certain people, particularly deadbeats who had borrowed money or who had been unlucky at poker or picked the wrong horses or athletic teams.
“Is Paulie Cerino out of prison?” Vinnie questioned. Although Vinnie was not a gambler, he did not like to hear from Paulie Cerino.
“No, he is still in prison but expects an imminent parole. That’s why he sent me. Is it possible for you to come to the front reception area? We need to talk.”
“What are we going to talk about?” Vinnie said while frantically trying to figure out what to do. He intuitively knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Vinnie should be associating with.
“Paulie has a few questions he wants me to ask.”
“Can’t he call me himself?” Vinnie questioned hesitantly. “I’ll give you my cell phone number.”
“Paulie has limited opportunity to call.”
“I see.”
“It’s just some simple questions,” Brennan explained.
“Okay, I’ll be up,” Vinnie said, and hung up.
“Are you family or just a friend of Vinnie’s?” Marlene asked, to make conversation. She’d heard Brennan’s side and wondered if something was amiss with talk about prison.
“Family,” Brennan said. “Very distant family.”
When Vinnie appeared, he purposefully took Brennan out of earshot of Marlene. The two men eyed each other. Although they were approximately the same age, any similarity ended there. Vinnie’s dark hair and olive complexion was a sharp contrast to Brennan’s transparent freckled skin and supposedly red hair, which was more a carrot orange.
After they introduced themselves, Vinnie said, “The last time Paulie sent a couple of his people to see me, it ended with me being forced to do something illegal, which got me in trouble, and I almost lost my job. I say this just to let you know I’m less than overjoyed to hear from Paulie Cerino.”
“We’re not going to try to get you to do anything,” Brennan promised. “As I said, we’re here just to ask you a few questions.”
“What do you mean ‘we’?”
“My partner is out in the car. We thought we could buy you a beer somewhere in the neighborhood.”
“Can’t do, not before I get off at four-thirty.”
“What a shame,” Brennan said sincerely. After Carlo had suggested a beer, Brennan had grown progressively fond of the idea.
“Well, nice meeting you.”
“Hold on!” Brennan blurted. “How about right here? I’ll call my buddy. We can sit here on the couch.”
Vinnie looked from Brennan to the couch to Marlene and back. He didn’t like the couch idea. In fact, he didn’t even like standing there in the foyer with the likes of Brennan, understanding that Brennan was most likely a member of the Vaccarro crime family, perhaps even one of their enforcers or hit men. When Vinnie was young, he and his friends were in awe of Brennan’s type, but that changed when one of Paulie Cerino’s guys had shot a guy outside the local candy store. Vinnie and his friends had been down the street in the ice-cream parlor when they’d heard, and had challenged one another to run down to catch a glimpse before the police arrived. When Vinnie saw the body lying in the street, blood and pink brain matter coming out, he’d gotten sick instantly as blood drained from the victim’s head. It had been one of those visual horrors of childhood that had been irrevocably stamped on Vinnie’s visual cortex. From then on, Vinnie felt nothing but fear for the gang lifestyle.
“Not here!” Vinnie said, worried the chief might suddenly appear. The chief’s office and the rest of administration was right off the reception area. Desperately he tried to think of what to do, as he was also reluctant to let them into the restricted interior of the building. “I know,” he said suddenly. “Let’s meet on Thirtieth Street. Go back out and walk down to OCME receiving area and the garage doors. I’ll meet you there.” Vinnie gestured toward the building’s front entrance as if Brennan had forgotten. “I’ll see you down there in two minutes.”
Feeling like he’d been given the bum’s rush, Brennan left the building and walked back to Carlo’s car. He opened the passenger door and leaned in.
“Well?” Carlo asked.
“He’s nervous as hell, mentioning his last dealings with Paulie. He claims to have almost lost his job.”
“He’s not going to talk with us?”
“He claims he can’t go out while he’s on the clock, but he’s willing to meet us out in the street,” Brennan said while pointing down 30th Street.
“For the love of God,” Carlo complained, climbing out of the car. He left the flashers on.
As they rounded the corner and started down 30th Street, they saw Vinnie appear from between a cluster of white vans. “At least we don’t have to go inside,” Carlo said while zipping up his coat.
Brennan introduced Carlo to an obviously anxious Vinnie, who kept looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone was paying them any heed.
Vinnie’s intuitions about Brennan’s occupation were confirmed when he saw Carlo’s attire, particularly the gray silk jacket over the black mock turtleneck and the gold chains. That was how the wise-guys all dressed back in his youth.
“Listen!” Vinnie said. “We have to make this short, because I’m still on the clock. What is it you want to ask me?”
“You know we’re here on Paulie Cerino’s behalf,” Carlo mentioned.
“So your friend said.”
“He wanted me to remind you what he did for your father.”
“You can tell Mr. Cerino that I will never forget what he did for my father. But you can also remind him what I did for him the last time I heard from him, and that I hope he feels we are more or less even.”
“I’ll tell him,” Carlo snapped, immediately taking mild offense at Vinnie’s implied brazenness. “But it’s the capo’s decision when a debt is paid, not the debtor’s.”
Vinnie took a deep breath to calm down. The last thing he wanted was to get into an argument with these guys. “Please ask me whatever it is you want to ask.”
Carlo glared at Vinnie for a beat, restraining himself from giving him a good slap. “You people here at the morgue got a body that came in sometime last evening. A Japanese man who’d collapsed on the subway platform at Columbus Circle.”
“I know the case,” Vinnie said. As one of the more senior mortuary technicians he prided himself that he knew just about everything that went on at OCME. “What do you want to know about it?”
“Who is the coroner that is involved?”
“We don’t have coroners,” Vinnie said with an air of superiority. “We have trained medical examiners who are medical doctors, not mere civil servants.”
“Whatever,” Carlo snapped back irritably. He was getting progressively tired of Vinnie’s attitude, but again he let it go. “Who is assigned to the case?”
“Dr. Southgate was assigned,” Vinnie began.
After hearing Southgate’s name, Carlo immediately began to relax. It was always pleasurable to report back positive news, especially if it meant less work, which Carlo thought would be the case in this instance. Unfortunately, his relaxing didn’t last as Vinnie continued, “But Dr. Southgate became ill, and Dr. Laurie Montgomery took over.”
Carlo did a double take. “What was that?” He’d heard, but his mind was not in a receptive mood for a change.
“Dr. Southgate started the case, but he became ill and Dr. Laurie Montgomery, or now it’s Dr. Laurie Montgomery-Stapleton, took over. Why do you ask?”
“Why would they change?” Carlo demanded, ignoring Vinnie’s question.
“I told you. Dr. Southgate became ill. He left OCME to go home.”
“Shit!” Carlo voiced, trying to reboot his brain from the sudden reversal.
“What was the diagnosis?” Brennan asked, as Carlo seemed to have momentarily lost his voice.
“So far there is no diagnosis,” Vinnie said. He found himself wondering why Paulie Cerino would be so interested.
“How about the manner of death?” Brennan continued, using lingo learned from TV forensics dramas.
