Murder Takes Time (16 page)

BAD NEWS NEVER STOPS

D
uring the next three months, Angie didn’t make it to see me, but she wrote often. Her letters were more than treasures.

When I got a visitor one Saturday, I got excited, thinking it might be her. It turned out to be Mamma Rosa, and she had Sister Thomas with her. I never expected to see her again.

“What a surprise.”

Rosa held my hands, rubbing across my fingers as if they were rosary beads. Her face looked sallow, her eyes full of worry. “Dominic is getting worse. I don’t know if I can get here for a while, Nicky.”

I reversed the position of our hands, patting hers while I spoke. “Don’t worry about me. Stay home and take care of him.” For the first time she looked old. “How about Tony? Is he okay?”

Rosa nodded. “He wanted to come help with Dominic, but his new job is keeping him busy. He said to say hi, though, and that he’d come see you soon.”

I nodded, knowing it was a lie but not wanting to upset her. “You know how sorry I am, Mamma Rosa.”

“I know.”

Sadness had overtaken this woman I loved. I asked about Bugs and Paulie. She cheered up at that. Then I worked up the nerve and asked about Angie. I hadn’t seen her in so long.

Mamma Rosa was silent.

My stomach twisted. “What about Angie?”

She reached into her purse and handed me a letter. I knew what it was. Wouldn’t touch it. Couldn’t.

“Take it with you,” I said, and walked away.

Sister Thomas called me back. “Niccolo Fusco.”

I went back. Commands from nuns die hard.

She stood with her hands on her hips. “Rosa came all this way to see you.”

Rosa stood, shaking her head. “No, Sister, don’t—”

“Sister Thomas is right. That was rude.”

Rosa reached for me. “I have to go anyway, Nicky. You take care, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Mamma, have you seen Angie? Is she okay?”

She looked as if she would cry. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I haven’t seen her for weeks. She had a friend drop this letter off at the house.”

Mamma put the letter on the table. I held back tears. “Thanks for bringing it, Mamma. I appreciate it.”

I hugged Rosa, then she walked away. Sister Thomas stayed behind. “I’ll bring her by when I can.”

“Thanks, Sister.” I turned my head. I still had a hard time looking her in the eyes.

There was a long, awkward silence then, “Would you like me to bring Father Tom?”

“No.”

“You might feel better if—”

“No.”

“Fine, Niccolo.” She pressed the letter into my hand. “Only cowards walk away from things.”

I took the letter, but I didn’t read it. Not that night.

Not ever,
I thought.
Not ever.

But by the end of that first week, my courage disappeared. Late one night I opened it, using contraband candles to read.

Dear Nicky:

By now you’re probably upset because I didn’t come see you, especially after my promise to visit you often. I’m sorry I upset you. Now, though, you’re going to be really upset, because what I have to tell you isn’t good.

I won’t be coming to see you anymore. Not this week. Not ever again. There are a lot of reasons why. My father forbids it; I have no ride; people will talk. None of those matter, though. If it were only my father, I’d fight him. I would run away. I’d change my name. I’d do anything to be with you. But we both know I can’t be with you. Not now. Not for years.

And if it were just you telling me to forget you, I could deal with that. But the problem, Nicky, is I know you. And I know me. If I waited for you, it would break your heart. Maybe make you more bitter. And if you grew bitter, it definitely would break my heart to see you that way. I don’t mind sacrificing. I’d sacrifice anything for you, but I won’t be a martyr and let myself be destroyed. We’d both lose.

Now for the tough part. I know you already thought this was tough. It wasn’t. I’m going to have to go on with my life. I don’t know what each day will bring, let alone each month, or the seven long years you’ll be gone. I’ll be thinking of you every day. When I cook, I’ll pretend it’s for you. When I do the dishes, I’ll turn suddenly and splash suds at an imaginary person standing behind me. And when I go to sleep at night, I’ll dream of you lying with me, feeling your touch, and hearing your heartbeat. I’ll do this every day until you get out and come rescue me from whatever boring life I’m living, for it will surely be empty without you.

You might never forgive me for this. I hope you do. And I hope that no matter what happens, you are happy in your life. Truly happy, the way Mamma Rosa is. But you have to promise me one thing.

When you get out, and when your life is straightened out. When things are good in your life and you feel good about yourself, find me. Please? No matter where I am, Nicky, find me.

Do you remember the first night you touched me? We both shivered with excitement. Can you ever forget the feeling of lying in each other’s arms afterwards? Can you ever forget the feeling? I want to feel that way again. And not just one day, or one time, but for the rest of my life. So, you find me, Niccolo Fusco. Damnit, you better.

Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore,

Angie

Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore. I love you with all of my heart.

The saying Mamma Rosa had taught us. Nothing pleased me more. It made her words more special.

I went through periods of being pissed at her for her stance, and then proud of her. That was the Angie I knew and loved. What would I have done in her shoes? I tried telling myself that it didn’t matter, that I couldn’t put myself there, but I ran the options through my head anyway. On days when I felt good, I applauded her decision and used her words for inspiration; other days…were not so inspiring.

T
WO MORE WEEKS PASSED
with no visitors. The only letters were from Rosa. Dominic had passed away. He had been sick so long that his death must have been a blessing and a curse for her. As all things were, it seemed. I hadn’t heard anything from Angie, but I hadn’t expected to.

Another month passed. It was Friday, and they told me I had a visitor. My heart jumped. I damn near raced to the room. I hoped to see Angie, prayed I would, but I expected to see Mamma Rosa. As I turned the corner to the room, the familiar habit of the Benedictine nuns waited for me.

Sister Thomas. What’s she doing here?
I felt for sure I had pissed her off the last time. It didn’t matter; I was glad to see her. “Sister, what brings God’s best representative on earth to the prison today?”

I expected the wonderful smile that only Sister Thomas could manage, the one that somehow lit up her entire face, even though it was mostly covered. Instead, I saw a grim expression that was foreign to me, at least from her—but it was too familiar on so many others. My gut wrenched. I started shaking my head before she said it.

“Rosa Sannullo is dead, Nicky.” She grabbed me before I fell. Helped me to a chair.

The guards had to rush over, because I was screaming. And crying. And crying.

CHAPTER 23

ANOTHER FUNERAL

R
osa’s arrangements were handled by Jimmy Maldonaddo, same place Pops went. The prison guards got me there late, but they let me go in without cuffs. The only stipulation was that I couldn’t associate with anybody but Tony or his brothers.

Bugs and Suit were in the next room. When I waved to them, Bugs stepped toward the front of the room. My heart stopped. Angie stood behind him, looking as if she were the angel sent by God to get Mamma Rosa. She smiled and waved at me, mouthing something I couldn’t make out. She tried to come see me, but the guards stopped her. Suit said something to her, and she turned toward him. When she did, I noticed her stomach seemed swollen.

Goddamn. She’s pregnant.
It had been six months since I was in prison…She didn’t look
that
pregnant.

I asked Tony but he didn’t know anything or, if he did, he wasn’t saying. I knew some women didn’t show much until near the end, but still…I buried the emotion and focused on Tony. Had to help him.

It was a huge wake. I knew by the time the night was over there would be hundreds attending. Tony was proud. I was too. When it was my turn, I went to the casket, knelt and blessed myself. I said my prayers, then closed my eyes and prayed some more. This was a woman who deserved a path straight to heaven, and I wanted to make sure God knew that. Afterwards, I stood, leaned in and kissed her forehead. I took a picture of me and Angie from my pocket and placed it next to her. Then I laid her wooden spoon next to her left hand, half expecting her to reach out and grab it. With a final sign of the cross, I left, delivering myself to the guards, patiently waiting by the door.

As I was leaving, Tony handed me an envelope. “This is from Mamma.”

I tucked it into my pocket, then went out with the guards. They asked to check the envelope, but they didn’t open it, just felt for weapons before handing it back. As I left the funeral home, I wondered again about Angie. Was I nuts, or was she pregnant? I had to find out. And if she was pregnant, was the baby mine?

It has to be. She wouldn’t be with anyone else.

O
NCE BACK IN MY
cell, I pulled the letter out and started to read.

Dear Nicky:

My sweet ‘Little Nicky.’ How I will miss you now that I am gone. You were my sixth child. My baby. I know you are suffering where you are. And I know what you sacrificed for Tony and the other boys. I will never forget you for that. What hurts me the most is what happened with Angela. I loved Angela. If you were my sixth child, she was my seventh. I loved her like the daughter I never had.

Someday you two will be back together. You were made for each other. Even an old woman like me could tell that.

It will be tough for you, Nicky. Prison does more than confine a man. It strips him of his freedom, pride and self-confidence. You must overcome all that. Don’t allow them to do to you what they do to the others. I know you, Niccolo Fusco. I held you when you were coughing blood as a baby. I bathed you in alcohol when the fever almost took you. And I watched over you and prayed when every other sickness came through and—with God’s blessing—spared you.

You have the strength to do whatever you want to do. But you must remember, Nicky: Your life is what you want it to be. Always remember—God and Satan both have room for one more soul.

Ti voglio bene,

Mamma Rosa

I folded the letter neatly. Perfectly. Then I tucked it into the envelope and slid it under my pillow.

I swear, Mamma Rosa. I will never do you wrong again. Ever.

CHAPTER 24

THINGS IN COMMON

Brooklyn—Current Day

F
ive in the morning is a terrible time to get up, but when you’ve been thinking of death all night, the morning is more welcome. Frankie managed to plant a smile on his face as he walked to the kitchen for coffee. He often wondered how people survived before coffee, but knowing at the same time there must have been a substitute. Even Mamma Rosa needed coffee to be fully alert and civil.

As he waited for it to brew, thoughts popped into his head. He jotted them down then headed to the station. Carol met him at the top of the steps with more coffee.

“How the hell did you know I was here?”

“Ted saw you pull into the lot. And if the coffee’s not hot, don’t bitch at me.”

“I’d never do that. Not to your face, anyway.” He ducked her punch, then asked, “Lou here?”