Return to Poughkeepsie (39 page)

“Sure. I’ll record it this time.” Blake looked at the monitor again, flipped a switch on the computer, and the song poured forth once again.

29

Tattoo

I
T
W
AS
S
UNDAY
A
FTERNOON
, and after more than three months, Rodolfo Vitullo sat in his own chair, in his own house on 59th Street, gratefully. Although he would still have daily visits from his OT, he’d been discharged from the hell on earth known as rehab. Coming back from this stroke had hurt every damn minute, and it was a fight he’d never expected. His whole life he’d battled others—for money, for market share, for power—but the worst he ever had it was from his own damned body.

Truly, it was good to be home, even though a visit from DiMonso a few hours earlier had damn near given him another stroke. It seemed Mary Ellen—senseless, worthless Mary Ellen—had somehow handed a nice chunk of his fortune to Sevan Harmon. Every time he began to think she showed a bit of real potential, something slapped him across the face and reminded him that she was crazy. If he hadn’t been so busy relearning to use his limbs, he might have noticed she was being less than forthcoming during her visits. DiMonso had apologized profusely, but given that he was not employed at the time the transactions had evidently occurred, his ability to sort them out was greatly impaired.

Hmmm…and what else was making his first day back a veritable bowl of cocktail weenies? One of the tails he’d placed on Primo had spotted him betting on digital horse racing in a gas station all morning. And this was his best option to run the company after he died? This freaking kid was still living his teenage years as he approached his fifties. Speaking of the devil, Primo walked in the front door, looking haggard. Rodolfo wondered for a moment if he even knew he was home—or had he just stopped in for cash and booze?

“Son, I’ve had it up to here with you slaving to your vice,” he barked, causing Primo to jump and very nearly turn around and run from the room. Guess that answered his question. “I’m going to have to put my foot down.” Rodolfo watched as panic overwhelmed his son. So weak. So predictable.

“Dad, Mary Ellen had an event last night that blew up in her face and makes us all look like shit. She dragged your reputation through the mud, and she’s out of control. I heard people saying you were probably dead. Everyone knows something’s up. Rumors are flying about money being missing, and Mary Ellen never got the cash to me that she was supposed to.”

Rodolfo listened as Primo’s complaints and confessions circled inevitably back to his addiction.

“Hofstra.” He signaled the man waiting just outside the door. “Find my daughter and have her pay me a visit. Tell her I know about her indiscretions, and it’s time to pay the piper.”

Primo’s grin dissolved into a huge yawn as he made himself comfortable on the couch. Rodolfo looked away, trying to focus on the nature outside the window. An hour later his daughter appeared with her hands clasped. When she was tired or guilty her face regained a shade of its pre-surgery look. Rodolfo looked at her from a distance and remembered her mother’s beauty before waving her forward. Primo sat up on the couch, seemingly eager to witness the show.

“Leave us, Primo.” Rodolfo put his hand up to ward off his son’s protests. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

Primo stomped out of the room but knew better than to question Rodolfo. The king was back in his castle.

“I know how much is missing. Tell me everything. What else did Harmon take?”

Mary Ellen went to the couch and draped herself across it. “I thought I was in love, Daddy. I thought he was the one.”

“Don’t. You could have
loved
him without filling his pockets with my money.” Rodolfo gripped the arms of his chair. He had to focus to make his weak hand respond, but he forced himself to do it.

Mary Ellen began the tale from the beginning, telling him how scary his stroke had been for her and how Sevan had seemed so capable, so eager to help her succeed. She promised her revenge and swore she’d taken decisive action. Not only would she recover the money, she’d ruin Sevan’s business by taking Poughkeepsie off the table. She spoke at length of her parties and her trained women and her threats to just about everyone, though she was a little light on the details where costs and collateral damage were concerned. Even so, after a time he could not listen for another minute while she babbled on about ball gowns and diamonds, and he held up a hand to silence her. She stopped her full-body dancing demonstration and returned to the couch, but her eyes never left his.

He had to hand it to her—at least a little. She did have confidence, and she did have a plan. It would never work in a million years, and it would likely land her in jail or worse, but at least it involved a coherent thought pattern—unlike Primo’s gas station gambling. Perhaps he hadn’t given her quite enough credit, or quite enough attention. Something was out of whack with this one for sure. For now the best approach seemed to be containment.

“Let me think on this, dear,” he told her sweetly. “This certainly causes a bit of trouble, but it’s nothing we can’t recover from in time, don’t you think?”

She nodded so vigorously he feared her head might fly off.

“All right, then. I need to rest now. I have therapy in the morning, but perhaps you could come back tomorrow afternoon to discuss the best strategy for the future.”

“Of course, Daddy. Oh, thank you. I feel so much better now that you know. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but I just didn’t want to upset your recovery and—”

“Nonsense, you were covering your own ass. No need to blow smoke up mine. Come back tomorrow, and try not to get us any deeper into this clusterfuck between now and then.”

She stood, saying nothing more, and curtsied on her way out.

Ryan looked around and was startled to discover he had no freaking idea where he was. His ribs hurt, he had to take a massive piss, and he was pretty sure his headache was eating his brain. His eyes focused on Eve’s dad, who sat nearby, watching him, and he gradually recognized the room around him as Dr. Hartt’s apartment. “Sir?”

“Get up slowly, son. You’ve taken quite a blow to the head.” The man took the stethoscope from around his neck and placed it in his ears.

“Eve?” Ryan sat up and felt his whole body wince.

“She went with the other guy. Do you know who he was?” Dr. Hartt listened to Ryan’s chest and checked his pupils.

“No. He helped her last night. What’d she tell you?” His throat felt like he’d given a cactus a blowjob.

“Nothing.” The man was pissed. And worried.

“I got to call in.” Ryan rubbed his eyes. His vision was blurry.

“McHugh already knows you’re here. And he wants you to stay.”

Dr. Hartt handed him a glass of tepid water. After gulping it down, Ryan hoped desperately he could have more. It tasted so damn good.

“That’s not going to work until I know where Eve is.” Ryan stood and swayed.

“You have a concussion. And I’m pretty sure you have a few fractured ribs. And have you seen your face?” Ted pointed toward the decorative mirror on the wall.

Ryan took tentative steps. His vision was sharpening, but he wished it wasn’t. He looked like a human canker sore. “Jesus.”

“I’ve been trying to find out about Eve too.” The doctor’s cell phone rang. “Yeah. He’s come to. He’s standing at least.” He turned his back on Ryan.

It hit him again how much he had to take a piss. He guessed correctly and found the bathroom. When he came out, Dr. Hartt was waiting.

“McHugh’s swinging by to pick you up. He said to be ready. I’m going to give you some painkillers, but you really should be in bed. A concussion is a brain injury.”

Ryan took the second glass of water gratefully. “Thanks.” He tucked the envelope of pills in his tux pants pocket. “Do I have shirt?” He didn’t remember taking it off. “I have to feed my fish, find Eve.”

The doctor went into the bedroom, and Ryan’s gaze fell on his collection of pictures again. Eve was blonde in each of them—even when she was younger. And then there was the picture that had caught his eye the first time through. He focused again on the tattoo on the man’s arm as he posed with an unsmiling Eve.

Dr. Hartt returned and handed Ryan a plain white T-shirt. “You can keep this. I’m going to have to toss the other one—too much blood, and it was all torn up.”

“Figures. It was rented.” He slipped the T-shirt over his head and gasped. “Seriously! Hamster fucks, that hurts.”

Dr. Hartt helped him get the shirt over his body. “Sorry, I should’ve gotten you a button down. This is usually stuff the nurses handle.” He looked at the pictures Ryan had been examining.

“I miss her hair. The black’s too harsh.” Ted picked up the very image Ryan had fixated on.

“Who’s that? He looks familiar.” Ryan pointed with his pinky.

“That’s my nephew, Blake.” Ted replaced the picture.

“I feel like I’ve seen that tattoo before…” He was being obvious, but he didn’t care. He hurt too much to care.

“Yeah, a few guys have it. His brothers.” Dr. Hartt went to the window. “Up, the captain’s here. I’ll help you downstairs.”

Ryan probably would’ve pushed more, but his brain was freaking exhausted. After getting down the stairs in as manly a way as he could with Eve’s dad’s help, Ryan met Captain McHugh at the door.

“Can’t thank you enough, Ted. It’s been a crazy night,” the captain said. He took note of Dr. Hartt’s instructions for Ryan’s care, then responded to the man’s questions about his family. “Yeah, we got her home. It’s good. Blake’s doing okay. I think it messed with all of us.”

Carefully he walked Ryan to the unmarked police car and watched him flop in. Ryan knew grace was not his strong point right now.

McHugh turned back to Dr. Hartt. “Hey, if you’re up to it I think Blake and Livia’d love to have you drop by—and just observe Livvie for me. She says she’s okay, but I want to make sure from a medical point of view.”

Hartt agreed as McHugh got in the driver’s side.

“Your daughter’s married to Blake? Blake with the tattoo on his arm?” Ryan put his head against the headrest.

“He’s got a few tattoos. So you want to go back to your place and get changed?” John put the car in drive and started off.

Ryan’s fuzzy brain made the connections slowly. “Blake’s brother is Beckett Taylor?” Ryan turned his head to see his boss.

McHugh nodded. “Not blood. But they’re devoted.”

The pictures from his files at the office swam before Ryan’s eyes. He replaced the blond skunk hair with plain dark hair…The guy from last night was Beckett Taylor. Beckett Taylor who killed Nikko and Wade. Beckett Taylor who’d taken the joy right out of his mother’s eyes.

“Did you know he’s in town?” Ryan felt panicked, then betrayed.

“Spoke with him yesterday. He…was a necessary evil.” McHugh was obviously tortured by his involvement.

“You know he got off easy. Seven years ago he killed two men—just claimed self-defense and got off.” Nikko and Wade had mattered. It wasn’t fair that no one was fighting for them.

“We had nothing good on him. I went over that case a million times. You know as well as I do that once a case leaves our desks any damn thing can happen—and usually does. Christ, you can get more time for holding a bag of dope than beating a baby to death. We can only do our jobs the best we can.” McHugh pulled into the parking lot of Ryan’s apartment complex. “You need help up there?”

Hearing that McHugh had looked into the case made Ryan feel a tiny bit better, justified a little. He’d always liked his boss, and the man did things by the book. Having to work with Beckett Taylor—and feeling like he
needed
to work with Beckett Taylor—probably sucked.

“I got it. There’s an elevator.” Ryan pulled himself awkwardly out of the car. “My truck is still at that place. The key’s with the valet.” Ryan pulled his house keys out of his pocket, somewhat surprised to see them considering everything he’d been through.

“I’ll see if we can get Tommy out to tow it, and I’ll get a patrol car over here. Clean up and then you can ride over to the station. I know you must feel terrible, and you do need to rest, but I need you to explain as much as you can from the video we pulled off your phone.”