That in itself was reason enough to head down to the 10th Precinct.
Not wanting to see what state the McSwain women were in this morning, Jimmy departed the building and headed to his office on Ninth Avenue and 46th, where, after stopping for coffee, he let himself into the silent apartment. He put his phone in the charger while he showered and dressed in his usual outfit of jeans and a button-down shirt, tossing on his leather jacket. It was still cool enough for it, and besides, he liked its fit. It instilled confidence, and with a determined stride in his step, he was back on the hunt on the streets of Manhattan not thirty minutes later.
With much on his mind and the temperature a refreshing forty degrees, the occasional cloud keeping the sun at bay, Jimmy opted to walk. It was his favorite thing to do in New York, a chance to enjoy the sights of the city as he kept pace with its high energy. It was a good twenty-five blocks south to the 10th, and he had to consider whether by walking he was also putting off the inevitable longer. The walk signs worked in his favor, he rarely losing a step as he crossed over from Midtown to Chelsea, where the local hard bodied gym bunnies were both coming and going from the local sports clubs, some of them giving Jimmy more than a second glance. He saw another two men walking hand in hand, one of them holding a red rose and smiling.
That’s when Jimmy passed a CVS drugstore, where the store’s window was decorated in red-hearts and flowers, boxes of chocolate on display. A reminder, a harsh one at that for anyone not coupled up on this fabricated holiday, that today was Valentine’s Day. Jimmy’s heart wasn’t in the mood for it. He’d bought no gift, no card. He wondered if Frisano had planned for the day. Life was funny that way. Work consumed you, thoughts of crime and murder walking beside him, urging him toward clue and solutions. Distracted by a heart-shaped box of candy and suddenly his heart was seizing control of the brain.
He turned the corner on 20th Street. He was between Seventh and Eighth Avenue. A series of blue and white police cruisers parked at an angle greeted him, a familiar enough sight since he’d visited this precinct often enough over the years, more so in the past year since Captain Francis X. Frisano had taken command of its force. Certain cases had taken him here, primary among them the Hidden Identity investigation, where Jimmy had helped solved the murder of a prominent lawyer who had been killed outside a nearby drag cabaret club. It was the case that first introduced him to Frisano, a sharp intake of breath freezing his lungs upon first sight, a throbbing of his heart when he realized the ambitious, sexy cop was both closeted and available.
A near-year-long affair had sprung up, both passionate and frustrating. On and off was an understatement.
Jimmy approached the door just as two uniformed men stepped out. They nodded his way.
“Officers,” Jimmy said.
He might have his conflicts concerning the NYPD, but he respected them. Those that did good work would give you the badge off their chest in the heat of battle. But Jimmy also had issues of trust with the higher ups, those who had tried to thwart him on certain cases, not least among them the ongoing Forever Haunt. It was one of a handful of files in his cabinet to still be listed as “unsolved” and the only one that mattered on a personal level. Jimmy would solve it one day, with or without their help. Probably without. With such resignation, he nonetheless entered the precinct.
“Well, look what the cat’s dragged in,” he heard from behind the dispatch desk.
“Still got strays around, you might want to call animal control,” he said.
“Ha. Happy Valentine’s Day, Jimmy.”
Jimmy planted a kiss on Wren Simms’ cheek. “You too, hot plans tonight?”
She gave a quick wave of her ring-free hand. “That depends upon the crooks out on those streets. Hate when holidays fall on a Friday. Just seems to heighten the drama in people and keep others from enjoying some fun.”
“I hear ya.”
“Who you looking for? Barone, Dean.” She paused. “Captain Frisano?”
“What if I said I was looking for you?”
“I’d say you’re full of Irish blarney.”
“No wonder you’re working the night shift tonight, that’s no way to win over a man.”
She patted his cheek. “Some men just aren’t my type. Or vice versa. Besides, I’m trying to advance, so if I put in some extra time, it might look good.”
“If you need an endorsement…”
“I’ll look elsewhere,” she said.
Jimmy laughed while Wren said, “I’ll see if the captain is available.”
Jimmy was about to protest, thinking he might prefer the company of the detective team of Barone and Dean, but that was just him putting off what needed to be done. His reason for being here. He spent the wait time staring at the bulletin board of wanted men and women and reading about some community events, a bead of sweat breaking out on Jimmy’s forehead. It was warm in here, sure. He doubted that was the reason. Another couple beads of anxiety sweat appeared when Wren announced the captain would see him.
“Uh, thanks.”
“Everything okay with you two?”
“You know nothing,” he said with a wink.
“I know what I know. What I don’t know, not like I’m Tweeting.”
“Keep it that way.”
Code for don’t be telling tales out of school, or in this case, at the precinct. The fact their macho, tough-guy leader enjoyed the company of other macho, tough-guy men when not on duty wasn’t such a secret, but it certainly wasn’t discussed. Such were Jimmy’s thoughts as he rounded his way through the corridors of the 10th, tracing a familiar path to the closed office door of Captain Frisano. His name was stenciled on the beveled glass door in black letters. He knocked, heard a gruff come in.
“McSwain,” said Captain Frisano from behind his desk. He was standing, his big framed presence imposing.
“Captain, thank you for seeing me.”
“We’ll see about that. Close the door.”
Jimmy did as asked, the click echoing in the otherwise silent room. A desk separated them, perhaps more than that did. Jimmy stayed locked in his stance. Walking around the desk, Frisano entered his space, standing not six inches away from him. Jimmy could smell his cologne, a fresh, airy fragrance, which made him want to close the gap between them even farther. He missed this man, one he’d been intimate with, a man he was undeniably attracted to. The dark shadow of his beard was heavy, and his body filled out his uniform perfectly, but even so Jimmy had little trouble remembering what the man looked like when he wasn’t wearing it, or anything.
“I’m surprised to see you,” Frisano said.
“Are you?”
“Today, I am. I had been hoping for a few days ago.”
“Sorry.”
“For not contacting me sooner?”
“For that, and for…pushing you Monday night. I was wrong.”
Frisano stepped forward. He leaned in and gave Jimmy a quick kiss. “You’re a jerk.”
“Meaghan called me an asshole Monday night.”
“She might be right,” Frisano said. His face didn’t crack a smile. Okay, so they weren’t yet past Jimmy’s transgression. But at least they were talking. “So, is that what you came for, to admit you took things too far? Or is there more to your agenda? Wait, don’t answer that, because I may just have to take back that kiss. You always have an angle.”
“Frank…I still have a job to do. One that’s important to me.”
“I’ve never tried to stop that, Jimmy. Just pick your moments better.”
“I’ve already come here, I’ve apologized.”
Frisano nodded. “Okay, so we got that out of the way. Now talk to me. This visit of yours, is it really about Officer Luke?”
“Not my first topic.”
“What does that mean?”
“Know anything about a guy known as Mr. Wu-Tin?”
Frisano actually laughed, shook his head. He settled himself down on the edge of his desk. “You know, you never
cease to amaze me, Mr. Private Investigator. You have a way of running with the wrong crowd. What has possibly happened that brought that crook into your universe?”
“I’m complicated.”
“Jimmy McSwain, everything is complicated with you. You make it that way. You like it.”
“I guess I deserve that. Now, can you answer my question?”
Frisano pointed to a chair, indicating Jimmy should sit. He did, looking up at Frisano with a mix of curiosity and desire. He wanted an answer to his question, and then he wanted to take this hot man into his arms, kiss him, whisper into his ear a sexy promise of picking up where their most recent night’s passion left off. Perhaps tonight? He cleared his mind, remembering a boy was out there, his whereabouts unknown, his fate uncertain.
“Before we go any further, does this have anything to do with Officer Luke, or your father’s case?” Frisano asked.
“No, something new. A missing boy. That’s all I can say.”
“Shouldn’t you involved the authorities. Child services? The police? FBI even better.”
“I promised I wouldn’t, sort of. This just happened last night. I said I’d ask.”
“And it involves Mr. Wu-Tin?”
“Possibly.”
“I’m assuming this is all off-the-record?”
“Is that a problem?”
“A missing child, Jim. That’s serious shit.”
“I know. I met the kid, he’s six, good-hearted. He’d never run off on his own. We believe it’s possible his father has him. We hope.”
“We?”
“His mother, a new neighbor. And before you think it’s a domestic abuse situation, it’s not. The husband went into hiding to protect his family, but maybe he’s taken his son thinking he would be safer with him than with his mother, who could be vulnerable to…to whatever he’s gotten into.”
“That’s a lot of hims and hers, Jimmy. Not gonna give me names?”
“I’d rather not, not now.”
Frisano paused, silence enveloping the room. Jimmy might have overplayed his hand here, putting too much trust in a man who had to live a lawful life. He went by the book. Jimmy coming to him with a tale of a child’s abduction, it would be difficult for him to turn a blind eye. And if he did, what would happen if the ending was other than a happy one? What if by withholding information about Sonny Ramirez he placed the boy in more jeopardy? Too many ifs.
Frisano cleared his throat, clasped his hands together as though about to deliver a lecture. “Mr. Wu-Tin runs an import-export business out of Chinatown, with warehouses all over the city. He’s been investigated numerous times but nothing has been proven that he’s handling anything hot. I know this because I once had an assignment down at the 5th Precinct in Chinatown. Lots of talk about Wu, but not a lot of proof. A man like that, he doesn’t live the high-life only by selling cheap souvenir shit made in his homeland. He’s long been suspected of shit from trafficking drugs to guns to selling women. If he can make money, pretty much he’s into it. And he’s ruthless. Men who have worked for him sometimes never show up for work again. Many of them are illegals, so there’s not much the NYPD can do.” Frisano got up, paced his office, his fingers resting on his chin. Jimmy’s eyes following him, trying to read into what he was thinking. Finally, Frisano turned around and said, “You think it’s possible Mr. Wu-Tin has taken this boy?”
“It’s not unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Retaliation. From what the boy’s mother told me, it could be that her husband attempted to blackmail his employer. When that backfired, he went on the run. To save himself.”
“Leaving his family high and dry? Not the smartest move. Jimmy, you really know how to pick your fights. She paying you, I assume? I mean, like, is that a bonafide case for you?”
“Help Is Here is footing the bill,” I said, “From the Kellan Byrne fund I set up.”
“Well, at least your cousin’s fund is going to good use. Helping people who really need it. But this is more than just charity, Jimmy, it’s dangerous, lethal. Mr. Wu-Tin knows where all the bodies are buried because he put them there. Got it?”
“I’ll be cautious,” Jimmy said.
“Promise me you won’t confront him. Last thing he needs is to know your name.”
Jimmy nodded his understanding, thanked Frisano for his insight. Getting up to leave, he was stopped by the sudden grab from Frisano’s hand. Their fingers entwined, pulses raced. Jimmy looked up and their eyes locked, a fresh fire lit but unable to be stoked here. Jimmy exhaled once, waiting for what was to come next.
“I’m sorry, too. Maybe I overreacted. It had been a tough day.”
“No need, Frank. It’s all over. I mean, that night is. I hope we’re not.”
“Tonight doesn’t work, Jim, despite what day it is.”
“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting…”
“Sunday night, when I get back from my weekly dinner with my folks. Come over. If you can. If you want.”
“Both,” Jimmy said.
“I’ll see you then,” Frisano said, and then he kissed him again, this time more deeply. Heat left Jimmy flushed. “Unless there was something else you wanted to discuss?”
Jimmy knew when to quit. He’d gained important information about Mr. Wu-Tin and had also managed to repair the damage he’d done to their relationship. Two out of three ain’t bad. To switch gears now and ask after the Luke case was pushing it, and unlike last Monday when he had, this time he knew not to. A quick squeeze of the man’s hand, a smile gracing his lips, Jimmy said all was good, and then he departed not just Frisano’s office but the precinct itself, waving a quick wish of luck to Wren. Back into the morning air he went, the air cool enough to douse the heat that had flooded his loins.
Sunday night. A delayed Valentine, with flowers and chocolate and fierce lovemaking till the morning hours. Anticipation churned in his gut. Which didn’t stop Jimmy from feeling weak in the knees now. Hope was always somewhere in the distance.
For now, Jimmy McSwain had a young boy to find, and in time, a killer to reveal. Two cases again. Wasn’t that how it went? Silence for too long, and then he was back in investigative mode. Obsessed, determined. His mind swirled with thoughts. What he asked himself first was just how many victims that long-ago killer had taken, how many families awoke to empty beds and fading memories. Like himself, like the Dean family; the Luke children. He pushed forward down the street, joining the throngs of New Yorkers as they went about their day. Jimmy wondered how many of them had known violence, had been affected by it.
It was terrible to think about the finality of death on a day reserved for an elusive thing called love. But that was Jimmy’s world. Emotions at both ends of the spectrum.
§ § § §
“I thought I might find you two here. NYPD paying rent on this place?”
“McSwain, what do you want?”
“The usual. Information. Might be able to help you, too.”
“Yeah, like that’s ever happened.”
Jimmy had sidled up to the round table where sat Detective Roscoe Barone and his partner, Larry Dean. The former was grizzled, and despite his sour disposition, damned good at his job. It was too bad he chose to wear tacky clothes from another era, a salt-and-pepper bushy mustache a needless accessory. The latter man was younger, Jimmy’s age, a less experienced detective who had gotten the promotion well before he’d earned it. Blond, fair-complexion, with barely the hint of needing a shave. If Barone was the so-called bad-cop of this duo, Dean was the worse-cop. No good-cop here, not in terms of their investigative approach.
Jimmy signaled to the bartender at the Westside Tavern on 23rd Street, just a few hundred feet from Ninth Avenue. It was a neighborhood pub, more spacious than Paddy’s, a few pool tables in the back, a jukebox, a long bar that currently sported three loyal patrons. Not counting the two detectives, situated at a table in the corner of the front area practically reserved for Barone, Dean the lucky beneficiary.
Jimmy, too, at least right now. He grabbed his beer, told the bartender to put it on Barone’s tab, and then pulled over a chair and sat down uninvited. No sense saying no, Jimmy wasn’t going anywhere, and they all knew it. It was how they operated, a steady routine of barbs and insults until they settled down to business.
“So, Larry, how’s Daddy?”
“Shut up, McSwain. You know how he feels about you, especially now.”
“That a reference to Mickey?”
“You killed him.”
Jimmy laughed. “Oh, everyone knows that’s not true. I gave him a good beating, which I freely admitted to and which he deserved. Ask anyone who knows me, I don’t touch guns. Not on the job, not for any personal reason, justified or not.”
“But you own one,” he said.
“What licensed private investigator doesn’t? Keep it locked away in a closet, right near the file of my father’s murder. Cops tested it. Hasn’t been fired. Ever.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t have another. Probably at the bottom of the river.”
“You wanna go diving for it?”
“Okay, boys, ease up. Let’s just have a friendly beer,” Barone said. “Jimmy, I’m assuming you didn’t innocently stop in.”
“Just came from the 10, didn’t see either of you. Barring a case, figured you might be here.”
“Went to see your boyfriend?”
“Larry, shut your mouth. You’re on duty. Respect is the only thing I’ll hear from you.”
Jimmy hid his smile behind the glass as he sipped his beer. It was a Saranac Pale Ale, a nice brew from snowy upstate. Change of pace from the lagers and Guinness at Paddy’s. Jimmy enjoyed another sip. Larry drank from his, Barone too. Silence while three men on duty drank their beer. Nice work if you could get it.
Barone set his glass down. “Might as well get his over with. What do you want, McSwain?”
“Tell me about Officer Denson Luke.”
“Not happening,” Barone said. “Next subject.”
“Come on, one of your own gets gunned own, off duty. Execution style. Gives you pause.”
“Doesn’t mean it concerns you,” Barone said. “Leave it alone. This goes beyond us.”
Forever Haunt Page 8
