Beyond Blue

by Austin S. Camacho

  Dubois scratched at his chin, his eyes cutting briefly to Didi, then to the forty-four caliber hole at the end of Steele’s custom revolver. His lips pouted forward in thought.

  “Well, then, what do you consider to be your fair share Mr. Policeman?”

  Before Stone could answer, the door opened. The man who walked in was big in the usual construction worker way, and black, but his features were not Haitian. He froze when Steele’s gun swung toward him. Steele waved him over to join the others. He slowly raised his hands as he looked to Dubois for instructions.

  “Relax, Andre,” Dubois said. “These men won’t really hurt anyone. They are the police.”

  “No they ain’t.”

  “Oh, yeah we are,” Stone said.

  “It ain’t true boss,” Andre said, turning to Dubois. “I know these guys. He’s Rico Steele, and this one’s Mason. People call him Stone.”

  “That what it says on my badge,” Stone said, holding it forward again.

  “They was cops, but they got kicked off the force a couple of years ago”

  “Even if that was true,” Stone said, “it doesn’t change a thing.”

  “The hell it don’t,” Dubois said through clenched teeth. “I don’t like being lied to. And I got no good reason to be nice to blackmailers who ain’t on the force no more.”

  Dubois nodded his head. Stone heard a thump and spun to see that the girl had brought a big notebook down on Steele’s head. Steele’s gun lowered, and Andre surged forward throwing a hard uppercut into Steele’s chin.

  As Steele flipped backward over the desk, the other three thugs surged forward. Stone put one down with a left hook and stopped a second with a hard right cross. But the third man, Didi, smashed a shoulder into Stone’s gut, bearing him down to the floor. The other three fighters moved to pile on but were interrupted by a long shout from Steele, who dived from the desk with enough force to take all three of the others to the floor.

  Stone slammed his elbow into the base of Didi’s skull and pushed the thug off his body, then braced to help Steele.

  “That’s enough,” Dubois said in his strong Haitian accent. He had recovered two of the guns from under the chair cushions. One was aimed at Stone, the other pointed at Steele’s head.

  “Boys, stand up,” Dubois said. “I don’t want my office messed up with all this kind of bullshit. Check them out, and make sure you get all the backup guns, phones and pagers and shit so they can’t be traced. As for you two fake cop wannabe blackmailers, I think we need to renegotiate our arrangement. Don’t you?”

  Stone cut his eyes toward Steele. “Your plan.”

  Gunny Robinson bowed to no one in his love for a good pizza, but he chewed the crust of his last slice without the usual joy.

  Gunny shared a table with Robbie, who had talked nonstop through their lunch. He talked about football, his childhood, his job and the food, betraying no awareness that Gunny was barely listening. Gunny’s attention had shifted from Lorenzo Lucania to ADA Preston and back again in a continuous loop while he wondered what Lucania would do when the moment came. And what would he, Gunny, do?

  Preston faced a young black woman across a table. Their food was long since finished, and he had ordered them drinks to continue the conversation. Gunny guessed by her mode of dress that the woman was a prostitute. Perhaps she wanted out of the life and Preston was bargaining for her testimony.

  Giovanni’s Pizza and Restaurant was an inspired choice for their lunch. The few lunch patrons were embraced by the scent of garlic and butter, which for most people is homey and comforting. Giovanni’s was informal and very public, being right on the Grand Concourse. These were two things that would put the woman at ease. The fact that it was near the courthouse was certainly to Preston’s convenience.

  Yankee Stadium being within easy walking distance might not have impacted Preston’s choice, but it did mean that the place was familiar to Lucania’s crew as well. Gus sat with Lucania just inside the dining room, watched by all the movie stars hanging on the wall. Gunny and Robbie sat at the G-Bar, across the room from Preston and his date. Mike was in the far corner, silently nursing a drink. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch, Gunny thought. He had known a couple of snipers in the corps, the guys who really got the job done. They were like Mike. No bluster, no bravado, just a steely resolve, like robots waiting to be programmed to do what they were created to do with mechanical efficiency.

  And what of Lucania? Was he on the road to becoming one of those men?

  Gunny glanced out the front of Giovanni’s at the Grand Concourse. The wall of glass panes almost gave the impression of eating at an outdoor café. It felt so open, so public, that anyone would think they were safe from the dark forces there. The only problem was, the dark forces didn’t care.

  Preston had been taking notes on a spiral notepad, but now was putting the pad away. He and the girl were apparently exchanging their parting words. She looked worried, but he was working hard to be reassuring. Gunny could imagine him telling her that she was in absolutely no danger. If Lucania was going to make a move, the time was now.

  “There’s the signal,” Robbie said. He smiled, nudged Gunny with an elbow, and headed outside. He was an invisible man whom no one would remember seeing as he went to the car. As the door swung closed behind him, Gunny watched Mike stand up and stretch. Finally Lucania stood. His eyes met Gunny’s and he made a funny movement that could have been a shrug of the shoulders. He seemed resigned to his fate.

  Mike strolled toward the bar. Lucania moved toward Preston. Gus, in his corner, followed the action with cool detachment. Preston and the girl were unaware of the ballet going on around them. And finally, Gunny stood. He walked toward Preston, ahead of Lucania without acknowledging the man’s existence. Gunny stopped once to push a chair into its table, making Lucania’s walk easier. He walked right past Preston and waited.

  Lucania stayed cool as he approached the mark. Gunny could feel his own pulse. He saw no alternative. He turned to face the front of the building, which put his side to Lucania. If Lucania pulled a weapon, Gunny would shove him down and take his chances with the other three. There was no bouncer, but maybe the bartender had a weapon behind the bar. That could occupy Mike until Gunny could whisk Lucania out of there. With luck they would escape a bullet from Gus.

  Three paces away from Preston, Lucania slid his automatic from its belt holster. His eyes were on Preston’s temple, ignoring Gunny. Two seconds from murder.

  “Freeze!” The voice came from the door. All eyes turned in that direction. Gunny watched the small-framed girl in a fawn pantsuit striding toward Lucania. Lucania saw her over his right shoulder but could not spin around without showing his pistol. However, the woman was fishing for something in her purse and because of that she was unintentionally showing hers. At that moment her gun was easily accessible. For an hour he had been preparing himself mentally to fire, but he was not ready for a gun fight.

  Gunny saw confusion on Mike’s face, but none of their crew moved. The woman marched past Lucania, gave Gunny a dirty look, and stopped beside Preston. She pulled a badge holder from her pocket and shoved it in front of Preston’s puzzled expression.

  “Kings County?” he asked. “What do you want with me and why are you interrupting my lunch?”

  “Come now, Mr. Preston. You know the trouble you’re in, and so do these gentlemen, obviously government types moving into my territory.”

  The entire restaurant hushed as if the patrons were holding their collective breath. The young woman glared her arrogance at Preston for a moment, as if waiting for someone to speak. Lucania managed to pocket his weapon in those brief seconds before the Asian woman looked up at Gunny. “And you are?”

  After a brief pause that could have been cause by confusion or just as easily embarrassment, Gunny said, “FBI, ma’am.”

  Chastity smirked. “You ain’t in charge.” Gunny held his straight face and cut his eyes toward Lucania. She followed his ey
es. “You, huh? Are we going to have a turf battle here?”

  Lucania took a deep breath, but his voice did not shake. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re damned right we won’t,” Chastity said. Then she waved toward the door to the kitchen as if signaling a confederate to stand down. “The county has jurisdiction on this case, and I’m taking the subject into custody right now.” Then she turned a gentler tone toward the seated man. “I had hoped to do this without making a scene, Mr. Preston, but I didn’t count on these guys trying to get involved.”

  “I don’t understand,” Preston said.

  “Don’t worry,” Chastity said in a softer tone. “We’ll look out for you. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.” Then she winked at the woman on the other side of the table and gave Lucania a hard stare.

  “We need to file a report, boss,” Gunny said.

  “Right,” Lucania said. “Let’s move, team.”

  Gunny jogged through the door with Lucania right behind him. Mike followed, his brows still clenched in confusion. Ten yards from the restaurant Gunny stopped as their car screeched to a halt in front of them. Mike stopped behind him with Gus on his heels, still fingering his weapon.

  “Now what?” Mike asked as they dived into the car.

  “Stick to the plan,” Lucania said over the squeal of their tires when Robbie hit the accelerator. “We’ve got to be long gone before that bitch thinks to contact the FBI to ask who we are.” Then he turned to face Gunny. “That was quick thinking back there, man. And thanks. If you hadn’t spoken up when you did she might have gotten suspicious enough to ask for our ID. Then things could have gotten ugly, since I know she saw my piece. You might have just saved my life.”

  Gunny thought so too, but not in the way Lucania meant.

  Steele and Stone shared the loveseat against the wall of Dubois’ office. Steele sat with his head hanging down, his mouth set in a grim line, staring up at the boys who just kicked his ass. The boys were milling about the room. Dubois sat in the armchair across the room. He was comfortable, since the boys had recovered their guns and, at any given time, one or two of them was pointed at Steele and Stone. Their own guns were on the front desk, on top of their coats, along with their cell phones and Stone’s pocket tape recorder. While Stone stared at his piece like it was a girlfriend someone had stolen from him, the thin girl scuffed her way out of the back of the trailer with beers for each of the black men, except Stone of course. After handing out the beers she took up station at her desk again and picked up the chrome Smith and Wesson.

  “Careful with that,” Steele called. “It’s customized and damned touchy.”

  The girl ran a finger along the long barrel in a way that made every man in the room wish he were a revolver. “Guns is sexy,” she said. “At least, this kind is. But what’s with the holes in the top of the barrel up here at the end?”

  “It’s magnaported,” Steele said. “Those slots send some of the gasses up and out when I fire. That reduces the muzzle climb, so I can get back on target faster.”

  “Fancy toy for a cop,” Dubois said. He was smoking, but had switched to a greener tobacco and held the smoke deep in his lungs before releasing it. Then he wandered over to the table and picked up the pocket recorder. “And you was planning on recording our conversation I see. Also illegal, inadmissible in court. Again, odd behavior for a cop. But then, you ain’t a cop, are you? You ain’t even a wannabe. You a used-to-be. Is that right?”

  “The whole force will be looking for us if we disappear,” Stone said, “just as if we were still active on the force. Once a cop, always a cop.”

  “They got no friends on the force,” Andre said, kneeling down beside Dubois and accepting the passed joint. “These hotshots didn’t have no friends in Manhattan South before they got turned out. Real hot dogs they was.”

  While Andre took his toke Stone said, “Well, which is it, son? Were we hot shots or hot dogs?”

  Andre passed the joint to the next man. “They broke too many rules and made too many busts and basically pissed too many people off. I heard they was on the force for more than a dozen years when the shit got thick.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dubois said. “I bet the white boy got caught getting rough with one of the brothers. Or maybe one of the sisters.”

  The floor was hard under Stone’s ass, and the smell of the grass was irritating his nose. “I never hit a crook who didn’t deserve it.”

  “No, man, it was the money that got them,” Andre said. “Got greedy, just like now.”

  “What happened?” Dubois asked.

  Andre swallowed half his beer. “It was a big drug bust. They brought in the pushers, but the next day, half the drug money up and disappeared. Everybody knew they took it, but from what I heard it was hard to prove. I heard that internal affairs was chasing them around pretty hard.”

  Dubois laughed hard. “You saying they got kicked off the force?”

  Andre shook his head. “They both quit before they could get thrown in jail. I heard they doing P.I. work now.”

  “They still crooked,” Dubois said, standing. “They come in here trying to muscle in on my business. What I wants to know is, how they get onto me.”

  “We read the tea leaves,” Steele said with a smirk.

  “You a funny man,” Dubois said. “Didi?”

  Didi stepped forward and bent to press his gun’s muzzle against Steele’s right knee. Steele waved his hands wildly.

  “Hey! Whoa! What the hell? It was the lawyer! Jesus!”

  Didi leaned back, but Dubois moved closer.

  “A lawyer put you on me?”

  “Check the tape,” Stone said with a bored expression. “You think we only tape losers like you?”

  Curious, Dubois pressed the play button. He listened to Steele’s voice first, saying, “…you tell us the name of the contact person at each of the businesses you’re so cozy with. We explain the new vision of the world to them, and they share their ill-gotten gains with us. They get protection from the information you let us have, and you continue your business setup. Take D’Elia’s Cartage Company. You give me the man you work with over there, and we’ll take it from there.”

  Dubois said, “You was trying to hustle him.”

  But then came Jerome’s voice saying, “Yeah…I’ll give you the people over at D’elia’s Cartage, they’re cold blooded killers. They’ve avoided prosecution for years because they’ll do whatever it takes to stay in business.”

  That was followed by Stone’s voice saying, “They could come after you.”

  Jerome’s next words were, “If I go down, I’ll take a lot of them with me. If you really saw the evidence I have in my records, you already know that.”

  “That bastard,” Dubois shouted, hurling the recorder across the room. “He was selling us out. How the hell did you get onto him in the first place?”

  “It was easy,” Stone said. “We were following up on the Boone case.”

  “Hey, Didi,” Dubois said, accepting the joint back at last. “They was looking at your case.”

  “Really?” Stone said. “You must have started young, Didi. And you got out of doing time because of some falsified evidence of improper procedure on the part of the arresting officer. It took a while, but the false evidence finally led us back to your defense attorney.”

  “Yeah,” Steele put in, “so we went to visit the little weasel. With a little persuasion, Jerome opened up like a ripe melon.”

  “He gave you up to save his own skin,” Stone said.

  “Yep, he folded after a little light pressure,” Steele added, grinning. “What a wimp. Then he offered us the deal,”

  “Shut up.” Stone dug an elbow into Steele’s ribs.

  “The deal was his idea?” Dubois asked. When no answer came forth, he pointed at Stone, and Didi moved his pistol to Stone’s right knee.

  After five seconds of silence, Stone sighed. “Look, he told us you like to play it safe, no cop killin
g, no gunning down every possible leak. He thought you’d fold for protection money easy if we came in like cops, as long as we kept the amount reasonable. He gave us the details and the leads for a cut of our take.”

  Dubois spun and slammed a fist into the wall. “He set me up, that little bitch. Taking my retainer every damn month, and he does this to me?”

  “He need to die,” Didi said.

  “Yeah he does,” Dubois said, pacing past his other men. “He knows too much about my whole operation. But, damn. Nobody looking for us now. Can’t go around taking out lawyers.” Dubois finally put the joint back in his mouth, popped a Bic lighter, sucked the joint down to a tiny roach and dropped it on the floor. He looked up to say more to Didi when Steele spoke.

  “You let us go, and I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Shut up,” Stone said. “We’re not crossing that line.”

  “Wake up, Stone,” Steele said, shoving his partner’s shoulder. “We ain’t cops and we ain’t lawyers and these guys are getting ready to drop us in the East River. We need to make some friends in here.”

  “And you’re going to do that by putting that cannon of yours down Jerome’s throat?”

  “Shut up,” Dubois said. Steele and Stone turned to watch him stroll over to the desk and pick up Steele’s revolver. “You said this gun is a custom job?”

  “From scratch,” Steele said. “Custom sights, custom action, trigger job, the works.”

  “One of a kind,” Dubois said to himself. “So no ballistics could trace a bullet from this gun back to me or my boys. But I got the gun. What I need with you?”

  “You need me because none of your crew would ever get within range of Jerome. He expects to see me.”

  Dubois paced back to the two detectives, nodding his head as if weighing his options. He held Steele’s gun by its barrel. Steele felt the Haitian eyes burning into him, one more lying white man. Steele sat up straighter and tried to look trustworthy.

  “You know, I think I will let you do this thing,” Dubois finally said. “And I will let you go, after it’s done. But I don’t think I trust you, crooked ex-cop. And besides, I want to see the lawyer go down.”