Payback

by Lorenzo Carcaterra

  Bobby reached out a hand and held him in place. “You can do that later,” he said to Strassman. “This agent will take you where you need to go. You can make your call from there.” Bobby glanced up at Alban and said, “He’s all yours.”

  Alban nodded and wrapped a large hand around Strassman’s right arm. “Thank you,” he said to Bobby.

  “Make sure he doesn’t get away,” Bobby said to Alban.

  “You have my word,” Alban said.

  Alban walked Strassman down the long corridor, passing agents sorting through files and desks, and out the door for the last time.

  Alban turned toward an exit door, swung it open, and started down the stairwell with Strassman in tow. “Where are you taking me?” Strassman asked. “I demand to know where you are taking me!”

  Alban stopped and glared at Strassman. “We’re making two stops,” he said to the accountant. “The first is to visit a young lady who you may not remember. A young lady you ruined for life. I want her to see your face, and I want her to know that what you did to her, you will never do to anyone again.”

  Strassman’s legs buckled and his upper body shook. Alban held him up and squeezed his arm harder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all Strassman managed to say.

  “Lying about what happened won’t get you out of it,” Alban said. “And then the stop we make after our visit will be the final stop. Your final stop. The time has come, Strassman, for you to say farewell to the world.”

  “You’re no damn FBI agent,” Strassman said, regaining some of his bluster. “Who the hell are you?”

  “That’s correct,” Alban said. “I’m not an FBI agent. But by the end of this day, you’ll wish with all your heart I were.”

  They walked down the remaining stairs in silence and exited a side door of the building. A white van was parked by the curb, and two men stepped out and took Strassman from Alban. They dragged him into the back of the vehicle, got in, and closed the doors behind them. Alban got in the passenger side and nodded to the driver.

  “That FBI windbreaker looks good on you,” the driver said to Alban as he shifted the van into gear and out into street traffic.

  Alban smiled. “I think I’ll keep it,” he said. “It might come in handy one day.”

  59.

  CHELSEA PIERS PARKING GARAGE

  LATER THAT DAY

  I WAITED IN THE DARKNESS OF the parking lot, my back to the Hudson River. I could see the car—a new Mercedes four-door sedan, black exterior, tinted windows all around. Dim lighting filtered in from the pier. It was a hot, humid night, and the mild breeze coming off the river offered the only relief. I turned to my left when I heard the footsteps and saw the man walking slowly, one hand reaching into his jacket pocket for his car keys. He pressed down on a button and the doors unlocked, the engine kicked over, and the lights turned on.

  I waited until the man was a few feet away from his car, and then I stepped out of the shadows and crossed in front of him. I was finally face-to-face with the firm’s fixer, Samuel Butler.

  “I thought it was time me and you had a talk,” I said.

  “I make it a point not to talk to cops,” Butler said. “Retired or not.”

  “I figure you to be a guy in the know,” I said. “So, you probably already heard, the firm’s been shuttered by the feds. They’ve been hit with so many charges I’ve lost count. James Curtis has been arrested, waiting to post bond. The other two partners? Hard to say. But somehow I don’t think they’ll have a chance to post bond.”

  “I was just a consultant,” Butler said. “Nothing more than that. One firm goes down, a dozen others will be in need of a guy like me.”

  “Don’t go modest on me now, Butler,” I said. “You handled the firm’s problems and made them go away. In some cases, cash did the trick. Maybe even a free trip to somewhere nice. But when none of those options were on the table, you moved on to murder.”

  “You know, I told Randolph it was a mistake to meet with you,” Butler said. “And an even bigger mistake to take money from that old mob guy friend of yours. It was too many people with connections to your brother. And that wasn’t a smart way to go. But Randolph didn’t listen to me. Truth is, he seldom did.”

  “I don’t know which of the two of you decided to kill my brother and his wife,” I said. “The smart money tells me Randolph asked you to take care of it and you did. You messed with his car, sliced some of the brake lining, and fiddled with the electronics. Now, on my own, I wouldn’t have known any of that. But my brother left behind a very smart young man. And it was his son, my nephew, who figured it out. So you have him to thank. He fingered you for murder. Not me. I’m just the messenger.”

  “That sounds awfully hard to prove in a court of law,” Butler said. “Besides which, you can’t arrest me. You can pretend to be a cop all day, every day. But you’re not. Not anymore.”

  “I’m not here to arrest you, Butler,” I said. “I came here to kill you.”

  Butler looked at me for a moment and then he lunged, both arms spread wide, catching me at chest level and sending us both sprawling to the ground. He scrambled to his knees and landed two solid blows against my rib cage. I swung an elbow across his face, the jab landing just below his jawline, and he fell off me. We got to our feet and circled each other, swinging and missing with punches. He swung another right hand toward me; I ducked it, grabbed his arm, and tossed him against his car. Then I landed several hard blows against his chest and arms. I grabbed his head and rammed it against the trunk. I kept at it until I saw blood coming out of his nose and mouth. I pulled him off the car and threw him violently to the ground.

  Butler had his hands flat on the grimy cement, attempting to catch his breath as I reached over and kicked him in the legs and ribs. I stepped back and waited as he slowly got to his feet, bent over, bleeding, desperate to breathe.

  “That all you got?” I said. “It’s easy to take a man down when he’s not standing across from you. When he can’t see what’s coming. It gets a little harder the closer you get.”

  “You can beat me all you want and then get me tossed into a cell,” Butler said between gasps of breath. “None of that is going to bring back your brother and that pretty wife of his. They’ll still be dead.”

  I left my feet and landed on top of Butler’s chest. The force caused his head to hit the ground hard, with a loud thud. I threw several dozen punches at him, as many as I could, hitting him in the face, neck, chest, and arms. My anger was once again released at full volume, and I didn’t stop until I could barely lift my arms. I looked down at Butler and saw glazed eyes and a bloody face. I got up off him slowly and rested my hands against my knees. I had my head down, my eyes closed, when I heard Butler’s voice. “You’ve been off the job too long, Tank,” he snarled. “You didn’t search me when you had the chance. You should always search a suspect, remember?”

  I opened my eyes and saw Butler, a small-caliber gun in his right hand, easing himself off the ground. He spit out a thick patch of blood and looked at me. “Don’t bother going for your gun,” he said. “Mine’s out. Yours is holstered.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I said.

  Samuel Butler shrugged. “It’s your death wish,” he said.

  He lifted the gun and aimed it at me. I reached for my holstered weapon. Three shots rang out from the other side of the garage, two catching Butler in the chest and one in the stomach. The force of the bullets sent him off his feet, and I watched him hit the ground with one final, fatal fall.

  I didn’t need to go and check on him. I knew.

  Samuel Butler, the man who killed my brother and his wife, the man who made my nephew an orphan, was now dead.

  I turned to my right and saw Carmine standing there, a warm gun in his right hand. “What the hell are you doing here?” I said.

  Ca
rmine walked closer to me. “I forgot where I parked my car,” he said.

  “Why did you take him out?” I asked.

  “You said it yourself, Tank,” Carmine said. “You touch family and you die. You’re family. So is Chris. And your brother was, too. Butler touched all of you. He had to go down. That’s how I’ve lived my life. Too late to make changes to it now.”

  “I could have taken him,” I said.

  Carmine took a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the prints off the gun and handed it to me. “And, as far as anyone is concerned, you did just that.”

  Carmine reached out and we gave each other a warm embrace. “You take care of your business here,” he said, letting me go and walking into the darkness of the parking area. “I’ll see you back at the ranch. There’ll be a nice bottle of Brunello waiting for you. We can raise a glass to family.”

  60.

  DE WITT CLINTON PARK

  TWO DAYS LATER

  I HAD PASSED THE WORD TO our CI, Livingstone, that I wanted a meeting with Eddie Kenwood. The ex-cop was as eager as I was to settle our differences and jumped at the offer. I chose De Witt Clinton because it was large—stretching from Fifty-second Street to Fifty-fourth Street, between Eleventh and Twelfth Avenues—and it was not heavily trafficked late at night.

  I stood near the entrance to the park, my back leaning against the thick base of the World War I memorial that greeted anyone who entered, a statue of a soldier from that epic confrontation standing proud above me. Behind me, the park was an array of gardens, sprinkler pools, playgrounds, dog runs, and an immense ball field where semi-pro baseball games were played throughout the summer. I always thought it to be one of the prettiest parks in the city and one of the least well known.

  “No sign of Kenwood yet,” Carl said into my earpiece. “But we counted at least a dozen of his guys in different parts of the park.”

  “I didn’t think he would come alone,” I said. “How far away did you park?”

  “My van’s on Fifty-fifth Street,” Carl said. “Me and Alexandra. Second van is on Fifty-fourth, on Eleventh.”

  “That’s the one with me and Bruno, partner,” Pearl said. “We’re not far away, and we’ll be there soon as you need us.”

  “What about Alban’s crew?” Carl asked. “Any idea where they are?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “They’re here somewhere. They do their best work in the dark.”

  “And don’t forget about me,” Chief Connors said. “I’m in the command car. We have the neighborhood cordoned off but not in any way Kenwood should notice. We’ll have cabs and vehicles rotating up and down the avenues. Even have a few couples walking past, holding hands and eating ice cream cones. Just like any other normal summer night.”

  I took a deep breath and looked up at the darkened sky for stars. Eddie Kenwood came up next to me, a wide smile on his face. “You picked a nice spot,” he said. “I used to play ball in a summer league on that field back there. I was pretty good, too. We won more than our share.”

  “I didn’t ask you to meet with me to talk about your baseball career,” I said. “We got more important things to go over.”

  “Let me take a stab at it,” Kenwood said. “You’re going to offer me a deal. I don’t tell anybody about your murder, and you don’t tell anybody about mine. Did I nail it?”

  “Not even close,” I said. “I don’t really care what you say about me and who you say it to. Your words have no weight.”

  “So why are we here, Tank?”

  “Your time is up, Kenwood,” I said. “You played your game for far too long and got away with far too much. You and the rest of your dirty crew—the ones lying in wait for me right now. You’re all going down. I don’t care much about the rest of them. But I do care about you.”

  “You’re not taking me in,” Kenwood said. “So what if I killed Rachel Nieves? She’s long dead, and the confessed killer is spending another sleepless night in a prison cell. And me? I got away with it. Just like you did. Considering what we both got in common, the two of us should be friends instead of blood enemies.”

  “We were never meant to be friends, Kenwood,” I said. “Not when we were on the job and for sure not off it.”

  Kenwood shrugged and sighed. “Then I suppose it’s not going to be the happy ending I was hoping for.”

  “You got two coming up behind you,” Pearl said into my earpiece. “From the corner side.”

  “I see you brought along some friends,” I said.

  “I don’t like to travel alone,” Kenwood said. “Especially at night. The city’s never as safe as they say it is.”

  I turned and faced two of Kenwood’s crew; both were holding iron bars in their hands and looking to their boss for the signal. “I’ll let you three get acquainted,” he said. “And in the event you make it past these two, there’s a bunch more waiting for you all across the park.”

  “You were never one to fight your own battles, Kenwood,” I said, turning back to him. “Unless you went up against a defenseless young woman or an old man like Zeke Jeffries.”

  “Why take a chance, right, Tank?” Kenwood said, smiling. “I forgot you and that crippled partner of yours were tight with Zeke back in the day. You should have let him be. He was happy and content sitting on park benches, watching basketball games, and talking about his glory days. Didn’t need you nosing around.”

  “You took him out for talking to me and Pearl,” I said. “I should kill you just for that.”

  “But you won’t, Tank, will you?” Kenwood said. “Because deep down, you know as well as I do, I’ll beat that rap, too. You can’t touch me and you never could. Not once in all these years.”

  “That’s because I never came looking for you,” I said. “Until now.”

  Kenwood nodded over my shoulder at his two men. “Take good care of my old friend here,” he said to them.

  I didn’t turn to face the men again. I kept my eyes on Eddie Kenwood.

  “You should forget about me and deal with what’s behind you, Tank,” he said.

  “There’s nothing behind me I need to be concerned about,” I said.

  Two of Alban’s men jumped out from behind a thick row of hedges and ran their knives into Kenwood’s two men, who, seconds earlier, were going to beat me to death with their iron pipes. I glanced behind me—Alban’s duo had disappeared as fast as they had appeared.

  “You’re right,” I said to Kenwood. “This city is a lot more dangerous than they say it is.”

  Kenwood looked at his two fallen men and then at me. “I figured you’d come with company,” he said.

  “I must admit, it’s nice to have friends,” I said. “Especially around guys like you.”

  Kenwood turned and ran. He passed the benches and made a left toward the bathrooms. I followed him as fast as I could run. “He’s making his way to the baseball field,” I said into my earpiece.

  “He won’t be alone once he gets there,” Pearl said. “His crew is moving in that direction, too. Might as well make a game of it. Me and Bruno will catch up with you there.”

  “Carl, you and Alexandra stay in the van,” I said as I ran past the bathrooms, heading toward the gate leading to the ball field. “Understand?”

  “We hear you,” Carl said. “We don’t like it, but we hear you.”

  “Did you pick up everything Kenwood said off my body mic?” I asked.

  “Every word,” Carl said. “He admitted to killing Rachel and Zeke. Picked it up clean and clear.”

  “You got him on two murder raps, Chief,” I said.

  “I heard,” the chief said. “We’ll move in and sweep up the whole bunch of them.”

  “Not just yet, Chief,” I said. “Please. As a favor to me. Let me and Pearl be the ones who hand him over to you.”

  “You got Alban�
��s crew out there,” the chief said. “They can turn this whole thing bloodier than the Red Wedding in no time flat.”

  “I’ll make sure it doesn’t get to that,” I said.

  “If I see it turning bloody, I’m sending everybody in and bringing it to a stop,” the chief said. “Until then, Eddie Kenwood’s all yours.”

  61.

  DE WITT CLINTON PARK

  MOMENTS LATER

  THE LIGHTS IN THE BALL field had been turned on. I was in the center of the large area, Pearl to my right and Bruno to my left. Kenwood stood in front of a pack of six of his crew members. Alban and a half dozen of his men were stationed around the perimeter of the park.

  I walked closer to Kenwood, stopping when I was less than five feet away. I looked past him at the men surrounding him. “I’m only here for your boss,” I said to them. “Take a look around. The two behind me won’t get into the fight unless they have to. The ones around the park just need a nod from their leader and they will kill each and every one of you and strip you of everything you have on you. If that happens, it will be because you made the call. This fight is between me and Kenwood, and if you let it play out that way, you’ll walk away alive.”

  Kenwood glanced back at his men and saw the hesitation and heard the quiet mumblings. “But you’re not going to walk away free,” he said to them. “He’s got this place surrounded by cops. If you don’t believe that, then you’re just kidding yourselves. You’ll be busted before you can get to the gate leading out of here.”

  “He’s not lying to you,” I said. “There are cops with eyes on every single inch of this park. But so far, from what I can see, you’ve done nothing to give the cops reason to arrest you. You lift a hand or a weapon to me or to the two behind me, though, then you’ve crossed a line, and that, as you all well know, leads to handcuffs. And if you should be foolish enough to lift a hand to the ones standing around the perimeter, you’ll be pulling back a stump.”