by Henry Hack
“I will, Your Grace, and I will add my words of support to it.”
“Thanks Mike. I know you have a big decision to make, so go home to your wife now.”
“Thank you, too, but could I ask a favor of you two new bosses of the church?”
“Go ahead,” Dietrich said.
“Tickets for me and Vivian to both your installation masses?”
“I’ll tell Brian to arrange it,” Stachurski said, “but why anyone would want to sit through not one, but two, long boring ceremonies is beyond my comprehension.”
“Self-flagellation,” I said. “Remember, I was raised a strict Catholic. I need punishment every so often whether I need it or not. But, boring or not, I believe you two are doing the right thing and I want to be there to be part of that future success.”
“I would ask you to pray to God for our success,” Bishop Dietrich said, “but I know that’s out of the question.”
Mort’s words flashed through my mind. You know, Mikey, it voodn’t hoit. “Maybe I can remember one or two,” I said. “Maybe the Pater Noster.”
“Can you still pray the Our Father in Latin?” Stachurski asked.
“Do four years of Bishop Loughlin brain-washing ever go away?”
I took the letter and we said our good-byes. Chief Hendricks said, “Remember, call me Monday, one way or the other, but I need you on board.”
I nodded and left the room.
. . .
“Hello, my dear,” Vivian said as I entered our front door. “My, you’re home early. Light traffic?”
“No, I had a meeting in Brooklyn and left from there. But I guess you already know that, since you know a lot of other things going on you chose to keep from me.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“The protection detail?”
“Oh, that.”
“Oh, that?”
“Chief Hendricks convinced me things would work much smoother if you were unaware of it.”
“Did it take a lot to convince you?”
“Honestly, no. I know you, Mike, and you know yourself.”
“The opinion of you all was I’d screw it up, or refuse it, or try to take it over? Something like that?”
“Exactly like that. All three possibilities came to mind. Now calm your pits and have a cocktail. You know we were right, so get over it.”
I couldn’t stay angry, because she, and the chief, were correct, but I was not about to admit it. I said, “I don’t agree, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all over.”
“Tell me all about it.”
We got our drinks and sat in the den where I told her of the capture of the two hit men, and the house arrest of the five Cardinals in Rome. I told her of my lengthy afternoon meeting with the two new Bishops and concluded with Chief Hendricks’ offer for me to come back on the job.
“Wow, you had quite an afternoon. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Any advice?”
“Let me think it over. I’ll get us another drink. The six o’clock news is coming on. I want to see the announcements of the changes in the NYPD brass you told me about.”
Hendricks’ information was spot on and he was announced as the new chief of detectives. As his departmental photo flashed on the screen Vivian said, “You know, I spoke with him personally about the protection detail. He impressed me as truthful and as a man of integrity. Much like you. You could do worse than having him as a boss and a mentor.”
“I’d be taking a big cut in pay.”
“Since when did your salary become the most important thing in your life? You know what the most important thing is, and it’s certainly not money, or status, or fancy expensive clothes.”
“What is it then, oh oracle wife of mine?”
“Your mission. Bishop Manzo’s mission which you took up upon his death. Bring the miscreants to justice, once and for all in the manner he wanted – arrest, prosecution, and public exposure. That’s your mission now. Go fulfill it.”
I smiled and reached over to kiss her and hug her tightly. “Thanks for setting me straight. I’ll trade in my new suits for a suit of armor and a silver sword and prepare myself for battle.”
“Maybe an NYPD lieutenant’s shield and a rumpled Columbo raincoat would be better?”
FORTY-ONE
On Monday morning I met with Nick Marino, Howie Stein, and the two lawyers on my team, Andy Forma and Sam Ehrenkranz. I had told their secretaries it was of utmost importance they meet with me ASAP.
At 10:30 in a small conference room, Howie Stein said, “What the hell is so pressing, Mike? I had to postpone an important phone call.”
I gently tossed the letter to him and said, “Read this. Maybe you should read it out loud.”
He gave me a dirty look, but did as I asked. When he finished, Nick Marino said, “This is a whole new ballgame, isn’t it?”
“And a much easier one for the firm,” I said. “I mean a blank check, and settlements without lawsuits and court battles? What more could we ask for?”
“Good for us, but not too good for you and your staff of investigators. We won’t need you going forward.”
“Not all of us, but you’ll still need a handful to take statements and get the facts on record. Probably eight, and a supervisor, should do it.”
They all nodded their heads in agreement and Marino said, “And you’ll be that supervisor?”
“No, I’m going back on the job. That’s the second half of the equation. Let me explain.”
“Unbelievable,” Andy Forma said. “The church is indeed requesting these priests be arrested?”
“Yes, and the unholy alliance between the church and the department that condoned and allowed the cover-ups has been wiped out.”
“The Irish Mafia is gone – for now,” Howie Stein said.
“We can only live in the present,” I said. “Let’s take advantage of it while we can.”
“I’ll leave it to you to inform your staff of the changes,” Marino said. “Sorry about the loss of jobs.”
“I’m hoping to convince many of them to come back on the job and work with me on this. I need at least twenty.”
“That’s good news,” Howie said. “I hope it works out for you and them.”
“And thanks for doing a great job for the firm,” Marino said. “For as long as it lasted, anyway.”
Before I faced my troops, I had a call to make and when Chief Hendricks picked up I said, “Roger, did you happen to notice the suit I was wearing on Friday?”
“I did, Mike. Classy threads and no doubt very expensive as well.”
“Correct. And if I wore that suit every day for ten years, it would still look better than that shmata you had on.”
He laughed and said, “I guess your answer is no. You will stay in the corporate world of money, power, fine wines, and two-thousand dollar suits of clothes.”
“On the contrary, Chief. My answer is yes. I would love to come back to work with you, but I have one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You get a big bump in pay going from one-star to three-star rank, right?”
“That I do.”
“My condition is you grab a few grand and accompany me to my tailor who will dress you properly. For Pete’s sake, I can’t come to work looking better than the goddamn chief of detectives, can I?”
“How about we have lunch tomorrow afternoon and then you take me shopping?”
“Deal. Come to my office around noon. I’ll tak
e you to the partners’ club. We’ll eat on the company’s tab.”
“Isn’t that like taking graft? You know, a free lunch for cops is verboten.”
“I’ll buy. Does that make you feel better?”
“Yes, it does,” he said knowing damn well I wasn’t reaching into my pocket for one thin dime.
. . .
When I came to work that morning, I had deliberately walked through the bullpen area with a scowl on my face and said nothing to anyone, including my usual, “Good morning, everyone!” Now, after my meeting, I walked out of my office into the bullpen and said, in what I hoped was a stern, intimidating voice, “Paul! Micena! Megara! Seich! Get into my office – now!”
I didn’t wait for a response, but turned on my heel and stormed away. They dejectedly filed in and stood there in front of my desk. I stared them with narrowed eyes and a scowl on my face for several seconds before I said, “Sit down, you traitors.”
“Mike –”
“I don’t want to hear it, Harry. You guys go behind my back and deal with that prick Hendricks? You think I can’t protect myself and my family from these zips? You think I need you four to do that, and to collar these guys?”
None of them said a word or looked me in the eyes. “Let me tell you all something. Thank you, from the bottom of my shriveled heart. Thank you for looking out for me and my family. And thank you John and Richie for locking up those two zips before they could whack me and dump my stupid Jew ass in the Hudson River.”
They sat in silence a few seconds longer until the meaning of my words sunk in. Then they broke out into smiles and laughter. “Son-of-a-bitch, Mike,” Charlie said. “You had me going there for a while.”
“Man, I thought for a minute you were going to fire us” John said.
“Not exactly,” I said, “but something like that is going to happen. Listen up, questions after.”
I ran through the whole scenario based on Friday’s meeting and concluded with, “So I’m going back on the job to head up the arrest squad. I need twenty guys, starting with you four. What do you say?”
Charlie Seich, John Micena, and Richie Paul immediately said, “We’re with you, Mike.”
“And what say you, my faithful deputy?” I asked.
Harry said, “Mike, you said the firm can keep eight guys plus a supervisor, right?”
“Right.”
“I want to be that supervisor. I got thirty-two years on the NYPD, and was seriously thinking of packing it in anyway before we got this gig. I don’t want to go back. I like working here and will do so as long as it lasts.”
I was taken aback by Harry’s decision, but I could see it from his point of view, and immediately accepted it. I said, “I understand. I’d love to have you come along, but the decision is yours and yours alone. And I believe it’s the right one.”
“Thanks, Boss.” He stood up and came over and hugged me. “It was a great run.”
“That it was, but we’ll still be seeing a lot of each other. I’m going to be the liaison between the department and the firm. You and I will be coordinating the arrests with the settlements. How about that?”
“Terrific, Mike. Terrific!
“Now the five of us have to decide who stays here, and who comes with me. And, I’ll tell you, it doesn’t matter. We have thirty-two top-notch investigators. I could pick any twenty out of a hat and be satisfied.”
“I agree,” Harry said. “How do you want to go about it?”
“When they come back from the field this afternoon, we’ll have a group meeting and throw it out there. It’s basically their decision, not ours.”
My group of investigators was truly surprised by this sudden turn of events after recently having made a major decision to leave the job. And now, after two months in their new position, they were being forced into another major decision. I said I needed an answer by Wednesday afternoon at the latest, no doubt adding to their anxiety.
Immediately a dozen hands shot up, and nine of them said they’d come with me. The other three opted to stay with Harry. That was a promising start. In the next hour four more made their decision and I now had twelve of my twenty.
When Wednesday afternoon came around, all decisions had been made. Harry had his eight, but I had only eighteen. Six of the oldest had opted to stay retired and seek employment elsewhere, or not seek it at all. Two opted to go back on the job, but not come with me. And that was a big disappointment because those two were Doug Monroe and Lou Isnardi formerly of Queens Narcotics. Both wanted to go back there explaining sex crime investigations were not their thing. Doug said, “To be honest, Mike, we were both thinking of quitting here before our terminal leave was up anyway.”
“Don’t tell me you miss my old partner, Charlie Evans?”
Doug smiled and said, “Yeah, that crazy nig… uh, I mean fellow African-American former partner of mine did make life interesting all right.”
“And hilarious,” Lou said. “I miss it – the laughs, the action. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. You did a great job here even though it was tedious work. I’ll miss you both.”
. . .
On Friday afternoon all the paperwork had been completed by those scheduled to depart, and we all assembled in the bullpen for a farewell party and a farewell greeting from Nick Marino. He was joined by Howie Stein, Andy Forma, and Sam Ehrenkranz. Nick thanked everyone for a great job done and said, “This case has been and will be lucrative for the firm, so me and my partners would like to give you a small token of appreciation – a bonus if you will – for your work here. Mike will distribute these envelopes and then please enjoy your shrimp cocktails and real cocktails for the rest of the afternoon.”
There were a lot of handshakes among the lawyers and the investigators and it took a good twenty minutes for the lawyers, drink in hand, to finally leave the room. I handed out the envelopes to each person – those remaining as well as those leaving – and when Joan Yale peeked at her check she said, “Five grand! This sure isn’t the NYPD.”
The four supervisors – Harry, Charlie, John, and Richie – each received $10,000 and I got $25,000. The firm was making a lot of money and I was happy they decided to share it with their workers. Capitalism at its best, I figured. And as Joan just said, nothing like the NYPD.
The week was over. Chief Hendriks had three new suits and a free meal he thought I paid for. All retirement papers were retracted from the Pension Bureau and Monday would be a new beginning for all of us. I had a lot to be thankful for – my family, my friends and my co-workers,– but also for those whose hands I couldn’t shake, whose faces I couldn’t kiss, and whose bodies I couldn’t hug. They were only in my memories, but I could still pay them a visit and offer my respect and my thanks.
. . .
I first stopped at the Immaculate Conception Pastoral Center in Douglaston, Queens, where all the former Bishops of the Diocese of Brooklyn were now interred. I located Frank’s marker on the memorial wall behind which his body now lay. I knelt in his honor and in respect of his beliefs, made the sign of the cross, and prayed the Our Father once in English, and once in Latin.
When I finished I arose and said, “We got the guy who killed you, Frank. I am going to complete your mission as you foresaw it, and which you so bravely began. You have my solemn word on that, and you should rest in peace knowing your efforts were not in vain and that your revered Catholic Church will come away stronger as a result. Thousands of those abused will always remember you in their prayers, and thousands of others will not ever suffer the same fate.
“Although there is no God, I now say to you – God bless you, Giuseppe, the teenager who ran terrified into the night.
God bless you, Joey, the Marine who loyally served his country. God bless you, Frank, the Priest, and my faithful benefactor. And God Bless you, Francis Andrew Manzo, the Bishop of Brooklyn. Te absolvo, my friend.
Once more, I made the sign of the cross and ran my fingers over his name that was etched in the granite wall. Then I got in my car and headed east to Nassau County.
. . .
My next and last stop was my parents’ graves at Beth David Cemetery. I searched for Mort’s ashes at the base of the double headstone, but the rain and wind had already scattered and dissolved them into the earth. I sat on a nearby bench in the cool autumn air and recited the Jewish prayers for the dead, The Kaddish and The Eyl Malei Rahamin, in respect for the beliefs of my parents, but also for the non-believing soul of Mordechai Stern. I had Rabbi Berman teach me those prayers in English. I refused to attempt to learn Hebrew. Latin was bad enough I had told him, much to his disapproval.
Although Mort vehemently denied the existence of God, he would occasionally make a reference to Him, but correct his mistake by either saying, “Bah!” or explaining it was a slip of the tongue based on his early days of growing up a devout Jew. When I pressed him on his slips he finally, grudgingly, conceded this one point. “Mikey,” he said, “I believe there is no God, but I also believe I, and you, vil not know for soitin until ve die. Are you happy now?”
Just as Mort’s words left my thoughts, a large golden-yellow butterfly passed in front of my eyes and settled on the metal arm of the bench farthest from me, about three feet away. I remember my step-mom telling me when you were thinking of a dead person who you once loved, their soul would pay you a visit in the form of a butterfly to say hello. I smiled and glanced around to make sure I was alone before I said aloud, “Is that you Mort, you old kvetcher, come to pay me a visit? Or is it you, Mom? Or you, Dad, come to visit your son? Or perhaps you are the soul of Bishop Frank Manzo come to lead me back to the Catholic faith?”
