Brooklyn Noir by Tim McLoughlin (ed)

Author:Tim McLoughlin (ed) [McLoughlin, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: anthology, Brooklyn, mystery, New York, noir
ISBN: 9781888451580
Google: o2zy3JP9MssC
Amazon: 1888451580
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2004-07-01T07:00:00+00:00

PART III

Cops & Robbers

CAN’T CATCH ME

BY THOMAS MORRISSEY

Bay Ridge

The fuck are you doing?” shouted the squat, muscular man from his van. “I was just gonna park there!”

Detective Sal Ippolito heaved his bulk from the car and felt his temper start to rise. Control. He took a calming breath through his nose, enjoying the aromas wafting from the open back window of Epstein’s Bakery, and tapped his windshield. “See that red light on my dashboard? That little sign next to it? I’m a cop. I get to park here because I’m working. Find somewhere else.”

“You see this sign?” The man slammed a stubby-fingered hand on his door, above the Bay Ridge Bread and Bakers lettering. “I’m working, too. I got to pick up bread for my route. ’The fuck am I supposed to do that if you’re in my way?”

Ippolito took another breath. Another delicious nose-ful of cookie-bread-donut goodness warmed his freezing nostrils. “Look,” he said, restraining his annoyance. “It’s Christmastime. How about giving me a little present by not busting my balls? The longer I stand out here talking to you, the longer it’s going to be until I take care of things inside, and the longer until you get to pick up your bread. Go have a cup of coffee. Go do some shopping. Go do anything else, because until further notice this bakery is a crime scene and no one goes in or out. Capice?”

“It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. ’The fuck am I going to go shopping?” The squat man slammed his van into gear. “Crime scene, my ass. Go commit grand theft donut, ya fat pig.”

Ippolito unconsciously rubbed his basketball stomach, fighting the desire to chase him down for premeditated assholery. “Hell with it.” Crystals of salt and half-melted slush crunched underfoot as he turned and walked to the rear door. “At least I can resist temptations.”

Entering the bakery was like walking into a brownie: warm, moist, and sweet. Steam and heat thickened the atmosphere in a delightful contrast to outside. Ippolito licked his lips, taste buds searching for some of the chocolate or almond that flavored the air.

“H—hello?” A tiny, wizened woman edged into the kitchen. She was so bundled up against the cold, Ippolito doubted she would have been able to swing the fire axe she grasped. “Who are you?”

“Police, ma’am.” He slowly took out his badge. “Detective—”

“Sally! Little Sally Ippolito!” The woman relaxed and lowered the axe. Its weight made her lurch forward. “Not so little anymore, eh?”

Ippolito frowned before he recognized her. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Funerro?”

“I called you people.” The old woman shuffled over to lean against a sink filled with batter-crusted trays and pans. “Eppy used to save the first loaf of bread of the day for me. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, so I thought I’d surprise him coming by. I’ve done it before when my goddamn insomnia kept me awake. I think that snippy waitress at the Bridgeview gave me regular coffee when I asked for decaf, just to be mean—”

“Mrs.

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