Payback

by Lorenzo Carcaterra

  “Looks like it went well,” Carmine said. “I don’t see any guns on the table and there aren’t any bloodstains on the floor.”

  I waited as the waitress brought three fresh cappuccinos and rested them in front of us. She took away the two empty cups. “I’m going to see Dee Dee tomorrow,” I said.

  I was eager to shift the conversation back to work. The talk with Bobby had rattled me. I wasn’t quite sure if that was his intent or if he was seriously looking to reconnect with Connie. I knew I could trust him working on the team. Dee Dee wouldn’t have sent him my way if there was any doubt to that fact. But to suddenly have a potential suitor for Connie unnerved me a bit. I knew she loved me as much as I loved her. But, still, his presence left me with an uneasy feeling. And that was something I had never experienced when it came to me and Connie.

  “See her about what?” Carmine asked.

  “She’s going to give me the money for you to open your account with the firm.”

  “Finally, I get to play with tax dollars,” Carmine said.

  “It’s enough to get you started, and then it’s up to you to sell them the idea that this is a drop of what you plan to bring their way,” I said to him. “They have to believe you’re going to be a mob rainmaker. They’ll be holding six figures but need to be leaving the meeting seeing seven.”

  “I’ve called around since I met with Randolph,” Carmine said. “They got some mob money tied in to their firm already. Mostly East Coast and down South.”

  “Anybody you know?” Bobby asked.

  “Everybody I know,” Carmine said. “But there’s still a few more out there with plenty of cash to invest. Don’t worry. I know how to sing songs guys like these accountants like to hear.”

  I looked at Bobby. “I’m also going to let Dee Dee know I’ll be reaching out to some people for help on this case and on another one I’m working. Figured I should also tell you, make sure you’re aware and are on board with it.”

  “I imagine some of these people have criminal records,” Bobby said.

  “Not some,” I said. “All of them.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I guess you figured out by now, Carmine’s old running pals aren’t recruits from a seminary,” I said. “The firm knows the players out there as well as we do. We can’t be bringing in ringers. They have to be the real deal.”

  Bobby nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. “Old-timers with a lot of money angling for a fresh place to put it. And any name Carmine brings in they don’t know, they can run by some of their other mob investors.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “You couldn’t do this working out of the U.S. Attorney’s office. Too many hurdles to jump over. But with us you can. Gives us instant credibility, and the more cash we flash and the more clients Carmine brings in, the deeper we can get into their business. That’ll mostly fall on your shoulders. So you need to work closely with Carmine and his associates.”

  “Now, my guys are not going to be doing backflips when they hear one of the team is an active federal agent,” Carmine said. “It was hard enough to convince them to trust Tank, and him they knew. You they don’t.”

  “To make it easier, I’m going to ask Dee Dee to give anyone we bring in blanket immunity,” I said. “Are you good with that?”

  “That’s up to Dee Dee,” Bobby said. “But Carmine’s crew has been on the sidelines for a while now. Most are either retired or tied up in legit businesses. I don’t see a problem giving them a pass.”

  “It’s not just Carmine’s buddies I’m reaching out to for help,” I said.

  “Who else, then?”

  “Alban and his crew,” I said.

  Bobby pushed aside his cappuccino cup and leaned in closer to me and Carmine. “Are you fuckin’ serious?” he asked. “Those guys will slit your throat if you look at them funny. They steal everything they have, they work cons and hustles in every borough of the city, and if you pay them enough they’ll kill anybody you want. Now, tell me, Tank, why the fuck do we need them on our side? And why the hell would Dee Dee or the chief consider giving these guys immunity?”

  “You’ve been dancing around these accountants for well over a year,” I said. “And you’re not any closer to sniffing an indictment. We’re going to go in and not only try to pin a murder on them, we’re going to bring their entire operation crumbling to the ground. They’re not going to roll over and let that happen. They’ll come at us just as heavy. And they’re not going to be sweet and gentle about it.”

  “Which means what?” Bobby asked. “You bring in a team of lifters and thieves to help you out? From what I know about Alban and his gang, they don’t lift a finger unless there is something coming back their way. And if you ask me, immunity isn’t what they’re going to be looking for.”

  “Immunity and twenty percent of the dough we confiscate gets handed over to Alban,” I said. “It may not be enough to bring him to our side of the table, but it will get the conversation started.”

  Bobby sat back, took a deep breath, and stayed silent for several moments. “This is a lot to take in,” he finally said. “I need some time to think it all out.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “You got a lot more at stake than either me or Carmine. You’re still on the job and moving up the ladder at a rapid pace. Coming in with guys like us is risky. I’m out to bring the ones who killed my brother and his wife down. And I’m not particular about how I get it done. It’s not the same for you. You work on this and it comes out right, you score quite a few points in the Southern District. But if it goes south and word gets out about how we operated, then your elevator ride will come to a screeching halt. You’re right to take some time before you jump in.”

  “You want to see these guys go out of business, am I right?” Carmine asked. “You’ve been trying it your way, the legal way, and that will work eventually. But it will take years and frustrate the shit out of you. These guys are always moving three steps forward for every two you take. Our way may not work, but if it does, they’ll come crashing down in a week, maybe two tops. And you’ll have your page-one bust.”

  “Along with a heavy body count,” Bobby said. “There are never any winners when you have that to consider.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Bobby,” Carmine said. “There’s always a winner with that kind of brawl.”

  “Yeah, tell me who.”

  “The ones still alive,” I said. “They take home the gold.”

  31.

  RIVERBANK STATE PARK

  THE NEXT DAY

  I STOOD NEXT TO PEARL, BOTH of us looking out at the twenty-five-yard pool at 140th Street in Harlem. Just beyond the pool, the large expanse of the Hudson River and the New Jersey piers and high-rises were visible in the distance. The pool was packed, a perfect place to ward off the onslaught of the August heat wave the city was grinding its way through.

  “You sure he’ll show?” Pearl asked. “J.J. could be playing us. Doing his best to balance the ball between us and Kenwood.”

  “I don’t think J.J. would lie about something like this,” I said. “He knows we knew Boyd from when we worked in the sector years ago. Besides, he didn’t give up much. All he told us is Boyd was one of Kenwood’s stoolies back when he was on the job. Tossing name after name at Kenwood is what kept him out of jail.”

  “But then he gives Kenwood a name that doesn’t map out the way he planned,” Pearl said. “And next thing old Boyd knows is Kenwood sends him away for a ten-year stretch on the one crime he probably didn’t commit.”

  “It was a harsh lesson learned by Boyd, for sure,” I said. “But not one that was lost on Livingstone, either.”

  Billy “Little Napoleon” Boyd was a hardcore criminal. He mugged and shot his way from Washington Heights to Harlem and even ventured into Brooklyn terrain belonging to other gangs, always on the lookout for
a score and a target to take down. He began his life of crime just out of his teens and, despite a few stints in prison, never sought another way of life. He was protected for years by Eddie Kenwood, feeding him information that led to arrests that helped pad the gold-shield detective’s résumé. Then Billy pointed a finger at the wrong target, a criminal protected by another corrupt badge. That brought an end to the arrangement.

  He came onto our radar last night, after J.J. overheard Kenwood and a few friends talking at one of the tables at the club where he worked. One of the men mentioned Boyd’s name in relation to the Randy Jenkins case and was quickly shut down by Kenwood. “Change the subject,” Kenwood told the man. “The guy convicted of that murder is in jail, right? Let it rest where it is.”

  We spotted Boyd walking at the other end of the pool, checking out the action, clearly on the prowl for business. He was older than I remembered and a bit thicker around the middle. But he still had that street swagger, a short, now middle-aged man trolling the dark side of a doomed life.

  I grabbed the handles of Pearl’s wheelchair and we eased our way in Boyd’s direction. He was gazing down at two teenagers lounging by the edges of the pool as we approached. “Looks to me like the real Napoleon got the better deal,” Pearl said as Boyd turned our way. “He went from Paris to the island of Elba. You, on the other hand, moved from prison to our little island here by the river.”

  “I never did quite understand why they called you Napoleon,” I said. “I get the ‘Little’ part—you’re both short enough to be the last ones to know when it’s raining. But that guy ran a country. All you did was run against the law.”

  “How I got the name is my business,” Boyd said. “As is everything else I do. We got nothing to talk about, assuming it’s talk that brought your asses out here.”

  “I am glad to see the passage of time hasn’t mellowed you out, Little Nap,” Pearl said.

  “How about we let the kids have the pool and we step away and have ourselves a little chat?” I said.

  “And what do I need to talk to you two losers about?” Boyd asked. “It ain’t like you’re on the job anymore. Not unless NYPD is short on cops in wheelchairs.”

  “Randy Jenkins,” I said. “We’re here to ask you about Randy Jenkins and the murder he didn’t commit.”

  We both caught the look in Boyd’s eyes. They flickered and darted from one face to the other, sweat starting to form on the top of his lip and on his forehead. He clenched and unclenched his hands, and he bounced up and down on his legs like he was about to shoot a free throw. “That name don’t mean shit to me,” he managed to say.

  I moved away from Pearl’s wheelchair and closer to Boyd. The concrete was wet and slippery from the water splashing out of the pool. “Think harder,” I said. “You lived in the same neighborhood. The same playgrounds. Might have bumped into each other here and there.”

  “And maybe it was you that flagged his name for your boy Eddie Kenwood,” Pearl said. “That was what you did back then, right? Gave up names to Kenwood in order to keep your tiny little ass out of jail.”

  “Kenwood didn’t care who killed Rachel,” I said. “All he wanted was a signed confession, didn’t matter to him whose name was on it. And that’s all you needed to give him—a name.”

  “You two must be smoking that new brand of shit been making the rounds,” Boyd said. “If that’s all you came to talk to me about, you might as well turn around and take your crazy talk somewhere else. It ain’t working here.”

  “You had a rep yourself for being rough with the ladies,” I said. “Or am I wrong?”

  “Maybe you tried a run at Rachel and got turned away,” Pearl said.

  “Pearl’s got a point,” I said. “Low-expectation little dick like you walks around making like he’s Denzel, can’t help but bring a chuckle instead of a moan to any woman.”

  “Guys like you have to pay or get nasty to get close to a woman,” Pearl said.

  Boyd lifted his balled hands and stepped closer to Pearl, his eyes bulging, body taut with tension. “You crippled son of a bitch,” he said. “One more word and I’ll toss your wrinkled ass into the pool. Watch you drown with them dead legs of yours.”

  Pearl smiled. “Come and give it a shot, Napoleon,” he said. “I’ll put fifty to your one that I’ll have your neck snapped before you even lift me from this chair.”

  “And in case Pearl’s off his game,” I said, “count on me to finish what he started.”

  Boyd kept his place, his anger still at full boil, casting a glance at the crowded pool. He took a deep breath and backed away from Pearl. “I’m done with you both,” he said. “You’ve taken up enough of my time.”

  “You run back now and let Kenwood know we’re on the hunt,” I said. “And we’re not only going to nab Rachel’s real killer. We’re going to do one better.”

  Boyd swallowed and looked at both me and Pearl. “What would that be?”

  “We’re going to nail Kenwood and any badge, off or on the job, that went in with him,” Pearl said.

  “You get all that?” I asked. “Or you need me to write it down for you?”

  Boyd nodded. “I got it, Tin Badge,” he said. “And I’ll pass it on. Kenwood likes to have a good laugh.”

  I walked up to Boyd and smiled. “One more question,” I said, “before me and Pearl let you get on with whatever sorry business you need to attend to.”

  “Make it a fast one,” Boyd said.

  “Can you swim?” I asked.

  Before he could answer, I grabbed Boyd by the collar and the top of his jeans and dragged him toward the edge of the pool. The move took him by surprise and brought all pool activity to a halt. Soon as I had him close enough, I tossed him in. I walked back over to Pearl and we both watched as Boyd kicked and slapped his way from the deep end over to the closest edge, gripping the side with both hands. He glared at us, breathing heavy and coughing out spurts of water.

  “Well, guess we learned something with this little visit,” Pearl said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Napoleon can’t swim,” Pearl said.

  32.

  U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE, SOUTHERN DISTRICT

  THAT SAME DAY

  I DECIDED TO BRING CHRIS WITH me for my meeting with Dee Dee Jacobs. He was the primary reason I’d chosen to go after the accounting firm, and I thought it was important for the two to meet. Chris was more than just my nephew. He was now a valuable member of my team. He could travel the dark zones of the Web with skill, unhindered by firewalls and security locks, doing a deep dive into files thought to be securely sealed. He didn’t work alone. He was part of a nationwide network of like-minded teenagers, each spending countless hours looking to solve cold cases or bring attention to situations that would eventually require legal intervention. They modeled themselves after the Vidocq Society, a group of professionals from various fields formed some decades back, who worked together to try to solve long-neglected crimes.

  Chris was also a victim.

  All the evidence suggested his parents were murdered by the firm, and I thought it only right that Dee Dee have the chance to put at least one face to the many crimes committed by the accountants I was looking to bring down. I was asking her to extend beyond the boundaries of her office, actions that could cost her the position she had worked so hard to earn if I failed to prove my case or broke the law in the attempt, and I wanted her to know it was worth it.

  “I see you brought along a bodyguard,” Dee Dee said, smiling at both me and Chris as she stepped from behind her desk when we entered her office. “And a young one at that.”

  “This is Chris,” I said, introducing them. “My nephew. Jack’s son.”

  Dee Dee put out a hand and Chris shook it. She held on to his hand and looked at him. “I’m very sorry about what happened to your parents,”
she said. “We’re doing all we can to get to the facts of the matter and, if they prove out, put the guilty ones where they belong. In jail.”

  Chris nodded. “The facts prove out,” he said in a strong voice. “They killed my parents. Thank you for the help you’re giving us. It means a lot to me.”

  Dee Dee let go of the handshake, looked at me, and then moved back behind her desk. “Has Bobby been a help?” she asked as she sat down.

  “You mean Connie’s old boyfriend?” I said with a smile. “He’s been working with Chris mostly, doing a tight money trail. I figure he’s sent you daily reports on what they’ve uncovered.”

  “He has,” Dee Dee said. “But, like with any good agent or cop, what he doesn’t say interests me as much as what he puts in a report.”

  “I’ll let Chris fill you in on that,” I said. “But first I have to ask you a huge favor. And if, in any way, you feel it will compromise you or your office, then say no. There’ll be no hard feelings.”

  “Let me see if I can guess,” Dee Dee said. “I already put in the request for Carmine’s front money. That gets you an inside man.”

  “It’s money worth lending,” I said, giving her a smile. “One hundred and fifty thousand in cash is more than enough to get the ball rolling.”

  “Handed over to a onetime crime boss,” Dee Dee said.

  “These guys are primed to be on the lookout for an undercover. Carmine’s old school, and that gives him cover and offers them comfort.”

  “And he wants to bring these guys down,” Chris said. “Carmine says they’re the kind of thieves that give criminals a bad rap.”

  Dee Dee couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I never thought he and I would agree on anything, but he does have a point. These guys think just because they’re wearing Brooks Brothers suits and eating at private clubs that they stand apart from most criminals. That they can hide behind the façade they’ve built. And those are the ones I hate the most. The ones who hide their true intent by wearing a mask of civility.”