Chapter 11
On Monday morning, Conley watched crowds funnel up the wide steps of St. Rita’s Church for Tommy Lopez’s funeral, and squeezed the thick manila envelope in his hand. The mourners angled toward the double front doors, waiting in a queue to step inside. Snowflakes fell on them and clung, as if trying to brighten dark suits and topcoats. The high-pitched chime of a bell sounded three times from inside the church, and its doors closed.
Stefanos and Kendricks watched too, from an unmarked car across the street, breath fogging the windows. Conley snuck toward them, stepped into a doorway hidden from view, and strained to listen to their conversation through Lloyd’s partially-open window.
“Big funeral, Captain.”
“They’re not called funerals anymore. This is a celebration of Tommy’s life.”
“Shee-it,” Kendricks said. “I fucked up. Here I been celebrating his death for three days now.”
He started the car. Stefanos threw binoculars into the glove compartment. Conley opened the back door of the cruiser and slid onto the seat.
“Conley?” they erupted in unison.
Conley sat back, legs spread wide, jacket open, the manila envelope against his chest.
“Nippy out there.”
“We’re on surveillance,” Stefanos said. “Get your ass out of here.”
“Are you guys aware you’re supposed to sit inside the church at a Catholic funeral?”
Kendricks lifted his chin at Conley’s cuts and bruises. “Looks like you make friends everywhere you go.”
“I’m guessing you don’t care who murdered Tommy the Dog. You’re here because you think it will help solve Victor Rodriguez’s murder.”
Kendricks answered. “And I say maybe you ain’t as smart of a guesser as you think you are.”
“Victor was a wealthy man. Influential. Well-known. Must be a lot of pressure on you guys to show some progress.”
“How ʼbout you and me step outside and I make some progress kicking your ass?” Kendricks offered.
Stefanos held his hand up.
“But Captain, he’s already beat to shit. I can rough this motherfucker up and get away with it ’cause he already looks like hamburger.”
Conley waved the envelope in the air. Clasp was open and the yellow strings hung down.
“What’s that?” Stefanos asked.
“Victor Rodriguez had a secret. He was into some strange stuff. Dangerous people threatened him.”
“Who’s your source?”
“Let’s just say it’s been confirmed by an authority.”
Kendricks reached out and tried to swipe the package. Conley pulled it back.
“Whoa,” Stefanos said, “Relax, Lloyd. Keep going, Conley.”
“That’s it. Not telling you any more, Captain.”
“Beating’s still on the table, sir,” Kendricks said.
“I’m ordering you to give me that information.” Stefanos looked irritated.
“Can’t order me to do shit, sir. I don’t work for you,” Conley said.
Kendricks twisted his body, pushed against the steering wheel with his left hand, and braced his whole right arm over the seat back, ready to launch.
“Of course, if I was on the team,” Conley said, swinging the envelope from side to side, inches from Kendricks’ fingers, “I’d have to share everything I got.”
“No way,” Kendricks protested. “Don’t do it, Captain. He’s got nothing we need.”
The police scanner squawked. The engine rumbled. Heat hissed from the dashboard vents. Cars drove by, washing the accumulating slush of snow on the street and turning it gray.
Kendricks clenched his fists as he waited for the decision, forehead strained into dark lines, eyes pleading. Clench. Unclench. Clench.
“Okay,” Stefanos finally said. “You’re in. Be at the station at five o’clock.” He pointed at the envelope. “Bring that with you.”
Kendricks closed his eyes, rubbed his hand over the short hair on his scalp, and shook his head slowly.
Conley nodded and opened the car door. Cold air and snowflakes blew in and melted on the leather seat. He reached over the seatback and dropped the envelope before he left. “Lloyd can bring it.”
Kendricks seized the bottom of the envelope and emptied the contents. Dozens of circulars fell out. Walmart was having a sale. Two-for-one pizza at Domino’s. Sofa Barn was having a going-out-of-business blowout, and this time they were serious.
Conley left the door open and heard Kendricks as he walked away.
“That guy is one grade A fucking asshole.”
“But he does have style,” Stefanos answered.
****
The snow squall had ended and the sun was shining when Conley parked in front of the condo he and his wife shared—used to share. Hard to think of it as theirs anymore since they’d been living apart. For five weeks now he’d been living a Spartan existence on their cabin cruiser, in the middle of winter no less.
He buzzed in with his keycard and rode the elevator to their place. When Lisa opened the door her eyes went wide.
“Matt, what happened?”
“Reluctant witnesses. Very reluctant.”
The dining room table was covered with paper—election speeches, campaign strategy, posters. He saw a memo from Bill McNulty, her campaign manager. Triple exclamation points, quadruple question marks, words in caps, words double-underlined. The guy was even annoying on paper.
He sank into the couch. She went to the kitchen, silk robe swishing.
“Did you go to the hospital?”
“No. A doctor stitched me on her lunch hour.”
Lisa came back with a warm facecloth. She washed his face gently, dabbed the blue skin, used her finger to work the cloth around the outside of cuts. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the steamy, healing cloth—or was it the warm hand behind it?
“I can’t stay long. We got a lead on the Rodriguez murder.”
“That’s great, Matt.ˮ Her voice hitched. “Honey, I’m so proud of you.” Breathing harder now. “So proud.”
She drew the facecloth behind his ear and worked it down his neck. She unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
“Where’s it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
She smiled. “Really?”
She undressed him as she washed his bruised body. She dropped the facecloth, shrugged her robe off, and lay on him.
Serenity
Was it finally over? Living on the boat, nights falling asleep alone in front of the TV, bizarre counseling sessions with Doctor Larkin?
He hugged her and stared at the vaulted ceiling.
Yellow water stain was still there, souvenir from last fall’s Nor’easter. Needed primer and paint.
Lisa lifted her head and her warm breath was on his face.
Refrigerator was awful noisy.
She kissed him, her wet hair clinging to the sides of his face.
A faucet dripped. Somewhere.
Thank God for small problems Father McCarrick had always told him.
Excellent advice.