Fried Oreos: Welcome, Mark Love

Wednesday, July 27, 2022

Welcome, Mark Love

Wayward Path

“The Wayward Path” is the third novel in the Jefferson Chene mystery series. These books are set in the Detroit, Michigan area, which is where I’m originally from. Detroit has a long history of crime and misbehavior, which always appealed to my story-telling mind.

I’m a fan of distinctive names. The backstory for Chene (pronounced Shane) is that he was abandoned at birth and found at the intersection of Jefferson and Chene in Detroit. A mix up on the paperwork led to that becoming his name. The character was raised in a Catholic orphanage.

Chene became a cop and worked his way through the ranks of the Michigan State Police. Metropolitan Detroit has a population of over 3 million people and it covers almost 6,000 square miles, making it one of the largest metro areas in the US. With so many smaller cities in this region, I wanted to have a squad of detectives who would cross those territorial boundaries and go wherever their investigation took them.

After creating the Chene character and others in the first book “Why 319?” I kept coming up with new story ideas. And the feedback I got from readers was encouraging. I realized these characters had much more to tell. That’s what led to the latest book.

Blurb:

Charity Gray was an intelligent, inquisitive teen who disappeared fifteen years earlier. When her body is discovered, it should be a typical cold case. Before the Detroit police can get started, the FBI commandeers the investigation, with a prime suspect in mind: retired mobster Leo Agonasti.

When Agonasti slips through their grasp, he reaches out to Sergeant Jefferson Chene. Their unusual friendship draws Chene into the thick of the case. Burdened with two reluctant FBI agents, Chene is working against the clock and the feds to find the real killer.

Chene senses they are getting close to the answers. Will he be able to solve the murder and clear the old mobster of this heinous crime before time runs out?

Excerpt:

Koz and Laura were waiting just down the block as I rounded the corner. We stopped alongside.

“You must be out of your fucking mind,” Koz snarled.

“Nothing new there. I just want to have a quiet conversation with a certain homeowner. Maybe he can shed a little light on these recent events.”

Laura leaned forward, so I could see her past Kozlowski’s bulk. “Where do you want me?”

“Across the street. There’s good elevation.” I pointed to what I had in mind.

She nodded and slid back.

I glanced at Koz. “You in?”

“Out of your fucking mind,” he muttered. “Of course, I’m in. Your lady friend would kick my ass twice if I don’t cover yours.”

“Let’s roll.”

The front door opened as we approached. A stocky man greeted us. A thin panatela was balanced between the first two fingers of his right hand. “Afternoon, officers. What can I do for you?”

“Like a few minutes of your time, Mr. Tocco,” I said.

“You got a warrant?”

“Don’t need a warrant just to talk.”

Movement behind him caught my eye. Koz was on my left flank, Naughton on the right. A slender man in his thirties appeared alongside Tocco.

“My youngest son,” Giovanni Tocco growled. “Lorenzo, say hello.”

“Hello, police officers. Would you mind stating your names?” Lorenzo’s voice was that of an educated man.

“Sure, I’m Brady. These are my associates, Gronkowski and Edelman.”

Tocco barked a laugh. “Well, you sure as hell don’t play for the Lions.”

“Their names are unnecessary. You already know mine. That should be sufficient.”

“Well, it is true that you’re a smartass. What is it you want, Chene? My secret cannoli recipe?” We were back to serious family business now.

“There was a shooting last night. Three men assaulted two law enforcement officers.”

Tocco nodded sagely. “Saw it on the news. But what’s that got to do with me? I’m just a businessman, enjoying a summer’s day.”

“Two of the gunners were for hire. But the third has me curious. Kind of a pretty boy. Last name was Tancredi.” I showed him the picture on my phone.

“That stupid fuck,” Giovanni Tocco muttered. “Matteo Tancredi. Matteo Tancredi is one of Luca Vitale’s punk grandsons.”

“Was,” I said, tucking the phone back in my pocket. “I was under the impression that Vitale has been out of the business for quite a while now. Any truth to that rumor?”

Tocco gave me another sage nod. “Stroke left him paralyzed. Luca’s older than dirt. But he has been taken care of. His interests were…equally divided.”

“Any idea who Matteo was working for?”

Giovanni Tocco rolled the panatela between his fingers thoughtfully. “I don’t want to be in the middle of a family battle. We have a, what do you call it…” He turned his head for a quick glance at his son.

“An accord,” Lorenzo piped in.

“Yeah, an accord. There’s enough action and territory here, no reason for anybody to go pissing on the other guy’s petunias.” He brought the cigar up horizontally and ran it under his nose. “Matteo thought he could reclaim his grandfather’s action.”

“How long has it been since Luca Vitale’s…interests were divided?”

“Two, maybe three years.” Tocco shrugged. “There were no hard feelings. Luca had no sons alive, and the girls weren’t active in the business. Bianchi made a very generous offer.”

“You’re telling me Matteo Tancredi was working for Bianchi?”

Tocco slowly wagged his head back and forth. “Doubtful. That was one of Vitale’s demands. Separate the business from his immediate family,” Tocco said. “But if you like, I’ll make a call. Bianchi’s got nothing to hide.”

“Appreciate your time, Mr. Tocco.”

“You got brass balls, Chene, meeting me like this.”

“You didn’t get where you are by having a gun battle with state police detectives. All I wanted was some information. I appreciate that. And your assistance.” I gave him a nod of respect.

Tocco slowly shook his head. He studied the cigar for a moment. Naughton moved forward and snapped open an old Zippo lighter. He sparked it to life and extended the fire toward Tocco. They locked eyes briefly. Tocco popped the panatela in his mouth and bent forward, drawing in the flame.

“Pop! You know what the doctor said.”

Tocco leaned back and puffed smoke into the air. “Fuck the doctor. I haven’t enjoyed one of these in weeks. Guys are going to wonder why I still carry it.”

Naughton cracked a grin. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

“Damn right.”

We headed down the driveway. Kozlowski shook his head in disgust. “You’re still out of your fucking mind. And now your antics are corrupting Naughton too!”

Naughton laughed. “It’s a little late for that.”

Buy links:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B114JLCD

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-wayward-path-mark-love/1141467645?ean=9781509242191

https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-wayward-path/id6442843627