“I need a ride.”
“Where to?”
“I promised to visit Rory tomorrow and my sister needs her car.”
“Forget it!” Finn began to walk away.
Kevin grabbed Finn’s shoulder. “Come on. Don’t be an asshole. He’s your friend too.”
Finn wheeled around and faced Kevin, breaking the hold on his shoulder. “No, he’s your friend. I didn’t like him in the first grade and I don’t like him now. Besides, I have no desire to associate with convicted felons.” Finn resumed his departure while Kevin made a last plea.
“Have a heart. The guy is having a rough time. He’s been inside for two years now and he has at least eight more to serve before they will even consider parole.”
Finn voluntarily stopped and turned toward Kevin. “No shit, Sherlock. That’s what happens when you heist a million dollars from your job. They send you to prison for a long time.”
Kevin held his arms outstretched. “But Rory swears he’s innocent.”
Finn slapped his cheek in mock surprise. “Wow! A guy in jail who swears he didn’t do it. What a novelty.”
Kevin continued to plead his case. “You know, they never recovered that money. You have to admit that’s strange.”
Finn pointed his finger at Kevin. “And you have to admit that the only reason you’re visiting that loser is that you hope he’s gonna tell you where the money is hidden.”
Kevin bowed his head and turned away. “Screw you, Finbar!”
Finn stood motionless, watching Kevin walk back to the pub. He swallowed and took a deep breath, and just as Kevin’s hand grabbed the door handle, Finn called out. “What time?”
Kevin turned and smiled. “Visiting begins at 9:30AM. I guess we should leave at 8AM.”
“I’ll be outside your building at 8AM. Be there or I’m leaving.” Finn turned and continued to his car. He thought he detected a faint “Thank you buddy,” coming from the entrance to the pub.
Finn settled into the driver’s seat and started the Camry’s engine. He paused for a moment to allow his knee to settle down. He had grown accustomed to the fact that the motion of entering his car was not good for his knee and he could almost always count on a jolt of pain. As quickly as the pain shot in, it departed. Finn sat in the idling auto as he plugged his iPhone into the charger.
Finn scanned his home screen for a moment before tapping his right index finger on the white light bulb icon. The Verizon Hum app opened and immediately displayed a street map and vehicle icon to indicate the location of a 2015 Kia Optima. Ann Wesson had given Finn the Bluetooth enabled device out of her own car. The Hum was clipped to the car's visor and communicated between the Hum dongle and a dedicated Verizon mobile app. Once connected, the platform diagnosed problems with the car and offered the ability to contact nearby roadside, emergency and stolen vehicle assistance. Most importantly, it allowed the vehicles under the account to be tracked it real time. So, when Ann Wesson hired Finn to find out if her husband was cheating with the mailman, she unhooked the Hum from her car and gave it to Finn so that he could easily track her husband’s location.
The app was very user friendly. The Optima was driving west on Union Turnpike in the Bayside section of Queens. Finn was relieved that he had picked a good night for surveillance because Joe Wesson’s current location was only about six miles away from where he was idling.
Finn continued monitoring the app until “Parked” flashed on the bottom of the screen. The vehicle appeared to be parked off the road on Hollis Hills Terrace, just south of 73rd Avenue. Finn rubbed his forehead. There was a huge park there, but he was not very familiar with the layout of the area. Was this some hook-up location? He didn’t know. He needed to consult an expert.
When he opened his business, Finn desperately wanted to camouflage the fact that he knew nothing about investigations, so he immersed himself in several books on private investigation. One of the nuggets of information that stayed with him was the importance of developing expert sources. At the suggestion of the book, he made a list of everyone in his life and then decided if any of these people could be a source of information for him regarding specific topics. With his connections in the NYPD, his father was listed as an expert source for numerous topics. Kevin Malone was listed under alcohol. Reggie Monroe had a unique listing. Reggie was the physical therapist Finn visited regularly for months after his knee surgery. Reggie was a great guy. He was outgoing, intelligent, funny, empathetic, and friendly. He was also gay. During the therapy sessions, when the pain was bearable, Finn and Reggie would talk about anything going on in the world – sports, politics, entertainment. Finn really enjoyed Reggie’s company. Reggie was openly gay, and when Finn was compiling his list of experts, he thought for a moment and then wrote “gay issues” next to Reggie’s name. Finn never thought Reggie would be the first expert he would be reaching out to.
“Hey, Reg, Finn Delaney. How are you doing?”
Reggie sounded genuinely happy to hear from Finn. “Oh my God, Finn. How have you been?”
“I’m good Reg.”
“How’s your knee?”
“You know. It is what it is – good days and bad days.”
Reggie changed the subject. “How’s the private eye business working out.?”
“Pretty good,” Finn responded.
Reggie sounded excited. “I read that whole story about you in the papers. That must have been exciting.”
Finn chuckled. “I guess you could say that.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Reg, one of my cases is actually the reason I’m calling. I’m hoping you can help me with some information.”
“Whatever you need, Finn. If I know the answer, I’ll be glad to help you.”
“Thanks, Reg.”
Finn explained that Ann Wesson suspected her 43-year old husband of twenty years was having an affair with the local mailman. He finished up the briefing by telling Reggie that he had tracked Joe Wesson’s vehicle to the off-road location adjacent to Hollis Hills Terrace.
“Does that location mean anything to you, Reg?”
“It sure does,” Reggie responded. “That’s a big- time cruising spot in Cunningham Park.”
“What specifically is the location? I’m not too familiar with the area.”
Reggie explained, “It’s a narrow parking lot in Cunningham Park surrounded by playing fields for adult softball and youth soccer and baseball. At one end of the lot, retirees arrive to practice their golf and mothers in minivans gather to wait for their Little Leaguers. The other end is popular with gay men cruising for sex. Their playing field is the parking lot itself and the goal is a sexual encounter, usually quick and anonymous.”
“Wow, I never realized,” Finn interjected.
“Sure,” Reggie continued. “Manhattan may have its gay bars and such traditional pickup spots as the woods of the Ramble in Central Park and the piers of the West Village. But in the less-accepting climate of the suburbs and the boroughs outside Manhattan, gay men often resort to courting one another from the relative safety and privacy of their cars. They troll remote parking lots that become de facto pickup spots well known in gay circles but not to the general public. There are many places in Queens and Long island -Two Mile Hollow Beach in East Hampton, the Field 6 parking lot at Jones Beach, a rest stop near Exit 52 on the Long Island Expressway and the park-and-ride lot on Route 110 in Melville. Each has its own culture and often its own set of protocols, ranging from parking position to the flashing of headlights or blinkers as mating calls.”
Reggie paused to clear his throat before continuing. “This parking lot seems to be especially popular with men who lead ostensibly heterosexual lives but show up for sex because it is quick, easy to get and secretive. It’s close to several major parkways, and its location helps make it popular with men who commute between New York City and the suburbs, where they often have a house, a mortgage, a wife and children.”
“Seems like you know the location well,” Finn commented.
“I’ve been there,” Reggie responded. “The vast majority of men who come there are married. Anytime I hooked up there, the guy was wearing a wedding band, with baby seats in the car and all kinds of kids' toys on the floor. Think about it. It's on their way home and they don't have to get involved in a relationship or any gay lifestyle or social circles. They don't even have to buy anyone a drink or be seen in a gay bar. They just tell the wife, 'Honey, I'll be home an hour late tonight."'
“How does it actually work?” Finn asked. “They don’t post signs in their car windows, do they?”
Reggie laughed. “The narrow lot has two long rows of parking spaces into which they back their cars, forming two rows of cars facing each other with a thoroughfare between them. Each newcomer trolls this thoroughfare with all eyes upon him and surveys the other men in cars, who may either perk up and look interested or shut the window and look away. Then with a dramatic swoop, the driver will back his car next to the car of the man he is pursuing. It all has the deliberate positioning, shifting and movement of a chess game. The parking lot is a fishbowl and the action unfolds like a soap opera each day.” Reggie paused momentarily before providing his conclusion. “The bottom line, Finn, is if your boy is parked in that lot, he is either playing a night softball game or he’s cruising. And since there are no lights on these fields, the softball is doubtful.”
“Thanks Reg, this is very helpful,” Finn said
“Glad to be of service, my friend,” Reggie responded. “Hey, I’ll meet you there sometime if you’d like.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” Finn answered. They both laughed as they disconnected.
Twenty minutes later, Finn turned onto Hollis Court Terrace. It was just past 9PM and the lighting inside the parking lot was minimal at best. All Finn could tell with his first pass was that the lot was full, but he could not identify specific vehicles, in particular a 2015 Kia Optima. Finn pulled to the curb on 73rd Avenue before returning for a second pass. The Hum app showed the Optima still parked in the lot, but the details weren’t so fine as to identify exactly where in the lot he was. There was only one thing to do. On the next pass, Finn turned right and entered the parking lot. After his conversation with Reggie, Finn felt violated as he slowly cruised along the thoroughfare, feeling the hungry eyes from each car he passed.
There it was on the left – a blue Kia Optima. A quick check of the license plate revealed it was, in fact, Joe Wesson. To get in position to take good photos and video, Finn needed to be on the opposite side of the Kia, but not too close. Finn’s luck was holding out when he backed into a space on the opposite row from the Optima, about four spaces down. Here, he had an unobstructed view of anyone getting in or out of the Optima. Finn got his camera ready, removed his seatbelt, and moved his seat back a bit. There was nothing else to do but watch and wait.
Ten minutes later headlights from the street entrance caught Finn’s attention. Finn assumed it was just another bored suburbanite looking for some action. The headlights proceeded exceptionally slowly, and suddenly, Finn up sat straight in his seat. A powerful spotlight was shining out of the new vehicle’s passenger window onto the nearest parked car. The vehicle proceeded slowly forward and totally lit up the next car in the line. Finn was becoming anxious. After five more cars it would be his turn in the spotlight, and he was still trying to figure out what was going on. As the spotlight hit the car two spaces away, the slow-moving vehicle became visible enough to make an important identification. It was a blue and white NYPD patrol car. Before Finn could decide if the police presence was good or bad, he squinted and held his hands up to shield his face. The spotlight was on him.
The blinding light seemed to stay on him forever. When were they going to move on? Suddenly, the light turned off, but Finn continued squinting and blinking as his eyes adjusted back to the dim lighting. His eyes had adjusted sufficiently to notice a figure approaching his driver’s door. Oh, no – it was a uniformed police officer.
Finn lowered his window, but before he could ask what was going on, the police officer beat him to the punch.
“Delaney? Finn Delaney? Is that you?”
Finn rubbed his eyes in hopes he was dreaming, but the cop was still there. And not just any cop. This was Rocco Gentile, one of Finn’s classmates when he went through the police academy. Rocco had earned the reputation of being the biggest loudmouth and gossip in the company, and likely in the entire academy recruit class. The huge grin on Rocco’s face told Finn that Rocco was still in the gossip business and that he couldn’t wait to report to the world that he had caught Finn Delaney in a notorious gay cruising location.
Rocco leaned down close to the open window. “Hey Finn,” his grin was wider, if that was possible. “What brings you here?”
Finn was stammering and stuttering. “I have a -a -P.I. – private investigator company – business. I’m on a-a case – surveillance.”
Rocco nodded with the huge grin still planted on his face. “A surveillance case - of course.” He stood up straight and waved his arm in a circle. “We’re here on a robbery pattern.”
“Really?” Finn said.
“Yeah,” Rocco continued. “This lot is a big gay hook up spot, but you probably know that.”
Rocco’s wink prompted Finn to begin turning various shades of red.
Rocco went on with his explanation. “You have to be careful around here because these perps prey on this type of victim.”
Finn gulped. “What type of victim?”
“You know, the straight guys that stop in here for a little man on man action. They get robbed and they never report it. They don’t want to blow their cover. You know how it is, right?”
During this ultimate embarrassment, Finn finally noticed that the Optima had been among the numerous vehicles that had quickly departed the parking lot as soon as the police arrived. “Well, you guys scared my subject away. No use hanging around anymore.”
“That’s too bad.” Rocco looked around. “Maybe your subject will come back, or maybe you’ll find another subject.” The same huge smile was still intact as Rocco retreated to his patrol car. Before he entered the vehicle, he pointed at Finn. “Hey, you be safe out here.”
The patrol car slowly pulled away. Finn could already see Rocco in an animated conversation with the driver. He couldn’t wait to start spreading the word. To top off a great evening, he didn’t have a chance to get any photos or video of Joe Wesson. Finn chuckled. The evening would have been exceptionally funny if it hadn’t involved him.
Chapter 3: Going to Prison
April 17th
At 8:10AM Finn sat alone in his Toyota Camry idling in the bus stop in front of the tired looking six story brick apartment building. The morning cloud cover befit his mood. When was he ever going to learn? Kevin had been unreliable since the first grade and he was not going to change his ways now. Finn glanced across the six lanes of Woodhaven Boulevard to the prominent green and white sign of the Shamrock Pub. He shook his head and bit his lip. Who had it better than his friend Kevin? He lived rent free in his mother's apartment and worked across the street tending bar at the Shamrock. It was the perfect life - drinking and socializing with no real responsibilities. Finn's fixation on the pub sign was interrupted by the rapid tapping on the passenger window,
"You're late - as usual," Finn offered as a greeting.
Kevin buckled his seatbelt. "Tomorrow, I can be on time. You'll still be a jerk!"
Finn eased the Camry into the right lane on Woodhaven Boulevard. "There really is something wrong with me to be putting up with your nonsense all these years."
"I'm proud of you, Finbar," Kevin shot back. "Self-awareness is the first step toward a cure. At least you realize there is something wrong with you."
"OK, OK," Finn sighed. "How do we get there?"
"Go over the Whitestone Bridge to the Hutch and the Sprain Brook Parkway. Ossining is about forty miles away."
"That's not bad," Finn c
ommented. "It should take us an hour at the most."
"Sing Sing Prison," Kevin chuckled. "It sounds ominous. I wonder what the name means?"
"The name comes from the Indian tribe who sold the land - I think the tribe was Sinck Sinck."
"Wow," Kevin glanced at Finn with wide eyes. "You never cease to amaze me with the shit you know."
Finn snickered slightly. "I've told you many times my friend that the secret is reading and watching television on subjects other than professional wrestling."
Kevin yawned and stretched. "Well, anyway, Rory's gonna be thrilled to see you."
"I wish I could say the feeling was mutual."
"Come on, Finn. He's an old friend. Have a heart."
"He's your old friend," Finn corrected. "He just happened to live on my block and be the same age."
Kevin gave Finn a playful tap on his arm, "Come on, tough guy, don't be a hater."
"He was nothing but a loudmouth and a bully," Finn declared. "He's a loser and history has borne out my assessment."
"What are you talking about?" Kevin asked
"Well, we're not on our way to Harvard to watch him receive his doctorate. We're on our way to Sing Sing Prison. Get my point!"
"I hear ya," Kevin laughed. "Just keep an open mind. Rory swears he's innocent."
"And you believe him," Finn scoffed.
"They never found that money." Kevin raised his eyebrows. "You have to admit that's weird."
With the Whitestone Bridge in sight, Finn had to momentarily change the subject. "Do me a favor. Get my EZ Pass out of the glove box and hold it up to the windshield."
"Why don't you just attach it to the windshield?" Kevin asked as the Camry passed under the toll cameras.
"I don't know," Finn shrugged.
"Jeez, and you call me stupid."
Kevin returned to the previous topic. "You know, about three years ago when Rory began working at the Alliance Armored Car Depot, I almost got job with him there."
"What happened?"
"I never went for the interview. I had an allergic reaction the day before."
The Demon Within Page 3
