Vincent gave a quick nod of his head. “It’s too dangerous for her, for anyone, to be around me right now.”
“And yet you stay in New York. Why don’t you just leave, go somewhere else?”
“I should.” Vincent’s voice was soft. “But I can’t. I promised Ivan I’d keep her safe.”
“So… wouldn’t leaving keep her safe…er?” Ben searched Vincent’s face, waited for him to look up… because the eyes would tell him… Vincent looked up, and though a part of his frown remained, his eyes had softened… And Ben had his answer…
“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” Ben sighed. “I get it... You should talk to her, tell her what’s going on. Loathe as I am to give you an ‘in’ with her, she cares about you…” He looked Vincent up and down once. “Inexplicably.”
Vincent’s last remnants of a frown faded, and he smirked. “Inexplicably.” The smirk faded into a genuine smile. “You’re a good friend, Ben.”
“Yeah, well… not that good.” He glanced at the doors leading back to the Coolers. “You sure you don’t have to melt anybody?”
“Do you want me to check the drawers?” It wasn’t the first time since last October the Irishman had asked that… and Ben had a bad feeling it would not be the last for a long time. Vincent hadn’t waited for an answer and was already disappearing through the doors leading to the Coolers and autopsy. At least this time he didn’t have the gun out, Ben thought as he followed Vincent into the back.
Chapter 15
Home of Leonidas Jackson
Benson Avenue, Elmont (Queens)
Sam stared at the white door, her eyes roaming along the door frame, forest green trim, the brass door hardware. Her eyes moved away from it to the white siding of the house, the forest green shutters, the porch swing on the far end… She hadn’t been here in ages, and part of her wished she’d never knocked on that door. She still had time… she could turn and make a run for it before that door swung open. But… Sam raised her hand again, her knuckles hesitating above the door. Sooner or later… she needed to see him… and now she really needed to, not for absolution, but for guidance.
Sam’s knuckles were just about to connect with the door when it opened. She was instantly apprehensive when she saw who it was.
Julissa Jackson stared at her for a millisecond, a wave of emotions crashing across her regal face. Sam always marveled over how a woman who worked as a hair dresser while raising three kids under the age of twelve could manage to look so put together all the time. She honestly couldn’t think of a time when Julissa hadn’t had full makeup on, her cornrows perfectly done. She had to be in her forties, like her husband, but it certainly didn’t show.
The wave ended in a teary smile, and Julissa stepped out onto the porch, embracing Sam in a tight hug. “Samantha… He’ll be so glad to see you.”
**************
Leonidas Jackson winced as he shifted slightly in his chair. He was technically healed up, ready to go back to work, but the pain… He pressed his lips together tightly for a moment as the pain passed away. He relaxed, and focused on Sam. She’d been pacing up and down since she came in the room and, after they had exchanged pleasantries and an awkward hug, an uncomfortable silence had descended. He knew she felt badly... She’d made herself scarce after the events at the hospital, understandably so, and as time went on the phone calls became as non-existent as the visits. For a while, Lenny had to admit he was angry and bitter… But working through rehab for his physical injuries and counseling for the rest had helped him come to terms with it all, especially his partner’s role in all of it. It had been difficult, talking about what happened without talking about what REALLY happened. Not that he really knew what had happened. He’d been a bit unconscious and partially paralyzed at the time. But… Lenny watched his former partner continue to pace like a caged animal… he DID know what Ben had told him one day when the emo kid wandered into his hospital room with a get-well card and the story of everything that had gone down after he, Lenny, had hit the pavement in the hospital parking garage. He told him everything, and even the memory of what Ben had seen, what Sam had experienced, made tears well in his eyes.
Lenny shifted again, hoping to cover the sudden moisture with the excuse of back pain. Enough with the pacing, though… “Sam?”
She stopped, whirling around to face him, her expression startled as if she’d forgotten he was there. Lenny smiled. “Sammy, sit down… please.” He gestured to the chair next to him. Sam smiled weakly in response and scooted over, sitting down on the edge of the chair, her hands quickly coming together in her lap and fidgeting.
“Len… I’m sorry I --”
Lenny held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t, Sammy. There’s no need. We both…” He trailed off a moment, leaned forward and lowered his hand to cover hers, stopping the fidgeting as he continued. “We both went through hell. And I just want to be clear here. I don’t blame you in any way for anything that happened. But…”
“But?”
Lenny patted her hands a couple of times before he sat back. “I can’t get involved with this shit. I have a family to think of… and myself.”
Sam closed her eyes, cradling her head in her hands. “I know. I know.”
Lenny watched her for a moment, his eyes blinking slowly, almost closing at points. Then he took a deep breath, glanced at the door, presumably to see if anyone was listening. The faint sound of water running and dishes moving in the kitchen confirmed Julissa was out of hearing. Lenny turned toward Sam and lowered his voice. “What do you need?”
Sam didn’t look up, her head still in her hands, as she replied. “Do you know anybody in OCCB?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Because…” Sam lifted her head, her expression serious. She glanced briefly at the door. “I think someone in organized crime… maybe more than one someone… have been… indoctrinated, shall we say?” She arched an eyebrow as she looked at Lenny.
He nodded. “Indoctrinated. Right.” Lenny glanced at the door as well and decided to keep the cover going… what Julissa didn’t know… “Right. And we know this because…?”
“I saw some Albanians at church the other night. Among many, many others.”
Lenny’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his cornrows. “Church? Gotcha.” He cleared his throat, the eyebrows descending rapidly into a thoughtful frown. He started to nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know someone you could talk to. I’ll make a call, set up a meeting. Good?”
Sam nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Len.”
“Good. Now… do me a favor?”
“Sure, Len… Anything.”
Lenny smiled, jerked his head toward the door. “I’ve got two Stellas in the fridge with our names on them. Sit here and have a beer with me, will you?”
Sam smiled and nodded. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 16
“FAT CAT” Jazz and Billiards Club
75 Christopher Street
The sounds of improvised jazz, laughter and conversation filled Sam’s ears as she entered the popular night spot. She’d been there before with Lenny, so she wasn’t at all surprised when he called her three days after her visit to tell her he’d set up a meeting here. She glanced around, trying to search for her contact without looking like she was searching for someone. Chalk it up to the run in at 1PP, or perhaps just the by-product of her crazy hormones, but Sam was feeling a bit paranoid lately, unable to fight the feeling that she was being watched constantly. It was a full house tonight, and difficult to scent individuals, which made her even more anxious… plus she was worried about this guy. Lenny had said he was cool, that he could likely give her the information she was seeking and wouldn’t blow her in. It was becoming clear, though, the sanctity of the NYPD was being breached by werewolves, or at the very least by individuals who could be classified as sympathizers. Her gaze travelled over men and women of varying ages… couples, singles, groups of either sex, or mixed. The space was fairly wel
l-balanced with people, from the bar to the shuffleboard tables and ping pong tables in the back. Several of the pool tables were busy, including one that was surrounded by a large group of college-age guys and gals. A live group was playing toward the center of the room with a cluster of occupied tables surrounding them as they ended one classic and smoothly transitioned into the next. Farther away from the low stage dais were more tables, these occupied with customers enjoying drinks and board games. Sam could see backgammon, checkers and chess on the tables near her… and a few steps away the characteristic sound of letter tiles shaking in a bag.
Then she spotted him… He was seated at a table, a half-empty glass of beer in front of him. He was good looking in a middle-aged sort of way, a little to round in the belly, his hair thin on top of his head. His clothing said casual dress and, while clean and stylish, was clearly not high-end or designer. He was staring at her, his watery green eyes searching for some sign of recognition. Sam gave a jerk of her head in acknowledgement and started weaving through the table to join him. “Walter?”
Walter Stefanovich nodded slightly, taking her outstretched hand. “Hello.” He motioned with the other hand to the empty chair across from him. “Can I get you something?”
Sam glanced down at the half-empty chalice on the table. “A Stella would be great.” Stefanovich smiled stiffly and stepped away to the bar as Sam eased herself into the chair. Clapping and some cheering from the pool tables drew her attention, though the volume of the crowd watching whatever game was going on made it impossible for her to see the table itself or who was playing.
“So,” Sam looked back quickly, startled by the OCCB detective’s voice being so close to her. Her drink had been deposited on the table in front of her, the trademark foam floating tastefully at the top and just barely over the edges.
“Thank you.”
Stefanovich nodded and sat down. “So… Lenny said you had some questions about... the Albanians?”
Sam kept her expression neutral, though she was a little surprised at the direction this conversation appeared to be taking. She didn’t remember talking about Albanians, but –
“As I understand it,” Stefanovich began, “well, you were in Narcotics, right?” He waited for Sam’s nod before continuing. “You know anything about the Albanians?”
“They operate out of that social club on Arthur Avenue… or did.”
Stefanovich nodded. “Yeah, they still do. Mikael Dushku is the top man, although most of the time he’s sitting outside the club, sipping Turkish coffee and watching. Just watching.” He took a sip of his beer, glanced around furtively, then continued on. “About four months ago, we noticed some chatter… UCs started to relay information about a new kind of drug, new business ventures. Then… UCs started disappearing.”
Sam nearly choked on her sip of beer. “Disappearing? Like gone gone?”
“Completely gone. And not just those on the Albanians. UCs all over the city… As soon as they tuned into this drug and the network that was pushing it, they disappeared without a trace. Although there have been rumors they were seen… at the mortuary… but no bodies were every released.”
Sam nodded slowly, her brow furrowed as she took a sip of her beer. She had to remember to ask Ben about that one. “This Dushku guy has a son, right? Dark hair, Slavic look, big?”
Stefanovich nodded quickly. “Yep. He’s still a capo in the family, although he and his father have had a falling out over business dealings. Now…” He glanced around nonchalantly, looking over to the pool tables, then back toward the bar. Clearly he was checking the place out, noting who was near them. Clearly, if Detective Stefanovich had ever been an undercover officer, it had been a long time because his surveillance of the room was about as subtle as an outhouse. Sam stifled a chuckle with another sip of her beer.
Stefanovich leaned forward, resting his elbows on the small table, a movement that nearly took up all available space on top save for the two beer chalices. “Lenny said you’ve heard about the new drug.”
“The PERV-E? Yeah, I’ve heard a bit about it. Seen it, too.”
“It started appearing on the streets about four months ago.” Stefanovich paused, reaching in his pocket and pulling several index cards. “Every time I’ve run into it, I’ve documented it. I’m… a bit obsessive like that.”
Sam smiled. “Sounds like due diligence to me.”
That garnered a genuine smile from Stefanovich. “Thank you. These…” He paused a moment, leafing through the index cards and tapping them into a neat even pile again before handing them to her. “These are my notes from every scene where PERV-E was found. Sometimes it was just an errant pill or two nearby, some were clearly deals gone bad. One was an actual, well, shipment or order or whatever you want to call it. There were several deaths attributed to it as well.” Sam took the cards from him, tucking them quickly into the pocket of her jeans. “I don’t know… what good it will do you, but…”
“Thank you. It’ll help, I’m sure of it.”
“Good.” A tense silence descended as Stefanovich took several long sips from his beer. Then he set the chalice down and looked at her very directly. “This, uh… this is about what happened last fall, isn’t it?”
Sam looked down, studying the foam of her beer very intently as she nodded slowly and murmured, “Sort of.”
The older detective nodded, then shook his head. “Lenny and I… we go back a long way, but he would never tell me what DID happen.” Sam opened her mouth to speak, but Stefanovich held up a hand. “I don’t need to know. It’s probably best that I don’t.”
Sam fought a smile as she replied. “Probably. Yeah.”
“Will he and his family be safe?”
“I’ll do everything that I can.” Sam watched as he nodded, accepting her answer as the only assurance he was ever likely to get.
“That’s good enough for me.” Stefanovich drains the remnants of his beer. “Right then.” He looked up at her, his gaze very intent. “Be careful, Officer Karolyi. This all… I’ve been in OCCB a long time, I’ve seen a lot of bad shit, but this…?” He shook his head slowly. “This is much deeper, and more far-reaching than I’ve ever seen. You’ll see when you read my notes. For your sake, and for the sake of those depending on you… be careful.”
Sam touched the pocket where the index cards were safely tucked. “I will… thank you… for everything.”
Stefanovich nodded quickly, and stood up almost as quickly. “Take care.”
“And you,” Sam responded, but Stefanovich was already moving away through the crowd toward the exit. Curiouser and curiouser… Sam thought as she took several generous sips of her beer. She’d been nursing it while Stefanovich was there, wanting to stay focused on him, on what he was saying… but mostly on him. Regardless of his history with Lenny, she had to admit she didn’t really trust him. She quickly drained her beer and rose to leave. Those index cards were burning a hole in her pocket and she wouldn’t feel satisfied until she could sit safely at home and read through them. She hadn’t taken more than a step when she smelled it… smelled HIM.
Sam parted her lips, inhaling deeply through her nose and mouth, tasting the mint and cigarettes, the musky maleness, and as a famous toucan often said, she followed her nose…
A shout went up from the group of coeds surrounding the pool table, and Sam’s attention turned there. Inhaling again, she could tell that Vincent was… there. The crowd parted slightly, enough to reveal Vincent bent over the pool table, pool cue carefully propped on his arched fingers, his eyes fixed on the white cue ball, and the two-colored balls beyond it. As she moved closer, Sam could see that the “8” ball was part of the line-up he was trying to sink. Ambitious, to say the least, but judging by the expressions of the dude he was playing, along with the kid’s buddies that were surrounding him, he’d already sunk shots as difficult as this, perhaps more so, and they knew it.
Vincent’s eyes were fixed on the cue ball and those beyond. He took a de
ep breath, and for a moment his eyes flickered in Sam’s direction. He let out the breath with a whoosh, then took the shot, the tip of his cue stick impacting with the cue ball, sending it barreling down the table. It hit the pair of colored balls that marked the first stage of the shot, sending each rolling briskly to opposite holes on the table. They both disappeared into those holes, and the cue ball continued on. It hit the 8-ball, sending the black and white ball to the right and the corner pocket. It rolled slowly, perhaps too slowly, and as it neared the hole it slowed to almost nothing. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, those in the back craning their necks in order to see if the handsome Irishman’s shot was going to clear the table or not. For a moment it looked as if the ball was going to stop right… on… the…edge… Then it disappeared, plunking down into the hole and clattering inside the table down to the end.
The end of the game was met with a mixture of applause and groans. The group of coeds who had been playing Vincent moved away from the pool table with plenty of shoulder clapping and comforting words being delivered on the way. Vincent quickly scooped up the money on the table, but didn’t pocket it. Instead, he stopped a waitress clearly returning to the bar, her tray full of empty bottles and glasses. Vincent tucked the money on the tray, and motioned to the coeds he had been playing. “However many rounds you can get out of this for that lot over there…” He pointed to the group and waited until she acknowledged that she saw them. “And keep $50 for yourself.” The waitress smiled at him, nodded again, then moved on, her route changing slightly so she could take the drink orders of the group.
Quicksilver (The Bloodline Series Book 2) Page 9
