Novel: Pure as the driven snow
Extract from chapter one: Screwed:
I briefly alluded to the fact that Alex's father was a serial killer in-the-making. That is to say, a man who has taken that all important first step; notched his first kill and in all probability is just itching for the opportunity to add to the tally. On discovering this fact, (an information snippet Alex calmly and kindly flung my way mid coitus - God, did she think that would in some way heighten our sexual conflagration?), my hitherto buoyant disposition was suitably deflated. "Huh? What?! The Hell he is!" My retort lacked a certain eloquence, but did the job of capturing my surprise, alarm, and scepticism at her plain statement of fact ("My daddy's in jail. He killed a man."). She quickly disabused me (after our coitus session had well and truly been interrupted) of any notion that she might be winding me up. Even showed me the prison mug-shots, and let me tell you never has a word been so apt, this was one mutt-faced thug of a man, neck as wide as the Hudson river, body almost entirely covered in tats, the kind of man you'd give a wide berth on the sidewalk; not the kind of man you'd want as a potential future father-in-law.
So, of course, I quizzed her pretty hard about how this sad occurrence could have come to pass? Was it a case of mistaken identity? Or a conspiracy maybe, surely he was innocent? Her facial expression (bored 'I've heard this before' eyes, coupled with tersely pursed lips) told me otherwise. Ok, maybe it was in self defence? Killed a burglar who threatened his darling daughter? But no, it wasn't. Couldn't get the grisly details but I did discover that it had happened in Boston, Massachusetts. So, I drove all the way there to see if I couldn't unearth the truth. I'm impulsive, like that. A search at the city's central library produced clippings from the local news rags. 'Local mobster gets life! Gangster ringleader, Lenny Moretti, guilty of gruesome murder of pizza delivery boy. Victim, Jake Lomas (25) was discovered in a garbage dumpster, minus his head.'
Now, let me tell you, these are not the words you want to read in reference to your sweetheart's daddy. Gangster. Murder. Minus his head? The word though that kept ringing out inside my head, waking me in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, was "Motive". What was the motive? And why a pizza boy? What, was he slow to deliver?! Did he mess up the order?! Maybe demanded a tip? I'm afraid to say I became obsessed. The local papers (and the prosecution) weren't able to furnish me with the answers I required. There were lots of theories and speculation. The pizza boy accidentally stumbled upon plans for a bank heist? He'd been a runner for a rival gang and was killed to return a message? He'd picked a fight with Moretti during a poker session? These were just some of the theories that had done the rounds but they were all just tantalising possibilities. Good old Lenny had consistently pleaded his innocence, but the forensic evidence (Lenny's prints all over the murder weapon, Lenny's DNA on the victim's body) proved otherwise. He was banged up, and hopefully there he would stay! I asked Alex whether there were any mobster relatives I needed be concerned about, but she assured me that she was his only living relative. The thought this prompted was that maybe the gangster business had a high mortality rate?!
As you can imagine, this whole 'daddy's locked up for the dismemberment of a pizza boy' thing, made me kinda question whether I wanted to continue to be in a relationship with Alex. I mean, it might have been better for my general wellbeing if I'd said 'Thanks for all the good times, but gotta go, be seeing you!' As I said before though, I'm thick-headed. Pig stubborn too. Wasn't going to let go of finding out why Lenny Moretti killed the pizza boy either. It was eating away at me, not knowing. Besides, I liked Alex plenty, and wanted to make sure that it wasn't some sort of hereditary madness that he suffered from. So, I went to visit him in Boston Penitentiary. This was my third mistake. Let me tell you, there are some things you just shouldn't go raking up. That phrase 'Let sleeping dogs lie' was invented to be a salutary warning to imbecile fools like me.
I expected that he'd be surprised, and suspicious, at having a stranger visit him. He wasn't. It turned out he got visited by strange people frequently. With the emphasis on "strange". At first, he expected I was either some hero worship nutter or that I was some amateur psychologist who wanted to get inside his head, to find out why he had done what he had done. And yes, I guess I came into that latter category; it was just that my reasons for wanting that understanding were a shade different from most of the other goons.
Of course, I didn't tell him all the details as to why I was there. I just told him I'd read about the case, and was interested. Under no circumstances did I want him to find out that I was enjoying carnal relations with his one and only daughter. I thought that might be unwise, even if he was on the other side of what I trusted was a fairly secure piece of plastic screen. Instead, I made up a cock and bull story about how a relative of mine had gone down for GBH having been defended ineptly by the very same defending lawyer as had been allocated to good old Lenny. He became animated at this point, and flew into a rant about the deficiencies of the penal system. He also avowed that he was an innocent man, or rather that the only thing he was guilty of was whooping the lad's ass for having the temerity to soil his princess's good name. He laughed at that point. It was a grunt of a laugh, like maybe he had come to the conclusion that there hadn't been much good name left to besmirch? He said the beating he'd administered was the reason his DNA was on the boy's body. I asked about the fingerprints on the knife? This prompted another grunt-laugh. He admitted it was his hunting knife. Told me how he liked to go up to the Appalachian mountains and shoot and skin him some deer. He went into overly graphic detail about how you skin a deer. Sounded messy. So, Lenny's story was that he had punched the pizza boy's lights out, but someone else had come along and administered the coup de gras, using Lenny's knife. It sounded kinda far fetched, and a little too convenient, and when I quizzed him on who else might have done it, he could give me no answers. Just sort of clammed up.
I decided that I'd got as much as I could out of the encounter and that I'd be best cutting my losses and skid-addling. I'd seen Lenny the gangster with my own eyes, and he was every bit as scary as I'd expected him to be. He was also in denial about the murder, and I wasn't going to get anything over and above what I already knew. Jake, the pizza boy, got on the wrong side of dear old Lenny, and ended up minus a head on the bathroom floor of Lenny's downtown bordello. I thanked him for his time (I try to be polite in my dealings with psychopaths!), and made my excuses. He told me to 'keep fighting the fight', by which I suppose he meant my supposed quest to uncover injustices in the American judicial system. I told him I'd do what I could. Then, I got up and exited that room without looking back.
Now, I felt like I'd more or less got the whole pizza boy murder thing out of my system. Achieved some sort of closure. It was at this point, however, that Alex dropped the bombshell. Turned out she had decided that she needed to be reconciled with her daddy. They hadn't been in contact since he was put away, but now she had evidently decided that she needed to invite him back into her life. I wasn't too keen, and suggested that she should give it some more thought. She told me that it was too late as she'd already sent the letter. Now, I was understandably nervous in case she'd mentioned me? 'Darling daddy, it's been a while since you murdered my previous boyfriend. I thought I should mention that I've started going out with this guy, Jerry's his name. Oh, and he's still got his head attached to his shoulders'.
She seemed peeved when I mentioned that I hoped she hadn't mentioned our relationship in her little missive. She frowned and asked whether I was ashamed of our relationship. I told her that I wasn't. I just had an aversion to coming to the attention of convicted murderers. She went into a sulk, and told me it was too late. She's already mentioned me, BY NAME, and had sent an enclosed photo! I knew there and then that I was screwed.