My neck was frozen. By mid February the nights in New York were still downright frigid. The thin blanket covering me did nothing to cut the chill. I tried to roll over to close the window but my body wasn’t responding. My eyes popped open and I stared at my own reflection, slightly warped by the convex glass in front of me.
Goddammit to hell. It couldn't have been a dream? A twisted nightmare like something you'd see at a show with the ugly space monsters and the screaming dames. I sighed. I sure as hell wasn't dreaming. I was in a space ship headed to a distant planet far past the nine we know about. It seemed like I had just taken a short nap in this bean shaped glass freezer but judging by the dark stubble on my face I had been in here for a week or more.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're probably thinking I'm a loony toon babbling about space ships and undiscovered planets. Hell, I'd have locked myself up a couple of months ago. We’d just finished the Second World War and had no idea that something that would change the world again was right around the corner. That was before I learned about the aliens. That was before the Seraphim invaded. That was before I almost died.
* * *
I could smell the donuts before I could see them. My favorite were the round chocolate frosted ones. So help me, if they were all gone... I shoved open the door to the Homicide department of the New York City Police Department, 44th Precinct.
"Sammy!" A beanpole standing by the box of donuts smiled a big, toothy grin. He had short, sandy blonde hair and a nose full of freckles. His green eyes sparkled with the sort of enthusiasm that only a kid with no wife, no rugrats, and no mortgage can have.
"How's it hangin, Danny Boy?" I said as I hung up my coat and hat.
"A little to the left today, Sam. Wanna donut?” My partner continued grinning like a goof while holding out a chocolate covered morsel of pure heaven.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” I accepted the offered circle of fried dough and took a big bite. I chewed and swallowed before saying, “I’m down a pound and a half since yesterday!”
Danny quirked an eyebrow at me. “Was that before or after you emptied your bowels?”
“Don’t start with me,” I said through half-chewed donut, crumbs tumbling out of my mouth.
“Richards! MacCarthy! We got a floater!”
I turned to see my boss, Lieutenant Stevens, walking toward us. He was tall, lean, and his legs ate up a lot of ground. His bushy mustache and round glasses made him look like a thinner Teddy Roosevelt.
“Another one? Somebody needs to tell these mooks that it ain’t swimming season.”
The Lieut grabbed a plain glazed donut as he said, “You should get right on that, Richards. The corpse was found early this morning in the Harlem River, down by Macombs Dam Bridge.”
I grabbed another donut. “Let’s hit the road, Danny. You can drive.”
* * *
We pulled up to the crime scene just after 9:00 am. The uniforms had the area cordoned off and were busy keeping the handful of gawkers at bay. I noticed the coroner packing up the wagon. Danny killed the engine and I stepped out of the car. The late August morning was bright, crisp, and quiet except for the light lapping of waves against the river bank.
One officer split away from the rest and came over to us. “Detectives.”
“How you doing, pal. What do we got?”
He took off his hat and scratched his short, black hair. “One body discovered by a lady walking her dog this morning. White male, early 20s, no ID. The lab boys fished him out of the river.”
Danny diligently took notes as the uniform spoke. I just nodded along, filing everything away in my noodle. “Coroner have a cause of death?”
He turned a little green as he said, “Multiple gunshot wounds. The victim was also pretty badly burned.”
My brow furrowed a bit. “Shot and set on fire? Damn, somebody didn’t like this guy. Any witnesses?”
“No. The lady who discovered the body is over there with her dog. We haven’t taken her statement yet.”
“Thanks, we’ll take it from here.” I led the way over to the coroner. “Morning, Jim. How’s the wife?”
The coroner, a weird looking guy with beady eyes and a nose just a little too long for his face, turned as I spoke. “She’s good, Sam. How about yours?”
“Probably cursin a blue streak because I forgot to take out the trash this morning.”
The coroner nodded and smiled. The expression did not make him look any more pleasant. “The dead guy’s a mess.”
“That’s what I hear. Shot and burned?”
“I’d say that’s an understatement. He was shot several times with a large caliber weapon. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a cannon. And burned is the way I grill my steaks. This guy is crispy like he decided to take a walk on the sun.”
“Jesus. Buncha animals in this town. We’ll go have a look. Have a good day, Jim.”
“You too, Sam.”
After all this build-up, I had to see the stiff for myself. I walked up the short embankment and over to the body. Lifting up the sheet, I took a good look. There were three large holes in the poor bastard: two in the chest and one in the stomach. They were big enough to put my fist through. No handgun I knew of could make entry wounds like that so I figured it was a scattergun fired at point-blank range. The strange part was the severe burns around the holes. If this had been a scattergun blast there’d be pink, ragged meat all around the edges. This guy had no pink anywhere. His entire torso was just black, cooked flesh, dark as night and no doubt hard as rock. It smelled a lot like a barbecue.
“Christ almighty, Danny. What the hell is this world coming to that it’s not enough to blow somebody away but you gotta burn em to a crisp, too?”
My partner shook his head as he continued jotting down observations. “Damn shame, Sammy.”
I replaced the sheet and turned to the small group of onlookers. The lady with the dog stood off to the right, flanked by one of the officers. She had a little black terrier on a short leash. Her skin matched the dog’s coat and she pulled her floral housecoat tight with her free hand. I headed over.
“My name is Detective Samuel Richards. This is my partner, Daniel MacCarthy. You mind if we ask you a few questions?”
She nodded.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Roberta Williams.”
“You found the body?”
“Yessir.”
“Do you recognize the victim?”
“I surely do. His name’s Tom Donato, Big Tom’s son.”
Danny scribbled in his notebook.
“Did he have any enemies that you know of that might have wanted him dead?”
“He was mixed up in a bad crowd. Joined at the hip with Vinnie Russo.”
“Any idea where we could find Vinnie?”
“I don’t. But Big Tom might.” She paused and pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. “He lives over on 157th at the Toreador.”
“You sure know a lot about the neighborhood, Mrs. Williams.”
“Toto and I go for a lot of walks.” She smiled.
“Just followin the yellow brick road?” I returned the smile and handed her my card. “Thank you, Mrs. Williams. If you think of anything else please give us a call.”
She nodded again.
Danny and I walked back to the car. I steeled myself to go tell a man that his son was dead.
* * *
Danny parked across the street and we walked up to the main entrance of the Toreador apartment complex. No matter how many times I did this it never got any easier. I searched the directory. Donato, T. was listed at 264. I jabbed the buzzer with my thumb. After a moment a man answered.
“NYPD. Do you mind if we come in?”
“What is this about?”
“We just have a few questions for you about an ongoing investigation. Please buzz us in so we can sit down and talk.”
The intercom clicked off and the buzzer sounded. I opened the door and Danny followed me in. After climbing the stairs to the second floor we walked down the hallway to number 264. The Toreador was built just after the turn of the century and long overdue for renovations. Large sections of wallpaper had been torn away and the carpet was worn. Danny knocked on the door.
Big Tom was not an ironic nickname. The man who opened the door was about six and a half feet tall and broad at the shoulders and chest.
“I’m Detective Samuel Richards; this is my partner, Detective Daniel MacCarthy. Are you Tom Donato?”
“I am. But everyone calls me Big Tom. What can I do for you?”
“If we could come in for a moment, please.”
The big man stepped aside and welcomed us in. The kitchen window was open and a light breeze blew through the apartment. I heard Philo Vance talking to Sergeant Heath about a murder case before Big Tom switched the radio off. A slight woman with long brown hair done up in a bun came out of the kitchen. “What’s this about, Detectives?”
“If you folks could have a seat.” I waited for them to sit before sitting myself. Danny sat next to me on their small couch. “Have you seen your son recently?”
“Yesterday. He went out with his friends last night.”
“Did he say where he was going?” I noticed that Danny had pulled out his notebook.
“Same place he always goes. Bill’s Pool Hall.” Big Tom frowned. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Your son was found this morning. He’s been murdered.”
A bone-chilling wail erupted from Mrs. Donato. Big Tom immediately went to comfort her, his face a mixture of rage, confusion, and sadness. I dropped my eyes and gave them a moment.
Mrs. Donato was hysterical, barely able to get her breath before the next sob wracked her body. Big Tom wrapped her in his arms and turned so he could face us. The sadness and confusion had faded and was now mostly rage. I’d seen the look before. The measure of a man is how well he protects his family. When that protection fails, everyone suffers for it but the man takes it personally. “Do you have a suspect?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. I was wondering if you could tell us where to find Vinnie Russo? Your son and he spent time together, is that right?”
“That worthless piece of shit. I told Tommy he was trouble. I should have showed him the door a long time ago.” His eyes flashed. “Why isn’t he your suspect?”
“We’re still conducting the investigation, sir. If Vinnie killed your son we’ll put him away. Do you have an address for him?”
“My wife probably has it in her address book. Let me get it for you.” Big Tom walked with his wife out of the living area.
I sighed and stood up. Danny walked to the door as he put his notebook away in his coat. Big Tom returned with a slip of paper. “Promise me you’ll find whoever killed Tommy.”
“I promise, Mr. Donato. Killers don’t go free in my city.”
He nodded, the anger in his eyes softening a little.
“Thank you for your time and information, sir. My condolences.” I pulled the brim of my hat lower and headed towards the door. Danny and I walked out to the car. The address Big Tom had given me was downtown on Morris. Gang territory. I told Danny where we were headed and the big block V8 under the hood roared to life. We sped away from the pain and anger that filled the Donato household and towards a neighborhood I’d been many times before. I drew my standard issue sidearm, chambered in .38 Special. I cracked the cylinder open, made sure there were six rounds loaded, and snapped it shut. Then I put the heater back in its holster.
Danny noticed me checking my piece. “Think this could be trouble, Sam?”
“I dunno yet, Danny. Always better to be prepared, though.”
He nodded. “If it does go south where do you want me?”
“Make sure no one gets away, even if it means leaving me to fend for myself. If I go down I don’t want it to be for nothin.”
“Semper Fi, Sammy.”
I smiled at the motto. Danny was a Marine. While I would never understand their gung-ho attitude I appreciated Danny’s dedication and loyalty. He’d probably be storming a beach somewhere if there was still a war on. And if he hadn’t taken a slug in the shoulder from a Kraut a couple of years ago.
We spent the rest of the ride in silence. Danny turned onto Morris and we cruised up the street. The numbers counted down and the place we were looking for was on the right side. Danny parked the car and turned off the key. This part of the city was filled with tiny, cookie cutter, single bedroom bungalows. The short front yards were mostly brown and any fences still up were barely standing and missing several pickets. Vinnie’s house was one of the worst looking shacks on the block. One of the windows was boarded up and the sun-bleached paint was faded and cracked. I nodded to Danny to take the lead.
My partner rapped three times on the door and called, “NYPD. Anybody home?”
We waited for a five count and he knocked again. “NYPD. Vinnie Russo? We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
There was a clatter from inside and a door slammed. We both knew what that meant.
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