Momma Lupe, Book 1 in the Ty Connell 'Novella Series. A Mystery/Suspense Thriller. Cooking or killing -- Momma Had Her Funny WAys

Copyrighted Material

This is a work of fiction. While some events
and characters may be based in some part on real news events, the
names, characters, places, and incidents herein are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales
is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Michael C. Hughes

All rights reserved. In accordance with the
U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic
sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the
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book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission
must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected].
Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

First edition: January 2016

ISBN: 9781311371225

© Michael Hughes, Toronto, 2015

“Ma was sadistic. A stone killer. I think she enjoyed
it. Watching.”

Connell was doing the talking, leaned back in
the detective department of the C-11, Boston PD, a uniformed rookie
from traffic asking the questions.

“It was like she, herself, was already dead
inside and that was the only thing left,” he said. “To destroy
other people. One of the most disturbing individuals you’re ever
likely to come across.”

The rookie was curious and a little
surprised.

“You actually met her?”

“No. Hardly anyone outside her circle ever
met her. She didn’t go out much. Spent most of her life in her
kitchen. I just pieced it all together from interviews with those
who had. Statements people made. Intel from sources.”

Connell fell silent for a moment, thinking
back to it all.

“I heard it was more than a dozen girls
disappeared around her,” the other fellow said.

Connell nodded. “That we know of. Confirmed.
Some males as well. I’m sure more we don’t know about. Maybe never
will.”

“And you’re still on it? The case?”

“Yeah,” Connell nodded, a little surprised
himself that he alone hadn’t given up.

He didn’t mouth the next
words, but he still thought them from time to time:
someone’s gonna pay.

And he wasn’t letting it go until someone
did.

Momma Lupe.

One year earlier

Early
morning. A late model black sedan pulled up to the curb on a leafy
street on
Boston’s east side, a pocket of
ritzy homes near the bay. Two men in expensive suits exited and
briskly walked a short distance along the sidewalk beside an
ivy-covered stone wall, stopping at the entrance gates to No. 6
Currie Close.

"Is Ma really the one who put out this
order?"

The man he was asking the question of was
obviously the lead man. The one who had the answers.

"She's the one all right.
And she's the one who said '
zactly
how it's got to go down."

"Really?"

The other man nodded.

"We really got to do it the
‘
zactly
way we was
told?" the other asked.

"Ex—
zactly
as we was told."

"Well, I think it's sick.
I'm in the business, and I think it's sick.
It's sick
."

"OK. You made your point. You think it's
sick. You want your dough?"

The other man let out a short sigh. "Yeah.
But it's sick. Why'd she want two of us on the job, anyways?"

"In case Vinnie squeals and
runs for it. She's knows he's a fat slippery
basotto
. Like I said, Ma's a stickler
for getting things her way, and Vinnie ain't slipping
nowhere."

Dawn had just broken over the city, but they
saw that no lights had yet come on inside the stately three-storey
stone mansion.

"You sure he ain't gonna look out and see
us?" the nervous one whispered.

"It's five fucking a.m. When was the last
time you was up at five a.m.?"

"You sure it's not alarmed out here? Motion
detectors?"

"I'm sure. It ain't. Just the sides and back
are alarmed. Just relax will ya? We got three hours to wait and
you're starting like this already? You'll drive me nuts."

They had turned in an opening in the wall
that led to a broad circular driveway. They made quickly for the
first garage door, the one closest to the home's service
entrance.

The lead man had a lock-pick set and the
garage door lock was easily jimmied. He

eased the door up quietly, they stepped in,
and he eased it back down just as quietly.

As they looked around, the lead man spotted a
couple of folding lawn chairs against a back wall. He went to them
and brought them over, pulling first one open and gently setting it
down, then the other.

"Make yourself at home," he whispered, taking
one seat and indicating the other.

The other man sat and glanced all
around. It was a large, tidy, garage: four doors with a tandem bay
at the end, making it a five-car. There was a Mercedes E-Class
sedan parked in the bay closest, a Ford Expedition SUV in the next,
and a 16-foot inboard/outboard speedboat backed in on a trailer in
the far tandem bay. They were seated in the empty bay facing the
entrance door to the house.

"Nice place Vinnie's got here," the man said,
looking around with a touch of envy.

"Yeah. Vinnie's been living beyond his means
for a long time. Probably what got him into this mess."

"You think?"

The other man merely grunted.

"How come he alarms the sides and back but
not the front?" the second man asked.

"Cause the guy gets about
five newspapers delivered in the middle of the night. Didn't you
see them all out there?" He lapsed into derisive mock baby-talk:
"
But the l'il paper delivery guys was
setting off the l'il motion sensors every l'il hour between two and
six, and it was disturbing his l'il sleep
.
What crap!” he said, breaking out of the baby-talk. “Anyways, he’s
got the front sensors shut off. He never got around to wiring the
garage."

"And you know all this how?" the other
whispered.

"Ma. She done her homework.
'Course wasn't that much homework to do. All she had to do was call
Paulie. Paulie knows the place. That Momma. She looks like a
harmless old bag but,
man
, she's one
pazza manovella.
Crazy in the head,”
he said, tapping his right temple to emphasize that Momma’s
reputation was that of a certified mental case.
“They don't call her
Momma Lupe
for nothing. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong
side of her. You know she off-ed her old man, eh?"

"No.
Really
? Her old man? Why'd she do
that?"

"Guess they had some difference of opinion
about how to run the business. Like I said, Ma's a stickler about
getting her own way."

"How'd she do him?"

"The old fashioned way. Rat
poison in his
tourtiere
. Like in the old movies. A bit at a time till it built up in
his system. Strychnine or whatever. He liked his garlic, so he
never noticed a thing. One day he just drops. Went down as natural
causes. A heart attack. She had him cremated before there was even
time to send out for marshmallows."

The other man thought about that for several
moments.

"I heard she's got two sons work with her.
Why didn't she use them for this?"

"For a job like this?" the first man said
with obvious scorn. "She don’t trust those two to go for
coffee."

The man then rose, crossed the garage to the
rear wall and cranked the window full open to create an out draft.
He returned and they lit up smokes.

And they waited.

About 8:30 they heard sounds of stirring from
inside the house and, half an hour later, Vincent Momesso entered
the garage from the door into the house. He hit the garage door
opener to go out and collect his papers, then started down the
steps with a yawn and a scratch at the bald spot at the back of his
head when he looked up and saw the two in the chairs.

He froze.

The lead man had weapon drawn.

"Hey, Vinnie. How's things?"

"What the hell's
this
?" Momesso
demanded.

"Vinnie, we ain't got time to chit chat," the
man said, standing and pulling out his phone and flicking it on
video. He held it out, in his left hand, a silenced 9 mm in his
right hand.

"Vinnie, get on your knees."

"What the —"

"I don't want no trouble from you. I want to
get a statement and I don't want you jumping around on me, so get
on your knees."

"This is bullshit …"

"You're right," the gunman
said. "But I got my orders. On your knees.
NOW
!"

Momesso reluctantly went down on his knees in
his expensive silk pajamas and housecoat on the grease-stained
floor.

"What's this all about?
Who
are
you two? I
don't even
know
you
guys. Does Paulie know you're here?"

"Paulie knows."

"Did Paulie send you?"

"No. Never mind about us.
Fact is, you took some merchandise didn't belong to you.
Lots
of it. And then, when
you was asked nicely
many times
to give it back or pay for it, you said some rude
things. That wasn't smart. Plus you went and smacked that hooker
around. Also not smart."

Vinnie squinted at the two men.

"Is this about Momma?"

The gunman nodded.

Vinnie was relieved. For a moment there he
thought he'd crossed one of his mob brothers somehow. He breathed a
little easier.

"Hey, well listen, I didn't mean nothing," he
said, in a consoling tone. "I didn't know that girl was one of
Momma's. And that dope stash that stupid broad had, I thought she'd
ripped off some mark. I thought it was free dope, so I swung with
it. I didn't know that was Momma's neither."

That, he felt, explained everything.

But the gunman shook his head slowly.

"That's a crock, Vinnie, and
you know it. You may not have known when you batted the girl around
and took her stuff that she was one of Momma's. But you knew after.
You was told. Over and over you was told. And that was no little
dope stash she had. That was twenty ounces of pure hundred-grade
powder worth more'n eighty grand. Dope entrusted to Ma for
delivery. Wasn’t even hers. You
had
to know that wasn't some party girl's stash.
Again, you was told. But not only did you
not
make restitution -
or
apologies - you called
Momma some nasty names. In front of all the guys. All three was big
mistakes.
BIG
mistakes."

Momesso realized then they were serious about
this.

"Okay, okay" he said. "I screwed up, OK? I
was stupid about it. So now I'll make good. I'll give Momma the
money for the dope and I'll send flowers to the whore."

"You're gonna have to do
better than that, Vinnie," the gunman said, pulling back the hammer
on the compact little Bernardelli semi-auto. It made an
ominous
click
,
which resonated in the silence of the garage. "Momma wants to hear
genuine contrition. You know, like a confessional. Like at church
sort of thing. With some heart behind it."

Momesso suddenly got the full urgency of the
situation.

They were actually
threatening to shoot him!

He held out his hands in a pleading
motion.

"Okay. Okay. I'm a lousy son
of a bitch and I throw myself on Momma's mercy. Ma, please, I'm
sorry I messed with your business. I'll make it up.
Double
! It was all just a
big mistake."

The gunman looked at the video on the small
screen and shook his head.

"Vinnie, that just ain't convincing. I gotta
tell ya, no Academy Award there. If that's the best you can do
…"

"No. No. Hold it. Wait.
Okay. Ma, I'm
reeeaaally
sorry. I'm a complete piece of lying
double-dealing shit. Ma please …
please
… show some mercy …
Pleeeaase
! I'll make it
up. Ma, pleeeaase … just give me another chance."