by Ice-T
Surprisingly, Petrosian did just that. They walked a block in silence to make sure they were clear, the Armenian’s car shadowing them the whole way.
As they kept walking, Petrosian looked around and said in a hushed voice, “All right, here it is. I got a line on literally a boatload of exotic sports cars—an Italian billionaire’s private collection—coming into the NY docks this week.”
Casey stopped and stared at Petrosian, not believing what he’d just heard. After a beat, he kept walking and said, “Well, that is interesting.”
Now it was Petrosian’s turn to look at him funny. “How so?”
“Because I just happen to be stealin’ those cars myself later this week.”
“Bullshit!”
“No bull, my man. A dozen high-end sports cars belonging to Salvatore Mariano, coming in this week on Pier Seventy-eight. I’ve already got it all set up with my guys.”
Both Casey and Petrosian stepped into an alley that was out of earshot of the passing foot traffic. Petrosian was deep in thought and not returning Casey’s gaze. Casey broke the silence: “I’m not in the headspace to talk about this now, but it’s obvious that we need to get into it.”
“Yeah, of course. Let’s meet tonight at Marat’s, it’s an—”
“Armenian restaurant in Queens, yeah, I know.”
Petrosian’s eyebrows shot up, and then he started laughing and broke the tension. “Okay, okay, let’s say seven P.M. I don’t want this to be a ‘thing’ between us.”
“I agree, but you know I got an agenda.”
“Yeah, well, let’s see how this plays out.”
Casey nodded and the men bumped fists. Petrosian stepped into his ride, but before it pulled away, he rolled down the window and said, “By the way, tough break about your parole officer. But I’m sure it will be nice not to have that headache anymore. See you tonight.” He smiled at Casey as the car sped off.
What the fuck! This muthafucka is too goddamn slick. How the fuck did he get at Lomax, and how did he know he was my PO! Shit, what else does he know? Casey watched Petrosian’s car disappear into traffic and went over his interview with Lomax. He musta put something in that sandwich, but how would he know his habits so well to know where he ate and then put someone in place to poison his food? It was the only plausible answer, but it would have meant some incredibly fast work on Petrosian’s part, not to mention some pretty serious connects in the police department. It just didn’t add up.
Casey didn’t know how to feel about Petrosian’s handiwork: Had the Armenian just done him a favor, or had he complicated things even more? Having Lomax dead was a double-edged sword, because the new PO would most certainly keep him on a shorter leash, doing spot checks and always being on his ass. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have an agenda, so Casey would be off the hook when it came to Petrosian. Not that it mattered, ’cause the way things were looking, Casey guessed there was a showdown coming between Alek and him in the not-so-distant future. What a fucking mess!
Casey reached into his pocket for his cell. Shit, still no message from Hans! He speed-dialed Champa: “Meet me at the office—the shit just got complicated.”
* * *
On the way to the office, Casey got a voice mail from his new PO. Damn—so much for having room to breathe.
“This is Officer Gleeson from the Department of Probation. I’m going to be taking over your case while Officer Lomax is in the hospital. Please report to the probation office next week on Wednesday at nine A.M. I’m also going to need you to call in and let me know that you got this message.”
Casey listened to the message twice to make sure he got all the details. He was surprised that Lomax was still breathin’. I guess that old bastard is harder to kill than Petrosian imagined.
He called Officer Gleeson back, hoping he’d get voice mail, but didn’t. Gleeson answered the phone sounding like he’d just woken up.
“This is Marcus Casey, I’m returning your call.”
Casey was told to sit tight and put on hold for ten minutes.
“Okay, Mr. Casey, I got your file in front of me.” Gleeson asked him to recount what had happened in Lomax’s office, and Casey told him the truth about what went down. The PO seemed satisfied but suspicious. Typical cop shit.
“It says here that you work at Urban Victory, looks like there are no infractions on your sheet, and that he’d recommended you for early mail-in status for the first of next month, assuming there were no issues. So, if you keep your act on the straight and narrow, I’ll follow his lead, but if you screw up, I’ll assume the worst. Are we clear?”
Casey hadn’t expected such a positive report, especially based on the attitude Lomax always gave him. “Yeah, absolutely. So, is Officer Lomax gonna recover okay? Do they know what happened?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that. Good day, Mr. Casey.”
Casey hung up the phone and immediately dialed Jacob. He told him to find out what hospital Lomax was in and what was wrong with him. He hoped Lomax had had the good sense to take that Saint Jude’s medal home with him, or at least take it out of the evidence jacket. The last thing he needed was to have more loose ends in his life. If anyone found that and connected the dots, he’d be on his way back to Attica, and that was not an option.
16
Casey whipped into his garage and almost hit an old lady walking to the elevator. He held up his hands and gave her an apologetic look. The grandma shot a nasty face at him like he was a maniac, her expression quickly changing to fear when she saw Casey turn cold in response. He realized he needed to chill the fuck out. Shit was coming to a head and getting complicated. Paying close attention to all the details was his strength. Even so, today’s events added another layer of difficulty that would have to be dealt with very carefully.
In the elevator, he got a call from Rich saying he had a big issue to discuss; from the edge in the man’s voice, Casey could tell he needed a one-on-one. He told Rich to meet him at the office as soon as he could get there. Champa was in the lobby waiting for him, talking a mile a minute to somebody he had beef with, probably some broad.
Once they were in the secure office, Casey dropped his bomb on him: “Petrosian’s hip to the cars coming in. He asked me to help him boost ’em.”
Champa sprang to his feet and said, “What? Are you kidding me? Oh, hell no! What the fuck, Crush?”
Casey jumped up from his chair, pointed at Champa, and screamed, “Calm the fuck down, Champa, I don’t need you trippin’! I just went through a tornado of shit today! Fuck!”
Champa cocked his head in disbelief and stood silent, then threw his hands in the air and stared at Casey. Casey was not the type to lose his cool. He collected himself, put both hands on his desk, and leaned forward. “Look … my PO had a heart attack right in front of me today. I was an inch away from being thrown back in the joint because they assumed I had something to do with it. Okay? Then I walk out of the building and fuckin’ Petrosian’s waiting for me, grinnin’ like a muthafucka, askin’ if I want a ride. Then he tells me about a ‘car heist’—our heist!”
“And what’d you say?”
“I told him I was already doin’ that job, and I wasn’t gonna say anything more about it on the fuckin’ street. Then the nigga lets me know he took out my PO.”
“We shoulda taken Petrosian out, and ’cause we didn’t, this is the consequence.”
Casey glared at him. “Give me a fuckin’ break, Champa. That woulda set into motion another series of events with even worse results. You can’t just start laying niggas out whenever there’s an issue. If that was the case, we’d be knee-deep in bodies.”
Arms folded, Champa sat on the leather sofa and didn’t say shit. Casey looked at him and dropped another nugget on him. “Oh, and it gets better. When I was in Lomax’s office, he showed me a photo of two of Petrosian’s alleged victims—Ernesto and Rodrigo.”
Champa’s face screwed up but he kept his cool. “Okay, well, that’s a whole
other issue that I’m sure’ll be dealt with. But right now, my concern is what’s gonna be done about this heist. There is a lot of paper riding on this job. Gigs like this don’t come along every day.”
“I told Petrosian I’d meet with him tonight to discuss it. I want you to roll with me, but you cannot make shit worse, Champa. You gotta be chill.”
“Okay, I ain’t gonna sweat the dude, but you’re still not telling me how this is gonna work.”
“Well, we only really have one option: cut him in for a piece.”
“Oh, I knew that was comin’,” Champa said, annoyed.
“Given his position and the time constraints and everything else we gotta do on this job, it’s what needs to be done.”
“And what if he ain’t down with the piece he gets?”
“Then this gonna be an even bigger mess than it already is.”
Both men sat without speaking, contemplating the situation. Casey had been up against some heavy and complicated shit in his life, including his twenty years in prison, but this took the cake. Something told him it was gonna get even more complicated, and the worst part was that he figured he was right.
Casey’s phone buzzed as two text messages hit his phone. One was from Hans that said, We’re good. The other was from Rich saying he was in the lobby. Casey told Champa to take Big Rich to the conference room, and not to let on that he knew about Ernesto and Rodrigo. There was no way and no time to explain his complicated relationship with Lomax.
Casey was about to call Hans when Shin called in and told him that he was at Jacob’s. He said Jacob had picked up a lot of chatter from the detectives that Ernesto and Rodrigo had been killed.
“Case, they were also talking about you, Petrosian, and Big Rich. They think there’s some kinda connection, and said they’re gonna have units on all you guys.”
“Fuck—do you know when they gonna start that shit?”
“Fordham said he wanted to have people in place first thing in the A.M.”
“Okay, that’s good intel. I got Rich here now, I’ma talk to him and see what he says and double back with you in a minute. In the meantime, monitor this shit close.”
Casey knew if he was being watched, it meant he’d have to be careful with whom he was seen with. He also couldn’t break curfew, or they would bust his ass for sure. That, coupled with a new PO, meant the noose was drawing tighter around his neck. Everything seemed to be coming to a head; from here on out, there would be no room for fuckups.
Casey dialed Hans and got confirmation that the five million had arrived and was legit. Finally, some good news. The last thing he needed was for the money to be short or counterfeit. Hans assured him the loot was government grade A, and that he was anxious to get it out of his hands and into Casey’s. That much cash would fill a large duffel bag and weigh about a hundred pounds. Casey’s safe wasn’t big enough to hold it, and it wasn’t like he could deposit it in a bank. He knew the only option was to just keep it in his office cabinet. His office was damn near a safe anyway. He was pissed that he hadn’t thought of this problem beforehand, and wasn’t better prepared. Casey shook it off and went down the hall to see Big Rich.
When Casey walked into the room, Rich got up and gave him a dap. He had a serious look on his face, which didn’t surprise Casey. Case figured it was best to let Rich speak his mind and then clue him in on what he knew.
“So I got a call this A.M. that Ernesto and Rodrigo were found shot up between two houses on Elsmere Place in Tremont. I don’t know who or why but I’ma find out what the fuck went on out there.”
“Were they doing a job for you and just fucked up?”
“Nah…”
“So what do you think happened, did they go rogue again?”
“Earlier that night they were drinking at a Puerto Rican spot a block away from where they were found. I had it checked out, and my guy said the bartender heard them bragging about how they were down with Crush Casey and were gonna be doing big things.”
“What!”
“Yeah, now, that’s why I’m here.”
Casey rubbed his face and felt the stubble from his beard. He looked at Rich, then Champa. Having his name floatin’ around the street like that was not cool. Rich had come to see him ’cause he knew it was something Casey’d be concerned about.
“What’d they know, Rich?”
“Nothin’. They didn’t hear fuck-all from me about what we talked about. After that meeting, I scared the shit out of ’em and told ’em if they fucked up again, they’d be dead. I told ’em if it wasn’t for you, they’d be in the joint right now getting fucked in the ass.”
“Okay, I appreciate the heads-up. My guess is that they stepped on the wrong toes or were just running their mouths and somebody cashed their check. If anything else comes up on this, lemme know. Unfortunately, I know for a fact we gonna be under surveillance as a result of those two.”
“Damn, Crush, this shit only happened—how you get that intel so quick?”
“We got some high-tech shit in play that’s giving us a big advantage, I don’t wanna say more than that right now, but Jacob’s been a big help.”
“Okay, cool, sorry about this shit with them knuckleheads. I’m glad things’re working out with Jacob, he’s a smart young brotha.”
“It’s all good, don’t sweat it.”
Big Rich headed out and Champa and Casey stayed behind in the conference room. Champa shut the door and looked at Casey, a concerned expression on his face. “I’m thinking those guys had been shooting off their mouths for a few days, and word got around to Petrosian—”
Already on the same page, Casey finished his thought. “—And then he found them and questioned them to see what info he could get. He didn’t learn shit and couldn’t let ’em keep breathin’.”
“Why do I think this is gonna bring a lotta heat down?” Champa asked.
“’Cause it already has. Lomax said Petrosian was a suspect, that means the cops know something we don’t.”
“You think those guys went renegade and were slanging shit for Petrosian and he got hip to them being connected to you?”
“That’s a possibility. Petrosian also has his ear close to the street, he always seems to know what’s goin’ on. Regardless, what I told Rich was the truth. Before I walked in here, Shin told me the detectives got Petrosian, me, and Rich on surveillance, starting in the A.M.”
“So, is the meet with Petrosian still a go for tonight?”
“I don’t have a choice—once they’re on us, it’s gonna be a bitch to try and shake ’em. I also can’t tell Petrosian what I know, ’cause he’ll wanna know where I get my info from.” Casey looked at his watch: four fifteen. He had to get to Hans’s, get the loot, get back to the office, and meet Petrosian at seven in Queens, and all this during traffic. Casey grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
“Come on, Champa, I want you to follow me to Hans’s, we got a pickup we need to make.”
“What’s up?”
“Hans got the five mil in, I want you to shadow me there and back in case there’s any drama.”
During the drive, Casey called Shin and told him to meet him at Hans’s and to stay close and to call Joe Pica and to make sure everyone was out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. He called Hans and told him he would back up into the garage and for him to toss the money in the backseat. The last thing Casey wanted to be was stationary while holding five million in cash.
After all the arrangements were made, Casey got Jacob on the line on one of his burner phones. “What’s up, Jacob, any more news?”
“Nothing you don’t already know, just a lotta confirmation on who’s gonna be tailing you guys.”
“That still on for the A.M?”
“Yeah. Now, you know you’ll be able to see where they’re at ’cause you have that tracking device on your phone, right?”
“Yeah. Make sure you listen in on what they say while they’re on me. What’d you find out about Lomax?
”
Casey could hear the quick clicks of the keyboard rattling out a staccato rhythm. “Okay, Lomax is out of ICU at Bronx-Lebanon, he’s in a regular room—let’s see, 415, to be exact. His medical report said that they think he ingested some kind of pesticide. They put him on a ton of liquids to flush out his system. Damn, he weighs two eighty—that’s a big guy.”
“So, he ain’t gonna die?”
“Nah, looks like he’ll be fine. It says he may have some pulmonary damage, but they won’t know for a month or so. He’ll be at the hospital for at least another week.”
“Okay, if anything changes, let me know.”
Casey hung up the phone and turned the wheel quickly to dodge a nasty pothole. He was about twenty minutes from Hans’s spot as the sun started dropping, and kept checking his rearview to make sure Champa was the only person following him. He got a call from Carla and thought about letting it go to voice mail, but if she didn’t hear from him, she’d just keep calling, so he answered.
“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Casey asked.
“Hi, I wanted to know what your plans were for tonight?”
“I’m running some errands, then I have a meeting, how about I call you when I get home?”
“Okay, is everything cool?”
“Yeah, baby, just dodgin’ these potholes, these streets are a mess.”
Carla seemed to buy it, and they ended their conversation. He didn’t know how he was gonna keep her at arm’s length for the next seventy-two hours. He didn’t want her exposed to any potential drama—he had enough to worry about and didn’t need to add her safety to the list.
Two minutes later, Casey was a few blocks from Hans’s and dialed him. “Hey, man, I’m down the street. Stay on the phone, I’ll let you know when I’m seconds from you.”
“Okay, you got it.”
“Also, if you got security cameras, turn ’em off now.”
