by Henry Hack
I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the composite photo of the suspect in Bishop Manzo’s death. There was somewhat of a resemblance to the guy who looked at me, but not that definite. I dismissed the encounter and went home, but remembered Vivian’s words of caution loud and clear.
THIRTY-NINE
Although I had dismissed my street encounter as a nothing incident, being by nature a distrustful, cynical cop, a bit of paranoia set in as I became super aware of my surroundings and the people in them. And damned if I didn’t notice what appeared to be guys, and gals, tailing me on foot in Manhattan and in cars around my home. They were never close enough to get a license plate number, nor for a good physical description. I mentally slapped myself in the head and muttered, “It’s all in your mind, stupid.”
Friday came and I arrived promptly at the cathedral of St. James in Brooklyn at twelve noon. I was ushered into the new Bishop’s office by a smiling Brian Starkey who said on the way in, “Lunch will be delivered by Maury’s at 12:30, and I’ll have it set up in the conference room.”
As we approached the Bishop, who was seated behind his desk, he rose, smiled and extended his hand. He said, “Ken Stachurski, Mike. It’s a true pleasure to finally meet you.”
I was immediately struck by this man’s presence and his humility in using his first name in his introduction. He stood tall and lean and his smiling, blue Irish eyes and ruddy complexion belied his Polish name, when I remembered Brian telling me he was only one half Polish. The Bishop motioned for me to sit down and he re-took his seat as Brian quietly left the room and shut the door. He said, “Mike, Brian said you had a special relationship with Bishop Manzo, but asked you tell me about it yourself. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Your Excellency –”
“Mike, when it’s me and you alone, Ken is my name.”
“Thank you, Ken,” I said with a smile. “Here goes my tale of woe…”
When I finished, without interruption, the Bishop said, “That story would make a helluva fiction book, because nobody would believe it happened.”
“As they say, Ken, truth is stranger than fiction.”
“It’s about time to head into the conference room for lunch, and I promise it will be an interesting one.”
“Oh?”
“We have two other guests joining us, and they will have some revelations for us all.”
“You have me hooked, Ken. What revelations –?”
He raised his hand to stop me and said, “All your questions will be answered, but before we leave my office I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Mike, you were born a Jew, raised a Catholic, and married a Lutheran. What religion do you practice now?”
“None.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“No.”
“I can certainly understand why, and I certainly won’t attempt to change your mind.”
“Thank you for that, Bishop. I’ll relate your words to my loving wife. Maybe she’ll take the hint.”
The Bishop burst out laughing and said, “Also tell her this, Mike. God does not reside inside this cathedral, or in a Jewish Temple, or in her Lutheran church. He resides in no man-made building, and is not the property of any one religion. God resides inside you. You have to look in there to find him. Some people never do. You might be one of them, but I hope you are not. Enough lecturing, let’s go eat some good Jewish food.
First Frank, then Vivian, then Brian, and now Stachurski. All trying to save my alleged soul. Bah!
. . .
Brian was finishing up opening the bags of food and placing them on a sideboard as we walked in. Two men were at one end of the room conversing, and they turned toward us as we entered. I immediately recognized Deputy Chief Roger Hendricks and we shook hands. He said, “Good to see you, Mike.”
“You, too, Chief.”
“Call me Roger, even though you’re not yet officially off the job. How many days left?”
“Seven. Terminal leave will be over on December 15.”
“Ever think about coming back?”
“Are you kidding? To a command in the Bronx? No thank you, sir.”
He laughed as did the Bishop and the other man who was dressed, as Stachurski, in simple, black clerical garb. I extended my hand to him and said, “Mike Simon.”
“Walter Dietrich,” he said, shaking my hand and saying, “Pleased to meet you, Mike. I heard a lot about you.”
“Wait until you hear his life story,” Bishop Stachurski said. “Oh, by the way, Walter here is the newly-designated Archbishop of the New York Archdiocese.”
I know my mouth dropped open in shock and I was at a momentary loss for words. I re-took his hand and said, “Congratulations, Your Grace, although congratulations may be the wrong word. You are inheriting a huge mess here, as you are no doubt aware of.”
“I am,” he said, “and in the words that might have been uttered by my dear departed brother-in-Christ, Francis Manzo, ‘Walter, this is a Class-A cluster-fuck you got here.’”
After the laughter died down, the Archbishop said, “Let’s eat, and please, Mike, tell your story between bites. We have some serious issues to discuss this afternoon. As Michael Corleone so aptly put it in the Godfather movie, ‘it is time to settle all our business.’”
We went to the sideboard and loaded our plates with the pastrami, corned beef, latkes, coleslaw, and pickles provided by Maury’s Deli. I noticed not one of us went easy on the food, especially the potato latkes. When we were all settled in and the iced tea poured by Bishop Stachurski, Archbishop Dietrich raised his glass and said, “A toast to new beginnings, and to the burial of old deceptions.”
We dug in and I told my story once again. I was starting to bore myself with its repetition, but Hendricks and Dietrich were obviously enthralled with it, stopping a few times with their sandwiches halfway to their open mouths. When I finished, the Archbishop said, “I’m going to love New York. I’m eating delicious Jewish deli food, surrounded by a Polish/Irish bishop, a Northern Irish Episcopal Deputy Chief, and a born Jew raised as a Catholic. Amazing! And me, a German/Hungarian/whatever else combo.”
I added, “And I’m married to a Lutheran, don’t forget.”
“You have one redeeming trait at least,” Chief Hendricks said.
There were smiles all around and Brian entered to clean up the lunch dishes. He said, “Shall I set out the brandy, Bishop?”
Dietrich, who was now obviously in charge, said, “By all means, Brian. And leave the bottle.”
. . .
Archbishop Dietrich raised his glass and said, “A toast to new beginnings and to the end of the old ways. Here’s what we will do, and this comes from the Pope himself. Going forward, any and all allegations of criminal behavior against a member of the church, be it priest, nun, or bishop, shall be referred immediately to the police department for investigation and arrest, if warranted. Whether it is sexual in nature, shoplifting, or jaywalking, there will be no more cover-ups and buy offs. Period. All cardinals, archbishops, bishops, and pastors will be so notified, in detail, by the Pope of this new policy. Now for what occurred in the past. Ken?”
Bishop Stachurski said, “We are taking up Bishop Manzo’s cause and, with the cooperation of the NYPD, we will request and support the arrests of every miscreant on the lists he had prepared and which are now in your possession, Mike.”
“The NYPD will go along with this?” I asked.
“Yes, Mike,” Hendricks said. “This afternoon major changes will be announced in the department. Commissioner Flanagan will announce his retiremen
t as will the chief of department. The new PC will be the current chief of patrol, Gennaro Isabella. Chief of Detectives, Kevin O’Connor, will also put in his papers.”
“Do I see a deliberate attempt to break the perceived Irish Mafia connection between the church and the department?”
“You certainly do, Mike,” Bishop Dietrich said. “And I hope the media and the general public see it as well.”
“Who will be the new chief of department and chief of detectives?” I asked.
“Ben Goodman gets the four-star job, and yours truly will be the new detective boss.”
“Congratulations, Roger,” I said. “A Jew, and not a real Irishman. I like it.”
“You were always a wiseass, Mike,” Hendricks said, but he was smiling broadly. “However, in the future, I may insist on you addressing me as Chief.”
“May I remind you, Chief, in the near future I will be permanently Mister Simon.”
“Maybe you will, and maybe you won’t,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Bishop?” Hendricks said.
“Mike, our old ways must be addressed now. The Pope and I want as many violators on the lists you possess, arrested and prosecuted for their transgressions. And I have been given a blank check from Rome to settle all pending lawsuits and future litigation fairly and justly to the victims.”
“And I want you back on the job to implement those arrests,” Hendricks said. “Remember, with the church willing to settle claims before a lawsuit is initiated, a lot of your present job will go away. May I go on?”
“Go ahead,” I said, mulling over this information. I was not happy right now.
“I will form a special unit within the Detective Division headed up by Inspectors Elliott and Presti. Elliott will report directly to me, and you will report to him. You will run the field operations with your chosen investigators to make those arrests where the facts and statute of limitations allow. You may choose twenty-four investigators and two supervisors, similar to the way your current operation now runs at Schroeder, Harwood. Bring as many of them on board who are willing to return to the department before their terminal leave runs out.”
There were a thousand questions racing through my mind. I swallowed a half glass of brandy and said, “I need a bathroom break.”
“Not to throw up, I hope,” Hendricks said.
“Who knows, Chief, but at least to throw some cold water on my face while I digest this information.”
This train was moving a bit too fast here, and I didn’t yet know if I should stay on or jump off.
FORTY
I didn’t puke, but doused my face and head with cold water. I took the opportunity to release the tea and brandy I had consumed at lunch knowing I would need more when I went back. When I returned, the three others were standing around with their glasses of brandy in their hands. In Stachurski’s other hand glowed a huge cigar. “Ah,” he said, “our guest of honor has returned. Shall we continue?”
We took our seats and Hendricks said, “What do you say to my offer?”
“How do you know about my operation at Schroeder, Harwood?”
“Paul and Micena told me all about it. They gave me all the names of your new investigators. I must compliment you on your selections. Top quality people. Couldn’t have picked better myself.”
“Paul and Micena?”
“Yes, which brings me to the next topic – the zip who killed Bishop Manzo, and who tried to kill you, too.”
“How do you now conclude that? You classified it as an accident, remember?”
“I conclude that because he confessed that fact to Detectives Paul and Micena yesterday afternoon –”
“Whoa, what the fuck? Uh, I mean –”
“First of all they are still detectives, and were willingly recruited by me, as were Sergeants Megara and Seich, when we discovered the suspect was en route to the states and probably sent back here to finish the job on you.”
“How did you find him?”
“I had the case reopened – to be honest I never had it closed despite what the bottom line said – and detectives from Brooklyn North commands were assigned by me to try to track the perp down. When he flew back in we spotted him at the airport and set up surveillance and a tail. He led us to suspect number two at a motel in Jersey.”
“How did you know he was coming in, and where, and –”
“Mike, detective work, pure and simple. Interpol contacts, Italian police contacts, informants here and abroad all had the composite photo. Standard stuff, or have you forgotten your police training already?”
I had to admit Hendricks impressed me with these collars. I said, “How many dicks did you have working this case?”
“Twenty, not counting your protection detail.”
“Protection detail?”
“Come on, you must have spotted them near your house or in the vicinity of your office. Ten of my detectives and ten of your investigators from Schroeder, Harwood all supervised by Megara and Seich. One week, around-the-clock. You should give them a few days off soon.”
“Like I gave Paul and Micena a few days off?”
“And they did a great job. The two zips, Furio Vazzo and Renzo Turano, were extremely cooperative since the second payment for the Manzo hit has not been forthcoming from the guy who hired them, but was to be paid after they hit you to complete their original mission.”
“I’d like to talk to these two guys,” I said.
“Negative,” Hendricks said. “Richie Paul and Johnny the Jack Micena are doing just fine, if you know what I mean. The zips have since lawyered up, but seem willing to cut a deal and provide the name and probable location of their contact who hired them, who in turn was hired by one of those wayward cardinals in Rome.”
“I’m shocked, Chief Hendricks, in this day and age, you would condone such brutal behavior from members of the NYPD,” Bishop Stachurski said with a grin.
“Would you like to take a crack at their murdering heads with your golden staff?” the chief responded.
“I’d love to,” he said, “but as a man of the cloth, I must decline.”
“Ken,” Archbishop Dietrich said, “when I think of Francis Manzo, I must admit I, too, would enjoy taking a few swings at them. Consider that my confession to you for thinking evil thoughts.”
Hendricks said, “What’s your decision, Mike?”
“I need some time, the weekend, at least. I have to bring Vivian into the loop.”
“You got it. Oh, Vivian knows about some of this already.”
“Huh?”
“We brought her in on the surveillance happening at your house. She told the kids, too. We didn’t want them worried if they spotted our guys in the area.”
“But you chose not to bring me in?”
“Nope, and you know why, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I’d try to take control and run the operation, and you thought I’d screw it up.”
“Right. Was I wrong?”
“Nah, I didn’t know you knew me so well.”
“I didn’t, but I did my research. Which is why I want you back on the job – with me.”
I nodded and said, “I’ll call you Monday. Will Paul and Micena be back then?”
“They will. While you were in the bathroom I placed a call. It’s all wrapped up tight. Vazzo will be charged for Bishop Manzo’s murder and the attempted murder on you back in September. Turano will be similarly charged. Additional charges of conspiracy to murder you now, for the second time, will also be placed against both of them.”
“You spotted them on the street Tuesday, right?”
“Those two were Vazzo and Turano?”
“Yes, and their plan was interrupted by your sudden appearance. But on Thursday, their plan went into action, and that’s when we got them.”
“Where?”
“Parked in a van near where you were parked in the garage. Each had a gun and a knife. One also had a taser. There was a large canvas bag in the van which you would have fit perfectly in. Paul and Micena made the collar with backup from my guys.”
“And they went for it?”
“All the way, and they were promised a $10,000 bonus for your brutal demise.”
“Ten grand? Shit, is that all I’m worth?”
“I would say that’s a lot for an avowed atheist,” Bishop Stachurski said.
“I agree, Ken,” Archbishop Dietrich said. “And way too much for a Jew turned Catholic, married to a Lutheran, who now somehow claims he is an avowed atheist.”
I smiled at the jabs from the two Bishops when Hendricks said, “But not near enough for a lieutenant in the detective division of the NYPD. That amount is incalculable.”
If Hendricks’ comment was meant to sway me, it was working. And I saw the two down-to-earth Bishops in a much different light than I perceived the rigid hierarchy in the church of my youth. I had a lot to think about, didn’t I?
By the time we finished up it was after four o’clock, and we called it a day. Archbishop Dietrich handed an envelope to me containing a letter to my firm. He said, “This letter contains our proposal for settlements as we discussed today. Please deliver it to Mr. Marino.”
