Rizzo's War

by Lou Manfredo

  “I believe her exact words were, ‘Tell those three cops thanks— and tell them they don’t suck too much.’ ”

  MCQUEEN FOUND Rizzo waiting in the Impala’s front passenger seat, the car idling quietly outside the hospital’s main entrance. He climbed in behind the wheel and watched as Rizzo punched at the cell phone he held.

  “Priscilla said ‘So long.’ She had a date,” he said as he dialed.

  “D’Antonio,” Joe heard through the earpiece.

  “Vince,” he said, winking at McQueen as Mike pulled on his shoulder harness and buckled in, “It’s me, Joe.”

  “Hello, Joe, what’s up?”

  “We got her, Vince. It’s over. Just checked her into Gracie Square. Her shrink is handling all the details.”

  There was a pause. “That’s great, Joe, I knew you were getting close. But you got her? Just like that, out of the blue?”

  “Not exactly, Vince, but we were a little too busy to check in with you on every little thing. We had to move fast when we got her last location. It would all be in the DD-fives, if you had any.”

  D’Antonio’s voice was flat when he responded. “Is she okay?”

  “Well, she’s got some miles on her, Boss, and a few scratches and dings on her fenders, but all in all, yeah, she’s okay.”

  “Thank God. Great work, Joe, tell Mike for me, great work. I knew you were good, but damn, this is unbelievable. Does her old man know yet? Is he at the hospital?”

  “Funny thing about that, Vince,” Joe said, his eyes twinkling at Mike.

  “I couldn’t find his phone number. Imagine that? All these notes and numbers, cells, faxes, home lines, and I can’t find his number. Why don’t you call him for me, tell him his daughter is fine. I’m sure it’ll make his day.”

  “Okay, Joe, I will.” Now there was a pause, and Rizzo raised his eyebrows and gestured with his free hand in a come-on- and-tell- me fashion.

  “What about her stuff, Joe? You know, personal belongings, things like that,” D’Antonio said in the same flat tone.

  “Oh, yeah, we got all that,” Joe said. “But you know, Vince, Rosanne changed locations sort of spur of the moment, so basically all she had was the clothes on her back and some odds ’n ends. Nothing significant. Tell the old man I’ll be glad to call the hospital and tell them to release it all to him. You know, when he rushes over there to visit her.”

  “I’ll tell him, Joe,” D’Antonio said drily. “But you know, Daily was pretty adamant. He’s called me about a dozen times. It seems she may have left with something of value and he’s anxious to get it back.”

  Rizzo laughed. “I bet he is, Boss. But I can’t help him. The kid was empty-handed and broke when we found her. No family heirlooms that I could see.”

  “Alright, Joe, come on in and give me a full report.”

  Rizzo shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “Can’t do that, Vince. Not just yet.”

  There was another pause, longer than the previous one. “And why is that, Joe?”

  “Well, we got a few loose ends to tie up. People to see, places to go. You know, loose ends.”

  Now the lieutenant’s voice took on a harder edge.

  “Loose ends? What kind of loose ends can there be? She’s found, she’s in the hospital with her doctor, and I’m notifying the family. What loose ends?”

  “Well, for one thing, I need to drop by the Starlight Lounge and get an audience with Louie Quattropa. We owe out some favors, Boss, and we need to square them. Now, do you want to hear about any more loose ends, or do you want to say ‘Have a nice day, Joe, I’ll see you when I see you?’ ”

  A sigh came through the line.

  “Have a nice day, Joe,” D’Antonio said.

  “And?” Joe pressed, a smile in his voice.

  “And, you scumbag, I’ll see you when I see you,” the lieutenant answered, without malice in his tone.

  “Okay, Vince, thanks. Bye.”

  Rizzo turned to Mike and said, “Let’s get to Brooklyn. Saint Ephrem’s rectory is on Seventy-fifth and Fort Hamilton. Let’s go.”

  McQueen pulled the car away, and Rizzo filled him in on his conversation with D’Antonio as they drove.

  “Do you think he knows about the cash Rosanne took?” Mike asked.

  Rizzo shook his head. “I doubt it. D’Antonio’s too smart to ask a lot of questions. He knows she had something the father wants, and he doesn’t particularly care what it is. But I don’t know for sure. Maybe he’s in on it, maybe he isn’t. It doesn’t matter though, we’ve got bigger problems than just a squad boss. Let’s see how it all plays out.”

  He pulled a Chesterfield from his pocket and lit it, blowing smoke out the open window. Then he turned to Mike’s profile.

  “You decide how you wanna go with this yet?” he asked in a neutral voice.

  McQueen turned to face him, a small smile on his lips.

  “First let’s see what we’re dealing with, Joe.” Then after a moment, he said, “I guess I’m still thinking about it.”

  Joe nodded and leaned forward, switching on the car’s radio.

  “Okay,” he said. “You think it over.” He smiled and took a long drag on his cigarette.

  “Let me know,” he said casually.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “THANKS FOR SEEING US, Father,” Joe said as he and Mike took seats before the neat, sparsely arranged desk of Father Charles Rivard, one of three priests serving Saint Ephrem’s parish in the heart of Bay Ridge.

  Rivard smiled. He was fifty-nine years old and still carried the easy, fluid movements of a former star running back from Georgetown University. He looked across his desk with clear, sharp gray eyes and casually waved his hand.

  “Well, Detective,” he said, “in all honesty, I’m generally not very busy at this hour on a Friday afternoon. Particularly during the summer months.” He paused here and let the smile fade slowly from his lips. “But,” he continued, “do tell me. How is that poor child doing? I can only imagine what she’s been through these past weeks.”

  Rizzo removed his note pad from the inner pocket of his jacket. He flipped it open and looked up at the priest.

  “I’ve got her information here, Father, if you need it. Phone number for the hospital, visiting arrangements, her doctor’s number. I’ll give it all to you and you can speak directly to the doctor. He can tell you more than I know. She seemed okay, I mean, considering. According to Dr. Rogers, she wants to get better, she’s ‘more receptive to trying’ were his words. I guess time will tell.”

  Father Charles nodded. “Yes, it will. I’ve been praying for Rosanne to be found; now I’ll pray for her to get well.”

  “We all will,” Joe said, his head nodding. He glanced at McQueen. “Won’t we, Mike?” he asked.

  McQueen nodded as well. “Yes,” he said.

  “Now,” Father Charles said, “how, specifically, can I help you?”

  “Father,” Joe began. “It’s our understanding that you were counseling Rosanne and conferring with Dr. Rogers. Is that so?”

  He nodded. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “It came up during the course of our investigation,” Joe said with a shrug.

  The priest smiled. “I see,” he said. “So I no longer have to pretend to need Dr. Rogers’s phone number? That’s a relief. I’m not very good at deceiving people. Certainly not two detectives.”

  Rizzo returned the smile. “Well, relax, Father. We already know you’re a legit guy, very concerned for Rosanne’s welfare. Finding that out was pretty easy, actually. Now we come to the hard part.”

  Rivard looked from one to the other of their faces. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desktop and folding his hands.

  “And that would be?” he asked evenly.

  “She gave you something to keep for her. We need to see it. Actually, we need to take it with us.”

  Rivard sat back in his seat.

  “How did you find out about that?” he ask
ed. “Did Rosanne tell you?”

  Rizzo nodded. “Yes,” he lied. “How else would we know?”

  Rivard remained silent for a moment. “I can’t imagine. But then, I’m not a policeman.”

  Now it was Rizzo who leaned forward. “Father,” he said, his voice low and even. “We found her with some motorcycle gang, a real bad bunch called The Dutchmen. That’s how she brought that stuff over here in the first place, on the back of a Dutchman’s Harley.”

  Rivard held Rizzo’s gaze. “How is that relevant?”

  Rizzo sat back and smiled sadly. “Oh, it’s relevant alright. Do you have any idea what you’ve been safeguarding?”

  Rivard shook his head. “No.”

  “You never looked at it, not even once?” Rizzo asked. “That’s kind of amazing, Father. Weren’t you curious?”

  “Detective Rizzo,” Rivard said, his voice hardening, “Rosanne gave me that ‘stuff,’ as you refer to it, in confidence. She asked that I hold it for her. It’s a shoe box and she assured me it held no contraband. Despite her history, despite her illness, I’ve never known her to lie to me, nor I to her. It was the basis of our relationship, the trust that I and Dr. Rogers hoped would help steer her to stability. So I’ll say it again: I did not look inside that box.”

  Now McQueen spoke up.

  “Father, please, I think you may have misinterpreted my partner’s comment and questions.”

  “I think not, Detective.”

  Rizzo smiled. “No, Father, you didn’t misinterpret anything. I was skeptical. I apologize, but I get paid for my skepticism.”

  “And are you still, Detective Rizzo? Or do you now choose to accept my statement?”

  Rizzo nodded. “Absolutely,” he said.

  “Good. Now once again, how is it that I may help you?”

  “We need that box, Father,” Rizzo said in blunt tones. “And we need it now.”

  Rivard shook his head. “Impossible. Perhaps after I speak to Rosanne, if she’s able to make a rational choice and it’s her wish that it be turned over to you—”

  “No good, Father,” Rizzo interjected. “That’s days, maybe weeks from now. She’s in detox, sedated, and soon she’ll be under heavy psychotropics. We need that box now, today.”

  “Why? What can the urgency be?”

  Rizzo smiled. “I’m glad you asked. The urgency is twofold. One, we think something she left with you may be tied to why Rosanne ran away from her home, why she got herself all entangled with these motorcycle characters. If that’s the case, it may be something that will help Dr. Rogers, maybe even help you, to help her.”

  Rivard looked unconvinced.

  “And the second reason?”

  Rizzo let his smile fade.

  “They want it, Father. The Dutchmen. You want to know a little something about them, Father? They cut off one another’s earlobes to initiate themselves into the gang. They run drugs, guns, and extortion rings. They eat priests for breakfast. Once they realize she ran off without leaving that stuff behind, the cretin who drove her here will figure out exactly what’s in the box she left with you. And next thing you know, you’ve got Genghis Khan banging on the church door.”

  Rizzo paused and glanced at McQueen. The young detective’s face was without expression, Rizzo’s series of lies landing on his ears with no visible effect. Rizzo was pleased by the sight.

  Rivard thought for a moment, then spoke.

  “Did she lie to me, Detective Rizzo? Is there contraband in that box?”

  “No, Father. She didn’t lie to you. There’s evidence in that box, evidence of crimes committed by The Dutchmen, and maybe someone else. But we have no reason to believe there’s anything illegal per se.”

  They saw the relief on Rivard’s face, and it further confirmed his sincerity. Then they watched as apprehension slipped into his eyes.

  “Is Rosanne in danger, Detective? I mean, physical danger from these thugs?”

  Rizzo shook his head. “No. They just want that box. Whoever has possession is the one in danger. And the people around that person, too. It wouldn’t be beyond The Dutchmen to come after you through some other priest or maybe one of your parishioners. Even, God forbid, a nun. They grab somebody and then swap them for the box.”

  “Good Lord,” Rivard said.

  Rizzo leaned over the front edge of the desk and spoke in low, earnest tones.

  “Father,” he said, “I can waste a couple of days and get a court order for the box by Monday. Then you’ll have to turn it over. And until then, I can assign a radio car to park outside the church twenty-four seven to keep The Dutchmen at bay. But I can’t protect every nun in the city, or every priest. And certainly not all of your parishioners. If you give us the box now, I guarantee you, in an hour, The Dutchmen will know we’ve got it. We have an inside contact with a rival gang, the Hell’s Angels. They’ll be glad to send the bad news over to The Dutchmen, believe me. Then you’re out of it, and so’s the church.”

  Rivard paled, a slight perspiration breaking across his brow.

  “Perhaps I should call the bishop or maybe Dr. Rogers …”

  Rizzo stood suddenly and leaned forward, his clenched fists resting on the desktop. He bent his head to Rivard’s face.

  “You don’t need a bishop, Father, and you sure as hell don’t need a psychiatrist.

  “The only people who can help you now, Father, are cops.” Rizzo paused and allowed a small smile to tug at his lips, bringing a soft, sincere aura to his face.

  “And that’s what we are, Father. Cops.”

  WHEN THEY returned to the Impala, parked just around the corner from the rectory on Fort Hamilton Parkway, McQueen turned from the driver’s seat and looked at Rizzo.

  “Man, you are so going to hell,” he said to Joe.

  Rizzo smiled and examined the small, battered box that he held on his lap.

  “Yeah, well, if that’s true, it’s been true for a long time,” he said with a tight smile. “You think that’s the first priest I ever lied to? I wish.”

  “Why, Joe?” McQueen asked. “Why not just tell him the truth?”

  Rizzo shook his head. “Thirty seconds after I met the guy, I knew the truth wouldn’t fly. He’d never violate Rosanne’s trust, no way. So I tell him that she wants us to have what ever’s in the box and as long as he has it, the people around him are in serious danger. He probably wouldn’t have given it up if he thought it was just his neck sticking out, but, I gotta tell you, that ‘save the nuns’ stuff, that was pure fuckin’ genius, if I say so myself. He had to go for it after that.”

  McQueen shook his head. “Straight to hell, Joe. Nonstop.”

  Rizzo laughed. “Yeah, well, I can hang out there with all the other cops.” He shook the box gently and a slight rattling sounded.

  They recognized it as soon as Rivard presented it to them. A shoe box, similar to the ones strewn across the floor of Rosanne’s closet and identical to the one McQueen found her diary in. It was even tied closed with the same red ribbon.

  “Well?” he asked Rizzo.

  Rizzo shrugged. “Yeah, now’s as good a time as any.”

  He untied the ribbon and pulled off the cover.

  They both looked in, Mike leaning across from the driver’s seat. The box held three objects, the most prominent a stack of currency tightly wrapped in a rubber band. A black diary, identical to the one they had removed from Rosanne’s room, lay beneath the money. Next to that was a battered Tally-Ho playing card box, sealed with cellophane tape.

  Rizzo took the stack of bills from the shoe box and slipped off the rubber band. He quickly counted the money.

  “Jesus,” he said softly. “Thirty-two thousand bucks.” He replaced the rubber band and tossed the cash back into the box. “Must be all that’s left from the hundred grand Rosanne told The Surgeon she took from her old man’s safe.”

  Mike shook his head slowly. “Thirty-two in the box and twenty-two she blew on that idiot’s new Harley. I wonder what she di
d with the other forty-six thousand?”

  Joe lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the dashboard. “I’d be more interested in knowing why Daily had a hundred grand in his wall safe,” he said.

  Mike reached over and took the diary in his hand. Opening it, he said, “Starts just about where the other one left off.”

  He flipped to the last entry. “Ends when she ran away.”

  Rizzo glanced at the book. “Well, if that’s her proof, she’s as delusional as she is bipolar. Nothing in there is more than hearsay, legally— and the cash, that’s so circumstantial it’s almost useless.”

  Rizzo eyed the last object, the playing card box. Reaching in, he smiled as he heard a rattle from within.

  “No cards in here, Mike,” he said, opening the box and looking in. Slowly, he inserted two fingers and pulled out a small object. “Bingo,” he said, a tight smile on his face.

  Mike looked into the outstretched palm of his partner.

  McQueen and Rizzo’s eyes met, separated by less than two feet in the confines of the car.

  “I guess we go buy a tape player now, right, Joe?” he asked.

  Rizzo smiled as he began to place the items back into the shoe box.

  “No,” he said, securing the box top carefully. “We go to my house. That’s a Panasonic microcassette, the same kind my daughter uses at school. They’re voice activated, she tapes her lab classes and uses them as notes. The med students even tape lectures and classes for each other if one of them can’t attend. Marie has a bunch of these things and at least two or three recorders. We’ll borrow one, if she’s home. If not, I’ll just grab one out of her room.”

  McQueen smiled as he scanned the car’s mirrors and slowly pulled out into traffic on Fort Hamilton Parkway.

  “Okay, Joe,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and stumble across her diary.”

  Rizzo blew cigarette smoke through his lips and threw the crumpled red ribbon he held at McQueen’s head.

  “Just drive the car, wise-ass. Just drive the car.”

  THE TWO men sat opposite each other, across the cluttered, gun metal gray desk in Rizzo’s basement home office. The room, McQueen had noted, was not unlike that of The Surgeon’s, except where Rizzo’s was typically unkempt, The Surgeon’s basement had an almost obsessive order to it.