Johnny Blade Read online

  Chapter 53

  “That wasn’t just good, that was great,” Michael said to Felicia’s mother. He wanted to lean back in the chair and pat at his belly. Luckily, the table manors instilled in him since childhood prevented the obnoxious behavior.

  “So tell me, Mike, your family live around here?” Felicia’s father asked. He had a slice of French bread and was dipping the crust into the gravy on his plate.

  “Yes. In Gates,” Michael answered. Rochester was a large city and housed many suburban towns. Gates, not only a suburb, also seemed to be home to a large number of Italian families. “They’ve lived there forever. Well, when they first got married they had a small house in the city on Isabelle Street. As soon as I was born, they bought a house off Spencerport Road.”

  “Nice area,” Felicia’s father said. “And what do you do?”

  “Daddy,” Felicia called out, offended.

  “What? I’m just asking.”

  “It’s not right,” Felicia’s mother said.

  “What’s not right. Mike, you mind if I ask you what you do for a living?”

  “Of course not,” Michael said, smiling. He was not prepared for the question. “I work part time as a cook at a diner.”

  “What diner?”

  “It’s a small place. It’s called, Jack’s Joint.”

  “Never heard of it,” Felicia’s father said. “So you do that part time, huh? What do you do full time?”

  “I work for the Rochester City Chronicle,” Michael answered and caught the look Felicia flashed him. “I write the obituary columns.”

  “Lively job,” Marcia added. Michael smiled and pointed at her.

  “You go to college?”

  “Brockport. Got my degree in journalism,” Michael said, only now he was looking at Felicia. She looked confused. She was, after all, hearing this for the first time.

  “Going to be a writer?”

  “Someday, yes. I hope to be,” Michael said. He smiled, thinking Felicia would be pleased to hear his goals.

  _____________________________

  Felicia’s father fell asleep on the sofa after dinner. “He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Marcia explained.

  “Mom, I don’t want to eat and run, but . . .”

  “Oh sure, honey. I’m just so glad you came tonight,” Felicia’s mother said. They hugged. Michael watched with approving eyes. As they were leaving, Marcia hugged her sister and gave Michael a warm handshake.

  Once outside, Michael said. “I think your sister is starting to like me.”

  Felicia slapped him hard in the chest.

  “What the hell was that for?” Michael asked.

  “You have a college degree from Brockport and work at the paper? How could you not tell me all of that? I mean, don’t you think those are the kind of things I should know about you?” Felicia did not wait for an answer. She stormed away toward the car. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were a college graduate!”

  “How about, I can’t believe you’re mad at me about it. Why are you so upset? I don’t get it.” Michael walked with his hands in his pockets. “Believe it or not, this is a good thing. A good thing. If we wind up together, I’ll be able to support you,” Michael said, smugly as he stopped in front of her by the car.

  She smiled. “Oh, now you plan to support me, too?”

  Michael kissed her. “Maybe.”

  She kissed him. “You went from planning on supporting me, to maybe? What’s the deal with that?”

  He kissed her, harder. “You want me to support you?”

  “I don’t know yet. What other surprises do you have that I should know about?” Felicia sounded scared and insecure.

  “Nothing. I’m not keeping any secrets from you,” Michael said.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he answered and kissed her more passionately. When finally the kiss ended, he sighed. “I have to be to work in a little while.”

  “How are you going to support me, if you have to work two jobs now?” She laughed and opened the car door. Inside the car, they strapped their seatbelts on. “No really, why do you need to work two jobs? You’re not married or something? Paying child support or something, are you?”

  Michael laughed. There was a sudden ripple in his perfect evening. “Paying off my student loans is more like it,” he said, lying.

  Chapter 54

  Christine Wzros wore an excessive amount of makeup. She dressed in tight blue jeans and high heel shoes. She sat with Detective Jason Cocuzzi in his unmarked squad car. Detective Pete Cage was in the surveillance van parked across the street. “Tell you what,” she said to Cocuzzi. “I like this undercover work. It’s pretty exciting, but I can’t stand the cold.”

  “You’re doing great,” Cocuzzi said. He wanted to ask how lunch was, but let it slide. “To be honest, tonight might be the last night for this operation.”

  “The good thing would have to be the amount of married scum we busted,” Officer Wzros said. She looked under her long red fingernails. “You were married once, weren’t you?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Why not?” Officer Wzros asked.

  “You’re a cop, you know what it’s like. It’s hard to find a woman who will understand what I do for a living. It’s even a little unfair to ask a woman to try and understand. I mean, unless you are a police officer, you have no idea what kind of career you’re in for. When I’m working a case, I’m consumed. Look at how we’ve been this past week. I think I’ve been home six times. Mostly, I just showered and changed clothing. What wife would want that kind of lifestyle? None, I tell you. Even if they think they know what they are getting into—they have no idea until they experience it first hand. And it’s not easy on the wife, either. Think about it. If you’re married to a guy who works at, let’s say Kodak, every morning he gets up and goes to work at eight, right? Then at five, it is reasonably acceptable to expect him home any minute. Sure, the guy could have a deadly car accident on his way home, but probably that won’t happen. A cop goes to work—especially a cop with crap for seniority, and he’s working the graveyard shift. The wife is at home on pins and needles for eight hours a day, for forty hours a week. She’s wondering night after night if her husband will pull into the driveway at the end of his shift. She wonders, every time the telephone rings, or every time there is a knock at the door, if it will be that one feared time she will hear the words that her husband has been hurt, or shot, or dead . . .”

  “Your dad was cop, huh?” Wrzos asked intuitively.

  “Yes. He and my mother divorced when I was fourteen,” Cocuzzi said, slapping the steering wheel like a shy teenage boy. “They kept telling me I was at an age where I’d be old enough to understand what was going on. They kept telling me that they didn’t hate each other, but that my mother couldn’t keep on living that way.”

  “I’d think you’re never too old to be hurt and effected by your parents divorcing,” Wzros said.

  Cocuzzi shook his head in agreement. “I remember saying to my mother, ‘So then you still love him, Mom’? And she told me that she did. And I said to her, I said, ‘So if after you’re divorced—if he gets killed at work, are you going to feel any differently about the news than you would if you were still married’?”

  “She didn’t have an answer to that?”

  “No. No answer. It made her cry though. I didn’t mean to make her cry, but maybe I felt a little better knowing I wasn’t the only one hurting so bad.” Cocuzzi found himself staring into Wrzos’ eyes. Why did I say all that, he wondered before she leaned over and kissed him.

  The pounding on the windshield startled them both. They pulled out of the kiss and searched around them. Detective Pete Cage was standing by Wrzos’ door with the palms of his hands pressed against the glass. Cocuzzi rolled down the window. “Hey love birds. Just to shed some perspective on that tender moment. She’s wired for sound,” Cage said pointing at Officer Wzros. “Your chief is going to wind up hea
ring that entire heartfelt confession.”

  Aside from feeling humiliated, Cocuzzi wanted to deck Cage. It took every bit of self-control to keep from getting out of the car and starting a fight. “You can erase that part of the recording, detective.”

  “I’ll see if we can do that,” Cage said, mockingly. He turned his attention on Wzros. “We still on for tomorrow night?” Cage winked, clearly teasing.

  Bastard. “Get back to the van,” Cocuzzi said before Officer Wzros could respond. “It’s almost time to start the night.”

  Chapter 55

  “You know, as long as you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you to work tonight. I want to talk with Sandy. She might like to hear I’m getting out. Believe it or not, she’s been begging for me to leave this kind of life since forever,” Felicia said. “I really consider her a good friend. I don’t have, like, a best friend. If I did, I think she’d be it.”

  Michael wondered about Sandy. She was a young woman, also worth saving. He felt like a failure, which was ridiculous. He could not be expected to get women out of prostitution. His motive for working on Felicia was purely selfish. He loved her. “Yeah. Hang out at the diner. Hell, I’ll even buy you a cup of coffee,” Michael said.

  “You treat me like gold,” she said, teasing. As if suddenly content with the world around her, she unfastened her seatbelt and slid closer to sit next to Michael. She rested her head on his shoulder. “What about your parents?”

  “What about them?” Michael asked. “When will you get to meet them?”

  “Exactly,” Felicia said.

  “I was thinking about this, how about next Sunday? They have sauce around two. I haven’t been there in the last few weeks and I think my mom’s a little upset with me. They’d love to meet you, too, I’m sure,” Michael said. Although he knew how much his family liked Ellen the attorney—he felt confident they would take to Felicia in the same way, at least he prayed they would, though for obvious reasons, he would want to keep her previous job a bit of a secret.

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll check my calendar, but I know I can at least pencil you in for next Sunday.”

  “Why thank you, ma’am.” Michael spotted the police set-up as he drove down Lake Avenue. “We should screw with them.”

  “Who?”

  “The police.” Michael debated pulling up to the curb and throwing out an offer to the undercover prostitute, but passed. The police were leaving him alone. He did not need to infuriate them. Instead, as they made a right off Lake, toward parking in the rear, Michael flashed a friendly wave that the female officer ignored.

  Like déjà vu, Michael and Felicia walked around to the front of Jack's Joint, passing the undercover officer without so much as a word. Felicia held on tightly to Michael’s arm. “You know what?” she asked, as Michael pulled open the diner door.

  “What?”

  “You can’t understand the tremendous amount of relief I feel. I didn’t think I’d feel this way, but I do. I feel great,” Felicia said, standing outside the doorway. “I’m glad we’re together.”

  “Me, too,” Michael said as they stepped inside.

  Fatso sat at the counter with the newspaper, but was talking to Jack Murphy. “What I’m saying is, it’s not only rattle snakes that rattle. All snakes do this. When a predator is close, ready to strike, a snake—any snake—will rattle its tail to draw the attention to its rear. If something bites, chomps or crushes the snakes tail, the creature won’t die. It’s better than getting a bite on the head, right? And, while the predator is preoccupied with watching the snake’s tail, the snake can strike.”

  Jack shook his head. “I knew that. I told you I knew that. Why do you have to insist on telling me something I already know.”

  “I don’t know Jack,” Fatso said. He looked sad and hurt.

  Jack must have picked up on this. “But it is useful information, Fatso. Sometimes I know things, but forget about them, you know?”

  Fatso smiled. “Sure. Not like the elephant, though.”

  Jack held up his hand. “Stop. All right. Just quit it.” He smiled at Michael. “Thank God, you’re here.”

  Michael smiled and went around the counter to relieve Jack. “Long day?”

  Jack looked at Fatso, shaking his head. “Long enough. Hey, I wanted to tell you what a fine job you’re doing. The customers say good things about you—and that’s not something they normally do. Things keep like they are, we can talk about an increase in pay in a couple of weeks. What do you think? I gave you a lot of responsibility, right from day one. You’ve handled the job well and have shown me I can trust you.”

  They shook hands. “I’m touched,” Michael said. “Thank you.”

  “Next week, next Sunday, we’ll talk. All right?”

  “Sounds good, thank you,” Michael said again.

  “All right, well I’m out of here.” Jack turned to those listening. “Ladies and gentlemen, have a nice night.”

  A few people replied. Michael tied the apron around his waist.

  Felicia leaned on the counter. “I wonder where Sandy is?”

  “She was here earlier,” Fatso said. “She got pissed and left when the police people showed up. Two nights in a row and she was flaming. She didn’t have any problem yelling at the undercover people sitting in the booths.”

  Michael watched out the window by the pinball machines as a luxury sedan parked along the curb. Marcus got out of the car and entered the diner with a folder in his hand. He stared directly at Michael as he went to his usual booth and sat down. Once seated, he continued to stare at Michael, who in turn felt a little unnerved by the unasked-for attention. Michael looked away from Marcus, and then back to him. Marcus had not looked away.

  “How about that coffee you planned to buy me?” Felicia asked.

  Michael wanted to ignore Marcus, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “Sure, sweetheart.”

  “Sweetheart?” Fatso teased.

  “Yeah,” Felicia said. “A lot has changed.”

  _____________________________

  Detective Jason Cocuzzi found it difficult to concentrate. The stakeout did not demand much attention as long as no one pulled up to the curb. However, he did not like the way his mind roamed. He felt giddy and that being so unnatural to him felt disgusting. Christine’s kiss had moved him like nothing had in a long time. His body had responded immediately, but more than that—he had responded emotionally to the kiss, to the warmth. For the longest time, he realized, he had denied himself any kind of closeness. The fact that he opened up to Officer Wzros still amazed him. The fact that everyone in the surveillance vehicle overheard him was disturbing.

  When the van pulled up to the curb, Cocuzzi snapped back to attention and was pleased with his ability to focus when needed. He clicked on his radio. “Getting this? Over?”

  “Recording. He’s called her to the window. Over?” Detective Cage said.

  It started to snow large and fat flakes. The wind was picking up. The nice day had ended, making way for a snowy night.

  “Unit One, be ready to roll,” Cocuzzi instructed. “Over.”

  “Unit One on stand-by. Over.”

  _____________________________

  Michael noticed one of the undercover police officers, posing as a diner, raise a finger to his ear. The movements and the way the man’s face contorted reminded Michael of the Secret Service agents that guard the president. Though it was the ear toward the wall, Michael squinted in order to see a tiny wire lead down the collar of the man’s shirt. Looking outside, Michael saw the van at the curb and the policewoman at the passenger window.

  Fascinated, he watched as the lady cop opened the door and climbed into the vehicle. A buzz of activity had to be running through the wires as the police officers at their posts waited anxiously for the sic ‘em command. Michael instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes on the counter, but stopped himself. He shot a side-glance over to Felicia who seemed to be monitoring him as closely as the polic
e were monitoring the woman driving away with the john.

  “The habit is going to be the hardest part,” Michael confessed. He knew he could quit. He was not thrilled about being forced to quit, but he could not look at it that way. He wanted Felicia out of the prostitution business because he cared about her. She wanted him to quit smoking, perhaps, for the same reason. No one was forcing him to do anything. Ultimately, the choice was his.

  _____________________________

  “We lost contact. Over.” It was Detective Cage. He sounded frantic. “Read me Cocuzzi. We lost contact. Over.”

  Jason Cocuzzi had heard the broadcast the first time, but had frozen. Now his mind reeled. “All units, follow in pursuit. We’re looking for a rusted van.” Cocuzzi proceeded to read of the plate number. He repeated the message.

  Cocuzzi felt dizzy as he started up his engine. He threw the car into drive and peeled out of his parking spot, the tires screaming in protest. While he drove north down Lake Avenue, he fumbled for the siren switch on the dashboard. The screaming of his siren joined the screechy chorus of the other police cars involved in the search. “Posts One and Two, join in pursuit, join in pursuit!”

  Chapter 56

  When the two men with booths by windows jumped up, Michael knew he had been right. Both held a finger to their ear as they raced out of the diner without ever looking back. The silent night was shattered as sirens from everywhere, all at once, exploded into existence.

  A story was breaking, Michael realized, as he took an order from a young black man at the counter. It was possible, probable and likely that the police were chasing down Johnny Blade. Many people made fun of the police, but Michael knew the job before them was more challenging than most. Officers had to work with their hands tied.