Kenwood stared at me for a few moments and then nodded. “You know, we’re a lot alike, you and me. I know you don’t think so. But I know so. We have one very big thing in common.”
“And what would that be?”
“What I came here to tell you,” Kenwood said. “We both got away with murder. Me with that pass-around bitch Rachel. And you, back in a cabin on a summer day a long time ago. Or did you forget all about Frank Muncie?”
Kenwood caught the look on my face, the shock of hearing a name I had tried so hard to erase from my memory. The sudden realization that my once-buried past was known by a man I considered a blood enemy.
“How the hell do you know about that?” I asked. My shirt was streaked with sweat, and my hands had begun to tremble.
“You and your folks didn’t cover your tracks as well as you thought you did,” Kenwood said. “But you don’t need to worry, Tank. I’m not going to rat you out any more than you’re going to rat me out. Your secret and mine stay here in this park.”
I leaned against a tree and closed my eyes, visions of that day from so long ago filling my mind. I was dizzy and nauseous. I wiped the sweat from my face and looked around. Five of Kenwood’s men were circling me. Kenwood walked up and stood inches from my face. “You should have known better than to go against a guy like me,” he said. “There was no win in it. I’ll let the boys here finish up. I’m heading out. Park gets dangerous this time of night.”
41.
INWOOD HILL PARK
MOMENTS LATER
THE FIVE MEN DREW THEIR weapons and spread out, anticipating that I’d use the darkness to shield me from their bullets and make a run for it. I still had my back to the tree, my body drenched in a cold sweat, attempting to get my mind to focus on the situation around me.
“You can shout for help if you care to,” one of the men said. “This time of night, this deep into the woods, ain’t nobody going to hear a sound.”
“It’s going to take them a while to find your body, I would guess,” a second one said. “We’ll toss it in the thick bushes. Let the rats and whatever the hell else is out there chew away at you for a few days.”
I took a deep breath and stepped away from the tree. “Is that how you would like your bodies to be found?” I asked.
“Our bodies?” he said with a laugh. “Look around, clown. There’s five of us and one of you. Our guns are already out. You’ll probably go down before you can even reach for yours.”
“I’m not going to reach for my gun,” I said. “I won’t be needing it.”
The five men glanced at one another and smiled. “What are you planning to do?” one of them asked. “Bum-rush us?”
I shook my head and sat down on the wet grass. “I’m going to rest here for a few minutes,” I said to them. “It’s been a long night and it didn’t go exactly as I planned.”
“No shit on that,” one of them said.
“Are you all off the job?” I asked. “None of you are currently active?”
“We’re all on pension,” one said. “Not cop lotto like you, just a regular twenty and out. That’s why we need to do these odds jobs. Pick up some extra walking-around money.”
“There are better ways,” I said.
I looked above the heads of the five surrounding me—two men hung upside down from a pair of trees over two of the ex-cops. They had long blades in their hands and with a swift motion sliced the throats of the unsuspecting duo. Before the other three could react, they were jumped from behind by three men coming out from the thick foliage and one of the massive trees. Their knives moved silently and went deep into flesh. In less than thirty seconds, the five ex-cops were spread out on the moist grounds of the park, dead.
I looked at the five assassins and nodded. I then glanced up and saw Alban. He leaned over and reached out a massive hand. I took it and he yanked me to my feet. “You heard?” I asked him.
“I heard Kenwood tell you he killed the girl,” Alban said.
“And the rest of it?”
Alban shrugged. “He killed for no reason other than he could,” he said. “I’ve known you long enough to know that what you did was done for cause. Just like what happened here tonight.”
I glanced over Alban’s shoulders and watched as his men emptied the pockets of the dead, taking their money, wallets, watches, and rings. “They used to be cops,” I said to Alban.
“They used to be alive, too,” Alban said. “And they weren’t good cops. If they were, they wouldn’t be here tonight.”
“What happens next?”
“You need to find a place to clear your head,” Alban said. “We’ll deal with the damage here.”
“I need to give a heads-up to the chief,” I said. “About what went down.”
“That’s your end,” Alban said. “Mine is to help strip these bodies and get them hidden in the brush. I doubt you want to stick around to see that.”
I shook my head. “No, thanks,” I said. “I’ve seen and heard more than enough for one night.”
42.
MID-MANHATTAN LIBRARY
THE NEXT DAY
I WAS ON THE THIRD FLOOR of the library, where over five million images from a variety of sources are kept and cataloged. The reference archives culled from old postcards, books, newspapers, magazines, and pamphlets comprise a visual journey into our past and, over the years, had afforded me a pleasant escape from the burdens I often bore in my years as a cop. I also came here during my time recuperating from the wounds my work had inflicted on my body. It was a place where I could forget about the present by focusing on the faces and images of the past.
But not today. My past was now, thanks to Eddie Kenwood, chain-linked to my present. I had come here to seek a few moments of calm as I attempted to sort my way through the time bomb Kenwood had set off. But not even the sight of serene photos and images from the city’s past could soothe or calm me.
I had walked away from the park and the bloodshed that occurred there and managed to make my way back to the brownstone. I was reeling and numb, my emotions a mixture of anger, confusion, frustration, and fear. I had always believed, no matter how often I tried to convince myself otherwise, that my long-held secret would eventually rise to the surface and force me to confront it. I just never imagined that my secret was shared by Eddie Kenwood.
How did he know what had occurred so many years ago? How did that single, horrible event find its way to his attention? And what did he intend to do with that potentially devastating information now that I had survived his attempt on my life?
What I did know as I aimlessly scanned an assortment of photos taken decades, sometimes centuries, earlier was that I had to bring my secret out of the darkness and into the light. I would have to face the people I loved and cared about more than any others and have them hear the words from my lips: I had killed a man. And my brother, Jack, had seen me do it. And that was the reason my brother and I had not spoken for far too many years. The secret we shared was the wall that separated us. Our silence allowed the two of us to learn to live with what had been done, our secret known to only a select few. Four people knew about the murder. My parents, me, and Jack. Connie knew only that Jack had seen me kill a man. But she could never imagine the circumstances under which that murder had occurred.
I thought the accounting firm might have known. They did intense background checks on prospective employees and constantly monitored their activities, both past and present. And they were very good at it. There was the possibility, slim as it might be, that they had uncovered the event while looking into Jack’s history and, rather than reveal it, kept it quiet to be used as a potential weapon against him should the need arise. Instead, they chose a deadlier direction when it came to Jack.
I set aside the photos and looked around the quiet room. I glanced at the faces of the assorted men and wome
n, each lost in their quest for a postcard or a photo to take back as a memento, and wondered what secrets they each held close to their heart. What horrible act was in their past that could suddenly rise from the ashes and bring them shame? We all have secrets, some deadlier than others, and we all do our best to keep them hidden from public view. Now I had no choice but to reveal to the ones who mattered most what I had kept from them for so long.
And they would need to hear it from me. Not from Eddie Kenwood, that was for damn sure. And once my secret was revealed to them, it would cost Kenwood the only card he had to play. If I was the one who exposed what I had long ago buried, it would leave him nothing to hold against me.
I had no clue as to how any of them would react. Would Pearl feel betrayed? Would Connie cringe at the brutality of the murder she knew so little about? What about my team? And how would Chris deal with yet another fresh blow coming his way mere months after the tragic loss of his parents? Carmine would be more forgiving, but he might have second thoughts about my trustworthiness, and his unease could be passed on to Connie. Not all of them would casually shrug it off as easily as Alban had done. But Alban lived in a world soaked with the blood of others. For him, taking a life, so long as it was justified, was the price of doing business.
I closed my eyes and leaned back against a cool wall. I would tell each one the truth and take it from there. I had no other choice. They needed to know, and they needed to hear it from me.
And then I would deal with Eddie Kenwood.
We had worked each other into a corner and had both come away holding an ace. Kenwood let me know he knew about a murder I had committed. In turn, he had admitted to killing Rachel Nieves and pinning the murder on Randy Jenkins. We could agree to leave it at a standoff. He would hold on to my secret and I would hold on to his. But that’s not how it would play out. That’s not in his DNA, and it sure as hell isn’t in mine. I’ll admit to my crime and let the revelation take its charted course.
And I planned to nail Eddie Kenwood for the murder of Rachel Nieves. I would allow no win for him. No matter what happened to me once I revealed my past sin, Kenwood would not be allowed to walk free. The one benefit that came out of knowing that my secret would soon be exposed was that it allowed me to see, perhaps for the first time, the full picture of the man I was. I am as much a danger to Kenwood as he is to me.
I will leave him two options. The only options a man like him deserves—a prison sentence or a grave.
43.
HUDSON YARDS
LATER THAT DAY
BOBBY WAS WAITING FOR ME on the corner of Thirty-fourth and Tenth Avenue. He was holding two cups of bodega coffee and handed me one. We were surrounded by massive cranes and dozens of construction trucks as the newest section of Manhattan was in the process of being raised. “Just what the city needs,” Bobby said, glancing at the giant glass-encased structures that had already been built. “A few hundred more seven-figure condos.”
I shrugged. “This area was pretty much abandoned for a long time,” I said. “What they’re putting up is not to my taste, but, then, nobody bothered to ask me.”
“Not a dream come true for me, either,” Bobby said.
“What does suit you?” I asked.
“A nice house in the woods, maybe by a lake,” Bobby said. “A couple of dogs, a fireplace, tons of books, a case of Pappy Van Winkle. I get that and I will die a happy old federal agent.”
“I didn’t hear mention of a wife,” I said.
“All those other things I can go get on my own,” Bobby said. “All you need is money. Finding someone to fall in love with, that needs some luck and timing. I haven’t been good with either one.”
I glanced over at him. “Ever come close?” I asked.
Bobby looked at me and smiled. “Just once,” he said. “But I let her get away.”
I nodded and turned back to glance at the heavy street traffic. “Tell me about this guy we’re meeting,” I said. “Is he solid?”
“He’s been my inside guy at the firm,” Bobby said. “Started feeding me info a few weeks after I started looking into their operation. He’s given me enough to work off of. Trouble is, he’s not high up enough to get me to the partners. He’s junior level. Your brother was about three rungs above him.”
“So, he gives you what he might overhear along with office rumors and gossip,” I said.
“Along those lines,” Bobby said. “Everything he’s come back to me with has proven out.”
“Is this how you usually meet with him?”
Bobby shook his head. “He calls me using a burner,” he said. “About once, sometimes twice a week. We never do face-to-face meetings. He called me the other day, said he had something hot to pass on. But he needed to do it in person.”
“Any idea what he’s coming to you with?” I asked.
“Not sure,” Bobby said. “But he sounded nervous on the phone. His voice cracked a few times. He must think it’s important or he wouldn’t expose himself like this. Out in the open. He’s taking a big chance.”
“You think the firm got wise to what he was doing?” I asked.
“I hope to hell the answer to that is no,” Bobby said. “He’s a good guy, just took a job with the wrong firm.”
A dark-blue sedan pulled up to the corner, doing a hard skid between a hot-dog vendor and a cement truck. Bobby and I tossed our coffee containers and pulled our weapons from their holsters. He yanked his federal shield and chain from under his shirt and let it dangle across his chest.
Two well-dressed young men stepped out of the car and walked toward us, stopping several feet away. “I guess we’re not who you were expecting,” the one on my left said. He had long brown hair and a dark goatee, his eyes hidden by wraparound shades.
“No, you’re not,” Bobby said. “But I’m always open to making new friends.”
“Your boy is no longer with the firm,” the man in the shades said. “He wasn’t a good fit.”
“Took two of you to come tell us that,” I said. “A text would have worked just as well.”
“He no longer had access to a phone,” the man said. “Of any kind. And the firm didn’t just send two of us. They sent three. We drove. Mark, the guy behind you, he’s a mass transit kind of guy.”
I kept my eyes on the two in front of me. Bobby was to my right and standing sideways. “Can you make out the third guy?” I asked him.
“Hard to miss him,” Bobby said. “He’s got a gun braced against his right knee and his back to the wall.”
“He’s yours,” I said. “I’ll deal with these two.”
I walked away from Bobby and started toward the two men. Each put a hand inside his jacket pocket, fingers gripped around a weapon. A group of four construction workers crossed between us and I made my move. I slid past one of the workers and rushed the man with the shades. I caught him at chest level and sent him sprawling to the ground. I was bent over and aimed my gun at the man left standing. “Before that piece leaves the holster,” I said to him, “you’ll be bleeding from two bullet wounds.”
I glanced down at the man with the shades. He had both hands on the cracked pavement. “I figure you’re in charge,” I said to him. “So I’ll make it your call.”
The man took a deep breath. “We got a job to do,” he said. “And being arrested by a fed and a broken-down ex-cop wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Guys like you never take the easy out,” I said. “You’d rather die for some guy who doesn’t give a shit whether you live or not.”
I couldn’t see his eyes, because of the shades, so I focused my attention on his right hand, slowly inching its way from the pavement toward his holster. The guy standing to my right held his position, waiting to make his move. “Take him, Dale,” the guy with the shades said to his partner.
Dale reached for his weapon, and a
s he pulled it, I shot two bullets in his direction. One hit him in the shoulder, the other shattered his gun hand. The pain sent him to his knees. The man with the shades pulled his weapon, lifted himself up, and fired one round. I felt the heat as it whizzed past, praying it didn’t hit a bystander. I moved to my left, took aim at the man in the shades, and fired one clean shot into his stomach. His gun fell from his hands and he clutched at his gut.
I moved quickly and kicked both guns away from the wounded men. I glanced around and was surrounded by construction workers and a handful of pedestrians. “Stay back,” I said. “It’s a police situation.”
I pulled my cell phone and speed-dialed the chief’s line. A woman answered on the second ring. “This is Tank Rizzo,” I said. “Tell the chief we’ve got a ten-thirteen on Thirty-fourth and Tenth Avenue. Send backup and a truck. There’s two down, both wounded. A federal agent is on the scene with a third gunman.”
I slid the phone off, holstered my gun, reached down and picked up the gunmen’s two weapons, and went to check on Bobby.
44.
HUDSON YARDS
MOMENTS LATER
BOBBY AND MARK WERE SQUARED off against each other. Their weapons were on the ground and they were both in crouched fighting position. Mark was bleeding from his lip and had a cut above his right eye. Bobby’s nose was bleeding and he was spitting blood. Bobby ducked under a right cross and landed two strong blows to Mark’s midsection, forcing him to bend at the waist. Bobby then lifted his left knee and landed it hard against the man’s face. Even from several feet away, I could hear the sound of bone splintering and see the geyser of blood flow down the man’s face and stream onto Bobby’s previously crisp white shirt. Bobby then reared back and landed one final blow to the left side of Mark’s head. He stood watching as the bigger man swayed and then fell to the pavement, his head landing with a hard thud on the cracked cement.
Payback Page 18
