Momma Lupe, Book 1 in the Ty Connell 'Novella Series. A Mystery/Suspense Thriller. Cooking or killing -- Momma Had Her Funny WAys by Michael C. Hughes Page B

breathed a
little easier.
    "Hey, well listen, I didn't mean nothing," he
said, in a consoling tone. "I didn't know that girl was one of
Momma's. And that dope stash that stupid broad had, I thought she'd
ripped off some mark. I thought it was free dope, so I swung with
it. I didn't know that was Momma's neither."
    That, he felt, explained everything.
    But the gunman shook his head slowly.
    "That's a crock, Vinnie, and
you know it. You may not have known when you batted the girl around
and took her stuff that she was one of Momma's. But you knew after.
You was told. Over and over you was told. And that was no little
dope stash she had. That was twenty ounces of pure hundred-grade
powder worth more'n eighty grand. Dope entrusted to Ma for
delivery. Wasn’t even hers. You had to know that wasn't some party girl's stash.
Again, you was told. But not only did you not make restitution - or apologies - you called
Momma some nasty names. In front of all the guys. All three was big
mistakes. BIG mistakes."
    Momesso realized then they were serious about
this.
    "Okay, okay" he said. "I screwed up, OK? I
was stupid about it. So now I'll make good. I'll give Momma the
money for the dope and I'll send flowers to the whore."
    "You're gonna have to do
better than that, Vinnie," the gunman said, pulling back the hammer
on the compact little Bernardelli semi-auto. It made an
ominous click ,
which resonated in the silence of the garage. "Momma wants to hear
genuine contrition. You know, like a confessional. Like at church
sort of thing. With some heart behind it."
    Momesso suddenly got the full urgency of the
situation.
    They were actually
threatening to shoot him!
    He held out his hands in a pleading
motion.
    "Okay. Okay. I'm a lousy son
of a bitch and I throw myself on Momma's mercy. Ma, please, I'm
sorry I messed with your business. I'll make it up. Double ! It was all just a
big mistake."
    The gunman looked at the video on the small
screen and shook his head.
    "Vinnie, that just ain't convincing. I gotta
tell ya, no Academy Award there. If that's the best you can do
…"
    "No. No. Hold it. Wait.
Okay. Ma, I'm reeeaaally sorry. I'm a complete piece of lying
double-dealing shit. Ma please … please … show some mercy … Pleeeaase ! I'll make it
up. Ma, pleeeaase … just give me another chance."
    The gunman looked at his associate and they
exchanged slight nods: they had enough on tape. This was sick and
they did not want to prolong it.
    "That was good, Vinnie. Too bad you're such a
screw-up," the man said and he fired four silenced rounds in rapid
succession.
    The impact threw Momesso onto his back. He
writhed only briefly as the shock to the heart was almost
instantaneous. Vincent Momesso let out a brief death rattle and a
sigh and went limp. It was over in seconds.
    The shooter clicked off the video, pocketed
the phone, and bent down to pick up the four spent shell
casings.
    "Well, that's exactly the way Momma wanted
it. Let's get outta here and go get our dough."
     
     
    Two hours
later. Connell pulled into No. 6 Curry Close, past the stone
pillars at the front gate and onto the wide brick driveway.
    His cases seldom took him to this small
enclave of expensive real estate on the eastern-most edge of the
C-11's territory, and he was just as happy about that. The problem
with these cases among the Fortune 500 set, as far as he was
concerned, was that they got complicated too fast. They led places
where people didn't want cops poking around. Next thing the Chief
gets a call. Then a City Councilor gets involved. Then the Mayor's
Office gets involved. Then … well, they were just a pain!
    Good thing it was John Henry's case. John
Henry Morgan was Connell’s sometimes partner when cases and budgets
were big enough.
    Connell had heard over the police band
that Morgan and several others from the C-11 had been called to
view a body at the address. He was merely curious. He was planning
just to stick his head in, say a quick hello to John and