It is 1973 when a New York police officer is gunned down in the vestibule of a mob hangout. As the killer, mafia boss Frank Ardone, escapes despite the bullet from the slain cop's gun that remains in his shoulder, he breathes a sigh of relief, not realizi
COP KILLER
By Angelo MorelliiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Angelo Morelli
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-1419-1Chapter One
AUGUST 1973
New York born and bred Frank Ardone knew better than to try to take on the Friday morning Midtown Manhattan streets in late summer. But today he had no choice. Using only his right hand because he had a gun in his left hand, he wheeled the beat-up Buick uptown through the choked streets all the while he spewed a steady stream of fuck this and fuck that, especially at the lousy air conditioner. But he did not rent the car for its amenities.
Frustrated, he slammed the AC off with the butt of his nine-millimeter automatic, sending the cheap plastic knob careening into the back seat. The novel use of the gun gave a moment of respite to Joseph Cutolo, Ardone's front seat passenger against whose ribcage the weapon had been pressed. Cutolo exhaled reflexively. He was used to gunplay. It was just that usually, it was he who was on the business end.
Cutolo was a tough man and looked it. A scar under his right eye traveled down across his cheekbone toward the center of his chin and made him look like the longshoreman that he was before becoming an enforcer in Ardone's crew. What made him attractive to Ardone was his sheer physical presence; six feet-two inches tall, two hundred and thirty pounds, with huge hands that he could instantly turn into battering rams. Ardone employed such men to collect debts from those who were unwilling to pay.
Just short of reaching the Westchester county line, Ardone steered the Buick into a deserted construction site. He drove slowly down a rocky dirt road alongside the East River on the right and mounds of garbage on the left. He parked in a dark area hidden from the street. Loosening his imported Borelli necktie he turned to Cutolo, steadying the gun now aimed at this head.
"Why the fuck did ya try to set me up, JoJo? I mean after all I done for you. All the years we've been together, you ungrateful cocksucker!"
Cutolo swallowed; his usually fearsome face filled with terror. He tried desperately to ignore the nine-millimeter aimed at his head. Sweating profusely, the huge mobster finally managed to find his tongue. "Ya got it all wrong Cheech," he croaked. "I swear on my father's grave. It wasn't no set-up. Why would've I got in the car with ya if it was a set-up?"
Ardone's eyes bored into the frightened man's face. "Fuck you, JoJo. You tried to set me up and you know it. And what's more you got in the car because I didn't leave ya no fuckin choice. Now did I, JoJo," Ardone said.
"Please Cheech, listen. I ..."
"No you listen, hard-on. I knew from the very beginning that something was up when you came to me with that fugazy fuckin deal; telling me you got a guy willin to sell three keys a shit for only forty large. And ninety percent pure, no less, then telling me to meet you on a street corner with the cash. I don't believe you, JoJo. Whadda take me for a fuckin idiot. Didn't you think I'd ask around? You dumb piece of shit."
"Please Frankie, ya gotta ...'
"I don't gotta do nothin, JoJo," Ardone screamed. "And lemme tell you somethin, scumbag. It didn't take me long too find out about them two goons you brung along. They were ready to move when they seen my black Caddy turn the corner to meet ya. Me showing up in this beat-up red piece of shit fooled them real good. Didn't it JoJo?"
"Frankie, please. Ya gotta believe me. Whoever told ya this was a set-up got it all wrong." Cutolo was pleading now. "Ya gotta give me a chance to explain."
"Explain this, you shit head. My information was good and you know it. Now cocksucker, tell me who the sonofabitch is that gave ya the contract or I'll blow your fuckin brains out right here."
"Okay Frankie, okay," Cutolo whined now thinking he had a chance to survive this. "I'll level with ya. I went along with it, but it wasn't my idea. You gotta believe me. I'll tell ya anything ya wanna know. Anything!"
"Yeah, you'll tell me anything I wanna know. You mean anything that'll save your miserable fuckin ass."
"No, I'll tell ya the truth. I swear on my kids eyes."
Ardone smiled as he continued to press the weapon into Cutolo's skull. "On your kid's eyes, huh JoJo, what happened to your father's grave? Next time it'll be your sister's twat you lying piece a shit."
"Please Frankie, please. Lemme explain. For old times sake."
Ardone hesitated. "Okay hard-on. Explain. For old times sake."
Cutolo managed a faint smile. "It was Fat Tony who came to me. He made me go along with it. He sez you and him did a thing together a couple of months ago and you fucked him outta his end. He swore to me that no one would get hurt. He said he just wanted to get his."
"Bullshit! That fat cocksucker! And you, you miserable fuck. You believed him. Lemme tell ya something, JoJo, the minute them two goons that were waiting for me to show got their hands on the cash they thought I was carrying, they would a blown us both the fuck away ... right on the spot. I guess they didn't tell ya about the other guy that was with them, the one that was waiting to get them outta there."
"Listen Frankie, I ..."
"Speak up shit head," Ardone shouted over Cutolo's whimpering. "With all the fuckin noise around here, I can hardly hear myself think."
Ardone paused to watch as the boom swung on an immense construction crane, carrying a huge beam, a daring ironworker riding on it.
Then returning to the business at hand, he barked loudly. "Anyway, JoJo, I'm finished listenin to your explaining."
"Please Frankie! No! Listen! I'll make it up to you. Please. Gimme a break! We go back along way. It was only the cash they wanted. Ya gotta believe me. I didn't mean to let you down."
"Let me down? You fuckin idiot! What ya think the crew will think if I forget the whole thing? You made me look like a God- damn fool. And what'll the other capos think?"
"But I can ..."
"I'll tell ya what they'll think." Ardone interrupted. "They'll think I'm weak. That I can't handle my own crew! That's what they'll think. Now get the fuck outta the car."
"Please, Frankie! Please! It don't gotta be this way" Cutolo pleaded, refusing to accept what was happening. "Ya gotta believe me,"
Ardone leaned across Cutolo's trembling body and pushed the front passenger's door open.
"I believe you, JoJo," he said calmly, "A hundred percent. I never doubted you for a minute. That's why I rented this banged up piece a shit with a phony driver's license. That's why I'm wearing these shit gloves. That's why I drove to this no fuckin no man's land where a fuckin bomb could go off and no one would hear it. Now get the fuck outta the car."
Cutolo continued to plead, refusing to leave the car.
Ardone's eyes went flat, emotionless as he raised his left knee and placed his foot against Cutolo's left side. He pushed violently and the big man's upper body fell to the ground leaving his legs behind, wedged between the car's floorboard and open door. Cutolo dug his elbows into the packed earth, trying frantically to free himself from the car.
Ardone scowling in disgust leaned across the passenger's seat and pulled the trigger twice. The bullets found their mark in the center of Cutolo's back. Ardone slid out of the car and calmly walked over to the mobster. He dragged his limp body along the ground and propped it against a pile of chipped rock. Then he fired a third shot between Cutolo's eyes, blowing away a portion of the back of his head. Blood and brains immediately colored the rock pile.
Ardone spit a vengeful good riddance. He smoothed...
