“Right. Small village outside of Tirana.”
“If I’m not mistaken, didn’t you folks invent the vendetta? If somebody stole someone else’s goat three hundred years ago, his descendants would be on your hit list.”
“Where do your people come from?”
“Ireland and Germany.”
He laughed so hard his jowls shook like bowls of gelatin. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”
He had me there.
CHAPTER
25
I called Luce from the Main Street subway station.
“Luce, it’s Steeg. Where are you?”
She sounded preoccupied. “I’ve got something of a situation here. What do you need?”
“Some peace of mind.”
“Fresh out. I’m on Thirty-fourth, in front of Macy’s, watching a naked guy with two Tasers sticking out of his body, paying them no mind and pirouetting around like Nureyev.”
“Sounds like overkill.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ve seen guys the size of panel trucks go down after one barb stuck in their backs. This skinny little guy just won’t quit.”
“How long are you going to be there?”
“Depends on how much electricity he can take. Maybe a half hour. Why?”
“I’d like to buy you lunch.”
“At a real restaurant, or are we talking the usual hot dog stand?”
“A place with tables.”
“You’re on. Where should I meet you?”
I gave her the address.
“Did you say 150th and Third? That’s up in the Bronx.”
“I figured we’d look up Banas, the waiter at Été, while we’re at it.”
“You never disappoint,” she said.
Banas lived above a cut-rate clothing store —the kind where most of the inventory is displayed on racks out front — and at eye level with the Third Avenue El. The El effectively killed whatever possibilities the neighborhood may once have had.
“Welcome to El Barrio,” Luce said.
“No one should have to live right on the damn El,” I said.
“Yeah, but look on the bright side. Every time the trains rumble by, he’s treated to a new art show.”
“That’s why I love working with you. You always see the positive.”
“Do you have a plan?” Luce said.
“Never without one. I thought we’d go up to his apartment and knock on the door.”
“And then we’ll have lunch? I worked up a hell of an appetite chasing Nureyev through the streets.”
“As soon as we finish with Mr. Banas.”
We walked up the stairs and I knocked on the only apartment door on the landing.
“Your plan is working like a charm, Jackson.”
“What did I tell you?”
“Trouble is no one’s answering. Let me try.”
Luce knocked, with the same result.
“I think we need another plan,” she said.
“Point well taken. Remember a couple of years ago the department worked that sting on guys who skipped their child-support payments?”
“Sure. Rented a room in a hotel and sent them a letter saying they won flat screens. Hundreds of the greedy little bastards showed up. Won’t feed their families, but promise ’em a TV in their Christmas stocking, and they’re Johnny on the spot.”
“We’re going to run a variation of that with Banas. Send him a letter, all official-like, and tell him I’m opening a new restaurant and that Stuart has recommended him for a job. I’ll enclose my card and wait for him to call.”
“That’s all you got?”
“Pretty much. Either that or, perish the thought, keep coming up to the Bronx.”
“Since you put it that way, it works for me. Are we about ready for the lunch part yet?”
We stopped at a small Mexican restaurant a few blocks away. We found a table, and I reached for the menu while Luce eyed the place suspiciously.
“Once again, you’ve outdone yourself, Jackson. This place is a shithole.”
“But there are tables.”
She pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser and vigorously scrubbed the tabletop.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know that they’d need to be hosed down.”
I put the menu down. “I think I’ll have two burritos stuffed with chorizo and cheese,” I said. “What are you having?”
“A salad. Nothing else looks safe.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
A waiter came by and took our order.
“Where were you when you called this morning? I heard a lot of noise in the background.”
“Queens. Went to visit another possible suspect in the Ferris murder.”
“My, you are a busy little bee.”
“Guy named Arben Genti. He’s a contractor, does a lot of city work for the Minority Opportunities Bureau.”
“Ferris’s outfit.”
“Yeah.”
“Why him?”
“For a while, Ferris threw him a lot of work, and then the spigot got turned off.”
“How did you learn this?”
I decided not to tell her about the redoubtable Kenny Apple. Some things are better left unsaid.
“I hear things. Anyway, Ferris’s boss, one Louis Torricelli, said he was getting threatening phone calls from a guy with an accent. Scared the living shit out of him. When Genti’s name cropped up . . .”
“You figured he wasn’t a WASP and made an intuitive leap and decided to check it out.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Is Genti a possible?”
“Not sure. For some reason, Ferris screwed him. He has the accent. Albanian. And I have a strong feeling that Ferris was on his pad, but I just don’t make him for this. Half the guys who handle city money are playing fuckaround with our tax dollar, but I don’t think he’d kill someone over something like this.”
“It’s certainly enough to bring him in and persuade a friendly judge to subpoena his records.”
“I know, but I’d rather let it simmer for a while.”
“While it’s simmering, he could be on a plane back to Albania.”
“Nah! He likes it here too much. I think Banas could be the key. And until he shows up, I think we wait.”
“What if he never makes an appearance?”
“Then we go to Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Sweat Noonan.”
“I hate to play devil’s advocate, but what if Banas doesn’t show and Noonan has a sudden memory lapse?”
“Then we go to Plan C.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Not a one. But something will turn up. Always does.”
CHAPTER
26
After lunch, Luce had to get back to work, and I headed to Été. As much as I wanted to wait for Banas to make an appearance, the idea of sweating Noonan, if only for the sheer sport of it, filled me with joy.
When I arrived, everyone was going about their jobs with a little bit of a bounce in their step. Imagine my surprise when Stuart told me Noonan was dead.
“A friend discovered the body,” he said. “He went to Richard’s apartment and found him in bed. Shot in the back of the head.”
Noonan? I didn’t see it coming. Maybe Luce was right, and I was a Jonah. Or, more likely, there was something I was missing. It was high time for the Universe to kick in.
“When did he find him?”
“This morning. Look, I’ve got to get back to work. With Richard, uh, gone, it’s my show now.”
“I need a favor. Noonan said he would get me the charge slips for the night Ferris was killed. Would you follow up on that?”
“Absolutely. Let me check with the accountants.”
“Appreciate it. One last question. Have the cops stopped by to see you, you know, about Noonan?”
“The same detective who’s investigating Mr. Ferris’s death.�
�
I called Pete Toal. Said he was winding something up and would meet me at the Lowell Fountain in Bryant Park in an hour. I was there in half an hour.
When I was a kid, the New York Public Library, at the eastern border of the park, was my go-to place when the world was too much for Dominic and he needed someone to take it out on. Back then, Bryant Park was a free-fire zone filled with addicts, pushers, and assorted bad guys. The combination of an iron fence and tall hedges hid what was going on in the park. Now low-growing shrubs replaced the hedges, the lowlifes were gone, and the park was back to being a park. It even had a carousel. But that cheery thought didn’t lighten my mood. I found an empty bench near the fountain.
The longer I waited, the more I needed a drink. The dryness started at the back of my throat and spread to my tongue. The thirst was a symptom, not a cause. My old friends, the snakes, screamed to be watered.
At three on the dot Toal entered the park from Sixth Avenue. Swede was with him. I walked the few feet to the fountain and waited.
He saw me and waved. When he was in striking distance, I hit him in the mouth. He went down as if he had been poleaxed. The jolt of the punch traveled up my arm. Swede was too stunned to move.
“Wha—?”
I stood over him.
“Get up and you’re going down again, you lying sack of shit.” I pointed a warning finger at Swede. “This isn’t your business, so stay out of it.”
Swede put his hands up and backed off.
“What kind of a game are you playing, Toal?”
His teeth were bloody and his bottom lip began to swell. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, saw the blood, and dabbed some more.
“Are you fucking crazy, Steeg? You just hit a cop!”
“Arrest me, and let your boss, Braddock, sort it out.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
A guy in a three-piece suit carrying a briefcase stopped to watch. Swede told him to beat it. He did.
“Allow me to explain. Either you’re a bad cop playing out his string — a theory I prefer to go with—or something is going on that truly stinks. From the moment you caught the case, you’ve lied, or at the very least, left things out. Didn’t cover the basics, and it troubles me. You were once a better cop than that. The other thing is, bodies seem to fall and witnesses disappear when you’re around. How do you explain that?”
Toal slowly got to his feet.
“I’m gonna talk to you at eye level,” he said. “If that’s a problem, take your best shot.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m conducting this investigation the best way I know how. If it doesn’t meet your exacting standards, I don’t give a shit. I don’t owe you a fucking thing, much less an explanation. You can play cop all you want, but it’s over for you, dickhead. It’s been a while since you’ve been on the job, and with your health and all, maybe you’re not thinking straight, so I’m gonna cut you some slack. But from now on, if you so much as fucking look at me wrong, I’m going to kill you. Do we understand each other?”
I noticed Swede watching with real interest.
“Nice speech,” I said.
“I meant every word of it.”
“I’m sure you did. So let me leave you with this thought. If I find that you’re somehow involved in this — whatever this is — I’m not going to cut you any slack. You’re on your own.”
CHAPTER
27
That evening I had dinner with Dave at a white-tablecloth restaurant in the Theater District. The place was filled with the after-theater crowd, and everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Dave had the rib eye steak, and I had a chunk of end-cut prime rib that filled the plate. We shared an order of garlic mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. It was as good as it gets.
“So,” he said, “I hear you and Toal got into it.”
“I think I broke a knuckle. How did you hear?”
“It’s my business to hear things. It was stupid.”
“Maybe, but it felt good.”
“I’m serious here, Jake. The guy’s connected.”
“To who?”
“How the fuck should I know? But you look at his résumé — Anti-Terrorist Task Force, replaced you as one of the big, swinging dicks at Homicide — it doesn’t happen by accident.”
“He’s a bad cop, Dave. And maybe more.”
“Why do you give a shit?”
“Because Ginny asked me for a favor. She’s family, or was.”
“Great. I hear she’s—”
“Save it. I know all about it. And I don’t think she killed her husband.”
“Why not?”
“I lived with her. She may not be as pure as Caesar’s wife, but murder isn’t in her makeup. Ollie, maybe. Jeanmarie, for sure. But not Ginny.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He took a sip of wine. “I sent Franny and the kids away for a while.”
“Vacation?”
“Kind of. There’s been a development with our friend the Israeli.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. I kind of rammed a stick in his beehive.”
“How so?”
“I’ve got his kid.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“He tried to kill you, didn’t he?”
“It’s not the same, Dave.”
“Actually, it is. Just taking a page from history. It’s what all those feudal kings did to keep peace with their enemies.”
“The last time I checked, you weren’t royalty. Why are you doing this?”
“Keep your voice down. Two reasons. Insurance. And something to trade. The first is business, the second is altruistic.”
“I don’t understand.”
“From a business standpoint, his son is, as I said, insurance that he won’t move on me. I want him to understand, if he fucks with me, it’s going to cost him.”
“You would kill his son?”
“In a heartbeat. Cut his fucking head off and send it to Barak in a bowl. How else would he know that I’m serious?”
“That’s hard, even for you.”
He rubbed his cheek and flashed a crooked smile. “Done worse, as we both know,” he said.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say. That’s why you’re you, and I’m me.”
“I can hardly wait to hear the altruistic reason.”
“It’s about you.”
“Me?”
“And Danny Reno. You’re my brother, my blood. And except for my kids, my only blood. I love Franny and would never hurt her or cause her any grief, but she’s someone I met a long time ago. Not blood.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said. “We’re talking about Franny.”
“I do, little brother. When you live long enough, there isn’t a whole hell of a lot that surprises.”
“You’re not suggesting that Franny . . .?”
“Of course not.”
“Then where’s this going, Dave?”
“It’s all about the pull of blood. I sent word to Barak that if any of his people fuck with you, the kid dies. I also told him that Reno is part of the deal. He’s your friend, and if you think enough of him to put your life on the line, it seems to me that I’ve got to do the same.”
This was monstrous. Even for Dave.
“Dave, don’t do this. Let Barak’s son go. I can handle it.”
“Too late. It’s done. I’ve got the kid. It’s Barak’s move.”
He reached over and patted my cheek.
“Nobody fucks with my baby brother. It’s a promise I made to Norah before she died. She worried about you. Wasn’t sure you had the stomach to do what had to be done.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus! Why do you make everything so fucking hard?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mentioned Danny, and it escalates into a kidnapping. What in hell is wrong with you? Everything with you is over the top.”
“It
’ll be okay. Sometime soon, Barak and I will talk. And when we’re done, neither of us will be overjoyed, but we’ll each walk away with something. He’ll have his kid and a little more respect for me, and I’ll have you. Reno is just a throw-in.”
He threw some bills on the table.
“Blood,” he said, “is blood.”
CHAPTER
28
The next morning my fourteen-year-old pal DeeDee called. She wanted to meet me for breakfast at Feeney’s. I suggested a half dozen other restaurants. She insisted.
The acrid odor of cleaning liquid hit me as soon as I opened the door. While Nick looked on, two of his kitchen help, armed with buckets and rags, scrubbed the place down. It was hard to perceive a difference.
“Is this your once-a-decade tip of the hat to cleanliness?” I said.
“I hear you clocked Toal. Good for you. I never liked the prick.”
“He was out of shape.”
“And you with one lung. I also hear Dave filled you in on that other situation.”
“He did.”
“Kinda brilliant, if you ask me. With one move, that fuckin’ heeb is hamstrung.”
“Trouble is, they don’t call him the Golem for nothing. I just can’t imagine he’s going to sit still for this.”
“Where’s he gonna go, to the cops? Come on, Steeg. He’s got to deal with us. Got no other options.”
“Let’s say you’re right,” I said, “and he does deal. Who’s to say, six months or a year from now, he doesn’t change his mind and come at my brother with a vengeance?”
“We’ll deal with that when it happens. Look, I gotta go check something in the back. What are you having?”
“Eggs over easy with two sausage patties, and a pot of decaf. And by the way, DeeDee will be here in a few minutes. Bring her—”
“I know, I know,” he said. “Pancakes with bacon, extra crispy, and a glass of chocolate milk. I can’t wait to see her. It’s been a while. I’ll bring everything on my way back.”
I opened the paper and scanned the stories. Couple of suicide bombings in Iraq. Another CEO gets fired and walks off with a severance package worth over a hundred million. The price of oil is up for the third week in a row. Global warming expected to turn the Southwest into a desert. Three major leaguers caught in a steroid sting. Knicks lose. Mets win. Yankees split. Groundhog Day—nothing ever changes.
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