The newcomer took in a deep breath and let it slowly out his nose. Then he pulled off his sunglasses revealing eyes as black as two chunks of coal, but Gunny could see that under enough pressure they would become as hard as diamonds.
“My name is Lorenzo Lucania and we’re here because I know you help cops in trouble.” He looked around to make sure that no one was listening in, but it was early in the evening still and the tables around them were empty.
“Lucania. Good name,” Gunny said. “That was Lucky Luciano’s real name. Any relation?”
“Actually, yes, but nobody in my family brags about it anymore,” he said. He held a hand out.
Gunny took his hand and shook it firmly. “Call me Gunny. From my days in the Corps.”
“That’s what I heard. That’s one reason I figured I could trust you. I spent a few years in too.”
A woman ghosted past, and Gunny waved her in. He ordered two more rums, and Lorenzo called for scotch, neat. When she was out of earshot, Gunny said. “So, what you been doing since the military? At first I thought you were a crook.”
Nah, when I got out, I just traded my cammies for a blue uniform. And this outfit in this place is no worse than any other costume. Everybody will think I’m playing at being a criminal.”
“Which you are, right?” Gunny asked as their drinks arrived.
“Yeah, but it’s every day. I’m undercover for the NYPD.”
Gunny hadn’t expected it to just come hitting him in the face like that. This guy was taking a big risk being so up front. Either that or he’d researched Beyond Blue Investigations a lot better than most ever could. If he had reached the point of being careless, Gunny had to know.
“How long you been under, Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo’s eyes wandered, but Gunny knew he was only pretending to watch the beautiful blonde writhing on the dance floor. “I’ve been with the Lacata machine for almost six years now. I’m a made man. And I’m finally getting pretty close to Anthony Lacata. It took longer than expected.”
“Six years?” Gunny looked at Lorenzo in disbelief. “Six years a long time to be somebody else.”
“Six years to get to be running their rackets on the East Side,” Lorenzo said, with something that sounded a lot like pride. “I’m telling you, I’m living it every day. Every day. But I got to tell you, Robinson…”
“Gunny.”
“Gunny, I can’t do this no more.” Lorenzo’s brows had fallen together under the weight of that admission. Gunny looked into Lorenzo’s eyes and he knew it was true. Something in there was fading away, withering, about to go dead. It could be something as hard to weigh as the man’s soul. He swallowed half his drink.
“Then you got to go to your control and tell him you’re through,” Gunny said. “I don’t care where you are in your investigation. I’m telling you from experience, buddy. By the time you think you’ve been under too long, you’re already way past it. There’s no shame in admitting that, not after six years as a hood.”
“I ain’t afraid to admit it,” Lorenzo said, tipping Scotch down his throat. “I’m ready to come in. They just won’t let me.”
“What?” Gunny asked, louder than he intended.
“I’m so close to the brass ring that City Hall wants me to stick it out. That’s the trouble I’m in. I’m trapped on the wrong side of the door. Do you think you can help me open it?”
Gunny was rock solid sure that this man should be a client of BBI, and the solution looked pretty simple. They just had to find the right guy to lean on. “Who’s your control?” he asked.
“Name’s Vic Warner,” Lorenzo said, sliding a card across the table to Gunny. “He’s head of a special citywide task force against organized crime. Thinks he’s Elliott Ness or somebody, but the truth is, he got lucky when he met me. And now he wants to ride me right into the mayor’s office with the total breakup of the Lacata machine.”
Gunny handed Lorenzo a card in return. “I know you already got our number at the office, but here’s mine at home, just in case. We’re going to take your case and we’re going to get you out from under before you go nuts.” Lorenzo responded with a sad smile, shaking his head just a bit. “What?” Gunny asked. “You don’t believe me?”
“This task force is pretty high profile, high priority for the current mayor. I mean, he follows its progress very closely. Your guys got that kind of juice?”
Gunny grinned. “You don’t know Paul Gorman, do you?”
Chapter Eight
Ruby had dated gypsies, politicians, gamblers, thieves, captains of industry and once, real live royalty. But she had to admit, she had never been on a date like this one, and it was indeed turning out to be fun.
The Bronx Zoo billed itself as the world’s greatest zoo, and for all Ruby knew, it was probably true. After passing under the metal arches, Statue of Liberty green from corrosion, she had read a plaque that said there were more than 4,000 animals there.
The sun was stationed high in the sky, making the day unseasonably warm, so Ruby wore simple beige slacks and carried a sweater that would take care of her if the weather suddenly turned. Rafael had settled for khakis and a knit shirt, and designer sneakers that probably cost more than the balance of his outfit. They were in the area aptly named the World of Birds, and Ruby could hear the whistles, clicks and calls of a hundred different flying species. Rafe sprang from cage to cage with that Kid-at-Christmas grin on his face, dragging Ruby along. His childlike, as opposed to childish, enthusiasm was contagious and soon Ruby was reliving some of her best childhood memories.
“So, did I surprise you?” Rafe asked in front of the birds of paradise cage.
“Sugar, you surprised me when you showed up this morning. After wearing my shoes out until closing time at the S.O.B., I never thought you’d make it back to my place and here before noon. And where did you ever learn to dance to that crazy shit?”
“What? After you master the samba you naturally move on to soca, then calypso and compas. Then, you know, zouk, rara, vodou…”
“When do you sleep, boo? Still, I caught up to you on the salsa. And the merengue.” She did a few steps, hands high, shaking her ice cream cone like a maraca.
“Look at you go, mommy. Hey, what you like best about being here, eh?”
“I think the best thing is having ice cream for lunch,” Ruby said, dragging her tongue provocatively across her Nutty Buddy.
“Now that’s hot.”
“You should see me eat a banana, sugar,” she said with a wink. They were both so relaxed that Ruby was surprised when Rafe turned toward the cages again and got serious. He was staring at the birds of paradise again, their brilliantly colored feathers and long decorative plumes a symbol of all the beauty in the world.
“Isn’t they something?” Rafe said. “But you know, it’s their gorgeous plumage that puts them in danger. Sometimes it’s safer to maintain a low profile, you know? Don’t show everybody what you got, keep it hid, except for somebody special.”
Spoken like a true drug smuggler, Ruby thought. But when she took his hand, Rafe seemed to shake off the thoughtful mood. “Hey, ever been nose to nose with a Siberian tiger?”
They wandered up the Tiger Trail toward the exhibit called Tiger Mountain, surrounded by Far Eastern plants. The zoo was far less crowded than Ruby had expected. Maybe everybody thought it was only there in the summer. She was glad she didn’t have to deal with giant crowds anyway, because it made it easier to talk to Rafe and if he relaxed enough, something valuable was sure to fall out.
When the big cats came into view, it was Ruby who was totally relaxed. Tiger Mountain was a huge area that at first didn’t even appear to be enclosed. They stepped into an open pavilion with glass on three sides, inset deep into the tigers’ territory. She loved watching the carnivores wander slowly around their own space. Together she and Rafe walked up to the glass panel in front of the pool. One of the tigers stood up and lethargically wandered over toward a showerhead. When h
e got beneath it, it started a misting spray to cool the cat down.
“Very cool,” Ruby said. “They must be motion activated.” Rafe looked relieved. Didn’t he think she’d like the cats?
“Okay, Chica, you stay right here and enjoy the cute kitties, alright. I need to go find the men’s room.”
Ruby barely nodded as Rafe walked away. One particular tiger with broader stripes than the others mesmerized her. He was clearly lord of all he surveyed, and his territory must have been a good three acres from what she could see. Her eyes stayed on the beast as she poked one of the touch screen monitors that described all of the different activities the zoo arranges for the animals.
“Yeah, it’s a jail, but a pretty nice one, isn’t it?” she asked the tiger. “Almost like home.” She scanned the video monitors that let visitors view the trainers and animals that were not out in the open. But her attention was always drawn back to that one big fellow. And now she seemed to have gotten his attention as well. The animal strolled toward her as she stood transfixed by its eyes. He stopped just a few feet from the glass and tipped his head to one side, as if to ask, “What are you looking at?”
What indeed, Ruby asked herself. Not the mark she was following, that was for sure. Her eyes wandered to the screens again. One of the trainers was talking to someone off camera. Then he handed something to the unseen man. Only the other man’s hand came into view, but for Ruby that was enough, because it was his left hand. A Breitling chronograph clung to that wrist. Too expensive to be called a watch. The dial, blue backed with three small dials set into it, was not something you see every day. That is, unless you hold hands with Rafael Sandoval.
The package had been small, like a bag lunch. Were they storing drugs in Tiger Mountain? Nobody would go in there after their stuff, that’s for sure. But if Rafe was the big man she thought he was, why would he be receiving such a small shipment? Recreational use? Did he plan to get her high later?
Now Ruby waited for Rafe to return with a different attitude. She moved back from the glass, just a step, and adjusted her focus. It still looked as if she was watching the big tiger, but in fact now she was watching the reflection in the glass of the space behind her. This way she’d see his body language as he approached, without his being aware that she was watching him. She could watch him walk toward her, and it might tell her a great deal about whether he felt guilty.
But she never got the chance. What she did see was Rafe sprinting past the pavilion behind her. He was running like a track star, those overpriced sneakers carrying him back toward the car. Whatever he had taken from the tiger’s trainer, he sure didn’t want to carry it around all afternoon while he walked with her. Well, he’d be gone for a couple more minutes. She pulled out her cell phone.
Paul Gorman was enjoying a rare moment of complete relaxation. Bach flowed from the stereo at just the right volume. His big brown Barcalounger was tipped almost all the way back, his feet elevated to just the right degree. They were just right because Patsy was kneeling in front of him, massaging his feet. His mind was tightly focused, yet adrift, absorbing the pages of Richard Saferstein’s Criminalistics.
“You know what I think?” Patsy asked in her most loving tones.
“When it’s your turn to get your feet rubbed you can tell me what you think.”
“I think you need to have a hobby,” Patsy said, smiling up at him as she pressed her thumbs into his arch.
Gorman reached for his coffee mug. “This is my hobby.”
“Your job isn’t allowed to be your hobby, silly. Besides, you’ve read that one, haven’t you?”
“No,” Gorman said, as if explaining to a child. “I read the one that came out in 1977. I read the second edition that was published in 1981. This is the seventh edition, dear. Not the same book at all.”
“It’s still the same book,” she said, shaking her head in an endearing manner. “And how could you be so devoted to a man who worked for the New Jersey State Police?”
“Dick Saferstein is an icon in forensic science,” Gorman declared, resting the book on his knees, “despite his unfortunate Jersey pedigree. And now your contrary nature has put me off my relaxed Saturday mood. Is this my punishment for demanding my fair share of foot massaging?”
At that moment, the telephone rang. “No, Paul. That is.”
Patsy could just reach the phone from her kneeling position. Struggling to hold onto his relaxation zone, Gorman enjoyed the view. The flawless roundness of her backside was not the reason Gorman married Patsy, but it was surely one of her best assets. He was just beginning to spin a warm fantasy that would end in the bedroom when he heard her say, “Oh yes. He’s anxious to hear from you.”
Gorman grudgingly accepted the cordless receiver and said, “Please be a telephone solicitor.”
“No such luck, sugar. It’s Ruby.”
“Ruby? Do I know someone by that name?” Gorman asked.
“You know, your illegitimate daughter by the house slave. Remember, Mr. Gorman?”
“Oh, Ms. Sanchez,” Gorman said. “Are you at work today?”
“Yeah and it’s weird.”
“That’s what you should expect from overnight dates,” Gorman said sourly.
“It wasn’t like that,” Ruby said. “In fact, Rafe took me home without even asking to come in. And he picked me up this morning for another date. We’re at the Bronx Zoo now.”
“The zoo?”
Gorman was pleasantly surprised, not so much by Ruby as by the little plate Patsy was handing him. As he accepted the sliver of cheesecake, his wife bent to whisper in his ear, “Don’t be a grouch. If you play nice, I’ll give you another sweet surprise when you get off the phone.” She bent just a little lower, displaying her ample décolletage just inches from his face.
“Well, that sounds quite wonderful,” Gorman said, partly into the phone. He put the first forkful of cheesecake into his mouth.
“Yeah, not what you expect from a drug smuggler,” Ruby said. “But I don’t know about the company he keeps. He sneaked away from me to go talk to one of the trainers in Tiger Mountain. I think they did an exchange or something. Would they be hiding drugs here?”
Gorman sat up slowly, his eyes fixed on some point on the wall in front of him. Bach was rising to a crescendo and the cheesecake was perfectly smooth and sweet on his tongue.
“You think he took something in, or out?”
“Don’t know about what he might have gave up, but I sure saw him take something from the zoo dude. A small package or bag.”
“Tiger shit!” Gorman said.
“No, really, I saw him myself.”
“No, no. Ms. Sanchez, do they have Siberian tigers in that habitat?” Gorman asked, pulling his feet out of Patsy’s hands and putting them flat on the floor.
“Sure. Me and this one big cat, we kind of connected. Siberian. Yeah.”
“It’s their feces,” Gorman said, breaking into a grin. “Good work, girl.”
“Thanks,” Ruby said warily. “Mr. Gorman, you okay?”
“That’s the problem with your dogs at the airport,” Gorman went on. “The feces of Siberian tigers completely disguises the scent of cocaine, heroin, even marijuana. But it doesn’t make the dogs react like there’s a bad smell. In fact, they wouldn’t react at all.”
Patsy, hearing just his side of the conversation, put a hand to her forehead. “How in the world does he know this kind of stuff.”
Ruby was more direct. “Damn, boss. You sure know your shit.”
“Well, that still leaves the question of how to bust this guy so that it appears to be the work of our client. Hey! What’s that beeping noise?”
“I don’t hear nothing,” Ruby said.
Patsy took the phone and listened for a second. “That’s your call waiting, dear. Ruby, hon, we have another call coming in. I’m going to hang up and let Paul call you back, okay?”
“Sure thing, Patsy. Good to know somebody in that house has some manners.”<
br />
Patsy pushed buttons and listened briefly before handing the phone over again. “Chastity.”
“Ms. Chiba?” Gorman asked when he took the phone.
“Sorry to disturb your Saturday, G,” Chastity said, “but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Is that a siren I hear?” Gorman asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m following an ambulance toward the downtown Brooklyn Hospital Center on deKalb Ave. Alex Brooks just tried to commit suicide.”
Chapter Nine
Samuel “Stone” Mason wondered how he had gotten himself in such a situation. He had more than a dozen years of police experience and several more years as a private detective. All those years he had been a good husband to his wife, Sherry, a good friend to his partner Rico Steele, and even a good owner to his dog, Champ.
So why was he hunched over a toilet on a Saturday afternoon, applying all his strength to a plunger?
“So this is why they call this place Flushing,” Rico said from the bathroom doorway.
“You see? This is why I don’t have kids,” Stone said, freeing the plug with a final hard yank.
“He put the dog’s ball down there? Got to remember that for the next time I want to create a diversion,” Rico said.
“Now, don’t go blaming little Danny,” Sherry said from beside Rico. “He’s just a little guy and doesn’t know any better.”
Stone held the plunger in the tub to rinse it off. “Do the kids you teach do this kind of thing at school?”
“They wouldn’t dare.” Sherry entered the room to crouch and give her husband a soft kiss. “You’re a dear for taking care of that poor girl and her son.”
“No, you are, for putting up with the intrusion. And now I need to go find out how we can get her back out on her own.”
Sherry had put up with a great deal over the years, Stone reflected on his way to the dining room. He was sure they didn’t make women like that anymore. Sherry wore a conservative, belted navy dress that day, which only accented her robust figure. Her auburn hair was recently styled in gentle waves that caressed her face nicely. She was not as dark as he, her skin reminding him still of Tina Turner’s. Except, of course, that she was a whole lot prettier.
Beyond Blue Page 7
