Larry scooted to Gilda’s side. As he spoke and his head bobbed back and forth. His excitement was evident. I didn’t know if it concerned the show or something else, so I slowly made my way around the room to find out.
Standing before a painting about two feet away from Gilda and Larry, I listened to their conversation. “This show is going so well, Gilda . . . I can’t thank you enough.” Larry bubbled over with enthusiasm.
Laughter followed her words of encouragement and I relaxed. I started to turn back the way I had come and bumped into Tony Jabroni.
“Oomph!” I said as I bounced off the man.
“Hello, Miss Esposito, how are you this fine evening?” Jabroni’s gruff voice chilled me to the bone.
“G-Great, uh . . . just great. And h-h-how are y-y-you?” I stammered, trying not to sweat.
“Your friend Larry has real talent. He should make a bundle from the show. You must be happy for him.”
I could only nod.
“My wife thinks he’s the best artist she’s ever seen. I gotta buy a bunch of this stuff for the house just to shut her up.” He shook his head and grimaced.
“She has good taste, then,” I said and glanced around, hoping to be rescued by Aaron. He was across the room with his back to me, so I turned to Jabroni just in time to see him catch a glance from his wife. He moved away from me without a word.
Excused, I wandered toward Porter Anderson and Lola. They chatted in quiet undertones while I stood off to the side listening. They seemed to have no idea I was even in the same room, never mind this universe. Ah well, who’d have thought they would hit it off so well? I grinned and moved on to the next painting.
Muted blues and purples splashed across the canvas. The tones relaxed my nerves, allowing my pulse to return to normal. Jabroni had had an adverse effect on me. There was no doubt about it.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Lola move in the direction of the restrooms. They were hidden at the back of the gallery down a corridor with brick walls on either side. Tall leafy plants covered the wall that held a small sign indicating the rooms. Men went to the door at the end of the corridor, women, the first door to the right.
Lola stopped short before she fully turned the corner, her hand fluttering at her throat. She turned around and I could see her face again. Something was wrong. Huge, scared eyes swept the room as Lola searched for me. Her face drained of color, her head tipped, motioning for me to join her. As I crossed the floor, I watched her disappear again behind the brick wall. When I arrived, Lola was kneeling beside the body of a man. A man who did not move.
Jabroni lay on the floor, a knife handle protruding from his shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound. My stomach clenched at the sight of the rich red color. I felt my guts heave while my skin grew clammy. I couldn’t move. I stared in shock at the body for another second or two.
“What the hell?” I muttered and knelt across from Lola, near Jabroni’s side, to check for a pulse. “Call for help, Lola.”
Her dark eyes focused on me, but she didn’t move.
“Lola, call for help, I said.” I shook her shoulder and heard a footstep behind me.
“Did you say something, beautiful?” Aaron’s rich voice asked. When he saw what had our attention, he kneeled next to me, took a look at the body, and rose quickly.
“He’s still alive,” I said.
“Get a rescue here, right now,” Aaron murmured.
I turned from the floor and glanced up at Aaron. With the cell phone clenched in his hand, Aaron’s face was a mask as he spoke into the small unit. Unable to tell if he was angry or what his thoughts were, I turned back to Jabroni. Unconscious and losing blood, he’d grown pale as his life drained from his body.
Lola’s eyes glazed over. She shook her head to clear her thoughts—or so it seemed. Her gaze settled on me and she asked, “Is this what your life is like all the time?”
With a nod, I stood up, caught Porter’s attention, and motioned for him to come over. Quickly assessing the situation, he took Lola away from Jabroni’s body. She couldn’t seem to move on her own. With his hand on her arm, Porter gently pulled Lola from the scene.
A flurry of activity accompanied the arrival of rescue personnel, hustling through the gallery with a crash kit, a stretcher, and an oxygen bottle. I stepped aside for the crew to scoop the mob boss up from the floor and rush him out the door. A red stain marred the high-end carpet. It was then that my stomach complained again and I rushed into the restroom to throw up.
After I had washed my face, and gotten my wits about me, I headed back into the gallery. Aaron stood in the corridor awaiting my return. His face showed concern for my well-being . . . at least that’s what I hoped it was for.
“Are you all right?” he asked with his hand on my arm.
“Yeah.” I smoothed my hair away from my face and realized I had probably ruined my make-up, my hair-do, and the evening.
“Where is Mrs. Jabroni, do you know?”
My glance rose to his face as I considered the whereabouts of Mrs. Jabroni.
“She’s not in the ladies’ room, Aaron. I haven’t seen her for a while, but I haven’t paid attention either.”
“It wasn’t up to you to watch her. My people should have done that, but they didn’t.” His gaze swept the room. It was a sure bet someone would get their ass chewed out before the night was over. For once, it wouldn’t be me.
“The police have arrived. They’ll want to speak with you and Lola, since you found him.” Aaron’s hand tightened on my arm as he escorted me to the center of the gallery.
Porter Anderson and a couple of detectives I hadn’t met, waited for us to join them. Porter asked Gilda if we could use her office. Her answer was curt and she stared at me with something akin to hatred. How I had become the guilty one, I couldn’t say. I just knew that if looks could kill, Gilda’s would have struck me dead.
When I stepped forward to offer words of comfort, Gilda stiffened. Porter stepped between us. My inner voice started to rant and rave about my safety. Don’t do anything rash, just tell the truth, and stay away from that woman. The police will handle things. Be honest, no lies. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I glanced at Lola and placed an arm around her shoulder as we walked to the office.
When we entered the cramped space, three detectives waited. Lola and I settled in for the long haul. I knew it would be a question and answer period with the same story being told over and over. After all, I teach criminal justice, so I know the drill. I teach cops to be cops, so why wouldn’t I know what to expect?
“Miss Esposito, tell us what happened.” The lead detective leaned against the corner of the mahogany desk and chewed a wad of gum.
In a matter of seconds, I explained how Lola had found Jabroni and what had taken place after that. His eyes flicked between Lola and me. He nodded, but never uttered a sound.
Another detective recorded things on a tiny notepad that disappeared within his large hand. His pen scribbled as I spoke. He glanced at the other detectives and then at Porter.
“Porter, did you hear anything at all? An argument of sorts, maybe?”
With a shake of his head, Porter said he hadn’t seen or heard anything in the form of a disagreement. He hadn’t even heard Jabroni fall to the floor.
I thought about that for a second.
“The floor is carpeted right up to the restroom doors. Maybe that’s why he didn’t make any noise.”
“How long do you think he was there, Vinnie?” Porter asked.
“Not too long since he hadn’t bled onto the carpet when I arrived. His clothes had absorbed most of the blood until then, even though it was still flowing.”
“Did you or Ms. Trapezi touch the weapon?”
“Do we look stupid?” I countered.
“Not at all,” Porter said. “I had to ask. You understand that, right?”
“Yes, I understand.” I sighed and ran a hand over my forehead. “Has anyone found Mrs. Jabroni yet? How about the guy she was with?”
“We’re asking the questions here, ma’am,” said the lead detective. “We don’t answer them.”
“Give me a ration of shit and you’ll speak to Lola’s and my attorney,” I said as my Italian attitude slid into place.
Not one word had come from Lola until I got smart-mouthed with the detective.
“Look, I found the man. He’d been stabbed. I panicked and motioned for Vinnie to come to my aid. Then Aaron Grant came up behind us.” Her voice cracked a bit and she took a deep breath. “Vinnie told you all that. It’s the truth, so knock off the bullshit, okay?”
Porter stepped forward and laid a hand on Lola’s shoulder.
“Ambrose, cut the shit. Vinnie and Lola are willing to help us with this investigation, so don’t piss them off.”
My nerves tightened even though Ambrose snorted and backed off a bit. Another detective leaned against the wall near the door. He stared at me before he asked about my association with Jabroni.
“He had hired my friend, Larry, the artist featured here tonight, to do some work at his house a while ago. Larry asked me to help, so I did. Other than that, I have no association with Jabroni.”
So I lied—so what? Life would get way too complicated if I told the truth.
He nodded and asked Lola the same question. She mumbled that she didn’t know Jabroni at all. Again the detective nodded. It was impossible to tell if he believed either of us.
“We’ll wrap it up for tonight, but we might have some questions for you tomorrow . . . both of you. You’ll be available?” Ambrose, the detective asked.
“Yes, we’ll be around,” I said with a nod.
Lola nodded and rose from the chair. Her hands shook as she smoothed her outfit before she turned toward the door. I glanced over her head as the door opened. Guests still remained in the gallery. The cops were in the process of questioning everyone while crime scene people had taken control of the hallway to the restrooms.
Across the gallery, Larry stood alone in front of the floral painting that Jabroni had admired. He wrung his hands while his bald head bobbed around. He looked pretty distraught from here and I knew he was upset. Sadness for him filled my heart. This evening had been special for Larry. I couldn’t help feeling responsible somehow for it being ruined.
How can you blame yourself for ruining this show? You didn’t stab Jabroni. My little voice ranted as I sighed long and heavy. I gazed about the gallery. The show was obviously over, the night was shot, and I was depressed. Damn, I hate when that happens.
In a matter of seconds, Aaron stood at my side. He draped my coat over my shoulders and advised me to leave immediately. I glanced up into his darker-than-usual, intense eyes. The man had a serious look on his face. For some reason, unknown to me, anger burned in his eyes, and I suddenly became nervous. In silence, I nodded, crossed the room, and extended my sympathies to Larry for the tragic episode. Before leaving, I promised to call him in the morning.
“Do you think Jabroni will make it, Vin?” Larry asked in a soft voice.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Try not to dwell on the incident. It won’t do you any good,” I answered, my hand on his arm. “If you want to call me later, please do. I’ll be home.”
His nod was followed by a swift peck on my cheek. I smiled and left Larry standing alone and helpless, like a drowning man. Guilt filled my gut over his ruined opening, Jabroni’s stabbing, and the cops’ attitudes toward everyone. Bad luck seemed to follow me wherever I went.
Outside, a frigid wind blew in off the Providence River. The moon glittered across rippled waves that lapped against stone walls. I glanced up and thought again how cold the moon looked suspended in the night sky. A shiver ran over my body as I descended the gallery stairs and hurried to the car. Aaron followed close behind, his hand cupping my elbow.
“Go straight home. No detours, understand?” he ordered in an ominous tone. “There’s a killer on the loose and I want you safe and sound—got it?”
“Got it.”
When the motor turned over, Aaron stepped away from the car. He watched as I drove from the lot. When I glanced in the rear-view mirror, I saw him return to the building. It would be a long, arduous night for everyone left behind.
The one-way street curved around to Wickendon Street. I headed into the downtown district of Providence. At the light, I took a left toward the hospital where Jabroni had probably been taken. Rhode Island Hospital’s trauma center is considered one of the best in the Northeast.
Eddy Street is quiet at night. At least until the bars close, then all hell breaks loose. I swung into the emergency department parking lot and locked the car before heading into the trauma center. The place was packed with people waiting for their loved ones, or others, to leave the treatment section.
I made my way through the crowd to the front desk and came upon a windowed cubicle. The heavyset woman behind the thick glass glanced up at me with a resigned look on her face.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Mr. Jabroni was brought in with a stab wound to the chest. I wondered if he is still alive?”
“Are you related, ma’am?”
“Um, well, yes, I’m his daughter. My mother is on her way in now.” I tried to stammer a bit to appear nervous and worried about my . . . father. Watching her face, I was uncertain as to whether it was working or not.
The resigned look didn’t change. The woman lifted a phone and murmured into it. She replaced the phone in the cradle and said, “Security will escort you into the trauma room where Mr. Jabroni has been seen. Please take a seat.”
She hadn’t said he was dead or alive. That’s when anxiety took hold.