J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder (23 page)

“That isn’t as easy as it sounds. He’s a fed. I can’t arrest him on your say so. Just so you know, I believe you, and I’ll look into the allegations.”

“You don’t seem real surprised. Would you happen to have any evidence that points to him?” I asked, but knew the answer.

“I can’t answer that and you know it,” he said with a smirk.

“Right.” I said goodbye and left him sitting in the car alone.

I swung through the drive thru, bought a hot coffee and a jelly donut before I drove home.

Chapter 20

Traffic backed up on the interstate highway as I headed toward the university for the final day of classes. My briefcase bulged with exams, student papers, and information I’d promised to give the wannabes. I checked my watch as traffic halted on the George Washington Bridge. Anxious to keep going and get class underway, I tapped the steering wheel with impatient fingertips. A large vehicle pulled alongside mine as we crept forward inch by inch. Horns honked and my attention focused on the drivers around me.

A trashed, blue Datsun sedan sidled along on one side of my Altima. Two Hispanic males bounced to the loud music emanating through the closed windows. A burgundy mini-van idled behind me. The woman behind the wheel chatted on the phone and smoked a cigarette. To my left, a black Chevy Suburban moved closer and closer, narrowing the space between us to nothing. I leaned on the horn and motioned to the driver hiding behind the deep tinted glass to move away. The car in front of me rolled forward in slow motion, its driver oblivious to what was happening in my lane.

Again, I blew the horn and gestured for the Suburban to back off. The truck was so tall, I wasn’t sure the driver could see me. The front bumper on the massive vehicle ground against the fender of my car. I inched sideways to get away, but the ancient Datsun was in the way. I was reluctant to hit it.

With nowhere to go, I stood on the brakes and flipped the signal lever. Moving to the right, I squeezed over. The Suburban slid into the lane as I left it. Traffic snarled, drivers honked, hand gestures prevailed, and yelling went on behind car windshields. Couldn’t these people see that I was being attacked by the giant SUV? God Almighty, I was gonna get squashed! Help me, somebody, please? No luck today.

Whatever had held up the car-filled lanes ahead suddenly disappeared, and traffic moved off in a rush. The only vehicle that had me worried was the black beast now in front of me. I couldn’t escape it. There was no way to avoid the monster as it swerved back and forth when I did. The driver tapped his brakes every other second.

Frustration built as I tried to escape the truck. The long black body, and high cab, of the Suburban made my vehicle small and insignificant by comparison. There was only one way to avoid this truck. I had to speed up and scoot around it. At least, that’s what I thought.

I slammed hard on the gas pedal, and whipped into the high speed lane. I cut off two other vehicles to zoom ahead of the pack of cars. A glance in the rearview mirror left me with a sense of doom. Instead of the black monster being left in my dust, the driver had moved along in the low speed lane at the same rate that I traveled in the high-speed lane.

My exit loomed ahead and I swung toward it, across three lanes. The Suburban slowed and followed not far behind. I kept my eye on it and the road alternately. Hastily, I traveled toward the school. The parking lot of the university came into view. I swung onto school grounds with the giant on my tail.

I had started to sweat, my moist hands slipping on the steering wheel, my mouth dry as the desert. Who would help me now? Why was I being stalked by this great beastie, and who was the driver? Scared to find out, I still wanted to know. Within seconds, I had made the decision to take a stand and face down the idiot who tracked me and had scraped the fender on my car. Anger raced through my veins at the thought of the repair cost and my insurance rates hiking out of sight.

Tires screeched as I slammed on the brakes. In two seconds, I was out of the car leaning against the door with my arms folded. To hell with caution, I was mad, and somebody was about to pay for that anger.

The truck slowed about twenty feet away. The engine raced for a few seconds before the driver turned the wheel and left the lot the same way he’d come. Pissed off, I jumped into the car and raced after it.
Not so fast, buddy
. Anger seethed as I pulled out of the lot and hauled ass down the road in hot pursuit. The truck moved at an incredible speed, diminishing in size as it roared away. I managed to get the license plate number of the truck before I slowed down and turned around to head back to school.

Reasons for the attack ran through my mind as I idled into a parking spot in the university lot. I shut down the engine and sat quietly for a moment in an effort to calm down and collect my thoughts. The incident had rattled me a tad, but the class waited. Coffee in one hand and briefcase in the other, I got out of the car. My adrenaline rush was over. A soggy blanket of deflation hung over me.

Within minutes, I entered the classroom filled with students ready to break for the holidays. I couldn’t blame them for their excitement, and tried my best to paste a smile on my face.

Detective Anderson slouched in a chair at the end of the second row. It was the same seat he always chose, a seat that lent him a clear view of the entire room and me. I nodded to him and slipped the heavy case onto the front desk. He smiled, but I could see a question in his gray eyes. Honestly, the man missed nothing.

Once exam papers were given and the grading process explained, I left the students to answer the hundred multiple choice questions. I settled in the chair at the front of the room to drink my coffee in peace. A half-hour passed with no sound except the rustle of papers as students flipped through exam pages.

One by one they finished, and got up to drop the sheets on my desk. In turn, I handed them the results of their final written essay. The essay was a four-page, double-spaced opinion, based on a court case that concerned a previous Mayor of Providence who’d been indicted by the FBI and spent hard time in federal prison for his actions. The varied degrees of agreement or disagreement with the court decision, sentencing the man to prison, had been a joy to read. In the time he’d been in power, the former mayor had done a lot for the City of Providence. He’d brought prosperity to the city, rejuvenated dilapidated homes in poor neighborhoods, and implemented programs for the less fortunate. In the long run, though, he’d been found guilty of things that weren’t so wonderful.

As the class progressed, and the students finished up, they returned to their seats to await dismissal. It was a half-an-hour before everyone had finished the exams, and received their essays back. We discussed the opinions stated, which then provoked a heated argument between the cops and the security personnel, including a law student, who’d taken the class as an elective. I sat back and listened to all sides of the arguments until it looked like my kindergarteners were about to come unglued.

My arms lifted high, I loudly asked the group to calm down and reflect on everyone else’s thoughts without dissent. I had their attention as I flipped my hair off my shoulders and ran my hands through the heavy curls. Anderson sat up straight, his eyes glued to me.

I smiled and thanked the students for their work on the topic. The police woman in the front row mumbled something to her neighbor. I zeroed in on her and asked what her thoughts were. It didn’t take long for me to realize she was an avid defender of the mayor, which in turn brought snide remarks from the back of the room. She used a few four-letter words, flipped the other cop off, and smirked when he responded in kind. Like I said, they’re like kids in adult bodies, with the right to carry firearms and other weapons.

After the conversation over the mayor and his behavior was finished, I dismissed the class with warm wishes for a safe holiday. As they bounded from the room with good-spirited jeers at one another, I concluded they were a tough crowd by any stretch of the imagination, but I enjoyed them.

My briefcase packed with exams, I glanced at Detective Anderson who slouched against the door-jamb. He stood at ease, relaxed, eyes on me, waiting. I would miss him when he no longer attended classes. He instinctively knew when there were issues, unlike the other students who had to put in their time to graduate.

I met him at the door and we strolled from the building together. He didn’t utter a sound and neither did I until we were in the parking lot. It was nice not to be drilled right away, though it was inevitable.

Porter gave me a sideways glance. “You must be glad that this session is over, Vin.”

“In one way, I am, but in another, I miss the daily activity and challenge of teaching.”

“Mmm.”

I turned toward him with a grin. “You’re almost finished with your degree, huh?”

“Next spring.” Porter peered around the lot until he saw my car. “What happened to the fender on your car?”

In a hurry to get to class, I hadn’t stopped to assess the damage to the fender, but I did so now.

“A Suburban got aggressive on the highway this morning,” I said.

“Did you get a number?”

“Yeah, Rhode Island 76015, commercial, black, Chevy Suburban, fairly new.”

He nodded, and I knew he’d run the registration.

“Did you see the driver?”

“The windows were tinted, but the driver followed me here.” I explained my actions and those of the driver.

“You realize you were asking for trouble, don’t you?”

“Mmm, my Italian temper took over.”

He shook his head as he stared at me. Porter’s gray eyes crinkled at the corners when he broke into a grin. I smiled at the cop who had saved my butt on more than one occasion.

“Are you in a hurry?” I asked.

“Nah, just got some reports to do. Then I’m off for more fun in the city with all the criminals who’ll act up over the holidays. There will be jumpers, swan divers, overdoses, and the usual Christmas time upheaval.” He heaved a sigh and glanced around the parking lot.

“Let me take you to lunch. I could use some food and good company.” I smiled at him. I thought about the people who tried to commit suicide during the holidays by diving off buildings. A sad state of affairs, but it happened often.

Eyebrows shot upward as he focused on me once again.

“Really? You’ll buy me lunch? Not McDonald’s, right?” Porter smirked.

I laughed. “No, not McDonald’s. How about Chinese food?”

“Sure, sounds great,” Porter said with a smile. “I’ll follow you.” He headed toward his car, and I got into mine.

At the rotary, I swung into traffic and headed to Bristol. A small Chinese restaurant, famous for its natural ingredients, sat on the corner of Pine and Wilmington. At the traffic light, I turned left and parked on the street. Porter slid up behind me, left his car, and we headed across the street together.

We’d reached the center-line on the one-way street when I glanced up at a car bearing down on us. Porter grabbed my arm and hauled me to safety. Two punks yelled obscenities and flipped us off as they roared through traffic without slowing down.

Blood pumped through my system like hell on wheels. I stood clasped in Porter Anderson’s arms for a moment until I realized where I was and with whom. Disengaging myself from his clutches, I tried to grin.

“Whew, that was close, huh?” It sounded stupid, even to my ears.

“Is that all you can say?” Porter stared at me with angry eyes.

“What am I supposed to say?” I asked in a snarky tone. “Gee, that was a wonderful trip across the street, thanks? Or, how about this, ‘Glad you were on hand for that quick response?’”

A tiny smile hovered on his lips as he continued to glare at me. It was more than I could stand. I chuckled out loud and straightened my jacket.

“Welcome to my world, Detective.” It was all I could think of to say.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He grimaced, grasped my arm, and opened the door to the restaurant. “You can explain this morning’s incident to me again. Then maybe we can come up with an idea as to why you’re being threatened.”

The only table available was in the rear of the restaurant near the restrooms. With my luck, someone would take a horrendous shit and the smell would ruin my appetite. We settled in and ordered drinks. The waiter spoke little English, yet bobbed his head up and down in agreement to our requests.

When he’d scooted toward the kitchen, I turned my gaze to Porter and explained my latest activities. He listened with rapt attention, his eyes never swayed from my face, and he didn’t seem to blink, either. When I finished my tale, he thoughtfully leaned back in the chair.

“What I’d like to know is who’s so interested in the senior center?” Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “If money is laundered through it, and we know for certain that it has been in the past, how did Iva Lindon get her hands on so much cash and where did it come from? The other thing I figure is that the two women’s deaths are related. One woman stole from the mob and the other stole from her.”

“That sounds about right. The problem being my mother was dragged into it. Now, I wonder if her life is in jeopardy. She had the journal from Iva Lindon, but I gave it to Marcus along with the wads of cash I found in Iva’s closet.”

“So you think this guy, Raphael, is mixed up in this? He’s a fed, right? Are you certain he’s double timing, or is this just suspicion on your part?” Porter smiled when he made the remark. We both realized that I jump to conclusions without proof.

My eyes narrowed, but I smiled anyhow. “I do know for certain. First my father told me, then Marcus confirmed it, and then Lola said that Rafe’s working with the FBI. I’m also certain, without real hard proof, mind you, that he’s involved with the mob.”

“That’s a tricky business. If one of them gets wind of his activities, he’s screwed. I’m sure he knows it. Does Raphael strike you as a person who enjoys life on the edge?”

“No, he doesn’t. If anything, he seems cautious. Rafe’s a damned good liar though, so who knows for sure. He may have skillful acting abilities to go along with his lies.” I chuckled at the thought of Rafe accepting an Oscar and felt full blown laughter coming on.