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.

Midnight Vigil -Chapter 1

[Welcome readers. This writing is not designed to be a literary work. It's just a little story of intrigue about relationships that sometimes take us to places we don't want to go. It's for entertainment and (I hope) enjoyment while you're waiting on your song to download or for your microwave popcorn to finish.] 

Chapter 1

Vincenzo Parelli saw the long dark sedan parked in front of his daughter's house. Without thinking about it, he drove past her house, made a u-turn and parked across the street and half way down the block. He dialed her number to see tell her he was bringing the car home. After four rings and no answer, he got out of his car and walked casually around the side of her house.

He peeped in the window and saw them and stepped back out of sight. Through the kitchen window he could see Carla sitting at the table with a man he didn't know. He was eating and she had a cup of coffee in front of her. He frowned as thoughts of his son-in-law Mitch, ran through his mind. He was off fighting in Afghanistan and his daughter was entertaining another man.

His stomach suddenly felt queasy. This was his only daughter who loved her husband, but what was this? Was she cheating on him? He didn't want to believe it, but there she was having coffee with this unknown man. As he watched them, he dialed her phone again. This time he saw the glint of the gun as the man signaled for her not to answer. He froze and for a moment in time, he was back on the police force faced with a dangerous situation. But there was no back-up to call this time.

The phone kept ringing until her voice mail clicked on.

"Hi, this is Carla. I'm not available right now. Please leave a message."

Vince moved away from the window and gave her this message. "Hi Carla, dad here. I hope you have my laundry all done and folded because I'm on my way over to pick it up. See you in about 15."

Carla looked up at the man with a puzzled expression. He took her phone and threw it across the room. 

"Your old man is coming," the man said wearily. "Let's go wait for him by the front door. Bring his laundry and get rid of him as fast as you can. "

"But I didn't do his laundry... " she replied.

He grabbed Carla by the arm and started toward the front room.

Vince hurried to the back of the house and tried the door. It was locked. He slit the back screen with his pen knife and let himself in the back door. As he crept along to the kitchen, he pulled the 9mm from his pants leg and moved as smoothly as a cat into the dining room where he could see them. As he hoped, Carla was waiting behind the front door while the gunman paced back and forth, alternately glancing at her and then out the window.

"What kind of car does your old man drive?" he asked.


"It's a dark silver Ford," she replied.


The gunman looked out the window again and then walked closer and spotted the car across the street. It was parked under a tree and partially hidden in the shade. It was a blue cargo van. In front of it was white crossover Honda. He frowned as though he was trying to figure out what was out of place. Further down the street, he spotted a silver Mustang.

When he turned back to Carla, he stopped midway through his turn, Vince was pointing a gun at him. Without a word, Vince put a bullet in the mans right arm. He dropped the gun.

"Dad, no!" Carla shouted. "It's not what you think!"

The men stared at each other.

"Dad this is SSA Roy Bentley." Carla explained hurriedly. "He's here because of Mitch."

"What's happened to Mitch?, " Vince asked in a deliberate voice while still holding the gun on the agent.


Installment 2 (chapter 1)

"Better show me some ID, agent."

The man called Bentley slowly reached for his ID and produced it for Vince. It looked official, but Vince wasn't in any hurry to lower his firearm. He glanced at his daughter who was moving away from the door toward the wounded agent.

A loud blast exploded the air. The front picture window shattered and the agent went down. Suddenly glass was flying everywhere.

Vince reacted automatically. He hit the floor while grabbing his daughter's arm to pull her down beside him. A moment later she was lying in a pool of blood.

She instinctively clutched at her throat in a weak attempt to remove the large piece of glass and then she went still. The agent stared at the ceiling with a blank expression. There was a hole in his chest.  In one moment, he lost a daughter and an agent was gunned down before his eyes. He examined the bodies quickly for signs of life, but he knew they were dead soon after they fell.

The stench of death was all around him but he clasped his daughter to his chest, dislodging the glass, as he dialed 911.
 
The faraway sound of a roaring engine and squealing tires barely registered in his mind as Vince gasped for breath at the horror before him. With his body dry heaving, he crawled to the window for a look. He collapsed a minute later but recovered quickly. He had to move.

He had no idea of what just happened or why, but his training took over as he quickly checked the perimeter and found no sign of the shooters. The street was empty except for his son-in-law's silver Mustang that he had brought back from the repair shop that morning. It was parked where he left it, half way down the block.

Police arrived within ten minutes and forensics about twenty minutes later.

His body shook visibly and he wept silently as the detectives took him downtown for questioning. It was all business at the station. He didn't get a break for being a retired officer and went through the paces like anyone else. The difference was that he knew at least half of them were on the take, but it didn't matter in his situation and he was respectful with his responses. It was after 9PM when they drove him home.

The next week was a blur of numbed activity. He tried to notify Mitch, but learned he was MIA. After questioning by detectives, and planning and attending her funeral service he tried to maintain a posture of politeness as relatives and well wishers brought casseroles which he tossed in the trash and condolences he barely heard. He sent them away at the door. He was tired.

He tried to think of the faces at the funeral. He knew the shooter might attend. That's what they did to make sure the target was down for good. But Carla wasn't the target, it was the man who identified himself as an FBI agent. His ID turned out to be phony and Vince knew with certainty the shooter would attend the target's funeral somewhere back in Virginia. He should go too, but right now, he didn't care about anything.

His mind took him back to her funeral and he tried again to visualize the faces at Carla's funeral. It was no use. They all blurred into pixels but none seemed out of place.

He sat in his den until after midnight, keeping vigil and drinking scotch while trying to sort out the last few moments of his daughter's life. He was spent. So, he looked around his sanctuary where he came for quiet time. There was a wall lined with books and next to the window, the old leather chair where he liked to sit and read. It now was a reminder of all the time spent away from his wife and daughter. His wife Janice died a couple of years before he retired and now he was very much alone  with solitude mocking him from every room of his bungalow.

As he poured another scotch, he remembered, he had a meeting Monday morning with Captain Stewart, the detective in charge of the case. They hadn't offered much help and no new information was found since the murders. His handgun was still in their possession even though he was told he wasn't a suspect. It was a pop gun anyway and he wouldn't object if they kept it permanently.

The ringing phone didn't penetrate his foggy mind, and with a scotch warmed belly and sufficiently numbed mind, he stumbled off to bed.


Installment 3 (chapter 1)

The alarm rang at 8 AM. Vince groaned at the bright sunlight streaming in his window and shut off the alarm before it buzzed again. He sat on the side of his bed trying to lay out some thoughts and a plan to tackle the day. He didn't have much time to think because his meeting with the police department was at 9:15.
After a quick shower, he moved to the kitchen with electric razor buzzing in one hand where he made coffee and threw a couple slices of bread in the toaster thinking it would calm his gurgling stomach.

The land line phone rang and he let the answering machine pick up. It was Lena wanting to meet him for lunch. He erased the message without returning the call. He figured he had done his civil duty to his wife's old friend by spending a little time and buying her a few dinners and looking at their childhood pictures.

Lena was strange. Pretty features, but not pretty. Maybe it was because her voice grated on his nerves. She reminded him of someone from long past, but he couldn't remember who it was.
He took public transportation downtown and walked three blocks to police headquarters. The walk and the crisp Autumn air cleared his mind and energized him. He mentally added brunch to his schedule figuring the meeting wouldn't take more than an hour.
Captain Stewart was milling around outside his office when Vince arrived. They shook hands and exchanged short pleasantries before walking to the coffee machine and selecting their brew. The captain bought.
Vince sat across the desk from the captain. His eyes took in the numerous medals and awards hanging on the wall. This guy was self promotional and probably still working his way up the ladder. Stewart sat back in his chair and looked him over without a word as he slowly sipped his coffee. It was a deliberate ploy. Vince guessed it was supposed to make him uncomfortable and it did. It irritated him. He waited for Stewart to speak.
“You don't have a permit for your gun. We'll have to confiscate it.”
Vince sighed and shrugged.
“We could charge you for carrying a concealed firearm” Stewart continued, “but, I think we can get past that without too much effort.”
“What do you want?” Vince asked, wearying of the game.

“Any of the perps you caught, ever threaten you?”

“No serious threats, the usual big talk about getting even, but mostly just talk,” Vince replied. “My family was never in danger.”

Stewart got up from his desk and walked to the window. “Do you know who the men who attacked your daughter?”

“Are you crazy? Vince answered, his voice rising. “That was my daughter, my only child! If I knew anything about them, your department would have been told within moments of their arrival at the crime scene. What the hell, captain!
“Was your daughter on drugs?”

“No!” Vince shouted.
Stewart turned back to the desk and frowned at Vince, “The men who attacked your daughter were part of an organized crime unit.” He help up the palm of his hand, and continued.

“We believe the man who identified him self as an FBI agent was there to collect drug money, or if as you say, she wasn't on drugs, to retrieve your daughter and deliver her to her husband, who as you know is MIA from Afghanistan. Maybe they were all partners in a drug ring. We don't know. Now maybe you know something and maybe you don't, but if you do, right now is the time to spill your guts. The press is going to be all over this new angle in a few hours.”

Throwing his cup in the trash can, Vince's eyes blazed with anger as he leaned over the desk. “Still crazy talk. Mitch was a true soldier, good at his job, honest and genuine. My daughter never did drugs one day of her life. The only thing they fought about was him going back to Afghanistan. She didn't want him to go. I am telling you straight up that they are not tangled up with drugs or organized crime.” 
 
“Sit down, Vince, “ Stewart said quietly. “You know the reality. Half the guys over there are dopers. They have to be to get through the stress and the unbelievable crap rules that tie their hands and keep them from being effective at their jobs. If he's clean, we'll find out once we find him. What we want from you is cooperation in finding him. You'll be contacted once we put together a team.”