Bronx Requiem

by John Clarkson

  “Exactly. They want this guy. Now they have a reason to move on him. These bank records, the ledgers, the testimony of my witness and, if the FBI is diligent, I’m sure they’ll find women who worked as prostitutes for Jackson and Remsen. There’s more than enough for them to arrest Edward Remsen and Eric Jackson. And like I said, the Feds will turn Edward Remsen. He’s looking at decades in a federal penitentiary unless he cops a plea and rats out Jackson.”

  Phineas said, “I just hope the FBI can find Jackson and Remsen. I wouldn’t be surprised if Edward Remsen is on a plane somewhere by now. He has to have heard about what happened to his father and brothers.”

  Beck said, “I’m confident they’ll find them.”

  Walter asked, “What about Bondurant?”

  “Don’t worry about him, right now. First things first. Right now, you simply have to point the NYPD and the Feds away from us and in the right direction.”

  Walter wanted to press Beck for more answers, but Phineas said, “Walter, you and I should go over all this before we meet with all these law enforcement people. We have to present this carefully and we don’t have much time.”

  “Yes, I know. But…”

  “But what?”

  The moment of truth had arrived. Despite Beck’s denials, his bruised face told Walter he must have had something to do with the deaths of Oswald Remsen and the other three men upstate. Nor did Walter believe Beck had obtained all his evidence without resorting to violent means.

  But he also knew Beck was right. And that the terrible exploitation of women and girls had to be stopped, and the murderer of Paco Johnson brought to justice.

  Beck watched a good man, Walter Ferguson, struggling with the eternal dilemma: Did the end justify the means?

  Beck leaned toward Walter and spoke softly.

  “Walter, I promised you I would give you everything I discovered. I’ve done that. You said you wanted the chance to work this through the legal system. I’m giving you that chance. I’m asking you to take everything to the police, the Bronx DA’s office, and the FBI. What more can I do? Please help me stop people who have caused unimaginable misery, who have raped and beaten and prostituted women and girls barely in their teens. Who have murdered people. I wish we had more time to talk it over, my friend, weigh the pros and cons, address your concerns, but I don’t.”

  Walter nodded. He sat silent, thinking. Beck and Dunleavy waited. Finally, Walter said, “I understand. Let me keep trying to contact Levitt. I expect you two have more to talk about.”

  With Walter gone, Phineas Dunleavy turned to Beck and said, “James, I believe we can move this where it has to go. And I think I’ll even be able to discredit that murderous cop’s testimony against Ciro.”

  “Good.”

  “But, James, you realize the NYPD and the Bronx DA will never make a case against John Palmer for murdering your friend, Paco Johnson. I agree Palmer had motives and opportunity. But it all hinges on the gun you say he planted and as sure as I sit here, lad, we both know Palmer will lie and deny, and never stop lying. He’ll say he found the gun under a bed, in a drawer, someplace in that apartment. You won’t be able to prove he planted that gun.”

  “I know that, Phin. At this point, I’m only asking you to throw enough sand in the gears to stop them from arresting us, and make Palmer a plausible suspect.”

  Phineas knew Beck was trying to steer him away from the bitter reality facing Beck, but the wily old lawyer wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  “James, you can’t go where I think you’re going. You can’t. We can get Palmer for perjury, suborning witnesses, whatever. But you’re going to have to live with the fact that a bent, corrupt, murderous bastard is going to get away with killing Paco Johnson. Tell me you can live with that, James. Can you do that, lad?”

  Beck stared at Phineas, pleased and grateful that his friend and protector knew the ultimate danger underlying everything, and was trying to protect him from it.

  “I’ll do whatever I have to, Phineas.”

  Dunleavy knew a non-answer when he heard one. He dropped his voice and leaned toward Beck. “James, you can’t take out a cop, not even a rotten cop like this one who murdered your friend and tried to put you and the boys back in jail. You can’t.”

  “Phin, put that out of your mind. Concentrate on what we need to do now. You’re going to have to persuade these law enforcement people to stop what they’re doing and change course. You have to make sure Ciro, Manny, and Demarco are protected from prosecution. The rest is going to take time. I know I’m asking a lot. But you have to do this.”

  Phineas struggled with his implacable drive to fight and argue and debate until he won his point. He wanted to make Beck promise something he knew Beck never would.

  Beck said to him, “Phin, please. Don’t get sidetracked.”

  “All right, all right, lad. I’ll buy you time and make sure nothing will happen to the boys. I promise you.”

  Beck shook hands with Phineas. He thanked him for his promise to keep his men safe, struggling with the bitter irony that he was going to ask every one of them to risk death come morning.

  69

  As soon as he left Phineas and Walter, Beck sat with Alex Liebowitz.

  “Where are you on the property search?”

  Alex handed him printouts. “I looked at variations of that name for properties in all five boroughs and Westchester County. Didn’t find anything beyond the stuff on the hard drive. Two houses, one apartment building with eighteen units, and a commercial building on Southern Boulevard. All in the Bronx. Owned by Queen-Esther Goodwin, Karen Goodwin, Karen Esther Goodwin, and Esther Goodwin.”

  “You think Jackson owns more?”

  “Probably. But do we have time to do a nationwide search?”

  “No. What’s the ballpark value of them?”

  “Based on a few quick online comparisons, the two houses, say about a half million. I don’t know the rent roll on the apartment building, but it’s got to be worth at least four or five million. The commercial building is pretty small; I’d say maybe a million. So, somewhere between five and six million.”

  “No mortgages, right?”

  “Nah. I’m sure Jackson bought them to soak up his cash.”

  “What do you think we’d net if we sold them? Fast.”

  “What do you figure, about a month?”

  “Max. We have to dump them before the Feds start doing a deep dive on Jackson’s assets.”

  “Okay, we could dump them in that time if we asked forty, fifty cents on the dollar. We ain’t paying any capital gains, that’s for sure. I doubt they filed any returns for the various incarnations of Queen-Esther Karen Goodwin. Have you asked her about any of this?”

  “No. I seriously doubt she knows she’s the owner of record.”

  “She’s going to have to disappear if we do this.”

  “She has to anyhow. And we have to spread rumors that Jackson and Bondurant killed her and hid the body. And Amelia Johnson, too.”

  “I assume you want to set up a corporate entity to hold the titles and launder the money for safety sake.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’ll cost us.”

  “Hey, this is found money. Let’s minimize the risk. What do you have in mind?”

  “China. It’s the easiest and fastest these days. Buy some steel or something. Wash the money with a sale. Pocket the balance. I’ll reach out to Ming the Merciless.”

  “Don’t let him squeeze you too hard. See if he knows a lawyer who’ll act as front man and paper the sales. Maybe someone who has connections to a broker who specializes in distressed properties.”

  Alex said, “Distressed. That’s a nice way to put it.”

  Beck heard the voices of Demarco and Esther downstairs. “Okay, Alex, let’s move fast on this.”

  Alex went back to work as Demarco, Amelia, Willie Reese, and Queen-Esther stepped into the second-floor loft space. Between them, they had seven shopping bags, none carried b
y Willie Reese.

  Beck said, “All set?”

  Demarco answered, “We did what we could under the circumstances.”

  Esther announced, “I got to change.”

  Beck said, “Okay, but hurry. We have to talk. And we don’t have too much time.”

  While Esther headed upstairs, Beck motioned for the others to take a seat at the dining table. While they waited for Esther to return, Beck went over to one of the couches and lay down, covering his eyes with his forearm. The others couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or thinking.

  It took thirty minutes for Queen-Esther to return, showered, with fresh lipstick, dressed in black tights and a print tunic top that reached past her ample hips. She looked and acted like a very different person. She took the chair at the head of the table as if it were her right.

  Willie sat next to Amelia. Beck sat with Demarco on the other side of the table.

  They all waited for Beck to speak.

  70

  John Palmer grimaced and answered his buzzing burner phone.

  “I hope this is important.”

  Eric Jackson didn’t waste any words.

  “Beck and his crew took down one of my houses last night. They got information that can hurt me. I ain’t waitin’ until Monday. I ain’t waitin’ another fucking minute. I need to know where I can find him. You can’t arrest him now. Not with him having this information. I got to take them out now. Right the fuck now.”

  Palmer said, “Hold on. You can’t…”

  Jackson interrupted. “Hey, copper, get it through your fucking head, you ain’t telling me what I can and can’t do. You got your witnesses, you got me to hold off, and now I’m fucked. Beck has got to be dead before the day is out. Give me a way to find him, and all this bullshit is over.”

  Palmer thought furiously. It was all going to hell. Everything he had done, all the scheming and lying and conspiring with criminals—all for nothing.

  Palmer said to Jackson, “All right, hang on a second. I’m standing in the street. Let me get somewhere I can talk.”

  Palmer ducked into the lobby of a nearby building.

  He wasn’t giving Beck up to Jackson. No way. Fuck Eric Jackson. Jackson knew too much. Jackson controlled his witnesses. Everything connected back to Jackson. There was only one thing to do now. He had to kill him. With Jackson gone, this could work. With Jackson gone, he wouldn’t have to risk helping him assassinate the rest of Beck’s crew. He could get credit for taking down all of them. He’d find a way to keep Jackson’s witnesses on board. He should have thought of this before.

  He spoke into the cell phone.

  “Okay, are you there, Eric?”

  “Yeah, I’m fucking here. Tell me what I need to know.”

  “You sure you want to go this way? I’m telling you, we’re arresting Beck tomorrow. Monday, latest.”

  “I told you I ain’t got time. He’s got to go, now.”

  “All right, all right, the hell with it. I’m not going to argue with you. But we’re not doing this on a phone. Where are you?”

  “Never fucking mind where I am. I ain’t recording shit. Just tell me where to find Beck.”

  “No. Not on a cell phone. I’m not fucking standing in public running down all the addresses for Beck and his men in Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Manhattan. I’ll meet you outside that Chinese restaurant in an hour. Just you. I don’t want any witnesses or trouble. I’ll have everything written out for you. No discussion. No stripping-down bullshit. I hand you a piece of paper, and we never see each other again. In fact, I never, ever saw you.”

  Palmer cut the connection. He didn’t want to hear any more threats or arguments from Eric Juju Jackson. He’d hand him a piece of paper and put a bullet in his head. End of story.

  71

  Beck looked at Amelia and Esther before he spoke. Even though Willie and Demarco sat at the table with them, what Beck had to say, he was going to say to them.

  “There are facts I read, but I can’t really comprehend what they actually mean.” Beck paused. “Over two hundred thousand children in this country are being sold for sex. Some as young as twelve or thirteen. Maybe younger. Children. Drugged. Raped. Beaten. Murdered.

  “I can’t understand how that happens. Not even to one kid, much less hundreds of thousands. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be a twelve-year-old girl and have that happen to you.” Beck paused and looked at Amelia and Esther. “I think, perhaps, you two can imagine that. But I can’t.” Beck paused again. “But there is one thing I do understand.” Beck punched a knuckle onto the dining-room table, hitting the table with more force with each sentence.

  “I understand how it feels when scum like Juju Jackson and Whitey Bondurant, and their pimp underlings like Derrick and Jerome Watkins believe they have the right to terrify and brutalize people. I understand that because I spent eight years surrounded by dehumanized men like them who thought they had the right to brutalize me. To stab me. Or beat me. Terrify me. Kill me.” Beck pointed and said, “Everyone at this table knows how that feels.

  “And I know one more thing. I know those murderers have to be stopped.” Beck leaned forward. “Eric Jackson and Bondurant might rule their own horrifying little worlds, but they do not rule your world, or mine. Not anymore. I’m going to stop them. I’m going to make sure they never harm you, or anyone, ever again. And I’m going to make them pay.”

  Beck leaned back.

  Amelia asked, “How, Mr. Beck?”

  “With your help. Every one of us will have to step into harm’s way. Particularly you, Amelia, and you, Esther.”

  Beck nodded toward Demarco and Willie Reese. “We’ll do everything we can to protect you. But I can’t guarantee you’ll come out unharmed. I believe we can take them down. But not without you two. So I have to ask—will you help me?”

  72

  The caller ID surprised Eric Jackson.

  “Queenie, where the fuck you been? Why you ain’t answered my calls?”

  Queen-Esther Goodwin shot back, “Because my goddam battery was dead and I just got it charged up. Goddammit, Eric, I been through too much bullshit last night and today for you to be jumpin’ all over me. You wanna talk to me like that, I’ll hang up this phone right now.”

  The pimp in Eric Jackson told him to come down hard on the old whore, and guarantee her if she dared to talk to him like that ever again he would kill her. But the cunning part of him told him he didn’t have time for the usual run.

  “All right, all right, take it easy you cranky old bitch. What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on? First you tell me to get the hell out of Derrick’s place up at the Houses. Then last night I got run out of Jerome’s place by that crew been battling with you. Maybe you want to tell me what the fuck is going on. What I’m supposed to do now?”

  “Look, Queenie, I don’t have time for your bullshit. Where you at? You can come up and stay at my place. I’ll send someone to get you.”

  “First of all, I ain’t nowhere. I been on the move since last night. I hid out in a place up at the Houses. Then I had to move early this morning to a friend of mines. Now I’m out here scuffling around trying to get something to eat and trying to convince people to help me. And it’s all been made worse by the simple fact that I been dragging around goddam Princess, who no-fucking-body will help because they all afraid of you and Whitey hearing about it.”

  “You have Princess?”

  “Yes, I have Princess.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “Who you think told them guys about Biggie’s house? She the one led them to it. She came up to the house, pounding on the door, asking for a place to stay. Before I could even deal with it, when I cracked the door open to talk to her, two guys busted in. They took down Lattrell and them other two like nothing. I grabbed Princess and ran the hell out of there into the middle of the night without a damn thing but the clothes on my back. Not even my purse. I’m lucky I had my cell phone in my damn po
cket.”

  “Why’d she go with you?”

  “Why? Cuz she didn’t want to be with them guys, that’s why. She don’t know who the fuck they are, ’cept they say they was friends of her father, who she don’t know either. She told me she was holed up in the Expressway Motel, heard a gunshot in the lobby, and ran the hell out the side exit. She said she barely got away from Whitey, and then these other guys grabbed her when her car went out of control as she was trying to get on the expressway.”

  “Why’d she tell them about Biggie’s place?”

  “She said because they put a gun to her. Maybe she’s lyin’, I don’t know. Maybe she figured they might get shot goin’ in there, and she could get away. Who gives a shit? She with me now. The girl been on the run for days. She’s a mess, Eric. She got no ID; nobody to help her; she don’t know what the fuck to do. I’m all she’s got except for a few bucks she stole from Tyrell.”

  “Tyrell?”

  “Yeah, she told me she shot his ass. You didn’t know that?”

  “Goddammit.”

  “Eric, you slippin’. She shot Derrick, too.”

  “I know that. So she’s with you because you told her you’d help her?”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Where are you now?”

  Esther lowered her voice. “Hold a sec. No bullshit now, Eric. I know you want this girl, and I can’t be out here running around homeless on my own, so you got to promise me it’s gonna be worth it for me to turn her over.”

  “I promise you’ll be dead if you don’t.”

  Queenie yelled, “The way this shit is goin’ down I might as well be. What I got to lose? Go on. Keep threatening me.”

  “All right, shut the fuck up, Queenie. You deliver the girl, I’ll make it worthwhile.”

  “I’m gonna tell myself I believe you, Eric, cuz I don’t have much choice. I’m sick of all this shit.” Queenie dropped her voice. “Listen here, I know damn well what you gonna do to her. You gonna make an example of her. You gonna mess her up so bad none of them other bitches will even think about doin’ anything like she done.”