Rizzo's War

by Lou Manfredo

  “So,” he asked, his voice soft. “What went wrong?”

  McQueen told him. When he mentioned the reason Amy had given, the bitter image of Flain and the assault so vividly tied to McQueen’s presence in her life, he saw Rizzo’s eyes flicker with recognition and sadness.

  “Yeah, well, you gotta figure that would be there,” he said. “You been seein’ her, what?, about two months now? The fact it took so long for her to go to bed with you shoulda tipped you she was having problems with it.” After a moment, he added, “But who knows? Maybe she can get past it in time. You never know with that kinda thing. Give her awhile, then maybe call her.”

  McQueen shook his head. “No. I saw it in her eyes. We’re done. It’s over.”

  Rizzo sighed and dragged on his Chesterfield. Then, smoke hazing around his mouth, he spoke.

  “You know, Mike, I hate moments like this. Makes me feel like an old man. But, I gotta tell you, I’ve been around for a few years. And I been married for over twenty-five. I went to high school with Jennifer. When I went into the Army, she went off to college. When I got back home, she was just starting to teach school. We kind of picked up where we had left off in high school and next thing you know, we’re married. Fairy tale, right? Well, you want to know the truth? Looking back, you want me to tell you the truth? You figure you were in love with this girl from Connecticut, right? Well, you wanna know when me and Jen fell in love? Real, honest-to- God lasting love? After my third daughter was born and I was the only one working. A Brooklyn patrolman, I could barely put the mortgage payment together let alone keep everybody in Pampers and formula. That’s when we fell in love. That, kid, is what love really is.”

  He took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed it out the window.

  “Now,” he continued, “I don’t mean no offense, so don’t get all pissed off. But what you had with Amy was what I had with half a dozen girls over the years. You had half a hard-on and half an infatuation. Keep that in mind, and you’ll get through this a whole lot easier. You talk to me about love after you’ve been married to someone for a few years. Trust me on this, Mike. Keep it in perspective and you’ll lose a lot less sleep.”

  McQueen shook his head. “I don’t know, Joe,” he said softly. “I hear what you’re saying, but this … this was different. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  Rizzo laughed. “No,” he said.

  McQueen smiled. “Yeah. Me neither. But that first time I saw her, in the hospital, the day she got attacked, I felt something, Joe, something strong. And once we started dating, I got a handle on it, started to understand what it was.”

  Rizzo reached for another cigarette, lighting it as he spoke.

  “And what was that, Mike?” he asked.

  “Well,” McQueen responded with a shrug. “It’s hard to put into words, but … Amy was different from any of the women I’ve met since I became a cop. It was like when I was at NYU and I met girls from all over the country, from overseas even. They were interesting, intelligent, educated … sophisticated is the word, I guess.”

  Rizzo expelled smoke. “So?” he asked.

  Again McQueen shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly, but … when I was with her, it was like the road not taken, you know? Like if I hadn’t become a cop, if I’d become some corporate wheel somewhere. I probably would’ve married someone just like Amy, capitalized on living in the city, led a completely different kinda life. Different from a cop’s life.” His eyes implored Rizzo to understand. “That’s what Amy gave me, Joe.”

  After a moment, McQueen said, without humor, “I know it sounds stupid. But I can’t help that. It’s how I feel. Losing Amy feels like … I don’t know, a world closing down for me— permanently. It’s dumb, I know, but what can I tell you? I fell in love with her.”

  Rizzo examined the burning tip of his Chesterfield, then raised his gaze to meet the sad eyes of his young partner. He sighed before speaking.

  “Mike,” he said gently, “you did fall in love, I guess. You fell in love with something.” He smiled before continuing. “But … and this here is the important part: what ever you fell in love with wasn’t necessarily her. You might wanna consider that.”

  After a brief moment, Rizzo reached out a hand and laid it gently on McQueen’s shoulder.

  “End of lecture,” he said. “Hell, with that face of yours you’ll find a new girlfriend in no time. If it wasn’t you was an Irishman, I’d let you go out with one of my daughters. An Irishman and a cop, that is.”

  Despite himself and his heavy heart, McQueen laughed out loud. “I’ll keep all that in mind,” he said, his mood lightening as he spoke. “That is, of course, if I don’t wind up in jail for some on-the- arm-clams and a couple of drinks. No wonder you have I.A.D. riding you. I should have known you were sending me to …”

  Rizzo waved a hand at him and turned back to his notes, a smile deepening in his face. “If that was even remotely possible, me and half the precinct’d be scratchin’ our nuts in SingSing. Even those I.A. pricks aren’t interested in it.”

  McQueen finished the sandwich he had been picking at and crumpled the wrapper, dropping it over the seat onto the rear floor to be dealt with later. The radio between them crackled to life.

  A female dispatcher’s voice, in a clipped, singsong cadence sounded, “Six-Two squad one-seven, ten-one the squad. Copy?”

  They were being directed to telephone the detective squad back at the precinct. Rizzo looked up from his note pad and glanced over at McQueen.

  “Handle that, Mike, I’m almost finished here.”

  McQueen picked up the radio and keyed the send button. “Ten-four, dispatch, one-seven copies.”

  An inaudible squawk back told McQueen he had been heard. He reached for his cell phone and punched in the number.

  “Mike, that you?”

  “Yeah, who is this?”

  “Bobby Dee. How you guys doing out there?”

  “Good, Bobby, getting ready to come back in. What’s up?”

  “We just got a call from Ronnie Torres over at C.S.U. He got a hit on some prints Joe’s breaking his balls about. He’s faxing it over. Coming through now, I can see it. Tell Joe for me, okay?”

  McQueen smiled. “Do me a favor, Bobby, take a look at it. Is it on that Simione burglary yesterday?”

  “Hold on, Mike.”

  Rizzo had stopped writing at the mention of the burglary. He sat silently watching his partner’s profile.

  The detective came back on the line. “Mike? Yeah, it’s the case of the great doggie mass-a-cree. Tell Joe to go get the prick.”

  McQueen smiled. “I’ll do that, Bobby, thanks. Just toss the report on Joe’s desk, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Take your time, Mike, it ain’t going nowhere.” The line clicked dead in McQueen’s ear.

  “Tell me,” Joe said. “Your pal Torres had a hit, he faxed the info over to the house. It’s there now.”

  Rizzo smiled. “That’s good. Let’s go take a look.”

  MCQUEEN GLANCED around at Rizzo’s desk and frowned. “How do you find anything in all this mess, Joe? You’ve got newspapers from three weeks ago here. Most of this stuff is now officially garbage.”

  Rizzo dropped heavily into his chair and smiled up at McQueen. “Kid, I know where everything is. Besides, look around. The whole place looks like this. Your desk is the only neat thing here and that’s ’cause you’re— whata ya call it?— anal. You got an anal personality with a desk like yours. The other day I seen you dusting it, for Christ’s sake. If it weren’t for me vouching for you, half the squad’d figure you for a queer, you’re so neat. They all know you worked the Village in uniform for a couple a years. Pretty boy like you musta got a few offers from the artists down there.”

  McQueen shook his head and sat down opposite Joe at the small desk. “Never mind. Forget I said anything, you and the other Neanderthals.”

  Rizzo laughed. “We got a mick or two and Schoenfeld’s a Jew, but I
don’t think we got any Neander-whatever- the fucks.”

  He sat in silence while Rizzo read the fax report from C.S.U. He saw Joe frown and reach for the phone. McQueen noticed the slight eye tic his partner exhibited when he was upset or unhappy about something. McQueen held his silence and waited.

  “Eddie?” Joe said into the phone. “Joe Rizzo, Six-Two in Brooklyn. How you doing? Yeah, yeah, me too. Glad you’re okay. Listen, we got a rash in common. Guy named Anthony Donzi. You know the name? Hey, Eddie, hold on, my partner’s here, I’m putting you on speaker, okay? Go ahead.”

  McQueen leaned in toward the black phone as Joe gently replaced the receiver.

  “Joe?” he heard through the speaker. “Can you hear me alright?”

  “Yeah, Eddie, what about Donzi? You ran a print on him two months ago and got a hit. You ever find him?”

  “No. Last-known address was out in Queens. Hadn’t lived there in two or three months. I had some friends from the One-Twelve poke around for a while, but it looks like the guy left the borough.”

  Joe frowned at the phone. “What’d you need him for in Manhattan?”

  They heard the detective named Eddie sigh. “Son of a bitch goes into one of those First Avenue pickup bars down by the hospital, winds up beating some nurse half to death. Broke up her face pretty bad. Problem is, she’s some cousin or in-law or some shit to the chief of thoracic surgery. He’s all over the phone with the politicians and I get calls from two inspectors and the chief of detectives himself. I got brass all over my ass, and guess what? I can’t find the guy. Everybody knows we lifted a perfect palm and four fingers off the hood of the car he was pounding her on, we got his name, address, the whole nine yards. Made me look like a real asshole when I couldn’t find the guy.”

  Joe rubbed his eyes wearily. “Guy disappears, he disappears. But they never understand that, do they? Well, he’s turned up now. Two days ago, in my friggin’ precinct. Killed a dog and hit a house, broad daylight.”

  Eddie’s voice was tight when he spoke again. “Sounds like him, the sadistic prick. You got a lead on him?”

  Rizzo blew air through his lips. “Why I’m calling you, buddy. I see on the run sheet you made the same requisition two months ago, I figured you could help me.”

  “Sorry, Joe. I struck out. I got his rap sheet here somewhere if you want it. I can fax it over, save you some time.”

  “Okay, Eddie, send it now. Thanks. If I get a noose on the guy, I’ll call you. You share the collar. Get the humps off your back.”

  “I’d owe you for that, Joe, big-time. I’ll fax it right now.”

  Joe broke the connection and turned to Mike.

  “This is not good. The guy seems to have gone underground.”

  McQueen shrugged. “Maybe this guy Eddie’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Maybe we can do better.”

  Rizzo smiled. “Yeah, well, some squad guys couldn’t find the Pope in a whore house, but not Eddie Giambrone, he’s pretty good.”

  McQueen reached across the desk and slapped Joe on the shoulder. “Pretty good? Well, maybe he’s pretty good, but he’s not us, partner. Remember me? I’m the anal guy. We’ll find him.”

  Joe glanced at the clock high on the wall opposite his desk before speaking. “Yeah,” he said absently. “But for now, it’s quittin’ time. Sign out and go home. I’m going to talk to the boss and clear our morning. We’re eight-to- four tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Joe nodded. “Okay, then. I need to call a friend of mine, set it all up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  McQueen stood and stretched his back muscles. “Set what up?” he asked.

  Rizzo dismissed McQueen with a backward wave of his hand. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Get going, see you in the morning.”

  McQueen shrugged and turned to leave. Suddenly he missed Amy acutely and toyed with the idea of calling her. Maybe even driving over to her place and dropping in.

  But then he remembered her words.

  He couldn’t compete with the ghost of a dead junkie. He left the squad room and headed for home.

  JOE RIZZO sat at the kitchen table, sipping his beer, his wife, Jennifer, opposite him.

  “So, honey,” she said, raising a coffee cup to her lips. “How was your day?”

  Rizzo shrugged. “The usual. Just another day in paradise. How ’bout you?”

  “Not too bad. The kids are beginning to settle in, getting used to the new school year. I think I’ve got a good group this term. We’ll see.”

  Joe nodded absently. “Well,” he said. “I told McQueen. I told him yesterday, about the I.A. thing.”

  Jennifer’s eyes clouded. “Oh,” she said. After a moment, she continued. “Are you going to partner with him? Permanently?”

  Rizzo nodded. “As permanent as anything is on this job, yeah.”

  “He was okay with it? The Internal Affairs thing?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed to be. He’s not sure if he believes I’m clean, though. Can’t blame him for that.”

  Now her eyes blazed anger. “No,” she said sharply. “You certainly can’t blame him for that. Why you allowed that man, that damned Morelli, to manipulate and use you all those years is—”

  Rizzo held up a hand, palm outward, and smiled gently. “Please, Jen, I know, I know. I’ve heard this a thousand times.”

  Jennifer shook her head angrily. “Don’t dismiss me, Joe, I’m not one of your skell suspects. Friendship and loyalty are fine, but Morelli turned out to be worthy of neither from you. Not to the extreme you went, that’s for sure.”

  Joe smiled again at his wife. He sighed. In addition to Jennifer’s dark beauty and tall, lean body, from their first meeting as teenagers Rizzo had been strongly drawn to her feisty in de pen dence and strong sense of self. It had often been difficult to deal with on a day-to- day marital basis, but Joe somehow managed— mostly by recognizing the wisdom of her words, even when they stirred an unsettling discomfort in him.

  “I know, Jen,” he said with a shrug. “You’re probably right. But what’s done is done, okay? I don’t want to rehash it again.”

  Jennifer shook her head and compressed her lips. When she spoke, her tone was formal.

  “Fine, Joe,” she said. “But don’t dismiss me. It pisses me off.”

  Joe smiled sadly. “What ever you say, sweetheart. What ever you say.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  December

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, McQueen and Rizzo met in the squad room. Rizzo had cleared three hours for field investigation purposes, during which time they would not be required to respond to any new crime scenes unless an absolute priority arose. They left the precinct house and Rizzo drove directly to a diner on Fourth Avenue.

  “So,” McQueen said when they were seated in a rear booth sipping at coffee. “What’s the big deal plan you’ve got for us this morning?”

  Rizzo shifted in the cramped seat and buttered some toast.

  “We’re going to see a friend of mine down at the State Supreme Court on Adams Street. He’s a court clerk, works in the criminal term clerk’s office on the tenth floor. He has computer access to the state ‘crims’ system. I want him to run our boy Donzi through. See what we got.”

  McQueen frowned. “Why can’t you just call him and do it by phone?” Rizzo smiled across the small table, answering as he stuffed eggs and toast into his mouth.

  “Well, kid, it’s tough to look for something over the phone when you don’t know what you’re looking for. See, this ‘crims’ thing, it goes beyond the guy’s rap sheet. The sheet tells us crimes, arrests, convictions, dispositions, jail time, stuff like that. ‘Crims’ is the state court’s setup. Tells us more. Gives us names. Victims, judge assigned, defense lawyer, D.A. that prosecuted. Names. We see the same name two, three times, we can figure maybe they know something about this guy, something personal that don’t show up on a computer screen or printout. It gives us somebody to talk to.”

  McQueen sh
ook his head slightly. “About what, Joe? What do we talk to them about?”

  “It’s simple. You saw Donzi’s rap sheet. Guy grew up in Queens, got locked up six times out there. Twice for burglary. Then he’s got three more arrests, all three in Manhattan, two assaults, one receiving stolen property. Then there’s that open assault on the nurse that Giambrone struck out on, also in Manhattan. See what I’m sayin’ yet?”

  McQueen thought for a moment before answering.

  “No priors in Brooklyn. Guy’s a newcomer.”

  Rizzo’s smile radiated across the table. “Bingo. He’s a fuckin’ immigrant, like you. See how smart our idiot Republican mayor was to bump you up? He knew you had great potential.”

  “So we’re looking for some tie to Brooklyn. Hopefully come up with an address where he might be.”

  “Exactly correct. It would explain why the squad in Queens that Eddie called in couldn’t find him. Donzi may have resituated his professional operations to sunny Bensonhurst.”

  They ate in silence for a moment longer before McQueen spoke again.

  “You know, Joe, I have to tell you, you surprise me every day. Remember the first case we caught together? Amy’s assault? I figured you for some kind of slacker looking to avoid work, not get involved too much. But I was wrong. Take this, for instance, this dead dog burglary case. You seem pretty gung-ho for it, like with most of the cases.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, chewing his bacon. “I’m a fuckin’ enigma, alright.”

  McQueen laughed. “For a guy uses a good Republican word like ‘enigma,’ you were pretty hard on our beloved mayor. I have to admit, I figured you for a right-wing Republican, Joe. Don’t tell me you’re a candy-ass Demo crat?”

  “Mike, remember my grandfather? Guy I told you about, raised me from when I was nine? Well, very early on in our relationship he sat me down and told me, ‘Kid,’ he said, ‘kid, you want to just keep things simple and always remember three things: you’re a Roman Catholic, a Mets fan, and a Demo crat. In that order.’ I remember thinkin’ how I wasn’t even sure what a friggin’ Demo crat was, so I asked him what the difference was, what was a Demo crat, what was a Republican. You know what he said?”