I smiled at the memory.
“Too bad I’m a changed man, eating healthy and living right.”
“If only,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“Braddock’s been trying to reach you. Called you at home and you weren’t there. Then he called me.”
That was surprising. Gerry Braddock was my former boss, and someone who considered me a punishment from God.
“What does he want?”
She told me.
CHAPTER
19
When I arrived at the Kings County Hospital morgue in Brooklyn, Ollie, Jeanmarie, and Ginny were leaving. Jeanmarie saw me and walked toward me very slowly.
She stopped inches from me. The skin pulled tight around her face, her eyes flat and unforgiving.
“My poor Liam is dead because of you, you bastard,” she said.
Some things never change.
Ollie took her arm and tried to pull her away. “Let’s go home now and prepare to bury our son,” he said. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. There’re people watching.”
And there were, even at this hour. Swede was right. There was a run on death.
Jeanmarie wrenched her arm away.
“Get away from me, you worthless bastard,” she said. “Let them see a mother’s grief.”
Ollie reacted as if he had been slapped. Jeanmarie turned her anger back to me.
“They wouldn’t let me see my son’s face,” she said, spitting the words out. “And it’s on you, Steeg. It’s all on you!”
I didn’t see it that way. This was on Liam and his choice of business associates.
Ginny walked up, mumbled a few words in Jeanmarie’s ear, and led her and Ollie to a waiting cab. After they left, she walked back to me.
“I need a drink, Steeg,” she said. “Now!”
We found a bar on Linden Boulevard. Ginny ordered a Jim Beam, straight up.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“The call came about six. I answered. Jeanmarie was preparing dinner and Ollie was taking a nap. It was a cop. Figured it had to do with Tony. Asked if I knew a Liam Doyle. I said he was my brother. He said there was a problem. Didn’t want to talk over the phone. Asked me to meet him here, at Kings County. None of it made sense.”
Braddock knew Liam, and I guessed he heard the news over the wire and tried to contact me.
“And?”
“And we got in a cab and came down. I identified the body. It”—a shudder rippled through her body—“was awful! Whoever did it chained him to a car and dragged him through the streets like he was a piece of garbage.”
Barak was good to his word. He had promised to kill anyone associated with Danny Reno, and Liam more than fit the bill. The snakes in my head awoke and began their dance.
“What’s going on, Steeg?” she said. “Does this have anything to do with Tony?”
“I don’t think so.”
I told her about Liam’s connection to Danny Reno.
“Liam got in over his head. Got mixed up with some very bad people.”
“I don’t believe this,” she said. “This is all because of that little pissant, Reno?”
“It’s also about Liam. No one put a gun to his head and forced him to work for Reno.”
She drained her glass.
“The whole family has gone to shit. Tony. Now Liam. And who knows where Colleen is. What’s next?”
Unless Barak got his hands on Reno, I had a pretty fair idea.
Ginny stared down at her beer.
“I know how you feel about . . . me,” she said. “I know I screwed things up between us. But, at least for tonight, I don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“It’s not a good idea, Ginny.”
“Please?”
So much for steely resolve. We went back to my place, and I held her until she fell asleep.
Later on that night, she awoke.
“What do we do now, Jake?” she said.
“Take your family and leave. Don’t tell anyone, including me, where you’re going. Just go.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very,” I said.
CHAPTER
20
The next morning, after Ginny left, I called Danny Reno. I was relieved when he answered the phone, although I couldn’t suppress the thought that if Barak had already paid him a visit, the killing would end there. For all I knew, every member of Reno’s merry little band of heisters and their families had targets painted on their backs.
“It’s me—Steeg. Did you tell Liam where you’re staying?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Think hard, Danny.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
I told him.
“I swear,” he said. “I never told Barak about Liam. How the hell did he find him?”
“Like God, Barak works in strange and mysterious ways. You had better call Liam’s Nazi friends and tell them to make themselves scarce.”
“Holy shit!” he said.
That about summed it up.
“You’ve got to get out, Danny. And you better do it now. Don’t pack, just go.”
There was panic in his voice. I didn’t blame him. “Where? I’ve got nowhere to go.”
I briefly considered offering him my place —maybe he considered it too — but quickly dismissed it as a truly bad idea. We were friends, but not that close. Besides, the last thing I needed was Barak in my life.
“Look, I don’t care if you head for Epcot until this thing blows over. How are you fixed for cash?”
“I’m good. Got enough to last awhile.”
“Perfect. From now on, you don’t call me. Until this blows over, we’ll communicate through Nick. Get a prepaid cell and leave the number with him.”
“Do you think it will blow over?”
“You want honesty or bullshit?”
“Does it matter?”
“Good luck, Danny.”
Unless I came up with a solution, we both knew that it would end when he or Barak was dead.
I hung up and called Kenny. I was certainly giving my cell phone a workout this morning.
“Kenny? It’s Steeg.”
I told him about Liam and my conversation with Danny.
“You know,” he said, “Epcot is not such a bad idea. The weather’s good this time of year — not too hot, not too cold— plenty of restaurants from all over the world. And the place is clean. Good suggestion, Steeg.”
“I was being metaphorical.”
“Oh. So they dragged Liam behind a car.”
“They did.”
“Messy, but certainly makes the point, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“I told you Barak scares the shit out of me. The guy’s got razor wire in his head.”
“Scares me too.”
“A definite sign of intelligence.”
“Where are you on Torricelli’s files?”
“About halfway through, but I have some thoughts, and some questions.”
“Let’s meet.”
“It’s Saturday. I don’t work.”
“But you picked up the phone. Isn’t that work?”
“None of us is perfect.”
I had enough problems understanding the observance swings among members of my own faith. I wasn’t about to take on Judaism.
“We won’t be working, we’ll be talking. Look, I need to start making headway on something.”
It occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone. It was close to noon and Été should be open, probably not for business — I suspected it was a dinner-only restaurant — but there had to be a manager there to talk to. After that, Kenny and I could meet.
“How about we meet at one, on the pier at Thirteenth Street?”
Kenny thought about it for a few moments.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m not thrilled, but what the hell.”
>
I was at the door when a truly chilling thought occurred to me. If killing Liam had been Barak’s first move, there was a distinct possibility I was next on his shit list. I may not have had anything to do with the scam, but I was the only person on the planet who knew of Danny’s whereabouts. I went into the bedroom, opened the drawer of the bedside table, and pulled out my Glock.
I was right about Été. It wasn’t a lunch place, at least not on Saturdays, but the door was open. Inside, a white-uniformed crew was mopping, primping, and setting up for the dinner crowd. Tablecloths billowed like snowy white spinnakers, silverware was carefully inspected, and thin vases were stuffed with wildflowers. Rather than a paean to chrome and glass and sharp-edged design, the decor was casual, a place to kick back and spend a comfortable evening. Été may have been high-end, but it kept its pretensions in check.
At the bar, a harried-looking man in a designer suit that had lost its crease was inventorying the stock. I went up to him and flashed my business card. It got his attention. He put down his clipboard and snapped to attention. I had a business card, therefore I was important. If I had pulled the same stunt at a diner, I’d have been told to piss off.
To keep the illusion going, I didn’t offer to shake hands.
“Name is Steeg,” I said. “I’m investigating a murder that took place outside of your restaurant a couple of weeks ago.”
He looked properly contrite, as if Tony Ferris were a beloved member of his immediate family.
“I heard about it,” he said. “How sad. We’re not used to that kind of thing at Été. I guess the neighborhood still needs some, uh, work. By the way, my name is Stuart.”
“Did you work the night of March 10, Mister Stuart?”
He smiled. “Just Stuart. No Mister necessary. That was a Saturday night, wasn’t it? No, I didn’t. I mean, I usually do, but I was ill that evening.”
“So it would be a waste of time talking to you any further.”
He nodded. “Colossal.”
“What’s your job here, Stuart?”
“I’m one of the managers. Assist the general manager. Work the desk. Greet people. See that things are going the way they should. The beverage manager called in this morning and said that he’d be late, and I offered to, uh, fill in for him until he got here.”
“Who worked that night, Stuart?”
“That would be Richard. Richard Noonan, my boss. He covered for me.”
“Will he be in later?”
He looked at his watch, a fat chronograph with a blue face and lots of bewildering little dials. It was a wonder he could lift his hand.
“Richard should be here at four. I’m so sorry I’m unable to help.”
“Me too. Tell Richard I’ll be back later.”
“Absolutely. Have a good day now.”
Well, that was singularly unproductive, I thought. I wasn’t sure that Noonan would be any more forthcoming.
Outside, the day was a tease and the pier was packed. One of those summer days that pops up in March once every few decades. Warm, languorous, not a cloud in the sky, and barely a breeze to ruffle the surface of the water. A day filled with unexpected promise. The possibility that a foot of snow could be lurking a mere isobar away failed to deter anyone eager to shake off the winter blues and throw on a pair of shorts.
I walked out on the pier. A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of gunfire shattered the promise of the day.
There were some panicked screams and a great deal of scattering. All except for one guy lying about ten feet from me with blood and brain matter streaming out of a very large hole in the back of his head. I pulled the Glock from the pocket of my fatigue jacket and went to the ground.
Suddenly, everything was quiet. The only man standing was Kenny Apple.
He walked up to the body and nudged him with the toe of his shoe. Satisfied that he was no longer a problem, he walked back to me.
I got to my feet.
“Where did you come from?” I said.
“I just got here. A car pulled up to the curb and this guy gets out holding a gun against his thigh. I figured he wasn’t a sun worshipper.”
“Good thought. Hell of a shot.”
He shrugged. “As you are often wont to say, it’s a gift.”
“One of Barak’s guys?”
“Presumably.”
“I could swear I heard two shots.”
“You did. I put one through the windshield, but the guy drove off. I got a piece of him, I think.”
In the distance, sirens wailed.
“I thought you don’t work on the Sabbath.”
“I don’t. But sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules a bit.”
The sirens grew closer.
“For obvious reasons I think I’m going to leave now,” Kenny said.
“I understand. I’ll catch up to you later. Where are you going?”
“To synagogue. I have some explaining to do.”
CHAPTER
21
Lights flashed. Sirens wailed. Yellow tape went up like bunting. SWAT guys in Darth Vader gear prowled around looking for someone to shoot.
And out of the maelstrom stepped Luce.
“Are you all right, Jackson?” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“Beats me. I hear a shot and look around and see the dead guy.”
Her eyebrows rose with skepticism.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Taking my morning walk, and all of a sudden a gunfight breaks out.”
“Save your bullshit for someone who doesn’t know you like I do. Are you carrying?”
“I certainly am.”
I removed the Glock from my jacket pocket and handed it to her. She sniffed the barrel, checked the clip, and handed it back to me. “It’s a lovely story, but I’m not buying it,” she said.
“That’s because you’re overly suspicious.”
“Only when it comes to you. Whenever you’re around, shit happens with alarming, and often fatal, frequency.”
“What do your witnesses say?”
“Most of them were too busy scrunching up into little balls to see anything. And those few that did gave us a range of choices, from a six-foot gangbanger with a Crips bandanna tied around his forehead to a white guy with a limp. Would you like to weigh in on the subject?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what happened. Except for the results. For all I know, it could have been the consequence of some long-simmering dispute. Who knows?”
“Stop pulling my chain, Jackson.”
“An old friend got mixed up with some very bad people who are looking for him. He asked for my help in the matter. This shooting might have something to do with that.”
“So I was right, you were the target.”
“Apparently, and I don’t want to drag you into this if I can help it. They’re not the kind of people you want around your picnic table.”
“And their names?”
“Not yet.”
“So the shooter was your guardian angel, a kind of Jiminy Cricket with an Expert shooter’s badge.”
“Could be.”
“One of Dave’s guys riding shotgun?”
“You know better than to ask that.”
“You’re wearing me out, Jackson. You know that, don’t you?”
“What are friends for?”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Liam, would it?”
“I think so.”
“Then they are very bad guys indeed.”
“Appears so.”
“They dragged him behind a car, Jackson. Wasn’t enough skin left on him to make a decent wallet. Don’t want to have to call Dave and ask him to come down and ID you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Let’s make that past tense. You were able to take care of yourself. Now . . . I’m not so sure. You can’t be running around the city playing cops and robbers in your co
ndition. Something’s going to give.”
“I’m as fit as a fiddle.”
She shook her head. “Sure you are. I’ve got a question. Since Liam is in the mix, could Ginny’s husband be in there with him? Ferris buys the farm, and then Liam. It makes one wonder.”
“That it does. But I don’t see it.”
“Why? The way I hear it, someone took a pipe to Ferris. Mashed him up, like Liam. So, the means is different but the signature is the same.”
“No. I know Liam was business. I believe Ferris was personal.”
“Are you saying there was a sexual element to the crime?”
“Yep.”
“Is Toal pursuing that angle?”
“It fits with his theory that a jilted trannie did Ferris.”
“Where did he come up with that?”
“The neighborhood.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“The man’s a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’ll give him this, though. I do think the doer was someone Ferris knew.”
“Care to narrow it down?”
“I wish I could. My head is swimming with possibilities.”
“Want to share?”
A partnership between cops can, if you’re lucky, become something akin to marriage. Luce and I worked together for ten years. We completed each other’s sentences, anticipated each other’s thoughts, and built up a vast reservoir of respect and trust. And when you throw love into the mix, if that’s not a marriage set to weather any storm, I don’t know what is. The truth was, I missed her.
“You said you wanted to help.”
“I did,” she said.
“I can’t bring you in on this, but if you want a piece of the Ferris investigation . . .”
She looked at me and smiled. “The things I do for love,” she said.
We crossed the street and headed for Été.
CHAPTER
22
On the way to Été I brought Luce up to date on the Ferris investigation, and all of its possibilities and permutations. She had lots of questions and I had very few answers.
Inside we found Stuart, poring over the reservation book.
“How’s business?” I said.
He flashed a harried smile. “We’re overbooked,” he said, “and I’m trying to make it all work.”
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