Chapter 89
CHAPTER
Emilio fazio, a lean, intense man in his late thirties, lived by himself in a small condo complex near the Bethesda line. We caught him exiting his place dressed in running gear.
When he saw our badges, Fazio was initially hostile. “Whatever’s going on, I had nothing to do with it and I intend to keep it that way.”
“We’re not here because of you, Mr. Fazio,” I said. “It’s your brother Aldo.”
Fazio turned stony. “Aldo’s my stepbrother, and I am not involved. Whatever Aldo’s done now, I am not involved.”
“I’m sorry to say that Aldo’s dead, Mr. Fazio,” Sampson said.
The news hit Fazio hard. He looked at the ground, shaking his head at the injustice.
“When?” he asked finally.
“He was found yesterday afternoon,” I said. “We’re waiting on time of death.”
Fazio bobbed his head slowly. “How? Where?”
Sampson and I exchanged glances.
I said, “In a Brooklyn junkyard. Beaten to death.”
The dead man’s stepbrother took a long breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Aldo deserved something more… merciful. Just glad my mom’s not around to know.”
“Some skin was cut off his back,” Sampson told him.
“His upper back?”
We nodded.
“The tattoo,” Fazio said.
“He had a tattoo on his upper back?”
“Eagle wings,” he said. “Got them when he was fifteen. Drove my mom nuts.”
Fazio talked to us for an hour, describing how his widowed mother had married Aldo’s divorced father. His stepfather had operated on the fringes of the Maggione family, running small bookie operations.
“Aldo and I, we were almost the same age,” Fazio said. “At first, like when we were ten, it was good between us. But I did everything to stay out of the crime thing. And then Aldo got that tattoo and started hanging with guys from the Capula family just to piss his dad off.”
Fazio said his life and Aldo’s life had gone in separate directions.
“I went to Fordham at eighteen,” he said. “Aldo boosted seven cars at eighteen, got caught, and went to Sing Sing for grand theft auto.”
By the time his stepbrother was released, Emilio Fazio had a whole new life.
“I have a law degree and work for the Commerce Department, cover international trade issues,” he said. “I’ve had nothing to do with Aldo for years.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?” I said.
Fazio looked uncomfortable. “Two Thanksgivings ago. So, a little over a year? My mom was sick, and she insisted we both come to her place in Queens.”
“How’d that go?”
“Bad,” Fazio said. “Aldo got drunk and started talking about all the women he was seeing, the money he was making, and the people who had it out for him.”
“He mention any names?”
“Just that they were all with the Maggione family,” he said, and frowned at some distant memory. “No, that’s not true. He did mention someone specifically and seemed very unnerved when he did.”
My pager buzzed. I took it out and saw it was my grandmother calling, which she never did when I was at work.
I walked away from Sampson and Fazio, found a pay phone, and called her. “Nana? Something wrong?”
“Everything’s right,” my grandmother said. “Maria’s gone into labor. I’ve just come back from taking her to St. Anthony’s. Go meet her there, and I’ll stay here with Damon.”