“We just arrived,” Max says. “We’re about to compare notes and kick some ideas around.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” I say, perching myself on the arm of an empty chair while I wait.
“The crime scene folks collected the blood from the back gate,” Plummer begins. “They’ll test that against the DNA database. They also recovered the slug that nicked Ed, and they’ll test that for a ballistics match.”
“Nicked?” Ed mutters. “Painful damned nick, Jake.”
“Shell casings?” I ask, thinking back to Pat’s shooting earlier this year. Spent shell casings had helped the police track down the guy who shot her.
“Afraid not,” Plummer replies.
“Doesn’t sound like there’s much to go on,” I observe glumly.
“Let us work our magic,” Ed says with a wink. “We old bastards still have a few tricks up our sleeves.”
Plummer shoots an amused glance Ed’s way before taking in everyone with a sweep of his eyes. “Now that we’ve had some time to reflect, let’s talk about what happened yesterday. Ed? Max?”
Max takes the lead. “The guy knew what he was looking for. He walked into the yard and immediately had a look around, then looked right at me and moved on as if I wasn’t here. He locked in on Ed as soon he saw him. No hesitation at all.”
“That’s right, the guy had zero interest in Max,” Ed says. A smile plays on his lips when he adds, “Maybe it was a woman, after all? They ain’t never interested in Max.”
Max shoots Ed the bird. “Why did the guy go straight for Ed?”
Plummer’s eyes twinkle. “Maybe he knows Ski and was trying to do the world a favor?”
The schoolyard taunts, while mildly amusing, surprise me. This is professional detective work?
“My point is that the shooter definitely targeted Ed,” Max continues with a hint of impatience. “Leaving aside the smart-ass bullshit, let’s think that through. It’s important.”
“No doubt about it,” Ed agrees.
I look from Ed to Papa and back again. “You know, at a glance, Ed and Papa bear a resemblance. Maybe the shooter mistook Ed for Papa?”
Max purses his lips and nods thoughtfully while he processes the possibility. Papa blanches, perhaps at the suggestion Ed may have taken a bullet intended for him.
Plummer points at Ed and chuckles. “But the nose, man. Dead giveaway! Nobody sees that honker and mistakes the profile for anyone but Ski!”
“Fuck you, Jake,” Ed shoots back, but there’s a smile on his face when he does.
Cop humor, I suppose. Kinda beyond me. “Children!” I admonish them. “Let’s focus on the problem, shall we?”
Three sets of bemused eyes settle on me before Ed says, “Sorry, man. This is how cops deal with stuff that makes us piss our pants.”
Plummer nods before he pushes himself off his Adirondack chair and takes a step away from it. “Whoever was here yesterday certainly wasn’t Ndrangheta.”
“How do you figure that?” I ask.
“Too many mistakes. If they’d sent one of their guys after Francesco, he’d be dead by now.”
“Agreed,” Ed mutters as he and Max nod.
Plummer continues, “Dollars to doughnuts this is the work of some local shitbag from Francesco’s hometown trying to settle a personal score.”
Papa’s mouth twists in fury as he spits out the words, “Cosche filth!”
“But didn’t you say it was a young guy?” I ask in confusion.
“The shooter was,” Jake replies.
Ed carries the ball from there. “Pulling on that string, we’ve got some old son of a bitch from Calabria hiring a local punk to do his dirty work. Why?”
“Too old to do it himself?” Max suggests. “Too infirm?”
“Possibly,” Plummer says. “Or maybe he just doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, especially on foreign soil, where his buddies don’t own the cops and judges.”
“Will he try again?” I ask Plummer.
“There’s the question, folks,” he says as he cuts his eyes to mine.
Max steps a little closer. “If so, he won’t be sending the punk from yesterday. The little shit targeted the wrong guy and got himself shot doing so. Totally fucked-up job. It’s one and done for that boy, fellas.”
“Especially if you winged the prick good,” Ed adds.
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Plummer mutters.
“So, maybe the old bastard from Italy decides he needs to do this himself to get it done right?” Ed says.
“Maybe he thinks the kid got Papa yesterday,” I interject. “The news reports didn’t have Ed’s name.”
“True, just that some old guy got shot,” Max says thoughtfully.
The rain is now pouring down so hard that we can hardly see the back fence. With the talk of someone taking another shot at Papa or Ed or whomever they’re after, I can’t help worrying about what might lurk beyond the veil of water.
Plummer starts to pace around the perimeter of the awning while he talks. “Could be, I suppose, but the news reports made it clear that the victim was treated and released. Whoever’s behind this has gotta know that.”
“Hurts like a bitch,” Ed mutters to eye rolls from the other detectives.
“For Christ’s sake give it a rest, Ed!” Max grumbles. “Swear to God, I ain’t never heard anyone bellyaching and carrying on so much about a pissy little scratch.”
I’m trying to work out if Max’s outburst was real or feigned when Plummer walks to within three feet of my father and plants himself with his hands on his hips.
“You need to get the hell out of here until we get a handle on this, Francesco.”
I turn to meet Papa’s eyes. “Jake’s right.”
My father dismisses me with a flick of his wrist, then locks eyes with Plummer and resolutely replies, “No!”
Plummer stands his ground. “It’s folly to assume the threat isn’t real. There’s no shame
