Be Careful Who Kills You!

By FJ Rocca

In this quick-paced, brightly dark thriller, four characters come together when their secrets collide. Their lives teeter on the verge of a precipice of circumstance from which even reason and will may not be enough to save them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329181427

Book preview

Be Careful Who Kills You!

Be Careful Who Kills You

a novel by

FJ Rocca

- Candid Bookpress -

This is a work of fiction. None of the characters exist in real life. They are entirely an invention of the author and are not modeled or based on any person living or dead. Any similarities occurring to the reader are purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Francis J. Rocca, All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Electronic Edition:  2015

ISBN: 978-1-329-18142-7

You may contact the author at [e-mail]

For my Dear Friend Dan Perlman, writer, traveler, master of languages, sommelier, chef extraordinaire, and skilled editor. Without his help, this book might be unreadable!

CHAPTER ONE

When Dee Vavelsky got off the plane at LaGuardia, it was eleven minutes past nine in the evening. The first thing she did was call her father. She called from a phone booth. Dee did not have a cell phone. There were reasons, her father thought, that maybe it wasn’t quite the right time for Dee to have one. Dee had agreed with the reasons. Dee didn’t speak Russian very well, only a little bit, despite her father’s and stepmother’s attempts to teach her their own native language. Dee was an all-American girl, raised on a Minnesota dairy farm, and she meant to stay that way. She spoke to her father in English. Hello, Papa. Yes, I’m fine. I arrived safe and sound and full of pep!  I’m going to take this town by storm.

Be sure to wear a raincoat, he told her, also in English that was fluent but heavily accented. Storms are not always that pleasant. Trust me. Remember everything I told you over and over, how to protect yourself. New York is a tough place. I been there, remember. Maybe I shouldn’t let you go so far away, he said. There was a sad note in his voice. Dee knew how he felt and why. But I guess you got to do what you got to do. Just remember it wasn’t my idea.

That’s right, Papa, she said. It was all my idea.

Well, other people had something to do with convincing you.

"Papa, we talked about this many times. It’s something I have to do, remember?  Besides, I really want to be an actress. Do you remember that?"  She heard the deep resignation in his sigh.

"But look, why you have to do it?  You can’t stay here where it’s safe and do something?  You couldn’t be an actress here?"  She laughed that bell like laugh she had, the laugh everybody loved and said was kind of her trademark.

"Oh, Papa, I can’t be an actress on a dairy farm. Besides, this is something I want to do. You taught me good life skills, Papa. You worked with me and showed me how to defend myself and everything, and how to watch over my shoulder without letting anyone know I was looking. Nobody will see me coming, I promise!  She chuckled again to reinforce his sense of security and also her own a little bit, too. She wanted him to believe she was chipper and eager and she wanted to be chipper and eager, and so that he would not worry so much about her. At first her father laughed, too. But then he sighed again audibly. Besides, she said. I have Ida looking after me."  He groaned lightly.

Ida, he said. She’s got something to do with this. I get afraid a little bit when I think about it.

Of course you do, she reassured him. "You’re my father. Fathers always worry about their daughters coming to the big city, and this is THE CITY, Papa. But I’ll be okay. And I’ll call you whenever I get the chance. And I’ll come home soon, don’t worry. We’ll have a nice visit and I’ll tell you all about everything."

Okay, but you got to call me. And, Mother of God, be safe. The minute you think it was a mistake, just stop. You can always turn back. This is your home. Remember that.

I will I promise. Say hello to everyone.  She hung up the phone and reached into the change slot to see if her quarter had come back. She fished it out. That was a sign of good luck, she thought. Now that her conversation with her father was over with, she knew she had finally gotten away from the farm. She was looking straight down the double barrels of a new life and she was so eager for everything she knew she had to do that she could taste it. Moreover, she knew it would take time. She knew she had to work at it relentlessly and carefully, to keep her eye on the big target. But she didn’t care if it took time. She was going to reach her goal, her ambition, and now she had taken her first big step.

She had put her suitcase down next to her and had kept her eye on it the whole time she stood at the wall phone, just like her father had told her. A guy in a hood seemed to be hovering nearby. Maybe he was after her suitcase, but she was confident he would not be able to bother her too much. She knew what to do. He would not get her suitcase, no matter what. She was being alert. She was ready. She was very confident.

She picked up the suitcase and went down the corridor following the signs that said Taxis. Out on the curb, she had to wait in line while a dispatcher ushered people into yellow cabs. A fellow in a black car with a number in the window asked if she wanted a private ride into Manhattan. He offered to take her for $35. Dee laughed. You’ve got to be kidding, she said. My father told me a yellow cab can get me there for $25, including tips.  The man in the black car shouted his offer past her to another passenger in line.

Dee pulled out of the way and moved up in line, where she waited a few more minutes while a family of Indians, two adults and three children, negotiated with a driver to take one taxi. It was one too many passengers, Dee heard the driver explain. The man argued in a foreign language that the driver apparently understood and in which he replied. The driver seemed hesitant, but the dispatcher gave him a go-ahead wave and the man nodded. The wife and children pushed each other into the back seat. The father squeezed the rear door shut, and then began to climb into the front seat motioning the driver to move his own bag. Dee waited another couple of minutes while a fellow with two suitcases and a huge valise on a dolly put his things into the trunk of another cab. She was next, but there were no cabs in line. She waited another three minutes, until finally a fellow with a turban drove his yellow cab up to the curb. The dispatcher asked, Where you going, Miss?  Dee told him and he motioned her to get into the taxi with the turbaned driver.

Dee opened the right rear door, pushed the suitcase on to the rear seat and slid in after it. As she slammed the door, she said, Midtown. I have a friend I’m staying with.  This, she remembered suddenly, was something she should not do. She was giving away more information than she needed to. It was not a safe thing to do. Her father had warned her about it. But the driver, a Sikh, paid no attention to what she was saying.

Where you want go midtown? he asked in his accent.

Oh, sorry, she said, handing him a scrap of paper. Here. Can you see where this is?  The driver took the paper, read it quickly and handed it back to her. The cab leapt from the curb and headed toward the exit to the highway. It was warm. Spring was more than just a promise. But it was a New York Spring and she’d been told to expect it warm one day and freezing the next.

But buds were on the trees and, back home on the farm, they were preparing for the usual spring chores. Dee suddenly realized that she was feeling just a touch homesick. This was not permissible. She had a mission and she meant to carry it out. She was going to try her hand at acting. She was going to be independent and get a job. She was going to do all kinds of things she’d never done before. She was maybe going to meet some interesting people too, she was sure of it. And maybe, just maybe, she was going to meet a man. Yes, that was a real priority.

It was high time she had a boyfriend, but a real boyfriend. It wasn’t going to be some farm kid, either, like the ones who always hung around and drooled when they saw her doing her chores in bare feet and cut-off jeans. Dee was twenty-three. She wanted someone sophisticated who could show her around town, one who’d take some interest in her the way a grown man was supposed to do with a woman. After all, she had a lot to offer.

Dee was more exotic than pretty, but she was certainly good looking enough to turn heads. The first thing anyone noticed about her was her flat, heart-shaped Slavic face, with the tiny cupid's bow lips and big slightly wide set almond shaped eyes that glowed green. The face was framed by a sea of curly hair that was indistinctly brown with golden highlights the flickered and twinkled here and there when she turned her head a certain way. It caused people to argue whether she was a mousy brunette or a true blonde. A theatrical agent had seen her in a high school play and had become interested in possibly representing her. As he’d handed her his card, he’d said, If you ever find yourself in New York, please look me up.  He’d also suggested that she take her hair the full route to platinum blondeness and play on it a la Marilyn Monroe or Madonna or Christina Aguilera. With that figure and really blonde hair, you’d have something I might be able to sell.

But Dee had disliked the man at once and refused. She agreed that maybe a rinse would be okay once in a while to brighten up the natural highlights, but it was as far as she was willing to go. She wasn’t going to be a sex pot sexpot and she made it clear. What if someone asks you to do a nude scene in a movie? the theatrical agent had asked her, practically licking his lips. Dee had pursed her own lips properly and answered the man in no uncertain terms.

"If you mean for you, the answer is a very loud NO."  She’d never be able to pull off a nude scene, anyway, she knew too well. She was shy and naturally modest. It would be too, well, embarrassing. She knew she had a lot more going for her than just her hair color, too. There was the skin, sleek and creamy white and without a flaw. And there were the legs. Yes the legs. They were dancer's legs for sure, not long, but with beautifully defined ankles, and well-toned, but not heavily muscled, thighs and calves. Her hips were just broad enough to give her that shape. She had a ravishing figure. It was the old fashioned hourglass figure, with a tight waist, the kind that would have set a perfect course for an actress back in the fifties. Today it was unusual. Then there were the dancers' breasts, small and perfectly formed. Yes, it was the body of a dancer. Dee had never taken a dance lesson in her life. The muscle tone was from doing farm chores.

She’d worked on her father’s dairy farm, milked cows, tended the pigs and chickens, climbed trees with her brother, played softball and been a thoroughgoing Tomboy. No one would have guessed it now, though. Her father had warned her about men in the city. They are all vultures, he’d said, especially the lawyers. But the actors, they aren’t so good either. You can’t trust any of them. Don’t show yourself off too much.  Dee wasn’t that big a fool. She’d had a couple of boyfriends before, if you could call them that. One was forty years old!  But all he wanted was you know what and lots of it. Dee was tired of those ignorant grunt types. She would be a city girl now, with city girl tastes, and if some really great guy came along, some guy with manners and who treated her well, she’d make her decision then whether to give in to him.

The taxi driver took them over the Triborough Bridge. Dee had never seen anything like it before. It was her first glimpse of New York and when she looked beyond the bridge, she was stunned at all the lights and all the traffic and all the man-made things crammed into a space you wouldn’t think was nearly big enough. There was so much in such a little bit of room.

After they came off the bridge, they were at last in Manhattan. The taxi driver took a couple of side streets and soon they were tooling down Second Avenue. She remembered some old song about that street. What was it?  She couldn’t remember the title. Did Art Garfunkel or somebody sing it on an old record that belonged to her stepmother?  Oh well. She could remember it later if she still wanted to. Right now she had no time for old songs, especially ones that were popular when she wasn’t even born yet. She had to pay attention to what she was doing.

The cab pulled up to Second Avenue and 23rd Street and turned. Three or four houses went by and she was there. She got out of the cab, pulling her suitcase after her. Her father had told her what to do about cabs and cab drivers. Be careful they don’t pull out while they got your stuff still in the car. Wait until you get out before you pay them. And get your stuff out first.  She kept that in the front of her mind. When she’d gotten her stuff out and onto the sidewalk, she pulled a twenty and a ten out of her wallet that she had stashed in the inside pocket of her jacket, just like a man would do, and gave it to the cab driver. When she got her change, she slipped him four dollars and stuffed the remaining dollar into her jeans pocket and straightened out her jacket.

She checked her outfit so that she would look perfectly presentable. She glanced down at her black straight leg jeans just cresting over the ankles of her high heeled boots. She adjusted the dark greenish blue denim jacket to make sure it was straight and neat and fluffed the scarf around her neck. She ran her hands back through her hair one last time and pulled out a mirror from her shoulder purse to check her makeup. She was satisfied that she looked as fresh as a daisy.

She lugged the suitcase to the doorway and into the vestibule and squinted in the dim yellowish light of an overhead bulb to find the right apartment number on the bell panel. She found the bell and pressed the button. Ida’s voice came over the box and she answered, It’s me.  Then the buzzer sounded and she lugged the suitcase inside and up the two flights of steps.

Ida was waiting for her at the top of the steps. Dee had not seen her since she was a kid, but she remembered now that Ida had been a good looker. She wore a dressing gown and mules and welcomed Dee with a warm hug. I heated some water for tea, she said. Come in.  Dee noticed that Ida glanced down the hall both ways before she closed and double locked the door.

Wow, is it that dangerous in New York? Dee laughed as she asked it.

It doesn’t hurt to be careful, Ida said. You never know. And I’m a little paranoid. I guess it’s in my nature. Are you tired from the trip?

Not too, said Dee. She had dropped the suitcase near the door and now followed Ida into the kitchen. Ida wasn’t really her friend exactly. She was an old roommate of Dee’s stepmother from when they were both secretaries in the City. Ida had helped Dee to get an interview for a job where she herself worked. She’d also offered Dee a place to live, a spare bedroom she had never used. It was a favor to Dee’s stepmother. It would be a nice arrangement, thought Dee. Neither of us will get in the other’s way. Besides, Ida could keep a secret, so not everything Dee did would get reported. This meant freedom of a sort, and Dee would use that freedom just as she had planned. When Ida asked Dee what those plans were, Dee answered coyly, I’m gonna be like the Royal Canadian Mounties. I’m gonna get my MAN!  Dee watched Ida laugh. Dee could tell that Ida was cool. She’d been