Fedelta 2: In The Belly Of The Beast

Image by James Timothy Peters via Pixabay

When they got to the station downtown, they were allotted an interrogation room to conduct business.  Before they started on their first suspect, Jimmy disappeared to do his part in the investigation.  As the officers brought in their first suspect, Amato watched as they cuffed him to the chair.  After he was settled, Amato began to read his file aloud in front of him, “Gianvanni Polenzi, 53, Brooklyn Heights.  Says here; burglary, armed robbery, assault, and attempted murder which you are still awaiting trial.  Tisk, tisk.” Throwing the file on the conference table, he sat up in his chair and looked him dead in the eye and said, “I’m not gonna bullshit you, if you aren’t careful, you’ll be putting yourself right in the middle of a murder investigation.  You don’t want that, considering you’re already about to be put on trial for another murder.  You see, judges and juries don’t like psychopaths.”  Gianvanni rolled his eyes in front of him, pissing off Amato. “Look shit stain, I’m gonna find out where your boss is and when I do, I’ll be sure to send you all first class to hell.”  Not impressed, Gianvanni stared at him, defiant and silent.

As Amato was going through the proper channels, Jimmy was going the alternate route and suiting up to go undercover in the holding area.  Using his tools of the trade, he went to what was called, the green room, an area where officers went to transform themselves, kind of like a Hollywood dressing room.  Inside were wigs, prosthetics, and makeup.  Having decided on a more ethnic look, Jimmy grabbed a kufi, a type of headwear which some Muslims used as a sign of persecution.  He has worn this disguise before so the jailers and some of the regular inmates would be familiar with him.  He needed that credibility.  The mafiosos he was dealing with were old hats and could smell a cop a mile away.  If they were suspicious, that could put his life in danger.  He had heard stories of undercovers being stabbed in the neck, and one being thrown from a second story floor and onto a commissary area.  He wasn’t gonna let that happen to him.  So he put the kufi on his head, and began his transformation into someone who could blend in seamlessly.  As he looked into the mirror he saw his face was missing something, and so gave himself a scar on the left cheek.  When he was done, he looked different enough to move through the jail population without setting off any alarms.  All he had to do was put on his baggy, hunter green pants and white t-shirt and he was all set.  When he was done, Jimmy signaled for one of the rookies to escort him to his new abode, next to the Alunni thugs and began surveillance.

As the door slid open, Jimmy noticed he would be cohabitating with another inmate.  He was a scruffy, and thin tattooed man.  Studying his face, Jimmy ascertained that he was in his forties or late thirties.  His face looked worn and the gang tattoos didn’t help him look any younger or healthier.  As soon as the door slammed behind him, Jimmy began unpacking, “Whaddaya in for?” asked the tattooed man.  “Armed robbery,” Jimmy answered. “Oh yeah, note or gun?” the man asked.  This was a way inmates tested newbies, it was their way to gauge how dangerous an individual was.  It was also for bragging rights.  The more violent the crime, the more impressive you seemed.  Although Jimmy wasn’t looking to be a seen as a serial killer, he also didn’t want to be seen as a punk, so he answered, “Gun.”  Unfurling his sheets and blanket, Jimmy began making his bed while the man continued checking him out.  “What crew ya ride wit?”

“Me, myself and I,” Jimmy responded.

The man laughed at the response and said, “Betta watch out, the fools up in here are all cliqued up.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy asked.

“Yep, they dropped off two mafia dudes next door a few hours ago.”

As he tucked in the sheets and blanket, he declared, “I just mind my own damn business and do my time.  I’ll be okay, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Intrigued the man asked, “So you an OG (original gangster), huh?”

Snickering, Jimmy smiled then said, “Yeah, I’m a veteran.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jeremiah”

“Leo, like the lion.”

“Okay Leo, what’s the deal with these mafia dudes?”

“Dunno maaaan,” he said looking rather uncomfortable.

Jimmy figured, he wasn’t be truthful but if he was going to get the truth from him he needed to earn Leo’s trust.  But how was he going to make that happen?  His answer came twenty minutes later when the guards started delivering dinner straight to the cells. Since most of the inmates on the cell block were considered the worst of the worst, they had to eat inside their cells.  They were too dangerous to have running around free, however, the drug addicts, dealers and thieves were allowed to have dinner outside their cells.

When Jimmy got his meal, he had no clue what it was.  Inspecting it with the plastic fork, he cut a small piece off and sniffed it.  “What the hell is this?” Jimmy exclaimed at something grey covered in a thin brown sauce.  “It’s Salisbury steak.”

“You shitting me?”

“Nah man, it ain’t that bad, all ya gotta do is dip it in your mash potatoes and it cancels the whole thing out.”

Even though he was starving, Jimmy wasn’t that hungry and so he offered his tray to his new cellie.  Without even looking, Leo grabbed it and placed the tray next to his on the bed and continued chowing down.  Jimmy wasn’t sure if he was an addict or homeless by the way he ate.  Since he was gaunt looking, Jimmy assumed addict, so he began to casually ask questions.  “So Leo, what are you in for?”

“Like you, armed robbery.”

However, Jimmy wasn’t buying it, “Yeah, bank or store?”

“Neither, I robbed some old bitch in front of the 7-twelve.”

That sounded like a junkie move but Jimmy didn’t say anything, he needed Leo to like him, like him enough to talk to him.  Continuing the conversation, Jimmy asked, “Gun or knife?”

“Nope, copper pipe.” He said talking with his mouth full.  As he took a sip of his little milk, he began laughing, “That old bag didn’t see it coming.  I mean WHACK!” he said while reenacting the crime, “She was on her ass before she knew what was going on.”  Jimmy felt the hairs on his neck stand up when he realized Leo was a psychopath.  Faintly, he laughed right along with Leo and even encouraged him, “I bet she was shocked as shit?”

“Yep.  And funny thing is, she kinda looked like my aunt Ronnie.” He said loudly as tiny particles of food flew out of his mouth.  This wasn’t going to be pretty, if he was going to get Leo to talk, he needed to get on his level.  It was quite a distance to stoop but Leo didn’t seem all that dangerous—now.  If Jimmy could keep him entertained, he knew he could get Leo to spill any secrets he may have.  Boredom and a personality disorder were things he could work with, he was an awesome interrogator, all Jimmy needed was an angle.

As Jimmy was wondering about his next move, two guards appeared next door and announced that they were taking both inmates to homicide.  Homicide?  This was confusing to Jimmy, was Fenetti dead?

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