The Body Mafia (15 page)

I kicked off my heels and launched into a dead run. I turned the corner as they fired another shot at me. I ran down alley after alley, avoiding Cleveland police cars that came screaming through with their lights and sirens on. I couldn’t ask for their help, since everyone at the club would’ve told them a blonde in a gold sequined shirt was responsible for part of the shooting. They would fire at me on sight. Somehow, I managed to find myself in an area that was familiar to me—the flats.

The flats used to be the place where the clubs were lined up and down the Cuyahoga River. But since
the Warehouse District emerged, most of the businesses in the flats closed up, leaving a few strip bars here and there.

Standing on the wooden dock that lined the river, I heard running footsteps and voices. It was either the cops or the Iacconas, neither of which I could allow to see me. With no other choice, I sat on the dock and slowly lowered myself into the freezing river. Honestly thinking my heart would stop, I went underneath the water as the footsteps walked above me. I emerged up under the dock, held on, and waited, knowing I was on the verge of hypothermia. My bare feet, already numb from running in the cold, were most likely purple by now as I floated in the icy waters under the dock.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, and no longer hearing any voices or footsteps, I pulled myself from the water onto the dock and curled up into a ball, shivering from the cold. Knowing I needed to move, and quickly, I got up and headed for a strip club on the other side of the parking lot that was in front of me. My feet screamed in pain from the cold.

I barreled through the front door of the strip club, almost falling down, before I was immediately stopped by a large bouncer.

“Hey! You can’t come flyin’ in here like—”

“P-P-Please!” I shivered. “My—My boyfriend’s chasing me. I—I need a phone!”

“I’ll just call the cops, lady. Come on in here and get warm.”

“No—no! You don’t understand. He’s—he’s a cop! Please. I need to make a phone call and I’ll leave.”

The man walked me back to the office just inside the front door and set the phone in front of me.

“How come you’re all wet?”

“He pushed me into the river.” I grabbed the phone and began dialing Naomi’s phone number.

“Fuckin’ asshole. What’s he look like, in case he comes in?”

I described Petey and Antonio Iaccona to the bouncer, and he walked out, leaving me to listen to Naomi’s voice mail, which kicked in after she didn’t answer the phone. Coop’s did the same.
Where the fuck is everybody?
my head screamed. Keeping my fingers crossed, I thought of Justin Brown and dialed his cell-phone number. Thankfully, he answered.

“CeeCee! Hey! Long time no talk. How’s Florida? I was just thinking—”

“Justin! Listen to me, I need your help!” I was hysterical.

“CeeCee, what the hell’s going on? Are you okay?”

“No! I’m not! I can’t get into right now, but I need you to come get me.”

“In Florida?” he gasped.

“No, no, I’m in Cleveland.” He started to ask questions again, but I cut him off. “I’ll explain it all later. Do you know where the Bermuda Triangle strip club is—in the flats?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he chuckled.

“Pick me up behind it. How long will it be?”

“Oh, give me half an hour or so. Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, for now. Just bring a warm coat if you have one.”

After hanging up with Justin, I did my best to warm up and calm down. I tried several more times to call Naomi and Coop, but neither one answered. Putting my face in my hands, I began to cry. Joseph
was dead. He had died trying to save me, and it was my fault. A father out there had now lost both sons. Even though their choice of professions was less than respectable, no one deserved that. Thinking about it led my thoughts to my own children. I called Eric. Understandably, he wasn’t happy.

“What do you mean, get the kids out of here?” His voice rose. “CeeCee, God damn it, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“For now, please, Eric. I can’t get into details, but the Mafia is after me. I know it sounds crazy, but they’re going to try to get at the girls to get to me. Please, please, get them out of there and go somewhere until you hear from me.”

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, CeeCee.” His voice quieted down.

“I know that. Please, Eric.”

Surprisingly, he agreed. “All right, I’ll take them to my parents tonight and call off of work.” He paused. “Please, Cee, be careful. These little girls miss you. Don’t make me have to tell them something happened to their mother.”

“I’m doing my best, believe me.”

After hanging up the phone, I checked my watch. Justin should have been arriving any minute. Sneaking past the bouncer, I was elated to see the taillights of a truck behind the building. I ran up to it, opened the passenger door, and almost started to cry when I saw Justin sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Justin, thank God!” I said as I got into the truck. “Just go, now.”

He pulled away. “CeeCee! You’re soaking wet! What the hell happened?”

I let out a deep breath while I laid my head back on
the seat and put my hands up to the heater vents. The heat felt wonderful.

“Head toward the FBI office downtown, and I’ll fill you in. Please, give me a minute first.”

Closing my eyes, I realized I had made it. Now I would be safe. As soon as I got to the FBI office, I would contact Alan Keane, give him the files, videos, and tapes, and allow him to do the rest. I was so tired.

Music from Justin’s radio was blaring throughout the truck. I smiled. Sitting upright, I was about to comment on his music when I saw him—specifically, his shoes.

Justin’s boots, pants, and shirt were covered with mud. My smile faded and my mind flashed back to when he’d picked me up. As I ran toward the truck, I had quickly glanced at the plate, not giving it much thought. Until now. His plates were from Cuyahoga County, not Richland. And come to think of it, the drive from Mansfield to Cleveland was at least forty-five to fifty minutes, not thirty. I had been so excited to see him that I hadn’t paid attention.

Everything started to come together, including the scene at the warehouse, when the delivery truck got stuck in the mud. The man driving, a man who looked so familiar to me, had gotten out to dislodge the van and was covered in mud in the process. With my chest heaving and my heart skipping, I did my best to remain calm, even as Justin drove right past the FBI office. I pretended to not notice.
This couldn’t be!
my head screamed.
Not Justin!

In my last attempt to prove my instincts wrong, I sat upright and spoke to him.

“You really helped me out. Thanks, Justin.”

“No problem.”

“It looks like both of us took a roll with nature tonight.” I smiled. “What’d you do? Enter a mudwrestling match?”

He smiled back at me as he got onto the interstate. “You know, don’t you, CeeCee?”

“Know what?” I pretended to look confused, as my hand found the door handle.

His smile was replaced by a look of pure contempt. “You stupid cunt. I told them you’d fuck everything up, but they didn’t want to listen to me. Nooo, not Justin! I told them to take care of you right from the get-go.”

“What are you talking about?” Still playing dumb, I pulled on the door handle in an attempt to open it.

Unfortunately, Justin was a step ahead of me. Before I could jump, the barrel of his pistol was staring me right between the eyes.

“Shut the door and stay still.”

“Justin, think about what you’re doing. You’re a cop, for Christ’s sake! I don’t know what they’re paying you, but I’m sure I could get you out of this if you just think for a second!”

He began to laugh, the gun still pointed at me. He pulled off to the side of the highway and stopped the truck. I thought for sure he was going to kill me right there. But instead, he made his own confession.

“You’re right, CeeCee, I’m a cop.” He laughed. “But there’s one little piece of information you overlooked. The one little piece of this whole puzzle that you didn’t factor in, and it worked out wonderfully!”

“Really?” I was almost hyperventilating in anticipation of the shot, but had to ask, “What exactly is that?”

He grabbed the back of my hair, jerked my head forward, and kissed me, an act that almost made me sick. Allowing me to pull away, he laughed again.

“You stupid bitch. Here’s where you fucked up and missed it all! You see, CeeCee, my name isn’t Justin Brown. It’s Paul, Paul Iaccona. I’m Salvatore’s youngest son.”

Even repeating his words back to him still didn’t allow what Justin had confessed to sink in. I was flabbergasted.

“Salvatore Iaccona’s son? But how…how can that be?”

“That’s right, CeeCee.” His expression was smug.

“You’re a police officer!” I exclaimed. “You were a police officer before you even came to Richland Metro! I saw your file. There—there are background investigations that are done before anyone gets hired! How is that possible?”

Tilting his head back, Justin began to laugh. Not the laugh that comes at the end of a joke, but the laugh of someone completely insane.

“Because we’re smarter than you, that’s why!” His laughter and smile faded. “This is what I was raised for, sweetheart, a life on the inside of law enforcement. My father knew it would take years, but he is the most intelligent man in the world—and patient.”

Still in shock, I began shaking my head back and forth in an attempt to deny the information. It didn’t work, since Justin continued his family history.

“Most people knew Sal had a younger son, but thought he was killed in a car accident a few days
after his twenty-first birthday. Actually it was some poor college kid that was reported missing and never found. That was the day Justin Brown was born and entered the Cleveland Police Academy. It wasn’t hard. We threw enough money around, especially at the low-paid cops. It bought my ticket in, and their silence. ” The smug look returned. “What I’m telling you, CeeCee, is that I
am
a cop. I put my time in just like everybody else to get to where I am now. When I was a child, my father had plenty of cops on the payroll, but they would get too scared and back out when it came down to it. But not me, no ma’am. I get off on it.”

His words wreaked havoc in my mind, and I attempted to fire off more questions, mainly to keep him occupied talking instead of shooting me.

“But why Mansfield? Why Richland Metro?”

“We started to draw some heat in Cleveland. People started paying attention and asking questions about me. None of it was documented at the time, just people being suspicious, ya know? How come no one ever saw my wife and kids, my parents, this and that?…questions you all would have eventually started to ask. I needed to leave before anything was put on paper to prevent me from transferring to another department. Pop thought it was best that we move the operation to Mansfield, where my cousin was assigned. You know him, don’t you, CeeCee?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think so. Do I?”

He laughed again. “Of course you do! Dr. Donovan Esposito! Everything was put on hold until I made detective. It took five years to do it, but I did it, and it was all to keep an eye on you.” His smile faded again. “I guess I didn’t do a good enough job now, did I? If
I had, you wouldn’t have tried to kill my father and brother tonight, right?” He became angry and slapped me across the face, causing my head to bounce off the passenger side window. “Now you’re going to pay for it.”

The realization of what Justin had done hit me like an oncoming train.

“You killed them, didn’t you? All those people! You killed them and took them to Esposito to remove the organs. After you dumped the bodies, you transported the organs to Cleveland, didn’t you!”

“Covered my tracks pretty damn good, didn’t I? Of course, I was trained by the best of the best—CeeCee Gallagher. She took her time going over every detail of the case and was stupid enough to turn the entire thing over to me.” He looked in his rearview mirror and then at his watch. “We need to go. They’re expecting us.”

“This can’t be happening,” I muttered while I closed my eyes and hung my head forward. “Michael…why Michael?”

Justin pulled back onto the highway. “Michael? That faggot-ass husband of yours almost fucked up years worth of work and millions of dollars in cash, that’s why! If he hadn’t gotten Niccolo to turn on us, he’d still be alive.” Justin reached over and tousled my hair. “You know I tried my best to console the grieving widow. That was part of the plan. I figured I’d fuck you for a while so I could watch you every minute. Since you blew me off, maybe I’ll make up for it tonight.”

He reached across the seat, violently shoving his hand inside my shirt and grabbing my left breast, hard. Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist with my right
hand and struck him in the side of the face with my left, causing him to slam on his brakes. He struck back, punching me square in the nose.

“You stupid bitch! All right! That’s the way you want to play, we can do it your way.” He started driving again. “You’re going to suffer. You’re going to suffer like you never have before.”

My nose poured blood as I tried to pinch it shut. “Yeah? Tell me something I haven’t heard a dozen times before.”

We were headed toward Mansfield. I’d learned from past experiences to do everything humanly possible to help myself, and that was exactly what I did. Disregarding my bloody nose, I dove across the seat toward Justin. Grabbing the steering wheel, I jerked it aggressively toward me, causing the truck to lose control.

Justin quickly grabbed the wheel, pulling it back toward him, but he pulled too hard. We crossed the median, driving into oncoming traffic. Justin attempted to point his gun at me again, but I held it up toward the roof and away from my face with my free hand. He was stronger, and he pushed the gun back down and pulled the trigger. The shot missed me but blew out the passenger side window, along with my eardrums. With my last ounce of strength, I threw all of my body weight on top of him while I began to claw at his face and eyes with my fingernails. With one hand on the wheel and one fighting me, Justin managed to cross the median again and spin us around in the middle of the southbound lane, then brought the truck to a stop. While we were spinning, he’d managed to hit me in the back of the head with the gun, hard enough that my grip on him loosened.

A large knot began to rise where I had been hit, and I started to get dizzy.

“Okay!” Justin was breathing hard and sweating. “I can see you aren’t gonna make this easy.”

He reached behind him and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, while I bent over and held my head. Forcing both of my arms behind my back, he handcuffed my hands together and looped the nylon seat belt through them.

“Buckle up for safety!” he chuckled.

He took a few deep breaths and wiped his forehead as he continued to call me every obscenity in the English language. He turned the inside dome light on and looked in the rearview mirror to inspect the damage I had done to his face. Not much, just large scratches and red marks.

“Fuckin’ cunt,” he whispered, as he lightly touched a swelling scratch.

While I struggled and attempted to jerk my hands free, Justin began to drive again. We were moving for less than five minutes when I felt myself overcome with exhaustion or the effects of a concussion, or both. Whatever ailed me at that point caused my eyes to close as I drifted into pure darkness, sobbing along the way.

“They’re on their way to Mansfield!” he said into the phone.

“How do you know?” Alan asked.

“We’ve been monitoring all of the police channels in case the cops found her first. A report came over the radio for the highway patrol to check I-71 for a reckless vehicle south of the city in the southbound lane. We didn’t give it
much thought, until they read back the license plate and who the vehicle was registered to.”

“Who?”

“We found the mole, Alan. The truck returned to none other than Justin Brown.”

“The new detective at Richland Metro? How?”

“We’re still digging, but apparently several other drivers called in the complaint. They said it looked like a domestic situation, a male and female fighting inside the truck. It crossed the median and went into oncoming traffic. Last report had the vehicle still headed south, toward Mansfield.”

“It has to be her,” Alan thought. “She probably called him for help. Do you have any idea where they might be headed?”

“I have a good idea, and if I’m right, we don’t have much time.”

Justin let me know we had reached our destination by slapping the side of my head.

“Sit up! I said, sit up, CeeCee!”

Raising my head slightly, I tried to focus my blurred vision on the glove compartment in front of me. My head throbbed horribly, and I felt nauseous and groggy. I needed water terribly. So terribly, it was difficult to swallow.

“Justin,” my voice croaked as I begged. “I need water. Can I please get some water?”

“Not to worry.” He grabbed my hair and sat me upright. “Water will be the last thing on your mind in a few minutes.”

Now that I was sitting up straight, our final destination came into view. Blinking my eyes rapidly, and
finally able to focus, I was horror-struck to see that we were sitting in the parking lot of the Quinn-Herstin Funeral Home.

“Here we are, CeeCee, home sweet home.” He began to undo my handcuffs. “This will be the last place you ever see on earth. Kinda depressing, isn’t it?” He giggled. “Now move.”

Once my handcuffs were off, I didn’t move, fearing what waited for me inside the home. Again, I frantically looked around for an escape.

“I said, move!” he ordered, placing the barrel of his gun against my temple.

“Go ahead, Justin,” I said weakly, calling his bluff. “Shoot me here, right now. You won’t do it, will you? Your father has plans for me, doesn’t he? Shooting me here in the parking lot will fuck up his glory, and the satisfaction of seeing me die. Won’t be happy with you, will he?”

Justin smiled. “You’re right, CeeCee. I’m not going to shoot you here, but you’re going with me just the same, and there’s no way out of it.”

A large figure stepped into the light to Justin’s left. It was Antonio Iaccona.

“You’ve met my big brother, right, CeeCee? I don’t think formally, though. Here, let me introduce you: CeeCee Gallagher, Antonio Iaccona.” He nodded his head toward Antonio.

Antonio, evidently having missed any and all etiquette lessons, failed to shake my hand. Instead, he reached into the truck and grabbed my hair in a death grip. With no amount of exertion on his part, he pulled me with one hand out of the truck and onto the ground. Knowing it was late, I found what little
voice I had left and screamed loudly. Hearing a female screaming in the early hours of morning would surely bring a patrol car or two. Where the hell was everybody?

“Shut the fuck up.” Antonio lifted me up and placed his hand over my mouth.

He was too large and strong for me to fight, though I did give it a hell of a try. He basically jogged to the door of the funeral home while holding me in his grip, his hand still over my mouth. Justin strode in arrogantly behind us. Antonio allowed my feet to touch the ground, but he still held me tight, although he did uncover my mouth. His hand was so large it had partially covered my swollen, bloody nose, making it hard for me to breathe. I began gulping large amounts of air, my chest heaving in and out. Swallowing the bile that began to rise in my throat, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

Standing there in the foyer of the Quinn-Herstin Funeral Home, I realized a blatant fact: I had failed. I had failed my children, I had failed Michael, I had failed Joseph, I had failed everybody—and I had failed myself. Being this close to death was nothing new to me. Nevertheless, I recognized that on each one of those occasions something had been different than it was here. There had always been an out, a saving grace. Each incident carried with it a hope that I would be rescued, the
potential
of being saved. Not tonight. Tonight there was no hope. No one knew where I was. I had done a superb job of covering my tracks. Since I was no longer a law-enforcement officer, I couldn’t count on the brilliant minds of my peers to come to my aid. I was in Florida, basking in
the sun, trying to get my mind and body together after the untimely demise of my husband. Or so everyone thought.

But here I stood, ready to face the epitome of evil, the highest crime figures imaginable, who would relish the screams of my pain and suffering, and there was no possibility of being liberated. My last hope was lying in front of a nightclub in Cleveland with a fatal bullet hole in his chest—Joseph.

“Bring her down here, Paulie,” a voice beckoned from a stairwell to our right.

The voice, I recognized immediately, was that of Salvatore Iaccona. Even before he stepped out of the stairwell and into the light, I knew it was him. It was an unmistakable voice. He walked toward me and stopped less than two inches from my face. All the while, Antonio still held me.

“I promised you less than twenty-four hours ago that you would suffer. I always keep my promises. Especially to reeking bitches like you who try to kill me in my own home.” He slapped me across the face.

Remaining stoic, I looked back up at him with a sneer of contempt. If I had had the ability to kill him right then and there, I would have. The opportunity had presented itself when I sat face-to-face with him at his house, but regrettably, I’d waited too long.

“I was going to kill you anyway,” he continued. “But when you stupidly told me everything you had done to fuck up my business, all you did was make your own death that much worse.” His voice rose as he drew closer, his nose almost touching mine. “You think your husband suffered when he burned to death? That’s nothing, compared to what you’re going to go through tonight, lady!”

With no other recourse, I spit in Salvatore Iaccona’s face. He wiped the wetness from his cheek before backhanding me, striking my already throbbing nose, which caused it to bleed again. As a last resort, I used the only leverage I had been desperately holding on to.

“You can’t kill me! Don’t you get it, Sal? I have videotapes and audiotapes that have each one of you talking about everything from Michael’s murder to Niccolo’s to Frank Trapini’s. It’s in the mail, on its way to the FBI. You see, they’ll know it was you that killed me! You’re already done!” I laughed. “If you’re smart, you’ll let me go, and leave the country. I estimate that you have less than twelve hours before the FBI gets the files. You’ll get the death penalty! Let me go.”