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Coney Island Avenue by J.L. Abramo - released March 13th;
The dog days of August in Brooklyn and the detectives of the 61st Precinct are battling to keep all hell from breaking loose.
Innocents are being sacrificed in the name of greed, retribution, passion and the lust for power—and the only worthy opponent of this senseless evil is the uncompromising resolve to rise above it, rather than descend to its depths.
The heart pounding sequel to the acclaimed novel Gravesend—from Shamus Award-winning author J.L. Abramo—Coney Island Avenue continues the dramatic account of the professional and personal struggles that constitute everyday life for the dedicated men and women of the Six-One—and of the saints and sinners who share their streets.
About the author
J.L. Abramo was born in the seaside paradise of Brooklyn, New York on Raymond Chandler’s fifty-ninth birthday. Abramo is the author of Catching Water in a Net, winner of the St. Martin’s Press/Private Eye Writers of America prize for Best First Private Eye Novel; the subsequent Jake Diamond novels Clutching at Straws, Counting to Infinity and Circling the Runway; Chasing Charlie Chan, a prequel to the Jake Diamond series; and the stand-alone thrillers Gravesend and Brooklyn Justice.
Abramo’s short fiction has appeared in the anthologies Unloaded: Crime Writers Writing Without Guns, Mama Tried: Crime Fiction Inspired by Outlaw Country Music and Murder Under the Oaks, winner of the Anthony Award for Best Anthology of 2015.
Circling the Runway won the Shamus Award for Best Original Paperback Novel of 2015 presented by the Private Eye Writers of America.
Find J.L. Abramo online …
Website: http://www.jlabramo.c om/
Facebook: https://www.facebook .com/jlabramo/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/J LAbramo
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/J .L.-Abramo/e/B001HPCCJ4/
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.co m/author/show/437400.J_L_Abram o
Coney Island Avenue by J.L. Abramo - released March 13th;
The dog days of August in Brooklyn and the detectives of the 61st Precinct are battling to keep all hell from breaking loose.
Innocents are being sacrificed in the name of greed, retribution, passion and the lust for power—and the only worthy opponent of this senseless evil is the uncompromising resolve to rise above it, rather than descend to its depths.
The heart pounding sequel to the acclaimed novel Gravesend—from Shamus Award-winning author J.L. Abramo—Coney Island Avenue continues the dramatic account of the professional and personal struggles that constitute everyday life for the dedicated men and women of the Six-One—and of the saints and sinners who share their streets.
About the author
J.L. Abramo was born in the seaside paradise of Brooklyn, New York on Raymond Chandler’s fifty-ninth birthday. Abramo is the author of Catching Water in a Net, winner of the St. Martin’s Press/Private Eye Writers of America prize for Best First Private Eye Novel; the subsequent Jake Diamond novels Clutching at Straws, Counting to Infinity and Circling the Runway; Chasing Charlie Chan, a prequel to the Jake Diamond series; and the stand-alone thrillers Gravesend and Brooklyn Justice.
Abramo’s short fiction has appeared in the anthologies Unloaded: Crime Writers Writing Without Guns, Mama Tried: Crime Fiction Inspired by Outlaw Country Music and Murder Under the Oaks, winner of the Anthony Award for Best Anthology of 2015.
Circling the Runway won the Shamus Award for Best Original Paperback Novel of 2015 presented by the Private Eye Writers of America.
Find J.L. Abramo online …
Website: http://www.jlabramo.c
Facebook: https://www.facebook
Twitter: https://twitter.com/J
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/J
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.co
________________________________________________
An excerpt from J.L. Abramo’s Coney Island Avenue, a sequel to the
crime novel Gravesend…
THE NIGHT BEFORE
Bill
Heller could not shake the feeling he was being followed.
Heller was driving up 18th
Avenue toward Ocean Parkway to pick up the Prospect Expressway.
When he stopped at a red traffic light
on 77th Street, he noticed the OPEN sign in the window of Il
Colosseo.
He decided to go in and have something
to eat and try at the same time to determine if he was being tailed.
The restaurant was nearly empty at
nine-forty on a Tuesday night.
They had stopped seating at
eight-thirty. The sign on the front door had been flipped over to the side that
read CLOSED.
A young couple rose from their chairs
at the back of the dining room. The young man placed a tip on the table and
escorted his girl to the front door.
Three twenty-something females were putting money together to cover their
bill.
A man in his late-thirties sat alone at
a table near the front window.
The bus boy had already started
clearing vacant tables.
A waitress was refilling salt and
pepper shakers.
The restaurant manager stood at the
cash register.
The diner at the window spotted a big
man in a jogging suit out on the street, straining to look inside.
He had paid cash. His waitress brought
his change and his receipt—a carbon duplicate of the three-by-five inch guest
check.
He asked her for a pen and a rubber
band.
The large man in the jogging suit made
his way back to a car parked on the opposite side of 18th Avenue. A
second man was seated behind the wheel.
“Well?”
“He’s still there. He’s sitting alone
in front.”
They watched the young couple leave the
restaurant.
“How many others inside?”
“Looks like three more customers. There
are at least three others working the floor, and maybe one or two in the
kitchen. They’re shutting the place down.”
“Let’s wait,” the man in the vehicle
said.
A few minutes later the two men across
the avenue watched as the three young women came out of the restaurant.
“Those are the last customers other
than him,” the big man said.
“Do you think he spotted you?”
“No, and what if he did. I’m just a guy
on the street glancing into the place as I passed.”
Just
a big ape in a goombah outfit, the second man was
thinking.
“Take the car, go around to the back
and watch the rear exit. If he isn’t out in five minutes, I’m going in,” the
man in the car said.
He climbed out of the vehicle and
handed over the keys.
The man at the table near the front
window scribbled a note on the back of the guest check.
He called the bus boy over.
“Where is the rest room?” he asked the
kid.
“Down at the end of the hall in back.”
“Can you hold this for me?”
He placed something into the bus boy’s
hand and without waiting for an answer he walked toward the rear.
It was a small solid item.
It was wrapped in a paper guest check
receipt held by a rubber band.
“Go back there and see what’s taking
him so long,” the manager said. “We need to lock up and get finished here.”
The bus boy walked back to the men’s
room.
He had slipped the small package into
his apron pocket.
He returned a moment later.
“He’s gone. He went out the rear door,”
he said, just as a well-dressed man opened the front door.
“We’re closed,” the manager said.
“I’m looking for a friend who said he
would be here.”
“All of the customers are gone. The
last seems to have used the rear exit for some reason. Maybe he was parked back
there.”
“Can I go out that way?”
“Go ahead. I need to lock the doors
before someone else wanders in.”
The well-dressed man exited through the
back door and saw the ape in the jogging suit getting into the car.
“Did you see him come out?”
“I was about to drive around front to
pick you up. I sandbagged him when he came out the door. He’s in the back seat,
gagged and tied.”
“Did he have it?”
“I thought it might be a better idea to
get away from here and find a more private place to pat him down.”
Thirty minutes later, only the bus boy
and the restaurant manager were left in the restaurant.
The young man had forgotten the small
package until he removed his apron.
He placed it into his jacket pocket.
“Are you all done?” the manager asked.
“Yes.”
“Then go, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The bus boy stepped out onto 18th
Avenue to wait for Alison, who was on her way to pick him up. Her roommate was
out-of-town and he was looking forward to being alone with her in her
apartment.
Alison was a very playful girl. Maybe
she would let him spend the night again.
While he waited, he pulled the small
package from his pocket. He removed the rubber band and the paper guest check,
revealing a small tape recorder and a fifty-dollar bill.
He noticed there was writing on the
back side of the check.
Keep
this safe. I’ll make contact. There’s another hundred in it for you.
He stuffed it all back into his pocket
as Alison’s Chevy Impala pulled up to the curb.
Part One
THE SIX-ONE
How do you know love is gone?
If you said you would be there at
seven
and you get there at nine,
and he or she has not called the
police yet,
it's gone.
—Marlene Dietrich
ONE
The face in the mirror returned a
dazzling smile.
The lips, complete with a fresh coat of
Covergirl Fairytale 405 lipstick, mouthed three words. I feel pretty.
It was her twenty-fourth birthday,
Eddie had made dinner reservations at New Corners Restaurant and Angela Salerno
knew that Eddie Cicero was going to pop the question.
Eddie would be arriving soon to pick
her up, with a fistful of flowers and a ring hidden in a jacket pocket. Angela
turned from the mirror and redirected her attention to the new dress neatly
laid out on the bed. It was a little black number, short black satin with
spaghetti strings. When Angela had tried the dress on at Cue Boutique in Fort
Hamilton her best friend Barb had assured her: You look so hot you are going to burn New Corners down.
It was Barbara who had confirmed Eddie
had a ring. It was Barbara’s boyfriend Albert, Eddie’s best friend, who let
Barbara in on the secret. Barb had
not been able to keep it to herself.
Angela didn’t mind, she could act
surprised. She was thrilled knowing Eddie had finally decided to take the big
step.
Angela was about to pull the new dress
over a short black silk slip when there was a knock on the apartment door. Eddie
was early. Better than late.
She danced over to the door and she
looked through the peephole.
It was her brother Vincent.
She reluctantly opened the door. Vincent
rushed in, moved her back into the living room and quickly pushed the door
shut.
Vinnie was carrying a large green gym
bag and he was visibly upset.
“I need money, Angie,” he said.
“Hi, sis, it’s been awhile, you look
great, happy birthday,” Angela said.
“Hi, sis, happy birthday, you look
great,” Vinnie said. “I need money.”
“I have an address for his parents’
place and one for his sister. I want both watched until he shows up.”
“Give me the addresses, I’ll call
Gallo,” Mr. Smith said.
Thomas Murphy took possession of a
stool at the bar.
Augie Sena, from the opposite side of
the bar, set a bottle of Samuel Adams Boston Lager within Murphy’s reach a
moment later.
“I haven’t seen you move that fast
since the last visit from the Health Department,” Murphy said. “How did you
know I wanted a beer?”
“Wild guess. It’s on me.”
“My birthday is not for another five
months.”
“I might not live that long,” Augie
said. “The beer, my friend, is meant in way of congratulations.”
“You heard I won two bucks on a ten
dollar lottery ticket?”
“I heard you’re up for lieutenant.”
“Bad news travels fast,” said Murphy.
“Thanks for the beer anyway.”
“I’ll bet you the two bucks you would
love the fried calamari over linguini for dinner.”
“Wild guess?”
“Just call me Sena the Psychic, but the
calamari is not on the house.”
“That, my clairvoyant friend, even I
could have guessed. I’ll take it with the hot sauce.”
Angie Salerno gave her brother Vincent
all of the cash she had on hand.
Seventy-seven dollars.
Vinnie thanked her with a bear hug.
“Okay, Vincent. You’ll ruin my makeup.
And what’s with the gym bag? Did Mom’s washing machine break down or are you
planning a trip to Monte Carlo?”
“Cute. I have to run. By the way, you do look great.”
“Thanks. Go, before Eddie gets here and
I beg him to slap some sense into you,” Angie said. “Be careful.”
Vinnie ran down the two flights of
stairs and was about to exit through the front door when he suddenly decided
against it.
He continued down to the basement
instead, opened the metal door at the rear of the house, skipped up the
concrete steps and slipped out to the back alley.
He headed down the alley toward Avenue
U, turned east on the avenue, and hurried over to the elevated train station on
McDonald Avenue.
He rushed up the stairs and anxiously
waited for an F Train.
A man in a gray suit slipped into the
front passenger seat of a black Lincoln sedan on the opposite side of the
street from the house entrance.
“Are you sure he’s in there?” he asked
the man behind the wheel.
“I watched him go in and I called you,
I haven’t seen him come out. I checked the mailboxes. His sister lives on the
top floor.”
“I would rather deal with him out
here.”
“We can wait.”
“Fuck.”
“What?”
“Who is that?”
They watched a young man walk into the
building.
“How the fuck should I know?”
“On second thought, let’s not wait.”
“There’s a kid in a hurry,” Augie Sena
said, seeing a young man with a green gym bag race past the front window of
Joe’s Bar and Grill. “Maybe you should go after the kid. He may have knocked
off the Jerusalem Pizzeria.”
“He’d deserve a medal. The pizza there
tastes like soaked cardboard.”
“How is the linguini?”
“Not bad,” Murphy said. “How did you
get it delivered here so fast?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a laugh a
minute, Tommy?”
“I hear it every sixty seconds,” Murphy
said, slipping a forkful of calamari past his smile.
“My sister’s boy is popping the
question.”
“What question is that? Why is the
eggplant always greasy?”
“He bought a ring for his girlfriend.”
“Jesus, Augie, what kind of uncle are
you? Couldn’t you talk him out of it?”
“You’re a hopeless cynic, Tommy. I
haven’t met her, but my sister says she seems likes a very nice girl.”
“They all seem like nice girls, and
then they grow into their mothers. Which sister?”
“Rosie.”
“The sister who married Cicero? I’m not
too sure about her judgment.”
Murphy shook his head and let out a
deep sigh.“What?” asked Augie Sena.“The cynic and the psychic,” Murphy said.
“We’re quite a pair.”
It was all Eddie Cicero could manage to
say when Angie opened the apartment door wearing the short black spaghetti
string dress.“Wow.”
“Not bad, right?”
“How am I supposed to give the osso
buco at New Corners the attention it deserves with you sitting across the table
in that thing?”
“Chew slowly,” Angie said, beaming.
Eddie handed her a dozen red roses.
Then there was a rapping at the door.
“Expecting your other boyfriend?” Eddie
said.
“Everyone is a comedian. It’s probably
my worthless brother. He was just here for another handout.”
Angie opened the door half way.
The two men in the doorway did not look
friendly.
“We’re looking for Vincent Salerno,”
said the shorter man.
He was well groomed and he wore a gray
business suit. An expensive suit. He could have passed for a banker.
His companion wore a blue jogging suit
and looked like something she might have seen in a zoo.
“Vincent is not here,” Angie said,
Eddie close at her side.
“We saw him come in.”
“He was here, he left. I don’t know
where he ran off to.”
“Mind if we take a look?”
“Yes. I do mind.”
The ape violently shoved the door open,
knocking Angie and the flowers to the floor. Eddie reacted and went after the
big man. The gorilla laid Eddie out cold with a roundhouse punch. The two men
walked into the apartment. The well-dressed man shut the door while the big man
kept an eye on Angie.
“We can do this the easy way or the
hard way,” the banker said.
“Very original. God, you really hurt
him,” Angie said, looking over at Eddie.
The big man kicked her in the side.
“Where is Vincent?”
“I told you I have no idea where my
brother went,” Angela screamed from the floor. “Keep that animal away from us.”
The big man kicked her again. Then he
pulled a gun out of his jacket and pointed it down at Eddie. Eddie was still
unconscious.
“Please, don’t,” Angie said, terrified.
“Take whatever you want. I swear, I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Where is your brother?” the man in the
business suit said.
“I don’t know.”
“I am not going to ask you again.”
“Please, I don’t know.”
“Fine. I believe you.”
Suddenly the big man made it official
and then Mr. Smith made it absolutely final.
Vincent Salerno hopped off the F Train
at 42nd Street and he walked the two blocks to the Port Authority
Bus Terminal. Vinnie used most of the money he had scored from his sister, his
girlfriend and the man in the restaurant for a one-way bus ticket to Chicago. The
bus was scheduled to leave in less than an hour. He walked into Casa Java,
located an empty chair at a small table near the rear exit, placed the gym bag
under his seat and held it between his feet.
Vinnie nearly jumped out of his skin
when he finally noticed the waitress standing beside him.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I doubt it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Coffee,” Vincent said. “Light. Lots of
sugar.”
Mary Valenti had been attending evening
Mass at Sts. Simon and Jude every Wednesday since losing her husband to a
massive heart attack fourteen months earlier. As Mary crossed Avenue T on her
way home from the church she could hear her dog barking.
“Hold your horses,” she mumbled as she
picked up her pace. When Mary reached the house she found the front door wide
open. Unusual.
She rushed to her apartment door to let
the pooch out before he put a new design on her living room rug. The dog raced
right past Mary when she opened the door and headed straight up the stairs.
Mary followed.
“What in God’s name has gotten into
you, Prince?” she said as she reached the third floor landing. The door to the
top floor apartment was opened. Prince had disappeared inside and continued to
bark wildly.
Mary called out her tenant’s name. When
she received no answer she entered the apartment. She found the dog and saw
what he was yapping about.
Mary held back a scream, quickly made
the sign of the cross, scooped up the animal and ran down the stairs to call
9-1-1.
“I have to say, Augie, the garlic bread
was particularly good this evening,” Murphy said after polishing off the last
morsel.
“Tell your friends at the precinct.”
“Unless I swallow an entire bottle of
Listerine before I head back, I won’t need to tell anyone anything.”
The siren turned both their heads
toward the front window.
The patrol car raced up Avenue U and
turned sharply onto Lake Street.
“One of yours?” Augie asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to check it out?”
“Not unless I have to.”
The siren went silent.
“It’s close,” Murphy said.
“Are you going to check it out?”
“Not unless I have to.”
Vincent Salerno stepped up onto the
bus.
He showed his ticket to the bus driver,
made his way to the back of the coach and put the bag under his seat.
He would be arriving in Chicago the
following day, late in the afternoon. Carmine Brigati would be meeting him at
the end of the trip and then he and Carmine could argue about how Vinnie was
going to get out from under the mountain of trouble he found himself in.
Vinnie thought about his big sister. As
often as he had disappointed Angie, she had always come through for him. He
wondered when he would see her again.
Vinnie was determined to stay awake. To
protect the bag. To guard the tape recording that was causing all the turmoil.
When the bus pulled out of the Port
Authority Terminal ten minutes later and entered the Lincoln Tunnel, Vinnie was
asleep.
Officers Landis and Mendez were first
on the scene. They were greeted by a woman who was nearly hysterical. Trembling,
sobbing, babbling. She clutched a small, wiry-haired dog tightly to her chest
like it was a life raft.
Landis gently eased her into a chair at
the kitchen table. Mendez scared up a glass and filled it with water from the
kitchen sink. When he placed the glass on the table the woman reacted to it as
if it had eight legs.
Landis finally managed to calm her down
somewhat by assuring her she would not have to accompany them to the third
floor. Landis asked her to wait and the two officers headed up.
When they reached the second floor
landing they both pulled out their weapons.
At the third floor landing, they found
the door to the apartment opened wide. Landis entered first, slowly, holding
his weapon out in front of him with both hands. Mendez followed suit.
“Jesus,” Mendez said.
“Check if either victim is alive,
nothing more,” Landis said, fairly certain about the answer. “I’ll make sure
there is no one else in the rooms.”
A few moments later Landis was back.
“Clear,” he said.
“Both dead,” Mendez said. “Should we
check for identification?”
“We call it in and leave it to the guys
making the big bucks. But I can tell you who the boy is. That’s John Cicero’s
kid.”
“Detective Cicero from the Sixty-eighth?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” said Mendez.
“Pretty dress,” Landis said.
Excerpted from Coney Island Avenue — Copyright © 2017 by J.L. Abramo.
Reprinted with permission by Down
& Out Books. All rights reserved.