by Fred Galvin
Billy will want to grill you on my disappearance knowing that you know me better than anyone else in the precinct. Of course you may answer in any way you see fit and I will totally understand. The appearance, or lack thereof, of NYPD officers to arrest me in the next few weeks will tell me how you handled it.
Well, that’s it. I sincerely wish you nothing but the best. God knows you deserve it. You are a good man who made my professional life full and satisfying. The world is a better place with you in it.
I truly hope our paths cross someday after all this has died down.
Love,
Ronnie
Chapter 39: Nothing
I put down the letter and just sat back quietly. I very much wanted to speak to Ronnie. I didn’t know if she was still within cell range on her journey but after brief consideration I decided a call to her was not a wise choice. She had made her decision and she was on her way to—where? Home. Where was home? I didn’t even know that!
No matter. I was actually happy for her.
I went to the fridge and got another beer, a very rare occurrence for me as I usually cut myself off at two when I’m home alone. When I’m out with the guys from the precinct—well, that’s another matter. I may have three or, if I’m feeling really wild, four. Wow! Four Bud Lites and I’m one wild and crazy guy. Right. I usually fell asleep.
I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon so I sat down with my beer and reread several parts of Ronnie’s letter, trying to put the whole thing into perspective. The most amusing part was imagining the scene in the EATS 24-7. While Flo always left Ronnie and me to our own business when we retired to a booth, I knew she would occasionally pick up snippets of our conversations. The one between Ronnie, Finacci, and “Agent Ortega” must have really thrown her for a loop … “So, this guy’s a fugitive? Is he on the lam? Yuz want a disguise? I got a nose, mustache, and glasses in the back I use on Halloween.”
If her personal motives were not part of the equation and she was just working a case in which she was trying to pin down a murderer, her detective skills were well demonstrated by staking out the Delancey Social Club. It was a known mob hangout and it would add to the profile of a possible homicide suspect. But the problem was, she did have personal motives that dominated her actions.
I tried to imagine what I would have done if I were in her shoes. Of course, my CI would not have been killed because of my gambling addiction since I didn’t have one. But if my CI were killed because of my negligence, such as not keeping his confidentiality confidential enough such that the mob got wind of a rat, then that would be comparable. So, how would I have acted? Maybe my decision was biased because of how close Ronnie and I were, but I concluded I most likely would have acted in a similar manner. One difference was I probably would have called for backup as soon as I heard the gunshots within the club. Ronnie, of course, could not have done that since she was on her own time that morning basically and “dealing with a personal issue.”
Regarding the rest of the story, I just couldn’t relate. I doubt seriously that I could have carried the same burden as she did after we were told my beach corpse was Fast Frankie Finacci. It probably wouldn’t have gone that far anyway. I imagined I would have spilled my guts about the circumstances of his death on the boat and let the system do its thing.
Now, I have to quickly add that I am not judging Ronnie or her actions to withhold that information. It’s really impossible to speculate given the stresses she experienced and the fact that she had her brother’s welfare to consider. I have no siblings so I could not relate to that aspect.
I took a long pull on my beer and sat back in my chair. I said aloud to my empty apartment, “It all doesn’t matter anyway.” Ronnie had made her decision to simply tell all to me and leave. She didn’t burden me by begging me not to tell Captain Smart. She had said that I should do what I thought I should do and she would live with the consequences, whatever they turned out to be.
I was too tired to decide anything rationally. I finished my beer, refolded the pages of Ronnie’s letter, and I put it in my small safe. I’d sleep on it and decide in the morning.
~~~
As it turned out, I was right when I had thought that I wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. Although I was physically exhausted, my mind would not shut down. One thing kept swirling around when I was trying to consider my options. That one thing crowded out all others. Finally, I knew what I was going to do about this whole thing.
Nothing.
I was going to do nothing. I was going to go into work in the morning like it was another day and deal with the news of Ronnie’s sudden resignation like everyone else. The two things I knew I had to do up front was visit Desk Sergeant Pompello and Leon in the mailroom and bribe them with the promises of box seats for them and their girlfriends to the next Yankees–Red Sox series in the Stadium to “forget” who had dropped off the envelope addressed to me. I was confident their acceptance of my conditions would be a no-brainer for each. They loved the Yankees and hated the Red Sox and they knew I must have a good reason for making the request. Besides, their girlfriends would be very impressed that they could score such seats. Impressed girlfriends led to good things.
So, nothing.
That decided, I fell instantly to sleep and didn’t get up, not even to unload the third bottle of Bud Lite, until my phone’s alarm chirped at 6:30 a.m.
~~~
I decided to take a walk before catching the subway to the 7th. It was a beautiful morning and the walk would give me a chance to clear my head and prepare for Captain Billy Smart who, I was sure, either was going to be sitting at my desk waiting for me or would be ringing my cell any minute.
It was the former. As I exited the elevator I saw him in my guest chair next to my desk. I knew what questions he had for me. I had my answers ready for him. What I didn’t know was what his frame of mind would be after finding Ronnie’s note of resignation accompanied by her shield and weapon. Incredulous? Pissed? Dismayed? One thing for sure, he expected me to know what the hell was going on.
“Morning, Captain.”
“Morning. Let’s grab a coffee-and.” In cop-speak, “coffee-and” meant coffee and a bagel, Danish, donut or just something to munch on, whatever your preference. He rose and started walking toward the elevator rather than the precinct cafeteria.
Going down the front steps I asked, “What’s up, Billy?” Since I was no longer on the force I could be more casual and not follow the formal protocol of addressing superior officers by rank outside the confines of the precinct.
“Let’s stop by Virgil’s cart. Want a bagel?”
“Sure.”
You may have heard of Virgil. If there was such a thing, Virgil would be a founding member of New York City’s Street Vendor’s Hall of Fame. He’d had his cart on the same corner for as long as I’d been around, and that was quite a while. He knew every one of his regular customers by name and knew their orders.
He greeted us with a smile. “Morning, Captain. Morning, Dan. Coffees and bagels, one with, one without.” It wasn’t a question. Billy’s was coffee with one creamer and one packet of Splenda with a sesame bagel and a cream cheese squeezie, and mine was black coffee and a regular bagel, no cream cheese. The coffees were always hot and the bagels were always warm.
Billy paid with a ten. As Virgil reached for change, Billy waved him off. “Keep it, Virgil. Have a good one.”
That was their usual morning ritual. About every tenth order Virgil would not accept the bill. “This one’s on me, Captain.”
We sat down on a bench as the Lower East Side’s morning parade passed by. Billy stirred in his creamer and Splenda. I sipped my coffee and took a bite. The bagel was fresh. I knew Billy would let me know in his time what was on his mind.
After a minute of parade watching he said, “Ronnie Deveaux’s shield and weapon were sitting on my desk this morning along with a note of resignation, effective immediately. Know anything about that?”
On my walk to the 7th, I had reaffirmed my intent to tell no lies. This could be done by evasion, deflection, and answering questions with questions. It was a fine art and I knew my skill would be tested.
“What did the note say?”
His tone was measured, giving no indication of his frame of mind. “It said she had to deal with ‘compelling personal issues’ that required one hundred percent of her attention. She also apologized for not giving any notice.”
“She has been a bit detached lately like she’s been distracted and somewhat distant. She’s never been one to share her personal life with me. I do know she always preferred to deal with problems on her own.”
Billy stopped chewing and looked at me. I kept munching my bagel, sipping my coffee, looking straight ahead, and watching the parade pass by.
“Okay, I get it. Can you just tell me one thing … is she okay? Is she going to be okay?”
“That’s two things.”
He laughed. “Wiseass.”
“That’s Consultant Wiseass if you don’t mind.” I paused and locked eyes with him. “Yes. I believe she’s okay and that she’ll be fine.”
He nodded as if in surrender. “Okay. If you get the opportunity, please give her my best and tell her she owes me big time for the ‘no notice’ thing.”
I just nodded. Plenty had passed unsaid between us. Billy’s “unsaid” was that he knew that I knew what was going on and he understood that I couldn’t really tell him. My “unsaid” was that yes, I knew and that I was sorry.
We got up and started back toward the 7th. As we walked, Billy asked, “Tell me one thing, if you can, please. Is she still around? Or is she gone?”
“Technically, that’s—”
“I know, two things. Just tell me.”
That was a tough one for me. I handled it the best way I could. “I’ll pass on your message when, and if, I see her.”
“Okay then. I’ll take that as ‘gone.’ Well, Consultant Wiseass, your caseload just got bigger.”
“And my next invoice will reflect that.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. Now, can you tell me where we stand on the Finacci case? Is Papalini a viable suspect?”
Another tough one, but I’m a pro. As we entered the 7th, I said, “There’s nothing there to pursue. Frankly, Captain, I think we should cold-close the Finacci file so I can concentrate on the other open cases that have more promise and more significance. You know, the mob takes care of its own and we have plenty of no mob cases to keep us busy.”
He stopped and faced me. We held each other’s gaze for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We can cold-case him. The mob takes care of its own. Finacci was just a mob bookie who met his destiny and somehow ended up on a Long Island beach. I’d sure like to know how he got there.”
“Maybe someday you will find out.” I was sure he picked up on my saying “you” rather than “we.” And I wasn’t positive, but I thought I detected a wink.
“I’ll write an email to the troops announcing Ronnie’s sudden retirement. You may want to prepare for an onslaught of questions.” He went to his office and I went to my desk and opened the folder of my next case.
Epilogue
The sea breeze blowing into Ronnie’s face felt wonderful. The warm Caribbean sun shone down. She was at the bow of the Sea Nymph and Roje was up on the bridge. Two young couples were on the deck enjoying their chartered boat ride to the Cayman Islands.
It had been four weeks since she had left New York City and no one had come to question or arrest her and her brother. She had been following the city’s news online and had not seen any mention of mob homicides. Leaving the NYPD so suddenly was initially difficult to adjust to. But she did adjust. The beautiful weather every day helped as did the renewed closeness of her relationship with Roje. She was cautiously optimistic that her previous life was permanently behind her.
Roje made a very comfortable living chartering tourist excursions and fishing trips and had gladly “hired” her on as a deckhand. She was learning the charter business and had even caught a small marlin and two sharks.
There was only one downside. She missed DD and their daily interactions. She wondered if he missed her as much.
~~~
The answer to that question was YES. I did miss Ronnie. In fact, I had found that I missed working with her so much that I decided my career as an NYPD homicide consultant needed to come to an end. It just wasn’t the same.
Captain Smart had assigned to me a third-year detective who was moderately competent and okay to work with except for one thing: he was a third-year detective. I had forgotten more about police work than he knew, or maybe would ever know, and I hadn’t forgotten very much.
Billy Smart had called me aside and asked if I’d mind the awkward position of being this guy’s consultant while showing him the intricacies of good detective work.
“You mean like a protégé?”
“Yeah, kinda sorta.”
“Kinda sorta like a protégé.”
“Yeah, kinda sorta.”
I tried but it just wasn’t for me. I kept expecting the poor guy to react to situations the way Ronnie would have and when he didn’t I’d have to explain. Sometimes I’d see his eyes glaze over and I knew it wasn’t working. He just didn’t measure up.
So I hung up my consultant spikes and reactivated Double-D Investigations. To my surprise, I started getting cases, enough that I actually could cherry-pick the ones I wanted to work. No more telling a cabbie “Follow that cab!” No more tailing cheating husbands out to beach houses. If I wanted a paid break I’d accept a case to find a missing relative or track down an unsuspecting heir to a fortune.
Life was good, at least as good as it could be without Jen. I still missed her achingly. So I worked hard.
One evening after watching the Yankees get pounded on TV by the mighty last-place Baltimore Orioles, I was messing around on my laptop. On the Yankees website was a picture of a retired player standing next to a marlin hanging upside down. He was grinning ear to ear, holding his fishing pole. The caption read “FORMER YANKEES MVP SNAGS 180 LB. MARLIN OFF JAMAICA”
Ding, ding, ding! Didn’t Ronnie once mention Jamaica in connection with her brother? Just for the hell of it I Googled “caribbean charter services jamaica.” Idiot! I got 2,160,000 results in 0.49 seconds. Talk about a needle in a haystack made of needles.
Then, hoping against hope, I added “+deveaux” to filter the inquiry and just maybe find her brother’s charter service. It filtered all right; it filtered out 2,150,995 results! The display read “About 5 results in 0.42 seconds.”
Holy shit!
I quickly scanned the hits. One was about a charter fishing trip in Jamaica awarded to a retired US Navy captain named Andrew Deveaux.
The second mentioned the Deveaux Plantation in the “Caribbean Paradise of Jamaica.”
The third was a news article mentioning a woman named Alison Deveaux who was on a chartered plane to Jamaica when she delivered a baby.
The fourth one jumped out at me. I clicked on CARIBBEAN BOAT CHARTERS which then listed charter services from various locations: Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, Martinique, Grenada. On a hunch, I clicked the link for charters in Jamaica. To my amazement I saw:
DEVEAUX CHARTER SERVICES
When I selected it, up popped a beautiful picture of happy people standing, smiling, and waving on the deck of a boat on a crystal blue sea. Several were holding up fish they had caught. The women were all in bikinis, tan, and several were drinking what looked like Mai Tais. A man in a sea captain’s hat stood on the bridge above. He obviously was the owner and commander of the boat.
Clearly visible on the bow was the boat’s name and home port:
SEA NYMPH
Montego Bay, Jamaica
I knew instantly that I had found Roje Deveaux’s web site. My clue? “Come join us on any of our excursions. Captain and Proprietor Roje Deveaux has been chartering on his vessel the Sea Nymph i
n the Caribbean since 2001.”
Ronnie was Jamaican. One mystery solved. I clicked on all the links describing the charters he offered, his price list, history of Deveaux Charter Services, and testimonials. I sat back and smiled, imagining Ronnie on the Sea Nymph serving Mai Tais and catering to clients as they sailed around the Caribbean. She would be perfect and I’d wager her accent would be in full gear.
Then a thought hit me. I was my own boss, wasn’t I? If I wanted to shut down Double-D Investigations for a week or two, or three, or forever, then I damn well could do it. I clicked on the link titled BOOK A CHARTER NOW.
I smiled as I filled in the required fields: name, contact information, dates, flight numbers and times for airport pickup and departure (Deveaux Charter Services was a full-service company), destinations, preferred activities. In ten minutes I was booked for a five-day fishing and island excursion charter on the Sea Nymph.
