Bait & Switch

By Tom Carrero

BAIT & SWITCH opens on a frigid night in South Philadelphia. The year is 1988 and eight friends stumble through the unforgiving city streets enjoying the seemingly endless party that is youth. What these eight friends don’t know is that, buried deep beneath the surface of their friendship, lay seeds of love, lust, envy, deception, betrayal and ultimately, some twenty years later... murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Carrero
• Release date: Nov 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781102468677

Tom Carrero

Thomas Carrero, Jr. is a practicing attorney and freelance fiction writer. Growing up on the streets of South Philadelphia, Mr. Carrero was surrounded by a bevy of both nefarious and larger-than-life characters. A product of the Philadelphia public school system, Mr. Carrero ultimately gained acceptance to Philadelphia’s prestigious Central High School where he obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree as a seventeen year old, in lieu of a high school diploma. Mr. Carrero went on to graduate from Drexel University, Temple University School of Law and finally the University of Miami School of Law where he authored his Master’s Thesis. Mr. Carrero achieved the position of managing associate of a Philadelphia law firm by his twenty-seventh birthday before striking out on his own. Mr. Carrero currently practices law in three states and is a member of many social and professional organizations including the Sons of Italy, regional and national Bar Associations, and MENSA. Mr. Carrero now resides in Florida with his wife, their two young sons and their two Mini-Schnauzers.

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PROLOGUE

SATURDAY

JANUARY 1988

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

The party had just ended. As all eight of us stumbled out of the South Philly rowhome, with its ancient marble steps and black paint covering its old rusted wrought iron railing, we felt invincible.

The night air was brisk, to say the least. Our breath puffed out in clouds of smoke reminiscent of stallions on a frozen field somewhere in the country as we walked along the city street.

Lisa Auletto held onto my arm with a firm grip, worrying that the bright blue high heels that she always bought a little too high would give way under her feet, due in part either to their height, or to the alcohol we had already consumed, even though we were four or five years too young to drink it. Her matching blue skin-tight stretch pants showed off the svelte body that only a seventeen-year-old girl who had been in dance class since she was four could possess. Her long curly black hair rested on her short faux white rabbit jacket.

Mikey Carfanello, or Little Buddha as he was known because of his bald head and his portly stomach, started to bellow Frank Sinatra’s Summer Wind in his bass voice and even though we wouldn’t be feeling one for about another six months, most of us knew the words and our half-drunken off-key voices serenaded the stray cats and the still awake neighbors as we bumbled along in the ignorant bliss known as youth.

When we got to 11th Street and Oregon Avenue, the SEPTA trolley was making its turn from Oregon onto 11th. The trolley must have ran that route for sixty years, yet some idiot never failed to park his or her car sticking out just far enough to cause the trolley driver to grind the big steel wheels to a near halt while he tried in vain to will the tracks a little to the right so he could complete his turn.

The trolley screeched and howled as the metal wheels met the metal brakes and the beast cried out in agony, its voice drowning out our song and forcing us to stop before crossing the street.

Little Buddha paused for a second and then he sang louder. And louder still.

Carmen Diadone, the small, olive-skinned kid with jet black hair, who looked way more fragile than he actually was, ran over and started singing a refrain right in the trolley driver’s window, forcing the driver to direct his frustration at us, rather than the real culprit, the parked car.

Mark Collins, blond-haired, fair-skinned, Irish and at 6’2 and nearly 200 pounds of chiseled muscle, the most physically imposing of the crew, ran behind Carmen, lifting him high in the air as he belted out, my fickle friend…. THE SUMMER WIND…

The driver, a rotund African-American fellow with graying sideburns peeking from his drivers cap, first seeing that he was clearly out numbered, and upon seeing Mark, also clearly out muscled, mumbled something into his radio and returned his focus to the parked car.

Angela Serro, cute, in a little sister sort of way, with her L.A. Gear sneakers shining bright white in the cold night, laughed loudly, again partly because it was funny and partly because she had a six-pack of Busch beer and two Bartles and James’ wine coolers in her.

Lexi Childs, tomboyish with her multi-colored leather 8 Ball jacket and her short, just over the ears haircut, followed suit, grabbing Angela by the waist as they squatted in sidesplitting laughter, her beautiful emerald eyes near tears.

Deena Petruzelli, pale in complexion with bright red lipstick making her lips look like a stop sign, shivered in the cold. Thin and delicate with her long dark curly hair matching Lisa’s strand for strand, Deena asked a nonsensical question in her falsetto voice as she was apt to do. Why doesn’t the trolley just go around the car? she asked, ignoring the obvious fact that the trolley could only go where the tracks led. We all then paused to contemplate her mental dilemma, then joined in the giggling, admittedly child-like and yet somehow liberating in the unforgiving city.

Little did I know that not only were we far from invincible, but our fates were so intertwined that neither miles nor time could change our destinies. In less than twenty years, three of us would be dead, and I would be thrown into the middle of a murder plot for the ages. Nothing on this night gave clue to what lay in store for each of us, let alone that the seeds of the future were already taking root. The tracks for the trolley of our lives stood before us and there was no going around.

CHAPTER I

TUESDAY

JANUARY 2006

SARASOTA, FLORIDA

I sat at my cherry wood desk, easing back in my big leather chair. Sarasota was a far cry from my former life in the big bad town known as Philadelphia. Sarasota is nestled smack dab between Tampa and Naples, on the west coast of Florida.

Quiet and quaint, and fourth in area in all of Florida, Sarasota was just starting to reap the benefits of the great Florida land boom. Residential and commercial developments were springing up everywhere. Prices were soaring. Businesses were moving into the area at a clip that the town could barely handle.

Even though it was January, the temperature hovered around seventy-seven degrees and I sat in Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with palm leaves and a ring of various drinks of an alcoholic nature decorating my mid-section. Still not accustomed to the look of men’s bare feet in flip-flops, the only sign I was an original northerner was my out of costume white and blue Asics gel running shoes.

Life had changed drastically for me in the nearly twenty years since I graduated high school. Going from a big fish in a large lake to an Asics gel in a small pond wasn’t easy. Being married just over a year, I was still working out the dynamics of such a close relationship.

Philadelphia was both good and bad to me. Starting out as a private detective’s apprentice in a sordid place gave me great experience into the insight of the human mind. Shifting gears and completing law school instead of being a private dick my whole life allowed me to tap into the unlimited supply of money the big city had to offer. Looking back, it was quite easy for a man with connections, a brain and determination to become wealthy. And I did.

Then, as the City often does, what it gives, it takes just as easy.

When a disgruntled mother in a custody case decided to go ape-shit after I successfully prevented her from moving to Oklahoma with the couple’s five-year old daughter, my life nearly came to an end.

One night after work I took the elevator down from my 9th floor office. Being in the heart of the city, Locust Street was alive with people scurrying to and fro like lab mice in a maze even though it was well past eleven in the evening. I crossed Locust Street and handed the parking attendant my ticket.

About ten minutes later my 1984 Corvette pulled up and I jumped into the driver’s seat after handing the guy my usual five-dollar tip.

Being on Locust Street, the multi-level garage had a big flashing light that warned pedestrians of cars pulling out of the garage and across the sidewalk. Stopping to make sure I didn’t run any oblivious drunkards over, I inched out between the parked cars so I could make the right turn onto Locust. As I slowly inched out, I looked to my left before turning right so the one-way traffic wouldn’t smash into me. As I looked left, I was startled to hear a sharp tapping on my passenger side window.

Instinctively, my head snapped right and I saw mommy with a gun pointed right at my nearly black tinted windows. A shot rang out, or so they told me afterward. I didn’t remember anything after that. Apparently, the first shot shattered the window and thoughtfully entered my head, ricocheting off a part of my skull and lodging somewhere in the roof of the car. The tinted windows that always drove cops crazy during traffic stops apparently saved my life as mommy dearest couldn’t get a good line of sight on me.

Mommy dearest, thinking that vengeance was hers, took the same gun to her ex-husband’s heart later that evening before putting one through her own temple.

I read the writing on the wall and knew that I had enough. I left the profession as quickly as I entered it, packing, selling my house and moving all within a month after my release from the hospital. I headed someplace more healthful, out of the public eye, no longer an oddity or an answer to a trivia question.

The only reminder of that fateful night is a small dime-sized scar above my right temple and a titanium plate embedded under my hairline. Oh yeah, that and a case of mental isolation that can strike and leave me in a bizarre state, akin to being dazed or drunk. Directly caused by diffuse axonal injury, my thinking becomes slowed, my memory unreliable and my concentration suspect. Luckily, as long as I was able to avoid stress, I was able to keep it under control. Only my wife knew how bad it could really get.

So now here I sat, day after day, buying property and flipping them within a year. In Florida’s hot real estate market, I was able to make tens of thousands a month, all while never leaving my desk and with a few strokes of my pen.

And then the phone rang. I picked up after two rings.

Santino Lupo, I answered.

On the other end, now separated by many miles and many years, I heard a voice from the past that I remembered so clearly, but soon I would come to wish that I didn’t.

CHAPTER II

Hello Lisa.

I’m surprised you recognized my voice, its been a long time, she stated rather plainly, as if all of the time we shared, not to mention the love and the heartache, was nothing more than a day’s work.

How did you find me? I asked, not particularly upset.

Santino Lupo, did you think a guy with your looks, personality, and five million friends in the City could just… disappear? Lisa asked back in a friendly tone.

Actually, I wasn’t trying to disappear, I just wondered how you found me, I said, thinking that maybe I should have asked why she found me, but I was sure it would come up during the conversation. In my experience, no one ever calls out of the blue after countless years just to say hi. They always want something. Sad, but true.

I looked you up on the internet silly. Nice website by the way.

I thought that my website would bring people to my door who needed cash right away or who were just trying to painlessly walk away from the hassles of the real estate business. I was right, I just didn’t expect it to bring her to my door. Although Lisa was in fact offering cash, I wouldn’t find that out until later.

So what can I do for you Mrs. Carfanello? I asked, referring to Lisa marrying my ex-best friend, Little Buddha.

Oooohhh, so business-like for an old friend. You do still consider me a friend, don’t you Sonny Wolf? Lisa asked, either oblivious to my remark or, much more likely, just simply ignoring it.

I had a few nicknames as a kid, Sonny being the obvious reference to James Caan’s character in the Godfather, Wolfie being another since my surname meant wolf in Italian, but only Lisa combined the two. I hadn’t heard that combo in years, and although I hated myself for it, it made me feel good inside to hear her call me in that way as though the years and miles never separated us.

I buried the warmth I was feeling deep inside and did my best to re-direct the conversation. Gee Lee, I dunno, would a friend end up with my best friend and both of you act like I was the one who brought it upon myself?

I guess you won’t have a civilized conversation with me after all of these years. I won’t waste any more of your time, she replied, doing a complete one-eighty.

She didn’t hang up and truth be told, I’m not sure I wanted her to. I wanted answers after all of the years, I wanted her to show some signs of apology or regret, and most of all, I wanted to hear her voice.

I could have gone either way here. I should have said, Ok Leese, take care, before I hung up and returned to my life. But I didn’t.

Look, I obviously have some unresolved issues about what happened, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m settled, I’m semi-retired, I’m wealthy, I’m attached and most of all, I’m comfortable. What can I do for you? The door was left open and she was about to walk right through it.

Sonny, Lexi is dead.

My jaw dropped and all of the anger and frustration I felt towards this woman melted away as I heard the news. Lexi Childs was a sweetheart by every definition of the word. During all of the conflict between me and Lisa and Little Buddha and following the attempt on my life, she was a shoulder to cry on and a crutch to lean on. Some nights, I think she even carried me.

We may have even ended up together if we didn’t share such admiration and respect for one another that we never wished to diminish by falling in love. That and overlooking the fact that I later learned that Lexi preferred the company of women.

H-how? I stammered rather ineloquently.

Son, she was murdered.

Rage started to combine with grief. Who did it? I demanded more than asked.

We don’t know, but the police came to us with a warning.

What the hell are you talking about?

"The killer left a note. He said that he was making up for past transgressions committed by us and that there would be more to come. He signed the note Horace."

Us? What do you mean by that? I asked.

Lisa paused dramatically, Son, he listed us by name.

WHO, LISA? WHO DID HE NAME?

She hesitated as if thinking of an answer that wouldn’t upset me. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity she said, Me, Mikey, Carmen, Angela, Mark and Deena. You weren’t on it.

I sat with a thousand thoughts running through my head. I was forgetting things as she spoke. What was it that I was forgetting? Then she dropped another bombshell.

Sonny, Mikey wants you to come to Philly. He wants to hire you to protect me. He says he can’t take care of himself and worry about me at the same time. He’ll feel better if you’re here.

Well, I wouldn’t want Philly’s number one restaurateur to be worried, I smartly replied.

Little Buddha’s penchant for eating led him to culinary school and his connections in Philly, both legit and not so legit, gave him four of Philly’s hottest restaurants, and a shit load of responsibility and cash to go along with it. The thing was, I didn’t need the money. I didn’t need the excitement. But I did want to help catch the bastard. Then she sealed the deal.

Sonny, I’ll feel better if you’re here. I need to see you and to make things right before… her voice trailed off. I need to know you will protect me like old times. I haven’t felt that way since… she started to cry before she could finish.

I don’t know why I caved. I knew this could only bring me trouble. I would find a way to explain it to my wife, but she would know better. Every sign, every tell, every thing told me not to go.

Tell the fat man I get $500 per day plus expenses. My license is still valid in PA, I renew it every year at my aunt’s address. I will be there in two days, I said credibly, although not necessarily convincingly enough to myself.

Sonny, thank you so much, Lisa began between sniffles.

Lisa, this is business, I cut her off, lying to her and to myself. I will see you in two days.

I hung up the phone. I tried to leave the office and go home, but I couldn’t look away from the receiver on its cradle.

CHAPTER III

LAST WEDNESDAY

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Horace watched Lexi Childs move around the diner from an outside phone booth. She looked cute in her black and white uniform, a throwback to the old days when all waitresses were fifty-something women who smoked too much and spoke in gravelly voices to customers they knew by name. Horace waited, phone to his ear, having a mock conversation with a dial tone.

At nine o’clock, Lexi smiled at the woman at the cash register and walked out the front door of the diner into the familiarity of the local neighborhood.

Horace hung up the phone and headed in her direction. He was about twenty feet behind her when he thought about all of the things she told him. He shook his head vigorously, like a wet dog in a tub, trying to shake away the voices in his head that were trying to stop him from implementing his plan. He wouldn’t let her ruin this, his night of redemption, his night of vengeance. Tonight was going to be his.

Lexi walked on, oblivious to what evil lurked a few feet behind her. Cars, horns, laughter, and music drowned Horace’s footsteps out; all sounds of the City that one never usually noticed.

Horace, knowing that Lexi was headed home along the same route she took every evening, saw his car parked up ahead, about a half of a block down. He knew it was now or never. He buried her voice deep inside himself and he quickened his pace to a trot.

Lexi, now both hearing the heavy footsteps and sensing someone rushing behind her, spun around in alarm, instinctively reaching for the mace that she always kept on her key chain.

Horace reached her within a second, to see her reach up with the mace, a set of keys hanging off the end and clanging like wind chimes in a soft breeze.

Hey you! Lexi said with a huge grin on her face. You scared the shit out of me and you almost got maced! What the hell are you doing around here?

Horace smiled wide, I was visiting a friend and I was walking to my car when I thought I saw you up ahead. Why don’t you let me give you a ride? Its kinda chilly out here, no?

Lexi pleasantly nodded and said, Yeah, if you don’t mind, my feet are killing me.

Cool, I’m parked right here, Horace smiled back, his heart racing inside. It wasn’t her