fat fuck." tony grumbled as he exited the bathroom,, hot steam from the shower still rising....

chapter fifty

Chapter 50
word count: 610

Frank took the last bite of fritatta and laid down his fork and knife with care. He snapped the clean linen napkin out of his collar and waved his hand for Luigi. The harried chef rushed in from the kitchen.

“Get me Tony.”

“Yes, Uncle Frank.”

Luigi rushed to a phone on the kitchen wall. It didn't take long for Tony to arrive. Frank's “staff” were generally on the premises, cocooned in its terse corridors and closet-like enclosures.

“Uncle Frank?” The grim fellow stood, waiting for a nod of Frank's head to indicate he should sit. The nod didn't come.

“Tony. I want you to take them out—Bud Kramer and that imbecile, Ren. And find DiMarco and that whore—get rid of them, too. Take as many men as you need.”

“Yes, sir, Uncle Frank.”

“Now get outta here!”

As his minion made tracks, Frank leaned back and enjoyed his cup of steaming coffee. Ah, peace at last...


Bud burst through the door of McDonald's with Jorge in tow, his eagle-like eyes scanning the room before he was all the way through. The place was empty except for a couple seated by the window. The man's back was to them, but the hair was DiMarco's coal black. The girl was no prize, but Bud had no idea what the whore was supposed to look like.

He turned and grabbed Jorge by the collar and hissed in his ear. “Is that your buddy?”

“I don't know...could be. I can't see his face.”

“Well, let's find out, shall we?” Bud rushed up and spun the man around, then flinched. The man wasn't Vic.

“What the fuck you doing?” the guy screamed, pulling himself free of the man's grasp.

Bud pulled back in horror. What was he doing? Accosting innocent people, bullying them. What was happening to him? His intensity about Janie was making him a crazy bastard. He had to get a grip.

“Look man, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Get away from me, you son of a bitch!”

Bud grabbed Jorge and dragged him out of the restaurant. He felt the anger broiling in his chest again. He pulled Jorge close. “Are you bull-shitting me or was he really supposed to be in there?”

“That's what he told me! I wouldn't shit you, man!”

“Yeah, right!” Bud leaned against the building in exhaustion. What next? His eyes rested on the boulevard out front. He bolted up. A black Cadillac was cruising toward the red light. “That's Uncle Frank's thugs! I'd know that car anywhere!”

“So what! I don't want anything to do with them!”

Bud grabbed Jorge and shoved him in his car. “Yes, you do. We're following them. I'm not taking my eyes off you, so you're coming with me.”

The Cadillac wove through city streets with ease. It never missed a green light and flew just above the speed limit getting from point A to point B with style and grace. Bud was hard put to keep up. He was surprised when the car turned onto a desolate bridge on the edge of town and stopped. A fast-moving river flowed beneath it. Bud knew full well what would happen next.

Two men got out of the car and opened the trunk, lifting a large dark bundle out and with a heave-ho hoisted it up and over the railing. The Cadillac sped away before the waters calmed.

“Looked like we're going to have to get a crew down here to fish that up and see who Uncle Frank has bumped off now,” Bud murmured, reaching for his cell. “Poor soul!”

chapter forty nine

chain fiction chapter 49

word count: 523

frank malleo replaced the receiver.. this was a mess.. a fucking mess.. how the hell did all of this happen as a result of one dead junkie?? sure he was his brother wally's kid,, god rest his soul... but he was a filthy piece of drug addict shit,, and truth be told frank had wanted to kill the little son of a bitch on more than one occasion himself...

"i shoulda' just wacked the little mother fucker years ago... none of this would have happened...." frank allowed himself to dream for just a moment...

something had to be done.. something to put an end to all of this now.. once and for all.. over.. out of sight out of mind... that was it... bud and ren and di marco and that fucking whore,,, gone.. all of them.. the end.. put this whole thing to bed,, "and then," frank thought to himself as he surveyed the deep circles that were forming around his already sunken dark eyes,, "then i can get some rest...."

the call had been placed.. one small matter of business remained unfinished here,, and then he would have a nice breakfast.. food had always made him feel better.. he had his mama to thank for that....

as frank strode thru the kitchen,, he told luigi he was feeling especially down today,, "a nice frittata might be just the thing.. oh and a side of hot cakes,, yeah,, that ought to do it...." said frank with his forever embracing warm smile,, and that spark in his eye,, that let luigi know,, whatever had the don down,, he was no part of it...

with relief and a feeling of reinforced security,, luigi opened the large side by side,, and surveyed the contents.. this would have to be the frittata to beat all frittata's.. luigi would personally see to it that it was...

frank continued on thru the maze of hallways in the back of the building,, hallways that were specifically designed years ago,, to more often than not,, go no where.. hallways that had on more than one occasion meant the difference between freedom and captivity to frank himself,, and life and death for many others..

he finally stopped in front of a pair of metal doors,, no handle,, no push bar,, just doors.. he removed a brick to the right of the doors,, slipped a key off his vast ring in the slot, and watched as the doors disengaged.

he kicked the door noisily out in front of himself,, as if to surprise anyone that might be laying in wait on the other side..

no one was there... no one accept a useless scrap of a man,,there on the floor... still hog tied,, still blindfolded,, laying shivering in a pool of his own piss...

frank slipped the silenced 38 out of the rear waist band of his dark brown silk pants, and fired five shots.. he stepped back,, swung the door closed, replaced his revolver,, and proceeded to the kitchen to see how luigi was progressing on his breakfast...

a nice frittata sounded like just what he needed....

chapter forty eight

word count: 550

"Look at me! You've got to be kidding!" They stood outside Macy's window, gazing at their reflections. Jessa clenched her fists and stood rigid, glaring, ready to explode. Her hair, flattened and combed down straight went perfectly with the "sunday-go-to-meetin'" pants suit which boasted a silk blouse with a matching scarf tied in the front and, of course, 'practical' shoes. Tiny eyeglasses perched on her nose in a blatant aura of intellectuality.

"You'd better rip that jewelry off your fingers...and those fake nails, too."

"No freakin' way!"

Do you want them to find us and kill us? That get-up is a dead giveaway that something's up." He tilted his Fedora and buttoned his top button, next straightening his plain blue tie.

"We look like Lois Lane and Clark Kent from those old TV shows."

"That's better than looking like who we really are. We'll blend into the office crowd downtown here. Now I just have to figure out what to do next. I want to get the fuck out of town."

Jessa surveyed the secretaries and desk clerks milling all around. They did fit in. "Why don't we catch an Amtrak or a bus?"

"I thought we might, but that's so easy to stop and search. I got another idea." With that remark, he turned on his heel and waved for a taxi. A rattling yellow cab pulled up.

"You on the clock? I need to go about 50 miles. Can you handle it?"

"Sure. Hop in."

As they settled in the back, the driver asked, "Where to?"

"I'm not really sure. Just head north." He leaned forward and handed the guy a wad of bills. "As far as this takes us."

The cabbie grabbed the money with a big smile. "No problem."

Jessa leaned close and whispered in Vic's ear. "What the hell we going north for? Why not south? I mean, who goes north, for Gawd's sake?"

Vic smiled back, a cocky grin. "Exactly, 'who goes north?'--you get it? They'll never think we'd go north either."

He relaxed. It felt good to be off the street where they might be spotted. Ever since he called Jorge from the restaurant, he had an uneasy feeling. Not that he didn't trust Jorge, but hey, these were desperate times. Anything could happen.

The whore leaned closer. He could feel her body heat blending with his, streaming along his thigh. Her hand tickled between his legs. The wench, teasing him. He could feel his body reacting... hardening, aching to be satiated. If he could close off the front of the cab and have the back seat free from view, he'd push her down on him and get relief. Oh fuck...he needed to do that... his breath caught in his throat. The sensations emanating from his groin were beginning to overpower...there's be no denying "little Vic" soon...

He bolted up! Outside...the cab was passing McDonald's where he and Jessa had been earlier. Walking through the front door was Jorge, and he wasn't alone. Bud Kramer sprinted by his side.

Vic ducked low in the seat, pulling Jessa down with him. The two men didn't see him. They were through the door before the cab got close. "Get this buggy moving, dammit!" he told the driver. "I want out of town fast!"

chapter forty seven

word count: 830


bud pointed ren in the direction of the lazy boy and the remote,, as he made a pot of coffee,, and dissolved four of janeys sleeping tablets in the light sweet cup he fixed for ren...

while ren enjoyed his coffee and a little channel surfing,, bud showered,, redressed and perfected his time line....

as he entered the living room,, ren was in the fully reclined position sleeping like a baby... bud checked the cup,, he had drained it... thank god...

bud set the timer on his watch for five hours,, as he set off out the door.. he figured he had five hours in which he had to locate jorge,, locate vic,, and get back here before ren awoke...

bud returned to the prison. he "re-interviewed" martinez. getting jorge's contact information with out too much difficulty in light of the fact that he had advised martinez,, just in case he was reluctant to cooperate,, that they were prepared to charge him with "accessory to murders, plural. three of them so far,, and the longer you hold off,, the longer the list will become"...

staring at three life sentences or a minimum 75 years inside,, getting martinez to spill his cousins address and cell number was as easy as getting ren to have just one more donut....

he was not even out of the parking lot of the prison before he had jorge on the phone... he told him some bullshit about vic being on the move,, and needing him to meet him at the pay phone in the parking lot of the seven eleven on 34th and clark.. he ended the call with "and vic said, don't fuck this up like you did the fucking bucket thing,, whatever that means... he said you would understand....." and abruptly snapped his cell closed....

bud parked in the liquor store parking lot across the street from the seven eleven.. he wasn't there more than a few minutes when he saw a beat up old white pick up pull up in front of the pay phone...

as jorge sat obediently in the truck and waited for vic to arrive,, bud crossed the street and sauntered toward the truck.. he walked toward the pay phone,, digging in his pocket like he was trying to rustle up some change. he approached the passengers side door,, saying something to jorge about "having change for a dollar.." when jorge looked up,, bud stuck his 45 thru the window of the truck, and yelled "freeze!!"

"chinga madre..." was all jorge could say,, as bud explained to him that he had every intention of blowing his fucking brains out if he did not take him to vic dimarco... now....

jorge,, having no desire to die protecting a cheap piece of shit like vic di marco,, took bud right to the hotel room.. bud accompanied him to the door,, and they knocked.. nothing..

"you better not be playing with me motherfucker ,, i am telling you i am in no mood to play..." bud snapped at jorge,, the 45 in his ribcage emphasizing the point...

"no ,, man i am telling you,, i fucking dropped him off here,, him and that whore,, the one with the cuffs.. i am telling you ,, they were here... " jorge pleaded,, knowing bud didn't believe him,, the one time in his life he was telling the fucking truth....

bud jimmied the window free and knocked the screen to the floor,, he pulled back the curtain.. the room was empty... but,, as nearly as he could tell,, jorge had been telling the truth,, amongst the discarded beer cans bud saw a pair of bolt cutters laying on the foot of the bed,, and some severed handcuffs on the counter near the bathroom sink... fuck..

"get back in the truck..." he said as he nudged jorge in the direction of the stairs....

three hours and fifteen minutes to go.... bud sat silent for a moment,, his thoughts consumed with his janey... what the fuck was his next move?? he had been so sure,, so positive that he could pull this off,, that he could get to di marco,, and back to ren and pull this whole thing together... his thoughts were jarred by the unfamiliar ringing of a cell phone,, jorge's cell phone...

"answer it!" bud directed as he stuck the gun under jorges jaw,, and pressed it in for good measure.....

"diga mi"

"vic!!" jorge exclaimed loudly as a bit of the color returned to his face... he pointed to the phone,, signaling bud that it was vic on the phone...

"macdonalds?? which one?? no problemo mi amigo,, estoy viniendo,, i'm coming, i am on my way..... " he exhaled for what felt like the first time since he had met bud and his side kick, 45....

they drove toward the macdonalds at which they had been instructed to pick up vic fucking di marco and his whore,, in silence,, each of them was privately thanking god for small favors.....

Chapter forty six

word count: 847

"We gotta get outta here," Vic muttered under his breath. The last thing he wanted was Uncle Frank's thugs to realize he saw them load a body into their car. Hell, he'd be the next cadaver they took for a ride.

"I'm still hungry," the whore said, standing next to him. They were calm words, but a glance her way showed she was trembling as much as he.

"Right, let's go."

The warmly lit McDonald's was a great relief. They pushed other patrons aside to get in, in to safety, away from the carnage they'd seen a few blocks away.

The teenage clerk eyed them warily. "CanITakeYourOrder?"...It all came out a like a rumbling freight train. He tapped his fingers on the counter and glanced away.

"What do you want?" Vic asked.

"Pancakes and sausage." Her voice chirped it out like a happy five-year old.

"Make it two...and coffee, lots of coffee."

When they settled at a table, the girl grabbed her food like an animal, fumbling for the plastic fork, tearing open the container.

"I guess your mother never taught you table manners." He opened his utensil packet calmly and spread the napkin on his lap.

She looked up from her syrup-deluged pancake stack, fork in hand, stating, "Don't talk about my mother."

"Sensitive issue, I see."

She glared back. "Did it ever occur to you I'm a person, not just some whore you can force to go down on you whenever you like. I got a family and stuff just like you. I'm a person!"

"Okay. Okay!" Other people were staring. He could feel their eyes cutting into his skin. Their conversation, louder than it should be, didn't help either. He started his stack of pancakes. In his annoyed state, they slid down his throat like cotton balls, sticking along the way.

His eyes rested on her skinny fingers, clutching the fork in a fist like a farmer's wife. Except unlike a farmer's wife, her fingers and thumbs were riddled with cheap rings and her long fake nails boasted a ghastly shade of black. Her bare arms were so skinny, it was hard to believe a living person possessed them. The last time he'd seen arms that thin was his Aunt Frieda days before she succumbed to cancer.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing...nothing." He studied her face, so thin, etched at the moment with lines of outrage. With her dark hair spiking out all around, she looked like a scarecrow. He ran his eyes down to her breasts, held captive in a tight shell which hardly diminished their significant size. It looked like balloons stuffed in there. No wonder people were staring at them.

"Quit looking at me. Dammit!" She returned to her meal, eating slower now that her initial hunger had been sated. As she savored each bite, her expression took on a childlike innocence.

"I didn't mean to stare. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'd appreciate you treating me better. I'm just saying, I deserve better."

"You're a whore!"

"Well. I'm a person, too! Why don't you call me by my name once in a while, instead of 'Hey you' or something?"

People were staring again. His brain was muddled. "What is your name anyway?"

"Jessa! Dammit, my name is Jessa!"

"Okay...Jessa." His eyes traveled to the entrance. He was always on the lookout. When you had as many dirty deals going down as he did, you kept your eyes open. Two big men came through the door. Vic's heart slammed to the floor. "Get down!" he said, grabbing Jessa's wrist to squeeze his point home. He motioned she should duck under the table. They met there, bumping heads.

"What the hell is it?"

"Uncle Frank's men. The ones we saw. They know me. Can't let them see me."

"Oh shit! From the fucking frying pan to the fire."

"Stay still." He peeked up, scanned the restaurant. Bending back down, he whispered, "I don't see them. Let's run for it."

"What about my breakfast?"

"Bring it with you! I don't care. Let's go!"

They scurried like mice, out the front door and off to the nearest alley, stopping to catch their breaths, leaning against a wall.

"Good! I think we made it," Vic said.

"Can I finish eating now?" Jessa had her plate of pancakes. She lifted one with her bare fingers and stuffed it in her mouth.

Vic was busy thinking and didn't notice. "You know what?" he said. We need to change our appearance. We're gonna get caught if we don't do something. He paused to look at her. "I think you need some different clothes, maybe a ladies' suit, some old lady shoes, flatten your hair down, maybe some fake glasses, perhaps a 'librarian'-look."

"Old lady shoes? No way! What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're going to Macy's and get some clothes so we blend in. No matter how far we travel, they're gonna find us if we look like this. And if they find us, we're dead meat. Now come on, let's go."

chapter forty five

word count: 694

sated now,, ren eased back in his chair and emitted a contented belch..."so,, you want i should call down for the other one?? whats his name?? martinez??"

"what i want,, is for you to call your uncle frank and check on janey.." bud barked at ren,, doing his best to filter out the disgust in his voice...

"not a problem..." ren retorted as he withdrew his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and popped a single digit speed dial number...

bud was playing out every possible scenario for getting himself free of ren.. killing him now,, was out of the question.. loosing him equally as bad an option,, either way would have capos crawling out of the woodwork,, and put janey's life in the ultimate danger...

"hey... is my uncle frank around??" ren spoke somberly into the phone. he knew this was killing bud,, and had he had his druthers,, he would not have put him through this... but it was out of his hands.. like so many things in this life.. just out of his hands....

as ren waited obediently for audience on the phone,, bud arrived at what he deduced to be the only way to separate himself from ren,, and do it in such a way that neither ren nor his family of dago slime balls would be any the wiser...

sleep had become an unnatural act for janey over the course of her progressive illness. though they never really talked about it,, bud knew she had been addicted to a variety of sleeping pills over the years. he had turned a blind eye.. he had wanted her to be comfortable,, to be happy,, as happy as she could be living her lonely solitary life in a chair...

he knew her tolerance to the sleeping pills was outrageous,, it was not unheard of for her to take them four or five at a time,, in order to just be able to fall asleep... and that was never a guarantee she would stay there...

he also knew the last few times he had picked up her prescriptions for her, she had been prescribed flunitrazepam, rohypnol, on the street they called them "roofies" or the "date rape drug"... one of the most potent benzodiazepine on the market...

"uncle frank, how ya doin'??" ren spoke as if he was making a social call... there was a period of silence,, as he listened intently,, ren stood and walked toward the vending machine.. he struggled his hand into his pocket and withdrew a hand full of change as he spoke,, "yeah,, thats why i'm calling... " he fiddled two quarters out of the mess and managed to slip them in the slot on the machine... " yeah,, yeah,, i gottcha... hey,, you got it..." he said as he snapped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket...

if bud could just get a couple of the roofies down ren,, it would buy some time,,, time in which he could get an exact address on martinez cousin,, jorge,, and pay him a little visit,, without anyone in the yacovella family even knowing what was going on... it was a shot in the dark,, but the only shot he had right now.. he had to take it... janey's life was on the line....

ren searched the glass plated vending machine for a moment,, before he said, "fuck it" clicked on the coin return and retrieved his money...

"nothing to report on that end... everything is fine.. uncle frank says to tell you not to worry,, they wouldn't do anything to hurt her..." he knew how unconvincing he sounded,, but that was the best he could do.. he was breathless,, he knew if bud found out what uncle frank had really said,, he was a dead man...

"i gotta get the hell outta here.. i need a fuckin' shower and a change of clothes,, and a good cup of coffee.. i cant fucking think anymore..." bud said as he stood and walked toward the door,, he wasn't giving ren any chance to oppose him,, he either followed him or got left behind,, and he knew he couldn't afford to be left behind...

chapter forty four

word count: 732

Vic felt calmer now. The girl had finished, at gunpoint, what he needed her to do. Still gasping for breath, he kicked her away from his crouch, sending the handcuffed whore rolling into the corner. His hand grasping the gun hug low and useless only for a second. Even in the midst of orgasm, he knew to keep his guard up. This bitch was tricky.

"Now I can think," he sputtered in between breaths that came like volcanic eruptions, only in reverse.

"What the fuck did you kick me away for?" the girl whined, crawling back as best she could manage. Her eyes were always on the gun, even now, as she struggled to keep from toppling over, her balance totally off because of the cuffs.

"I'll tell you what, I got a lot on my mind, so shut up, okay. I don't want to have to gag you." He struggled to zip his trousers with one available hand, while the other still clutched the weapon. "I'm worried about Jorge. Everyone knows following him is likely to lead to me."

"So what?"

"So what? I got a feeling a lot of people would like to get their hands on me. You do realize I've been strong-arming the mafia, don't you? And that Kramer guy, he's always out there snooping around."

"No skin off of my nose."

"You think not? You think they won't take out a two-bit whore just for a little target practice? We gotta dump Jorge and get out of here."

"Let me go. You don't need me."

"I'm not leaving you behind to squeal all about me to anyone who asks. I'm keeping an eye on you."

The whore didn't respond. She sat close, her eyes staring back like tiny black dots. Her hands trembled. She looked away to hide her vulnerability. The bitch needed a fix. Couldn't deal with that now. "You know," he said, "you'd be smarter to work with me rather than against me. Let's face it, we're in the same puddle of shit. We should be helping each other instead of fighting." He reached over and lifted her face up to look her in the eyes. "What do you say? Will you work with me a little here?"

For what it was worth, she nodded.

"Okay, we're out of here. Jorge has gone for a while. If we leave now, he'll never know what happened." He helped her up and creaked open the door. All clear. "I'm taking the cuffs off you, but I've still got a gun. Remember, we need to stick together, you got it?"

She nodded. He could only hope for the best, but he'd kill her to keep her quiet if she bolted, and she knew that. She had to know that. He was crazy, surely she realized he was insane, right?

It was a new day outside. The sun was just rising, casting a soft orange glow over the busy city, bouncing off skyscrapers, softening their importance. Hard to believe they could be in so much shit on such a gentle morning. Oh well, grab a sniff of the good life when you can.

"Look, we're going on foot. A car is too hard to trace. Maybe a bus or train, I dunno."

"Where?"

"I dunno. Let's just head for the train station."

"I'm hungry."

"Huh?"

"We haven't eaten since yesterday. I'm hungry."

"Okay, okay. Maybe some fast food. Gotta be careful not to show our faces around, you know." Truth be told, he was hungry, too. He was always hungry after sex, and the whore's blow job had made him ravenous. They walked quickly toward a McDonald's at the edge of town, side-stepping the usual junkies littering the sidewalk. As they neared Malleo's, Vic grabbed the whore.

"Look, I don't want to walk past the front door. That damn place is Mafia-Central. Let's cut through the alley."

Even by morning's light, Malleo's aromas filled their nostrils as they slid between buildings to the alley. When they arrived, he pulled the whore back with an abrupt motion. Malleo's loading dock was a busy place today. A Cadillac was parked, trunk open, and two busboys were loading a huge plastic bag into it.

Vic shuddered, startling the girl. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

Vic shook his head in horror. "That's a body. They're loading a body into the trunk!"

chapter forty three

word count: 599

"focus,, focus,, you will never get anywhere swirling around in your own dust,," bud chanted to himself silently, in the dimly lighted recesses of his overloaded, aching brain...

he forced himself to focus on the interview...

"you are so full of shit... you might as well save it though,,, i don't know nothing,, so it isn't going to do you any good to be making up horror stories to get me to spill something i don't know..." jason seethed,, looking straight into buds worn,, bloodshot eyes...

even as the words escaped his lips,, he could tell bud wasn't making all of this up... he could tell bud had not the energy to make any of this up.. something was wrong,, something was different.... a cold chill ran the length of his spine,, as he waited in silence for bud to say something... 15 seconds... 30 seconds,, 45 seconds...

"come the fuck on man... what the hell is going on here??? who could possibly even know i know jessa??" he paused,, "except the fucking screws that let her in here.. damn it,, damn it,," he stood and started pacing wringing his hands looking around wildly.. "its them isn't it?? those fuckers... i told martinez not to get involved with those fuckers... i told him it would be drama.. god damn it.. "

"keep doing exactly what you are doing,, don't look at me,, but listen.. act like i am not saying what i am about to say... it is our only chance, alexander,, yours and mine.. no matter what we think about each other,, or have ever thought about each other,, you and me,, we have to pull together on this.. do you get me on this?" bud said pleadingly.. he could not stop his own agony from showing thru...

jason stood at the end of the table,, he placed his palms on the stable and leaned into toward bud.. he looked him directly in the eyes and said,, "i don't know why i am even telling you this.. but for some reason i believe you.. deputy di marco... that is the guy martinez hooked up with his cousin jorge to dispose of the buckets... i swear to god,, that is all i know.. "

they heard the door open,, bud looked up at ren with a look of disgust,, "call in the babysitter in outta the hall,, will ya ren,, this little fucker doesn't know a thing..." bud barked,, as he shot one last pleading glance at jason alexander... he stood and slammed his chair against the table as he pushed it in,, "i need a cup of coffee,, how about you??" he said as he went out the door and quickly down the hall.. he couldn't look ren in the eye.. not now..

di marco,, again with the di marco.. but now he had something to go on.. something no one knew a thing about but him... jorge,, martinez' cousin.. a connection on the outside,, a connection that just might be able to lead him to di marco... now all he had to figure out was how the hell was he going to shake ren malleo,, shake him without allowing him to know he had been shook....


bud looked on in amazement,, as across the table,, ren sat there loudly sucking stray sugar off each finger as if he hadn't another care in the world... as his stomach heaved with disgust,, bud promised himself,, if he made it out of this alive,, he was gonna kill that fat fucking two faced son of a bitch....

chapter forty two

chapter 42
word count: 514

The silence suffocated Jane. The crazy man hadn't spoken for the last hour. She had thought they were bonding when he admitted they were both victims in the same calamitous soup. But now he sat in the corner, curled up, aloof, as though she didn't exist. When he did at last speak, his voice sliced in acerbic cuts through the dark, digging deep.

"Yep. We're both victims, victims of your hubby."

"What?"

"Your hubby. I mean, he's chasing me down til I'm stuck in a hole, and he's abandoned you in this hellish cell, as well."

Jane shuddered. The very idea! "Bud did not abandon me."

"Sweetheart, we've been in here for days. It seems to me he doesn't want to get you back very much or he'd have gotten his precious wife out of here by now." He followed that with a chortle from deep in his throat.

"He's trying. I know he is." Her heart started again... thump, thump.

"In your dreams."

She could hear his shoes scraping the concrete floor, shifting position. The next time he spoke sounding closer, even though it was a whisper. "Seems to me this is a handy way to get rid of a useless wife...an invalid wife...let her die in some stinking basement somewhere."

"NO!"

"Mrs. Kramer, you're going to rot here, while hubby shops around for a new little missus. One with some signs of life below the waist."

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she roared, pulling against the ropes that bound her wrists, wishing her useless legs could propel her. She'd kill him! She'd go over and grab his neck and squeeze and squeeze...a pain in her chest...a pressure the size of an elephant slammed against her, squeezing the air out of her lungs....she couldn't breathe.

A crip like you shouldn't make empty threats," Stan returned. "Besides like you said, we're two peas in a pod, you and me. Hell, maybe we can get together since hubby don't want you." Now that would fix Bud Kramer, screw his wife.

She didn't answer.

"Ms. Kramer?" Nothing, not even a squeak from the wheelchair. Stan dragged himself to her. He found the woman's body slumped over. She was still. Was she breathing? He checked. Dragging back to the door, he pounded with both fists. "HEY! HEY! SOMEBODY! SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THE WOMAN! YOU BETTER GET HERE QUICK! Mission accomplished. He'd taken proper revenge on Bud Kramer, through his precious wife.


As Bud took his last sip of coffee, he placed the cup down, next folding his hands on the table to watch as Ren went for another donut. Unbelievable! A stab of fear suddenly overtook him, deep, resonating, the kind of fear you get in nightmares, uncontrolled. It swirls like a cyclone out of your reach, taunting you, hurting you, and you can't stop it. He felt light-headed as it took him by surprise, knocking the wind out of him. His head swirled while at the attack's conclusion, a black-fisted illusion of dread sucker-punched him in the face. What the hell? Something was wrong, very wrong.

chapter forty one

word count: 679

bud had pulled the prison records,, the fcic's, the local, county, and state reports on both of the inmates he was about to question.. simple street hustlers.. drug addicts,, some recorded violence,, but that was to be expected when every day of your life was spent fighting to survive...

neither of them had been involved in the whole baby thing,, of that he was sure... his only hope is that they had some connection,, or at least some information,, concerning the removal, return, and subsequent disappearance of the buckets in question..

he knew what he had to do.. he had never entered into an interrogation in this fashion,, and swore to god if he got janey out of this alive,, he never would again...

his back was up against the wall. it was time to play both ends against the middle,, and he had to start somewhere... he knew he was playing with fire,, neither alexander, nor martinez had anything to lose... and a person with nothing to lose,, is the most dangerous kind of person there is...

they could both be bought and sold,, by him and anyone else that came along with a sweet enough purse. his gut told him no,, but his heart said yes,, this was about janey,, and that changed everything.

he reread jason alexanders jacket,, there had to be something in there he could use....alexander, jason. dob 9-13-82.. he had spent the last ten years in and out of corrections.. possession, criminal tools, drug abuse,, intent to sale,, petty theft... three of the above arrests had been in conjunction with the same woman,, a jessica longo... known addict, prostitute,, similar rap sheet.. she had been to visit jason the day they killed ruben... no direct tie in,, but alexander had no way of knowing that... it wasn't much,, but it was all he had...


jason didn't like the idea of being pulled in for questioning again. after all in this particular instance he really didn't know anything.. he was picking up trash,, minding his owns business,, and bam!! there it was,, a bucket. a foul smelling bucket. a bucket that just happened to contain the body of a dead infant floating in a sea of rancid grease beside the burnt french fries ... what more could he say??

knowing this did not keep his palms from sweating or his heart from pounding hard in his chest. knowing he was completely innocent of anything that even resembled involvement in this did nothing to set his mind at ease. after all this wouldn't be the first time they had found it convenient to pin some bullshit on him just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the right time...

when jason finally arrived at the interrogation room, kramer had the guard release him from his handcuffs and asked him to wait outside.. he settled into one of the cold metal chairs and looked across the table at jason... there was something in his eyes jason didn't want to see,, a sad, desperate look, that made jason even more uneasy.

"i need you to take me back to the beginning jason... i need to you to tell me everything.. i cannot tell you why i need to know,, but i can tell you that there are already two people dead,, and at least four more lives hanging in the balance..."

"dude, i already told you guys three times everything i know... i mean what is there to know?? it was there,, i was there,, and now i'm here... what else can i say???" jason shuffled his feet and looked everywhere but directly at bud as he spoke..

"and what if i told you one of the lives that was currently hanging in the balance was your friend,, a miss jessa longo??"

jason quit fidgeting and looked directly at bud.. "jessa?? what the fuck could she have to do with any of this???"

"i know of at least two others who are asking that very question at this very moment... only difference is,,, one of them is willing to kill her to find out....."

Chapter Forty

chapter 40
word count: 653

"Bud, I got the background checks you wanted on Stan White and the others." Red's call interrupted Bud Kramer's turbulent daydream.

"I asked for checks? Must have been a mistake. Forget about it." Bud hung up before Red could respond. He might have been, wished he was, anywhere else. In fact, his old desktop looked oddly unfamiliar, as though it belonged to someone else. Was this the price of losing your honor? Detachment from what used to be familiar and loved.



In a storeroom on the other side of town, Janey shivered, not certain if it was from a draft or sheer terror. She'd been alone for a long time. They'd taken away the man who kidnapped her. Now she sat in the dark, bound by rough ropes and deathly afraid. Thoughts of Bud kept her will to survive alive. Surely they would give her some food soon. She could smell cooking aromas coming from somewhere...garlic, spices, bread baking, even coffee. Her mouth watered. If only they would at least turn on a light. Speaking of "they"--she had no idea who "they" were. Her heart pounded like a racing horse again. She'd had palpitations off and on for hours.

With a creak, the heavy door opened and a bundle dropped to the floor. She shrieked at the heap abandoned in the corner. With the dim light, it was nothing more than a gray mound. A gray mound that moved! And it moaned.

"Oh, goddamn!"

A head rose up from the mass. At least it resembled a head. Even in the dim, Jane could see the face nodded with pain to match the ungodly moans. Was it the man who kidnapped her?

"Are you all right?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Jesus Christ! Do I look all right?"

"I was just asking..."

"A lot of good that does."

"What...what happened to you?" There went her heart again, racing, racing.

"The bastards beat the shit outta me, can't you see that?"

"I guess. It's dark in here."

"Sweetheart, you should be glad. You wouldn't want to see me in good light."

"I guess you're right. I never could stand the sight of blood."

He snorted in return.

Janey studied the sorrowful lump of a man. He certainly didn't seem as dangerous now as when he dragged her screaming from her home. Now he was small, wounded, defenseless, defenseless like her. She relaxed. "Could I ask you something? Why did you kidnap me?"

In the dim light his body went rigid. "It was all about your dear hubby, lady. I needed to control your dear hubby."

"Why?"

"He was getting too close. That's all. He was getting too close."

She and Bud never thought his work would put his family in danger. A medical examiner normally doesn't delve into the violent side of police work. But then, Bud was no normal medical examiner. "Did you commit a crime?"

"YEAH, I COMMITTED A CRIME! Now back off!"

"It must have been a terrible crime. I'm just saying, kidnapping me was an extreme act."

He bolted up. "Are you trying to make me insane?"

"No. Just trying to figure out how I got into this mess, that's all."

"Well, look, little Miss Sweetness and Light, you were nothing more than a pawn in other people's mind games, okay?"

"Okay...So who are the people holding both of us now?"

He was silent for a moment before answering in a husky whisper, "Mafioso."

Her heart took off on the most rambunctious arrhythmias yet. "What?"

"Lady, if I wasn't tied up, I'd get up and pop you one. Are you ever gonna shut up?"

"I'm just saying it looks to me like we are not enemies anymore. We're fellow victims."

"Well, whoopee! You wanna start a club or something?"

"Well, we could help each other. Give each other moral support at least."

"That we should, lady, that we should."

chapter thirty nine

word count: 637

bud punched the redial on his cell,, and just as quickly snapped the phone closed... no... he would not involve "red" in this.. red was a good cop,, a straight cop,, and buds only link to the "real" police force at this point in time.. the less red knew then better.. no telling if they would drag him into this somehow,, and then he would have reds future hanging in the balance as well...

"so tell me ren,, exactly what do we know about this guy,, this di marco???" bud himself knew very little.. he was a guard at the prison, he was pals with stan white,, and more than likely he had in some way been involved,, or at least had knowledge of the whole "baby in the bucket" thing that had gotten them into this mess in the first place....

"well,, i can tell you i know for a fact he is a player.. he has as many friends on the inside as he does on the outside... " ren started,, as he loudly smacked his lips around the tip of each finger in hopes of finding a bit of leftover sugar.... '"he's good at what he does... lots of underlying suspicions,, no proof,, ya know what i mean???"

yeah.. bud knew exactly what he meant.. in fact to him it sounded like ren malleo was reading aloud his own autobiography...

for as long as bud could remember everybody suspected warren "ren" malleo was dirty,, was playing both sides against the middle.. but no one could ever pin anything on him.. he had too many friends.. to many favors out.. too much protection... and it wasn't only on the dark side of his family tree.. he had just as many dirty cops that owed him, as he did compadres...

bud decided he might be handy to have as a partner on this thing after all,, if anyone could crawl up vic di marco's ass,, it was ren malleo.. they were one in the same....

as they pulled into the parking lot of the prison, bud flashed his badge at the guard at the gate.. he had not had the chance to make any of his findings on the case public,, and thus the hierarchy of the DOC had no reason to believe he was not there in his original official capacity...

he would continue with the investigation as if he had never heard of the now deceased, jessica what ever the hell her last name was,, and her virulent lover, stan white... he would forget that he knew that it was them that had conceived not only the fetus itself,, but the plan for its unceremonious burial in a bucket full of used kitchen grease. he would forget that he had seen stan white bound, gagged, hog tied, and beaten on the cold cement floor in the back room of malleos restaurante...he would forget for the moment he had ever heard the name vick fucking dimarco...

but he would not for so much as an instant,, forget that this two faced piece of human shit that was now being forced upon him as his partner, was linked by blood to the bastard that had his beloved janey,, held somewhere against her will,, and would not release her to him,, until he had extracted the highest payment imaginable from bud,, his honor... no that he would not, could not forget...

bud took a deep breath.. he closed his eyes and let some of the homicidal rage that now dwelled within him to be caught up in that breath,, and with it,, exhaled...

he would start at day one.. all the way back.. with the two inmates that originally located the baby in the bucket on the side of the road...

he would start with jason alexander and raul martinez....

chapter thirty eight

Chapter 38
word count: 462

Bud sipped hot coffee before leaning back to take a long look at his new companion, "Ren." So now he was cavorting with the enemy, a bloody cop on the take. The guy's uncle was mafioso. And Ren was nothing more than a quick fix in the department to keep his family's noses clean. Bud's stomach lurched at the prospect of working with the guy. And, now he promised Uncle Frank he would look the other way when Frank needed him to, just like this idiot...shit. He was no better than Ren now.

The cop looked back, a hesitant smile crossing his face. He appeared less than eager to work with Bud. The fellow took a bite from a sugar donut. Ha! The irony...this filthy hand of the mafia, sitting around drinking coffee, eating donuts, and acting like a friendly neighborhood beat cop.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" Ren wiped sugar off his fingers and flipped open a notebook,

"No."

"Well, as I was telling you in the car, I know who we're looking for. I just don't know where they are right now."

"Refresh my memory." You filthy bastard.

"We're looking for Vic DeMarco and a hot little number he picked up off the street, a hooker."

"Splendid."

"You got an attitude problem?"

Bud returned his gaze. The fat ass-hole. Look at him, stuffing his face with donuts. The man was a poster boy for weakness and lack of discipline. It was hard to believe the guy had such ruthless relatives. The choir boy innocence had worked, though, getting him a job on the force. Who could believe he had blood on his hands?

Then he remembered why he was doing this. Janey's face wafted through his mind, and the picture Uncle Frank had shown him, the one where her beautiful eyes looked out, begging for rescue. "So when did you talk to him last?"

"He called me on his cell phone for an update. I told him what had happened, how Uncle Frank had your wife and Stan. He went ballistic. He wanted them."

"What for?"

"I'm not sure if he is on a power binge or if there's some reason he needs a bargaining tool." Ren took another bite of donut, and continued, answering with his mouth full. "I've never quite understood the guy. A lot of skeletons in his closet."

Bud's heart clouded. "My wife is in the middle of this.You mean he wants a bargaining chip against me?"

"I don't know. You got anything on him?"

"Who the hell is he?"

"Security at the prison. You know him."

Bud gulped his coffee. Of course, that Vic DeMarco. We're back to the prison again. "Did he have anything to do with those canisters that were found?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Well, let's find out."

chapter thirty seven

word count: 641

"so when do i get to see janey?" bud asked,, knowing full well it would never be that easy...

"not so fast,, my new friend..." uncle frank laughed under his breath,, as he rolled his cigar in the ashtray,, he pushed the ashes around with the stub of his cigar... pondering the ashes as if what he was about to say was hidden in there somewhere,, and he had to find it....

finally he lifted his head,, looked directly at bud and smiled knowingly...

"you understand,, of course," he spoke slowly and distinctly,, "that there are certain aspects of this most recent,, shall we call it,, 'chain of events',, that concern me greatly...." he paused,, exhaled and continued,, "not the least of which is the unfortunate passing of my beloved nephew,, ruben. may he rest in peace...." he made the sign of the cross ,, glanced up,, as if into the heavens,, and then returned his gaze to bud....

"it has been brought to my attention,, that the piece of shit that we found in possession of your lovely wife,, more than likely perpetrated the untimely demise of my dear departed nephew,, as well..." he took a deep breath,, leaned forward on his desk,, settling his chin into the crook between his thumb and forefinger,, and stared directly into buds eyes...

"however,, i,, much like you ,, my friend,, prefer never to jump to hasty a conclusion... i want facts.. physical evidence even where ever possible... an eyewitness perhaps??? and that,, as i am sure you can see,, is where you come into all of this....."

"a friend of mine,, a trusted friend,, has led me to believe that there were others present,, there in the the moments that my ruben drew his final breath... others that can confirm or deny my suspicions,, and thus cut short this period of,, well,, indecision...."

"given your degree of expertise as a detective,, and your intimate knowledge of the point of origination of this atrocity,," he looked knowingly at bud,, causing bud to wonder if in fact he was privy to information concerning the investigation from which all of this had eroded.. "and your,, shall we say,, 'connections'? i have decided that you will be the one to find these 'others',, and bring them here to me... i want you to find them.. i want them delivered to me,, personally.. and i want them,, with in twenty four hours..."

"if and when you comply with my wishes,, i will reunite you with your wife.. and not until.." as he finished his statement uncle frank pushed back his chair,, stood and walked to the door.. for an instant bud thought that was it,, he was going to open the door and usher him out...

instead, as uncle frank opened the door,, he heard him confer briefly,, in hushed tones,, with one of his associates that stood just outside the door...

bud heard the sound of footsteps,, someone walking away? then silence.. finally the returning sound of footsteps,, but this time,, it was more than one set of footsteps,, and they were walking toward the door....

"uncle frank,," bud recognized a familiar voice as it broke the previously dead silence...

"come in,, please... i've been expecting you ... so glad you could join us.." uncle frank greeted the familiar voice warmly,, with an audible kiss on each cheek...

the two of entered the room and the door was closed behind them...they moved toward bud,, who was still seated in silence,, facing uncle franks enormous mahogany desk.. as they walked to the front of the desk and into buds field of vision uncle frank used his hand to signify his desire for bud to stand and greet the newcomer...

"detective," uncle frank smiled as he winked at his guest, " i believe you know my nephew,, my brother wally's oldest son,, warren..."

chapter thirty six

word count: 690

The exterior of Malleo's hadn't changed through generations of the family. Father passed it to son and each succeeding generation kept that facade of their life and "business" the same. Bud remembered when he was just a kid standing across the street watching limousines drop off well-heeled "customers." If not them, then dirty skinny degenerate types oozed through the front door like dirty water after a storm, looking over their shoulders in fear with hands trembling. To be succinct, even little Buddy knew something was going on behind those heavy oak doors. Something bad, very bad.

Bud kept those ghostly memories with him as he stepped in Malleo's Ristorante that afternoon. A waitress shot him a startled look and turned her head in alarm to a fellow seated at a table in the corner. He put down his wine and bolted toward the offices in the back.

"I'd like to see Uncle Frank." He stood calmly while nailing the waitress to the floor with his eyes.

"Um...yeah, sure. Tony's seein' about it...Mr. Kramer."

They knew who he was. Not surprising. Everyone in town knew Bud Kramer and his ghastly disposition coupled with astute detective skills. The nightly news had seen to that. They were enamored by his flair, his problem-solving. He always surprised.

"Mr. Kramer..."

Tony escorted him to the back through a darkened hallway. Bud felt thick expensive carpet under his feet. It was too dim to see what color it was. Maybe brown, maybe dark red...like the dried-up blood of Uncle Frank's enemies. A light at the end of the hallway drew them in. A huge man sat hunched over a desk, cigar perched in his fat fingers.

"Mr. Kramer."

"Actually it's Dr. Kramer. I'm a doctor, a pathologist."

"Whatever. Have a seat." He paused, eyeing Bud from top to bottom. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Not many people set Bud's heart to racing, wanting to flee, but Uncle Frank did. The giant man telegraphed a great many bad things. Disdain for others, sinful pride, decadence, blood lust, greed, a rejection of normal values of respect and love for neighbor, replaced with a soldier-like warped view of reality where anyone and everyone else is the enemy and justified to be killed if necessary. He was dirty. Evil. Sick.

"I think we may be looking for the same culprit, the guy who killed your boy Reuben."

"Is that right?"

"Well, I'm looking for him, too."

The big man shifted in his seat, making the overworked old chair squeak. "Don't you think you ought to be looking for your wife?" he asked.

Bud's world came crashing through. Janie! What the hell did this thug know about Jane? Uncle Frank leered back at him, his bulbous face grinning, shooting off sparks of evil glee. Bud lunged at the man; all he could see was black rage. He wanted to kill. But heavy hands held him back. Uncle Frank's minions had popped out of the woodwork.

"You bastard! What do you know about Jane?"

"This." Uncle Frank dangled a photo in front of his eyes. It was a photo of Jane, seated in her wheel chair, ropes wrapped around her, her face contorted by fear.

He pushed against the hands that held him and roared, an unhuman growl. All that he held precious in the world was in the hands of this monster. He had to get her back.

"'Doctor' Kramer, we need to make a deal. Wouldn't you agree?" Uncle Frank took a long puff off his cigar and blew smoke in Bud's face.

Bud looked back. His blood skidding through his veins in a race to parts unknown. His head swirled like he'd stepped into another universe with different colors and thinner air, one where the standard rules certainly no longer apply. Jane! He had to get Jane back! Her face in the photo haunted him. She looked so lost.

"Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want." And so, Bud Kramer, the last honest man, went down in flames.

"From now on, you're one of my boys, you got that?" Uncle Frank said.

chapter thirty five

word count: 582

bud took a deep cleansing breath and allowed his logical,,calculating mind to put some of the pieces of this puzzle together..

we had the dead girl,, the mother of the child,, jessica whatever her name was... a scared,, beaten imp of a girl,, that had worked in the cafeteria of the prison...

enter,, stan white,, prison guard,, fit for the father,,, he was there in the fore of the whole thing.. had access to the buckets as they seemingly appeared and disappeared like a magicians trick,, somehow in the safe confines of the doc..... yes,, bud believed he could make that happen...he had also been m.i.a.. since the finding of jessica's body..

bud could see it all so clearly now,, white had panicked,, when he had closed in on the woman,, and offed her in an effort to shut her up.. ok,, that fit too...

so far as bud could deduce thru the grieve soaked haze in which he was presently mired... white had been the missing piece in every thing so far,, well everything accept the dead junky.. sargent "ren" malleo's brother reuben,, how did white tie in??

there had to be something... something that bud was missing,, something that tied stan white to that murder,, coincidence was not a word bud believed existed for any good reason other than to provide the inept with an easy explanation,,, and mired in grief tho he was he was definitely not inept...

his mind cleared,, his heart raced.. he could feel it,, he was on to something,, all these years on the force had taught him one very important thing... your gut don't lie...

he picked up the phone and called the station.. he ordered a full background on everyone he knew to be involved,, stan white his partner vic di marco,, the girl, the confirmed mother of the fetus, jessica.. why the hell couldn't he remember her last name??? reuben malleo, deceased,, warren "ren" malleo ,, just because the guy hung his shingle out proclaiming himself to be a cop,, did not relieve him of being a suspect.. especially now,, with a dead brother and his mafioso ties...

"why hadn't bud seen the connection before??" he had had "ren" there with him in the parking lot,, the murder scene,, he had allowed himself to be blinded by sentiment,, and that fucking blind spot had provided exactly the the window that someone needed to crash into his home,, invade his world,, and kidnap his beloved janie...

bud worked it thru,, "ren" was a cop,, he was gonna be easy to keep tabs on ,, his brother was dead,, stan white was out there somewhere,, more than likely with his precious wife.. that left vic dimarco,, unaccounted for..

bud grabbed the phone and made a call to his partner,, red,, "vic di marco.. find him.. you can reach me on my cell..." he barked into the phone,, and snapped it closed.

that left the final piece... the yacovella family...

the family was more than likely gunning for who ever it was they suspected of killing "one of their own" no matter how many times removed... and if bud knew "uncle frank" like he thought he did ,, he knew his criminal mind had latched onto this whole stan white thing long ago,, as he had been unaddled by the wave of grief bud himself had succumbed to,, and not lost out on precious time...

bud grabbed his keys.. he knew now what the next step had to be... malleos restaurante.. he had to get to uncle frank....