“Danny Corsia and Alana, I remember her. She was a bitch and a half. He killed himself because of her, if you want my opinion.”
“You knew of her?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Hugo was the guy who knew everyone and managed to get people to spill secrets they shouldn’t. He also had a memory better than a computer, and could recall shit from twenty years ago as if it were yesterday.
“Oh yeah, she was in and out of the precinct I used to be in before she hooked up with Danny and he moved her into Humboldt Park. If it wasn’t her getting picked up on shoplifting, it was her beating on her kids and starting shit with neighbors who tried to get her to stop hitting the kids. Those poor kids, man. Danny adored them, said it was the only reason he put up with her. She was bipolar or some shit. Every few months the kids would go live with their dad, but because she wouldn’t get benefits, she’d go pick them up again.”
He sucks deep on one of the cigarettes he chain-smokes. “Three kids—an older boy, Christy, and another boy. She treated the girl like shit. One time she beat the shit out of the girl and threw her out of the house in November because she didn’t clean the house right. The girl was seven. CPS came and picked up the girl but didn’t keep her. They kept looking the other way on them. Once she hooked up with Danny, he kept her from going stupid for a little bit. Between the shame of Michael and crazy Alana, no one was surprised when Danny offed himself. Hell, I am not looking forward to finding out how that girl’s life turned out.”
“Girl? How old is she now, you think?”
“Hmm, I think probably twenty-nine or thirty. She was a little thing at Danny’s funeral. Alana was up to her shit. The girl had a black eye and one of the boys had a broken arm. Only good thing is I heard she didn’t get shit from Danny. There wasn’t a whole lot, but what there was went to Danny’s sister. I’ll get it to you tomorrow. I should be able to meet you around noon, that work?”
“Yeah, meet me at the bookstore.”
“Will do.”
I consider the story of Christy Teller and sigh. Shit.
3
Christy
The knock on the door has me jumping with nerves. Annoyed with myself, I don’t bother to check before opening the door. Lisa is right on time.
“Hey.” She hugs me tight. I fight not to tear up. It’s been so long since I’ve had even the slightest touch, let alone a hug. “I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you. I wish I had an excuse other than being a bad friend.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine, really, I understand. I wasn’t much better. You came to the funeral and you called me a week later. After the funeral, no one else called or did a thing. I’m just grateful you’re willing to help me now.” Anguish flashes across her face, and I freeze. “You’re going to help me, right? Please Lisa, you’re my last hope here.”
Taking my hand, she drags me to the couch and pushes me down onto it. “Christy, please think of this more. I’m begging you. Killing Tony Sabatini isn’t going to fix anything. Your psycho mom forcing you into a promise like that is just one more thing to add to the laundry list of fucked up things she did to you. You have to know that. When we talked after the funeral, you seemed to.”
Damn it, she doesn’t understand. “Tony Sabatini killed six men in seven days. There are rumors he’s killed more than a hundred other men. It’s said he’s even killed women. He is not a good man, for fuck’s sake. All that death, and he got five freaking years and only served three years for good fucking behavior. I would be giving all those families justice for the murders he’s committed.”
Lisa closes her eyes tight. “And do you want to know why he did any time at all? Because he refused to have the one witness who could put him away killed. She was some college kid in the wrong place. The Outfit wanted to kill her. There was no case against him without her. One of the main rules of the Outfit is, don’t make waves, and a murder case is making waves. They wanted it shut down in case any mafia business came out in trial. The Sabatinis draw a hard line, no killing of innocents. They refuse to do it, and Tony refused to allow it be done on his behalf.”
How did I miss that? I didn’t know that. I thought I knew everything about his trial. I’ve read everything I could, even paying for the court transcripts. Tony hadn’t taken the stand. His lawyer was too smart to take a chance of the prosecution getting to Tony and it worked. He only got five years in prison for playing the grieving father avenging the death of his son who had turned seventeen just a few weeks before he was murdered. A son who had been murdered for trying to free a truck full of young girls from being trafficked.
In the city of Chicago, where the mafia was as much a part of the city as bad traffic, the jury ate it up. In less than two hours, he was only found guilty of manslaughter with the recommendation of the smallest number of years possible. I shake my head, “So he saved one person’s life. That doesn’t undo all the other murders.”
She sighs. “Those people he killed, none of them were good. They had a twelve-year-old girl in the back of that truck. Twelve-years-old, Christy. Michael
