Johnny Porno

Chapter 27

The realtor said he would come before he finished for the day, somewhere between four and five. Kathleen straightened up around the house. She scrubbed the floor, cleaned the windows, then put out a vase of fresh flowers.

Billy spent most of the time in the basement before heading out without telling her where.

More secrets.

The Vasquez murder still bothered Kathleen. She looked through newspapers from earlier in the week and found the story in Monday’s paper. Vasquez had been killed late Sunday night in Seaview Park. His wife, who was waiting in their car while he stepped out to do his business, found the body.

Kathleen knew the park from one of her trysts with Vasquez, one of a few she’d never mentioned to Billy. It was their second time together, when Billy was working nights. Vasquez had taken her to the park where they had sex in his car.

When she confessed the affair to Billy, she had only mentioned the first of their encounters and even then she had made up some of the story. Billy made her write it down in a spiral notebook along with several other accounts of her sexual history. Some she embellished, others she omitted. Reading from the notebook eventually replaced foreplay for Billy.

Still, she was sure she’d never told Billy about her and Vasquez in the park. She decided to check her notebook. She went to her closet where she kept it hidden on the top shelf under a row of shoe boxes.

Originally, he’d tricked her into the confession, making her jealous with a phony one of his own about having sex with an assistant district attorney. Kathleen’s need to hurt him back was why she had told him about Vasquez, but she never regretted it until now. Their sex life had intensified. Later Billy’s voyeurism encouraged her being with other men. Ultimately her physical pleasure was more intense with Billy, but the rituals he seemed to require were becoming uncomfortable.

Kathleen did love Billy and she knew he loved her; there was that between them, but as she positioned a folding chair in front of her open closet she remembered the first few lines of her written confession.

I met Victor Vasquez at a bowling alley one night while you were working late. I wore my tight white pants and saw him checking me out. We smiled at each other and later he bought me a drink at the bar there.

Kathleen had been too scared to give Billy a phony name and now she wondered if she should have. She hoped she was wrong as she brought the notebook down off the closet shelf. Then she opened the cover and saw the confession had been torn out.

It was a lot of work, but John was close to finished distributing the film a few minutes after four o’clock. Fitting the new stops before his regulars, he finished up his route on Merrick Boulevard in Valley Stream. It was a familiar stretch of road he knew from when he had shopped for a new car the year he was married to Nancy. They had visited Buick, Chrysler and Chevrolet dealerships there back before he’d realized the mistake he’d made marrying her.

Now he dropped off the film at a warehouse and used a pay phone to call Melinda.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said when she answered.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?”

“Long Island, just finishing up.”

“Where on the Island?”

“Valley Stream.”

“That’s close. How’s your head?”

“Fine. It’s fine.” It nearly was; the headache barely bothered him.

“Feel like dinner?” Melinda asked.

“Sure. Should I pick you up?”

“Just come by. I’ll cook.”

“Really?”

“I can cook, John.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Steak okay?”

“Anything’s fine.”

“Great. See you in a few.”

He hung up, realized he was excited just talking to her again and felt like a kid for it. John hadn’t dated in more than six months. It was more than a year since he’d been intimate with a woman.

Things were looking up, he thought, at least in the short term.

Tomorrow would be another story as far as work went. Each stop would take longer than today. He’d have to count and recount the money, repeat the speech about anonymous head-counters who might’ve been there to make sure the counts were accurate and then he’d be traveling with a lot of cash back to the bar in Brooklyn. He was guessing he’d have close to ten thousand dollars.

As he drove away from the warehouse, John wondered if Nick Santorra had found the whistle yet. He knew it was childish, but he couldn’t help smiling imagining the punk tearing his car apart.

He stopped at a liquor store near Melinda’s place and picked up a bottle of red wine. He spotted a florist shop on his way out and crossed the street to buy a small bouquet of carnations. He presented them both when she answered her door wearing a white frilly blouse and tight hip-huggers.

“Ms. Cogan?” he said.

She ignored the gifts and gently touched the bruise on his forehead. “Should I make it better?”

“Yes.”

Melinda lightly kissed the bruise, then made her way down to his lips. She was looking into his eyes when she took the flowers. John was still holding the wine when she pressed against him and their kissing became more involved. They barely made it through the kitchen before they started shedding their clothes.

It was getting more uncomfortable by the minute sitting in the Mustang all cramped up for hours on end in the relentless heat. Brice tried to stretch his legs and could feel they had gone numb. It took him a few minutes to get the blood flowing enough to get out of the car.

“I’m going for a walk,” he told Kelly.

Kelly looked at his watch. “Don’t get lost,” he said.

Brice was starting to think a lot more about what Levin had been hinting at since they began this investigation. Kelly appeared to have an agenda all his own, and although Brice couldn’t complain about the overtime or the ease of the work, he didn’t like being taken for a fool.

He thought about calling Levin from a pay phone to ask him directly whether or not Kelly was dirty, but decided to wait the day out. Kelly seemed determined to sit surveillance at Berg’s house, even though it didn’t seem to make any sense. Brice decided to see his way through it before making up his own mind.

It was five-thirty when he returned to the car. He cursed under his breath when he saw Kelly had moved from the passenger seat to behind the steering wheel. Uncomfortable with anyone sitting in his seat, Brice said he’d take the wheel again.

“Afraid I might touch something I shouldn’t?” Kelly said.

“Something like that,” Brice said.

Kelly got out of the car and walked around the front. He stopped to stretch before getting back in on the passenger side. Brice had to readjust his seat.

“Excuse me for having longer legs than you,” Kelly said.

“Why you should’ve stayed on your side,” Brice said.

“You take this car too serious, kid.”

“I love this car.”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe you should use it to get laid.”

Brice looked at his watch. “Maybe I do,” he said.

“I hope so. It’s not healthy a kid your age isn’t chasing gash. Car like this, you should have your way with the young ones. Unless you’re one of those whacko car buffs gets wood looking at racing magazines.”

Brice turned to Kelly, thought about what his lover would say and couldn’t help but smirk.

“You find me amusing, do you?” Kelly said.

Brice said, “We gonna be here much longer?”

“Another half hour or so. That okay with you?”

“Dandy.”

The two sat in silence another twenty minutes before a blue Pontiac pulled up in front of George Berg’s house.

“Here we go,” Kelly said.

“Here we go what?”

“This guy here. He’s the one with the films.”

“He is? How do we know that?”

“Informants.”

“What informants?”

“Mine,” said Kelly as he got out of the car.