A Bullet for Carlos

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  I took a seat to Chambers’ right, notepad ready. Tonight’s bust was going to be big, and I wanted nothing going wrong. Despite my fears, I was counting on this to finally bring me recognition beyond being a tough cop. These guys hadn’t done shit for years, but six months after I joined the team we rose to number-one status on drug busts. If I kept it up someone had to notice, especially since I was the only female on the team.

  Sean came in a moment later. “Hot coffee,” he announced, like he was a vendor on the street corner, then he handed one to each of us.

  “I still don’t like the idea,” Chambers said, his face twisted into a scowl.

  I saw this as my chance. “I’m glad you said it, Lieu. I’m not crazy about going in without backup. Not with drugs.”

  Sean took a swig of coffee and flopped into the seat across from me. “It’ll be okay. We can’t risk another failed bust, and remember, somebody leaked information last time. We can’t let that happen again.”

  “I don’t like it,” Chambers said, “but I sure as hell don’t want another bust going bad.” He shook his head, looked at me. “You okay with this, Gianelli?”

  I was shocked he asked my opinion, but it was also obvious it had come down to three against one. Wasn’t much I could say. “It should work,” I said, and shrugged. “If we have trouble, we give them the money and wait till next time.”

  “Give them the money, my ass.” The lieutenant laughed then looked to Jerry. “How about you, Rafferty? It’s your neck on the line?”

  I don’t know why Chambers bothered to ask Rafferty. We knew he stood with Sean.

  “Gianelli, you and Sean get a good look at me,” Jerry said. “I don’t want to be mistaken for a dealer.”

  “It should go down as planned,” Sean said, in between munches on a bagel.

  “Nobody’s getting shot,” Chambers said. “Nobody better get shot or it will be my ass.”

  “You clear it with the captain?” Jerry asked.

  “Yeah, I cleared it,” Chambers said, “but I had to promise my firstborn to get approval.”

  “Don’t worry, Lieu. It’s not a big deal. Just enough to get them to trust us.”

  For half an hour we went over who would be stationed where, then Sean and Jerry went through the whole thing again. Two hours later, Lieutenant Chambers looked at his watch. “Why don’t you take off early, catch a little rest and get there fresh.”

  “Sounds good,” Sean said, and stood to go. “Connie, I’ll see you at 10:00.”

  “I’ll be early,” I said to Sean, then gave Jerry a good-luck punch on the shoulder. It didn’t matter if I didn’t like him, we were in it together. “In case I don’t see you beforehand.”

  “Don’t forget who’s buying after,” he said.

  I raised my hands in surrender. “I know. I know. My turn to buy. See you guys at ten.” I turned to Sean before I left. “Say hi to Debbie and the boys.”

  I got home and tried to nap but was too wired up, so I put on my workout clothes, pulled my hair in a ponytail, and headed to the park for a run. I hated the thought of working out, but once I got started it felt good.

  As I made the turn near the giant oak tree with the low-hanging branches, anxiety set in, the kind that happened before every drug bust—that we’d get the scum and they would somehow be connected to Uncle Dominic or one of his crew. My gut churned, as if I’d swallowed nails. Tonight’s bust was tied to the Mexicans, but that didn’t stop the worry, or the nightmares. I worried more about that than I did getting popped in the head during a bust.

  I was half-tempted to quit running when Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” came on and provided enough spark to keep me going—maybe for a lifetime. I always had a thing for Bon Jovi, who was really John Bongiovi, an Italian from New Jersey hiding out as a rock star. The rock star part didn’t matter; he fit Uncle Dominic’s strict rules about who I could marry—Italian and male. The fact that Bon Jovi made me want to take my badge off, among other things, made it all the better. While dreaming of what I could do alone with him for a night, I found myself at the end of the run, still bursting with energy.

  When I got back to the house, I wiped off the sweat with a towel and reached into the fridge for a bottle of water. The shower called to me, but it would have to wait—undercover clothes went better with stink. For an instant I thought about the leftover Gorgonzola ravioli in the fridge, but I didn’t need that weighing me down tonight.

  “Hotshot, where are you?”

  Hotshot, my black, three-legged cat, came running from behind the sofa and brushed up against me. I never wanted a cat. Wasn’t a cat person. I found Hotshot when we busted a crack house. He was in the gutter, with an arrow through his chest and out the other side. He was scrabbling to try to get up the curb. We learned later that the local dealer shot him with an arrow because his owner didn’t pay up.

  It cost me a fortune—and two weeks of worrying to death—but I got Hotshot taken care of. He’s only got three legs now, but he gets along just fine.

  I got down on the floor next to him and stroked his head, as much to console him after a long day alone as to calm me down for what I had to do. I liked being a cop, but it brought fear with it, especially when dealing with drug dealers.

  “I’m scared, Hottie,” I said, admitting to my cat what I refused to admit to myself, or anyone else. I convinced myself it was a good luck mantra, but deep down I knew it for what it was—fear. I don’t know why death scared me. Dominic always told me that Mom was in a place where nothing went wrong, and she’d never be sick. I dreamed of joining her sometimes, comforted by thoughts of happiness, and eating pasta all day without gaining weight.

  Damn, that would be nice.

  A few hours later, I checked my gun—a 9mm Beretta—stuffed extra clips into my coat pocket, and pulled on a wool cap. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I headed for the door.

  I knew I’d be a cop when I was twelve. Hiding at the top of the stairs, I heard Uncle Dominic talking to his men about someone being killed. What I learned that night shocked me—Uncle Dominic, the sweet, loving man who cared for my mother and raised me after she died—was a mobster. Later in life a shrink told me that’s what drove me, that I became a cop to defy my uncle, and to prove that I wasn’t scum like him.

  I quit going to the shrink after that. I refused to listen to his bullshit or let him talk about Dominic the way he did. Dominic might be wrong—hell, he was wrong—but he was family. And nothing in life was more important than la famiglia. I said that to myself countless times. Dominic had drummed it into my head like the nuns did multiplication tables. The trouble was, I didn’t know if I believed it. I couldn’t worry about it now, though. I had work to do.

  I got my thoughts together, and within fifteen minutes I was with Sean, huddled under the awning of Birelli’s Bakery, rubbing my hands to keep warm while the wet February night gnawed at my flesh through ragged clothes and the holes in my shoes. I stared through the window at samples of cannoli and tadales, and tried to keep my stomach from growling. Crazy as it sounds, whenever I got scared, really scared, I got hungry. I wanted to break the glass and grab those pastries and run. Forget the bust and the badge, just go home with Hotshot, brew up an espresso, and eat pastries.

  I should have eaten that Gorgonzola ravioli.

  A gust of icy wind brought my mind to the present, forcing a shiver. I tucked my hair under the wool cap and wrapped a tattered scarf tighter around my neck.

  “Cold as shit,” Sean said. He kicked snow from his shoes, then stepped in place to keep his feet warm.

  I moved closer, shoved my hands into the coat pockets and looked over to Sean. “What time is it?”

  “Time to start worrying,” Sean said. He looked up and down the street then glanced at the watch. “This is bullshit. They were supposed to be here by now.” His breath formed a frosty cloud.

  “They’re drug dealers. Who the hell knows if they’ll be on time; besides, we’re gonna get this g
uy tonight.” I blessed myself, then returned to rubbing warmth into my hands. We had been after this dealer for eight months and he always eluded us.

  Not tonight, prick.

  Yeah, not tonight. I was talking tough, but scared shitless.

  Sean raised himself up on tiptoes and craned his neck. “Where the hell are they?”

  A chill ran up my spine. “Car coming.” I blew hot breath on cold fingers, and tucked myself into a corner. My heart was thumping so hard I was afraid Sean might hear. I think that bothered me more than the fear itself. There were a lot of women on the force now, but we were afraid to show our emotions, scared that the guys would call us “pussies.” My pulse hammered. Now I wished I argued more for backup.

  “If there are more than three of them, forget the bust,” Sean said. “Let Jerry do the deal and we’ll call it a night.”

  Jerry Rafferty waited in a maroon SUV parked near the corner, suitcase full of money on the seat beside him.

  An old Buick Electra rolled down the street and slowed down as it passed Jerry’s car. The driver stared into the window then continued through the intersection and parked half a block up. Four men got out and scanned the area. Soon a gray SUV came down the block, pulling into a space behind Jerry. Four more men exited and approached Jerry’s car from the sidewalk. He got out of the car and stood facing Juan, the dealer.

  I saw them talking, then what looked like arguing. I got a bad feeling in my gut. Stay calm, Jerry.

  Juan pushed Jerry against the wall. Jerry tried getting away, but Juan grabbed him and jammed a knife into the side of Jerry’s neck. He staggered, fell against the wall then tried to break free. Two of Juan’s guys got him.

  Goddamnit, we should have been wired. Should have had backup.

  I pulled my gun from inside my coat, grabbed Sean’s arm and yanked him to his feet. I ducked behind a parked car, then another, moving closer. “Police! Drop your weapons.”

  I crouched, moving to the next parked car, trying to get position on them. As I poked my head out they fired. I ducked behind the fender and Sean moved in next to me. Bullets slammed into the car’s front panel. “Get back,” I said. “Too many of them.”

  Sean was right behind me when one of the dealers came around the back of a pickup and fired two shots. One of them hit Sean in the left arm. He got off a round that took the guy down.

  “Sean, you all right?”

  “I’m shot! Let’s get out of here. Did you call backup?”

  “There is no backup.” My gut churned so bad I thought I’d throw up. The night I always worried about was here. I looked for a way out. “Back into that alley.”

  Sean was holding his arm, trying to stop the bleeding. “It’s a dead end.”

  “Yeah, but only one way in. We can hold them off better.”

  We ran with our heads low, ducking shots all the way. I dove behind a dumpster at the end of the alley but not before a bullet caught my leg, just above the knee. I rolled through garbage toward the wall. “Goddamn.” The pain in my leg felt like the jabbing of a knife, throbbing as if someone kept stabbing me over and over.

  Just as Sean was about to make it, a shot took him in the back. He lurched toward the wall. “I’m hit. I’m fuckin’ hit.”

  I crawled forward and dragged him to safety. It didn’t look good. He couldn’t move his legs. “Hang in there.” I’m sure my voice sounded calm but I was terrified.

  “Somebody set us up.”

  I patted his head while peeking around the side of the dumpster. “Hang in there. I’ll have you at the hospital soon.” A bullet hit the wall close by, then two more shots rang out. I tore off my coat, jerked off my flannel shirt, then tied one sleeve around my leg to stop the bleeding, and scooped a handful of snow to help the pain, maybe slow the bleeding. I used the rest of the shirt to apply pressure to Sean’s wound.

  Another shot hit the dumpster, then another. I cringed with each one, shaking like a goddamn coward. Sean squeezed my hand. “I can’t feel anything.” He stared up at me, tears in his eyes as he struggled for breath, face twisted by pain. A moment later his head fell to the side.

  “No! Don’t go, Sean.” I hugged him, put my fingers to his neck, checked for a pulse.

  Get hold of yourself, Gianelli.

  I took three deep breaths, then got the clips from Sean’s gun and stuffed them in my pocket. The extra ammo would help, but I couldn’t hold these guys for long. I reached for my phone, only to find it gone. It must have fallen out when I took my coat off. I looked around, felt for it too, but didn’t find it. The alley stunk of piss. As I crawled on the ground rummaging through the garbage, I worried about hitting a needle. Fear crawled up my gut, tightened my throat. I dug through Sean’s pocket, got his cell phone.

  Another round of fire blasted the alley, spraying the dumpster and the wall to the right. Several ricochets almost hit me. I tucked my head into my chest, damn near pissing my pants. “Son-of-a-bitch.” I’d been in tight spots before, but nothing like this.

  More bullets peppered the alley. The dealers were coming in now. I thought about Bobby Thompson, who had asked me to marry him once, and I thought about the fun I had playing with Zeppe’s kids. That could have been me; instead, I opened my door every night to a three-legged cat and some tropical fish. But those fish didn’t play with me, or laugh with me. Or sleep with me. I had nothing. And to top it off I was probably going to get killed in a stinking alley in Brooklyn.

  I crouched lower, gritting teeth from the throbbing pain in my leg, then peeked out from behind the dumpster and fired a few rounds. Couldn’t see shit, but I could make a good guess. Back behind the dumpster, I flipped the phone open and dialed a number that was burnt in memory. After two rings someone answered.

  “Pronto.”

  I didn’t have time to appreciate how wonderful that one word sounded, the strength of his deep voice, the accent, the pride. All conveyed with one simple word. “Uncle Dominic, I need help. Drug bust gone bad.”

  There was no hesitation. Uncle Dominic knew how to make tactical decisions. Given different circumstances he would have made a magnificent general. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in an alley across from Birelli’s. Got six, maybe seven, gang members out there. Already killed my partners.”

  “Don’t get brave. Help is on the way.”

  “Don’t know if I can last that long.” I paused. “Just in case…”

  “Stay put. It won’t be long.”

  “All right,” I said, but knew I was screwed. Uncle Dominic was in the Bronx. I’d never last that long.

  Chapter 3

  Missing Goods

  Three shots hit the dumpster, ringing loud and threatening. I buried my head in my arms, set the phone beside Sean, and did something I hadn’t done in years—I prayed.

  God, I don’t know if you listen to people like me. You probably think I got a lot of nerve asking you to rescue me when I abandoned you so long ago. But I’m not asking for me, God, so let’s make a deal. You get me out of this jam and you have my word that I will get these motherfu—sorry. I’ll get these guys that murdered Sean and Jerry. I’ll save you the trouble of intervening, if you still do that stuff.

  A new spurt of gunfire pounded the alley, peppering the walls. Brick pieces flew like shrapnel. I ducked, used my arms to cover my head, then poked out from behind the dumpster and fired a few more rounds. I couldn’t see the dealers, but if they knew I still had ammo they’d be more careful. Hell, maybe some concerned citizen would call the cops. Fat chance of that.

  There was a rustling of debris near the entrance to the alley. I lay down, head resting in some kind of sticky gook on the street. The stench of urine clogged my nose, almost gagging me. I inched forward, each movement another stab in my leg. I crawled just enough to see past the edge of the dumpster. Two of the drug dealers were coming in. Shadows were all I could see, but that would be enough if I let them get closer. I watched for a few seconds, judged how fast they advanced, then pu
lled back. As I moved into a crouch I grasped the gun with both hands and counted down. Almost.

  Five seconds later I stood, head above the dumpster, and fired. I didn’t stop until I emptied the clip. Both of the dealers went down. Panting, I dropped to my knees, using my arm to apply pressure to the leg while I punched another clip into the gun. I moved to the edge of the dumpster, stayed near the ground and peeked out.

  Shots sprayed the dumpster and the walls of the alley. I jumped back, barely avoiding a few ricochets. They had automatics. Jesus Christ, who are these people? I said another prayer. Maybe enough prayers would raise me a level so I could suffer in Purgatory.

  If something happens to me, God, please take care of Hotshot.

  During a brief lapse in gunfire, I heard tires squealing on the street. It couldn’t be Uncle Dominic already, unless he beamed over from the Bronx.

  Two Caddies raced down the street toward the alley. A Lexus came from the opposite direction. Halfway down the block they stopped, doors flying open. Four men got out of each of the Caddies, guns blazing. Three drug dealers went down with the first assault. The two that remained ran in the other direction but the three guys from the Lexus emptied their guns on them.

  The first guy out of the lead Caddy checked the scene then ran to the alley. “Connie, you okay?” A short pause, then he called again. “Connie, it’s okay, baby. Dominic sent us.”

  My heart pounded, and I had to catch my breath. Could it really be him? I poked my head out, leaning against the dumpster for support. Suspicion burnt a hole in my gut, but my leg was bleeding and I needed help. “How did you get here so fast?”

  “Dominic called me. We were only a few minutes away, at the club. Don’t worry. Get in the car, and I’ll take you to him.”

  I stepped forward, the gun pointed at him. “Who are you?”

  The big man standing in the alley laughed a deep belly laugh, the kind from someone who laughed loud and often. “You might not recognize me, but I know you. I was at your Christening, and your First Communion. I’m Manny Rosso.”