Chapter 4 - A new man


Vince drove Lena's car to a downtown garage and left it. She would find it when the garage charged her rent. In the mean time, he might or might not be charged with auto theft. It depended on whether she wanted to go high profile with charges and how deeply she was involved with the phony FBI crew. He wondered idly how she was doing but figured the drug had a temporary effect. They didn't have reason to kill him until they got what they wanted.

He caught a cab to an old Philly neighborhood where found an apartment building with the address he had in his pocket. He walked up four flights of stairs and knocked on the door.

Mose looked irritated as he reached for the remote.  He knew all the answers on these old rerun game shows, but he enjoyed watching the show anyway and he liked Vanna White. He turned off the TV and rose to answer the door. His armchair was old, and when he pushed himself up it creaked like an old timer in pain.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he shouted as the knocking started again.

Vince could hardly believe his eyes. When the old man opened the door, he wasn't sure this was the man he was looking for, until Mose looked him over and told him to come on in. In the five years since he had seen him, Mose changed from a slender figure of a 56 year old man into a slumped 80 year old man with mottled skin, baggy pants, a scraggly beard and thick glasses. But his voice and attitude were the same as he remembered.

As they shook hands, Mose asked, "How do you like this look? It's the new you."

Mose had everything a man on the run could ask for in the back of his apartment. There were rows of wigs, beards, full face masks and half masks and a large inventory of ears, noses, and mustaches. He had male clothing in assorted styles and sizes, but Vince noticed that most of his clothes went out of style 20 years ago. In his day, Mose boasted a dazzling array of the best costumes get ups for male and females alike, but he sold most of them off a few years ago to pay off a gambling debt. 

He didn't gamble anymore. When the organization tells you to quit - you quit. He sat and watched TV most of the time now, waiting for a few loyal clients to buy or rent his wares. If they needed something he didn't have, he made arrangements to obtain the goods.

Mose lived simply. It wasn't that there were less criminals these days, but there was a lot less money to be made from them. They had other resources to keep them out of jail without the need for elaborate disguises. But he still had some in-demand products.

Most of his current clients had no need for disguises, but they often needed other things. He kept a small stock of prepaid credit cards with small amounts of money on them. These cards could be refilled by his clients for their untraceable spending habits.Refilling prepaid credit cards was much easier than other methods of money handling for people who needed to transfer untraceable cash. Business was steady but not brisk.


Birth certificates were a secret part of his trade. By obtaining records of people who died as infants, he could secure birth certificates and from them other documents such as Social Securities and passports. Who would check on the paper trail of a dead person? This business was reserved for known criminals who could not betray him without putting themselves in jeopardy. Most needed to travel in and out of the country without being recognized. These documents were profitable but he used them very judiciously.

Vince didn't ask for a passport, but Mose had in his possession a ready made package to sell to him. The passport displayed a picture of a man in the same disguise and along with it was a birth certificate, SS, and passport. The credit card had a balance of $5000. Mose didn't spend it because this was a high level crook with the right connections. But now that his client no longer needed them, he had a green light.

They were a strange pair. Vince was a straight cop for the most part, but he helped a few petty criminals here and there to get to the bigger operatives. Mose owed him for letting him out of a big mess a few years back. But now, he had called in a favor and Mose was willing to oblige without asking questions. Truth was, he didn't want to know why a retired cop needed to change his identity. If he was in trouble, Mose didn't care. He would take that small chance to pay off this debt and that would be the end of it.

The mask was a snug fit for Vince, but Mose made a couple of strategic slits and eased it forward slightly. When the wig was put on his head it balanced the mask by being slightly large. Vince looked like an old man with splotchy liver spots and a big nose. He was fitted with matching pigmented skins over his hands. A tattered coat gave him a semi-finished appearance. He couldn't find shoes that fit, so Vince wore some over sized galoshes. He could stop at a thrift store later.

"What about identification?," Vince asked.

"Too easy for you Vince," Mose answered. "A client ordered everything you have on and all the documents too, but he wasn't able to use them. A bonus for you. Say, you look just like he did in that get up, except you're a couple of inches taller. Let your pants bag a little more and stoop over more to make the illusion work."

Vince pulled his pants down a bit and affected a stooped posture and remarked in a shaky voice, "Lucky for me, and unlucky for your friend."

"Well he ain't a real friend. You know, business." Mose replied handing Vince an old cane. "He don't need them in the joint. He got grabbed before he had a chance to put them to good use. He only paid me half of what he owed."

"What's the total I owe you?" Vince asked.

Mose scratched his chin. "$5000 even.

"But you said you received payment for half of it."

"His total was $7000 and you're forgetting, there is $5000 on his identity credit card" Mose said. You're getting a birth certificate and a passport as a bonus to what you asked. You're getting a sweetheart deal."

"Yeah," Vince countered, "it is a great deal, but wasn't it his $5000 on the credit card?" His question was met with stony silence and an intense pair of brown eyes.

Vince weighed his options. He only had about $4000 in cash and he would need money to live on until he figured out who made him a target, and why. He made Mose a counter offer.

"I appreciate the deal Mose, I really do," Vince replied. "But I have very little cash on hand. I have a car that's worth about $6500 or $7500. You take the car, and I take the $5000 and  disguise and you'll still come out ahead with maybe a couple thousand. I have the title with me. You can have one of your young associates sell it on the street or even sell it to a used car dealer. It's all legit."

Mose's face turned red. He suddenly looked very agitated. He didn't like this deal, and he had the feeling that he'd been steam rolled. He didn't want the bother of having to sell a car, but he wanted to be rid of this retired cop fast. Retired or not, it wouldn't look good to his associates if they knew he had dealings with a cop. He hated what he was feeling. It was like bile rising in his throat, but he was walking a fine line with his associates in dealing with this cop, and he angrily accepted the offer on the condition Vince would never ask him for anything else, ever."

He cast a dark look as he handed the documents to Vince. "You new name is Michael Donati. You were born in Chicago on the north side. Your parents were killed when you were young and you kicked around the country.  You're in your late 70s, so memory lapses will be forgiven if you forget some details. Memorize your birth certificate and get the hell out after you sign the car title," Mose said with resentment, while pointing to the door.

After signing the car title, Vince now known as Michael, wrote Lena's name and address with instructions on how to open her garage door. If they got caught, they had the car title. If they were smart, they wouldn't get caught.

Donato took the bus back to Camden and sneaked into his home after dark. He checked his credit card to make sure all the money was there in his new identity card. He still had $4000 in cash but he was temporarily without a car.

He called Hannah, a former school friend, and asked her to make a reservation for New York as he was short of money. He said he would mail her the money later. She had been at his daughter's funeral and felt sorry for him when he turned on the sad voice. She didn't mind doing it and told him he could pick up the ticket at the counter and not to rush with paying her back the small amount for the ticket. Vince Parelli had a ticket to New York for early tomorrow morning, but Mike Donato was going to Chicago.

He couldn't take a chance of sleeping in his old bed, as much as he wanted to stay the last night in his own home. After a quick sandwich and bottle of dark beer, he packed a bag with a few changes of clothes and shaving essentials. He wrapped a gun in an overcoat to mail to Michael Donato.

It was three miles to his daughter's house, and he didn't want to walk with his bag and the package under his arm in full disguise, so he pulled his old bicycle off the garage rack and brought it into the hall where he loaded the box into the attached basket.He carried his bag and left out of the back door. He traveled well known alleys as he cycled to his daughter's house.

Letting himself in the back door, he stashed the bike in the garage and went straight to the laundry room and to the laundry detergent. After fumbling around in the half full box for a few moments, he pulled out his daughter's old cell phone. He was glad she rarely remembered to delete old messages and calls. Using a flash light he turned it on. After looking at the recent incoming and outgoing communications, he had an uneasy feeling in his gut. 

He tried to remember the name. He had seen it before a long time ago, but he couldn't come up with a face. The messages didn't make much sense, but he figured they were in some kind of code or written with specific code words. The phone was a key element and clue, but he still didn't know why.

He pulled out the sim card and tossed the phone in the garbage disposal. Then he looked for the keys to the Mustang. He found them hanging where he had left them a little more than a week ago. After checking outside to see if it was clear, he made his way down the alley and approached the Mustang from the end of the block where he left it last week.

The street was quiet and he didn't see any suspicious cars parked on the street. The phony FBI had been called off for a little while anyway. As soon as Lena was out of the hospital, they would be on his trail again. He slid behind the wheel throwing his bag and package into the back seat.

The Mustang engine roared to life. He wished it was more quiet, but the double exhaust pipes sang out as he pulled away from the curb. He hoped neighbors would think that Mitch was home on leave. His foot pressed the accelerator and he headed for the Interstate.

He mailed the package from Ohio and found a motel off the highway to wash and sleep for a few hours. He was too tired to eat.

Midnight Vigil - Chapter 3

Vince crossed the bridge and turned right at the next exit with the car following closely behind. He and the driver behind were traveling faster than usual but staying close to posted speed limits.His mind went into high gear. Lena's house was a few blocks away and if luck was with him, she would be home. Minutes later, he pulled into the driveway and parked beside her Prius.

Once inside, he endured her prolonged nasal greeting and endless small talk about how glad she was he stopped by and they should do more activities together. He casually walked to the window and remarked about the nice view. At length, she sat still looked at him. He guessed she was expecting him to offer some explanation of why he neglected to call her back about her lunch invitation. 

Vince decided the direct approach wouldn't work well in this situation. If he told her he needed a place to hang out, she would think he was using her, so he apologized profusely blaming his thoughtlessness on an old bottle of scotch and a bad hangover. He stood over her wanting to escape her accusing eyes. Her body language told him she was defensive about something, but he didn't have time to figure it out, so he needed to come up with a better story.

He told her he wanted to make up for neglecting her by stopping by and cooking dinner for her. Then he suggested they spend a quiet evening together, just the two of them, maybe watching TV, or chatting while looking at the old school photographs again. He gave her the impression he wanted to be alone with her and that seemed to please her very much.

"But you don't have to fix dinner, Vince," she protested. "We can go to that new Thai restaurant across the bridge."

"I can't deal with that hot stuff, and I just want to be with you this evening," he said while walking toward the kitchen. "I don't want any distractions."

He looked into her fridge to see what was available, and saw most of what he needed except for capers.

"Ah, Lena dear, are you going to deny me the pleasure of cooking for you?" he asked sweetly. "Do you have any veal? Yes, you do. You have not had a good home cooked meal until you have tasted my Veal Piccata. Now you sit down and relax while I make you a meal you won't soon forget. I promise."

"Got any wine?" he asked.

There was no wine, and Lena decided they should have a good bottle of wine to go with dinner. When she said she was going to make a quick run to market, Vince called out,  "you have no capers. Would you mind picking some up? Piccata must have capers and a dry white wine to go in the Piccata to give it a boost of flavor."

Somewhat annoyed at not understanding what he meant when he asked for wine, she frowned at his request, but eager to please, Lena slipped on a jacket and made a mental note to set the security alarm while she was out. A fifteen minute trip was not a big inconvenience but she didn't want Vince to run out on her while she was gone.You can't be too careful, she thought.

It was unlikely but the FBI could follow Lena in which case, Vince could make a run for it. Or he would figure something else out later. He watched out the window as Lena pulled onto the street and headed for the market.

Just as he expected, the unmarked car remained where it was parked down the street. Then he remembered, the man who was killed at his daughter's house had identified himself as an FBI agent. Maybe these goons were not the FBI at all. But what could they want from him? He wasn't carrying Carla's cell phone it was well hidden from all eyes. He was certain nobody would find it where he put it, but he understood her phone held the key to the puzzle before him.

He pounded the veal scallops until they were thin, thinking of his daughter and her husband. He thought they were the most ideal couple he knew. They enjoyed the same things, went out of their way to help other people when they saw a need, and they had a handful of friends who shared their passion for travel and hospitality. They were a close and loving couple caring for each other and for those less fortunate. Still he sometimes wondered where they got the money to live and share so well. Then Mitch suddenly joined the military and was gone.

Vince grunted and slowly shook his head back and forth. No one lived in an ideal fantasy such as theirs. This was the image they had cultivated for the rest of the world to see. He'd lost perspective because she was his daughter and he wanted to believe his heart and not his eyes. If he had looked closely, what might he have seen?

Certainly not her death and Mitch's desertion from the army under suspicious circumstances, he thought.
--

Lena got a good parking space near the store. She was glad the parking lot was mostly empty at this time of day. She pulled her ringing phone from her pocket and listened intently for a few moments.

"Yes, but you have to back off," she barked at the caller in her anger, "Sure he sees you following him and knows you're parked across the street. Do you take him for an idiot?" After another pause, she continued, "back off and let me take care of him. He's fixing dinner and I'm buying wine that will put him out for a long time." She listened again and replied, "No, of course I'm not going to kill him, not until we get Carla's phone and contacts."

Lena walked into the store where she immediately met a neighbor from across the street. They greeted each other and Martha admitted she had a concern about the upcoming party at the Harrison's. Martha was worried about the wine list and asked for help. Lena was in a hurry to get what she came for and get back home, but didn't want to arouse suspicion so she took the list from Martha and moved quickly to the liquor section. After inspecting a few bottles, she informed Laura the wine inventory in the market wouldn't be adequate and advised her to go to a liquor store across town.

"Come with me." Martha pleaded. "I'm no good at this wine selection."

"Can't do it." Lena said flippantly, "I'm collecting a few things for dinner and back home to a man friend who is waiting. Anyway, it's time you learned. If you're not sure, ask Bailey the owner. He'll dazzle you with his knowledge, but make sure you tell him how much you want to spend."

Lena was walking toward the next aisle as she spoke. There were no capers to be found anywhere. She called ahead to another store where they told her they would have them waiting at the counter as soon as she got there. A fifteen minute trip had grown to thirty five minutes and she had another stop to make. As she walked to her car, she saw the men parked nearby and waiting. She sighed and got into their car. After a few minutes, she returned to her car and headed for the next stop to get the capers.

--
"Moses!" Vince almost shouted the name. He quickly grabbed his cell phone from his sports coat and dialed his number. A familiar voice said "hello."

Vince laughed and replied, "is it really you Mose? Really and honest you?"

"Yeah" Mose replied, "it's me, now who the hell are you?"

"It's Vincent Parelli, and am I glad to hear your voice. We can do the catching up when I see you but right now I need a big favor."

"Go on," Mose answered in a guarded voice.

"You still have all those wigs and false faces... and costumes?"

"Yeah," Mose replied, "but they're a little ratty now, they've been lying around a long time."

"Don't matter," Vince said. "Speaking of ratty, you seen Jimmy around lately? Before Mose could answer, Vince continued, "Look, I need to change my appearance. It has to be a good change so I won't be recognized, and you were the best in the business for this kind of thing years ago. Can I count on you?"

First of all, Jimmy the Rat is back behind bars. Won't be out for twenty more years," Mose answered. "Second, I am still the best make-up man you know, so lets get that straight right away. Third, I can make you look like Paul Newman and have chicks following you all over town."

"Whoa, Mose!" Vince interrupted, "I need to lose some people who are following me, so a nondescript appearance, maybe an old geezer type would do. I'll need some papers too, that's why I needed Jimmy, for the documents.

"Might help you there too," Mose offered. "Things change, Parelli, you ought to know that."

"Whatever you can do." Vince answered. He took the address and they agreed on a price.

Lena returned after an hour. She complained lightly of having to drive all over town to find the capers he asked for and produced the wine along with the capers. She poured a glass of wine while Vince finished making the Veal Piccata. When it was ready, they sat down in the living room and ate. She was on her second glass of wine when he picked up his glass.

"Vince, be a dear and get some salt," she whined. "This veal needs a little seasoning."

He told her it was perfect the way it was and they argued back and forth for a minute, but he finally moved to the kitchen. She dropped some powder into his wine.

When he returned, she was on the phone. She turned toward him for a moment and asked him to refill her glass. He didn't like the wine, so he took his full glass to her and she smiled at him but paused the conversation. He returned to his meal. She was standing by the window with her back to him speaking very low. He couldn't hear the conversation. He finished his food before she finished her conversation.

She hung up the phone and drank deeply of the wine. She looked at him quizzically before she suddenly grabbed the back of a chair to hang onto to keep from falling. She looked at him with glazed over eyes and asked him why he was still sitting there. A sharp pain stabbed her stomach and suddenly understood that is was she who drank the drugged wine.

Vince recognized the symptoms right away. He asked what she put in the wine, but she slurred her words and he couldn't understand.

He went to the window and the unmarked car was nowhere in sight. He couldn't put it all together but he knew she meant the drugged wine for him and that she was involved in this intrigue somehow.  It was then he saw her car keys on the coffee table. He hustled.

After putting his car in her garage, he drove off in her Prius. Moments later, he called 911 and reported a woman ill and needing help at her address. Then he hung up and drove back to Camden and his bank. He withdrew a large amount of cash and some bonds from his lock box. It would be a few hours before anyone thought of a stolen car and by that time, he hoped Mose would have everything he needed.

He drove off with no one following this time.

Midnight Vigil -chapter 2

Chapter 2

Vince was barely outside Stewart's door when two special agents approached him. They flashed their FBI badges in his face and led him to an office down the hall.

“Round 2” Vince muttered under his breath.


Seven miles away, FBI made a return trip to Vince's home knowing he would be tied up for at least another hour at headquarters. Carla's cell phone was never found and they were certain Vince hid it in his house. They checked the house thoroughly and then checked every conceivable hiding place in the Mustang. Vince's car was no where to be seen and they soon learned he had not picked it up from the shop when he drove Mitch's car to his daughter's house.

The owner of the repair shop was peeved about the car left at his garage and asked Harry Dean if he intended to come and get it.

“We might just do that Mr. Lansing,” Dean replied, “we'll be in touch.”

“What's her number? Call her phone,” Greg Boyle growled at Dean.

“Yes sir, we have the number, but Parelli probably removed the sim card.”

“Dial the number!” Doyle said through clenched teeth. He hated it when his orders were questioned, and this underling was too green for his taste. This neophyte had a lot to learn, but he wasn't the one to teach him.

As Dean was dialing the cell, the sound of squealing wheels roared away from the curb. The men drew their weapons and ran to the front lawn in time to see a blue cargo van speeding down the street. In the kitchen the sound of a muffled ringing was heard by no one.
The men holstered their weapons, alerted the police, made a couple more calls and returned inside. They settled in the front room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Boyle remarked. “OK what do we have here? No cell phone but all signs say she wasn't on drugs. Did you check the water tank back of the commode?”

“Yes sir,” Dean replied, “the bathroom was clean. I also checked the laundry room and attic. The attic was full of dust and hasn't been visited in a few months by the looks of it, but I checked it.”
Doyle sat down on the sofa to think. “How about the canisters in the kitchen? Sugar, flour, and coffee?

“I poured them out on the counter the first time we were here,” Dean answered.

“Do it again.” Boyle barked, “Parelli was a cop, he knew we were here last week by the mess left on the counter. He won't expect us to check it again and anyway, just check it again.” His collar suddenly felt tight, and he loosened his tie. OK, he said again, what do we have? “If he has her cell on him, the boys at CPD will relieve him of it when they confiscate his. But it's here somewhere in this house. I can smell it.”

“What if he did take out the sim card?...” Dean said spreading his arms in a half shrug.

“Parelli is a retired cop,” Boyle said, “not a technical guru. He probably wouldn't know about it or if he knows he wouldn't think of it, but we still need the phone to be sure.” he said beating his fist on the table. If we don't find it, we have nothing to go on with Carla's computer and emails. They were squeaky clean, including the emails from Afghanistan. Our only other lead, is that blue cargo van that keeps showing up at the most inopportune times. At least we have a partial plate number.”
Boyle's phone rang, a voice at the other end told him that Vince Parrelli just left CPD. That gave them about three quarters of an hour to finish up and plant the listening devices and cameras. This time when they finished emptying the kitchen canisters, they left them toppled on the kitchen counter with contents spilled on the floor.

It was important for Vince Parrelli to know the FBI were investigating him. They wanted him to feel the pressure of the being accused and watched. The guys downtown did their part to make him feel like a scumbag. No doubt he'd find most of the bugs they planted, but if he slipped up in any other way, they would be their first to know and they wanted him to know it.

As they were leaving, Dean threw a copy of the search warrant on the coffee table.


Vince left the CPD at 11:35 AM. He refused a ride home saying he needed to run errands before taking the bus home. He walked for a few blocks until he located a mobile phone center. After buying a basic cell phone and activating it under the pseudonym Jack Kraft, he bought a prepaid phone card, and walked to a small pub in a neighborhood he knew well. It was his old beat.

He sat at a table by the window instead of his usual seat at the counter. Glen was glad to see him and waited on him personally, offering condolences for the loss of his daughter. Vince thanked him and stared at the menu asking in a quiet voice, “Jimmy the Rat been around?”

Glen motioned toward the door using his eyes. There they were, Camden's finest seated near the door and looking at menus while pretending not to look at Vince. Glen spoke up loudly, “We make the finest corned beef on rye in the city or have our special Italian sub on a bread of your choice.”

Vince ordered the corned beef and a glass of beer. He was hungry and ate quickly. As soon as he finished, he asked for the bill, and Glen pulled his customer check pad out and wrote the last known address of Jim Bardini aka Jimmy the Rat. Throwing a $10 on the table, Vince walked past the table where the plains clothes officers were seated. “Afternoon gentlemen,” he said as he exited the pub.

It was 1:30 PM when he went to pick up his car from the garage on Broadway. His old midnight blue Impala was waiting for him in the lot behind a chained gate. With a disgusted look on his face, he paid the young man the money he owed for "storing" the car and headed toward Philadelphia. It was a short trip but he hoped he would find Jimmy there just the same.

The trip was aborted when he spotted an unmarked car following behind as he was crossing the Benjamin Franklin Bridge.