Bronx Requiem

by John Clarkson

  Phineas negotiated a witness-protection deal for her that provided both immunity and help setting up a residence far from New York.

  Two months later, when all property sales were completed, after fees paid to Phineas, the real estate lawyer, Alex’s hackers, and the Bolo brothers, plus repairs made to Ciro’s Escalade and new guns purchased for Demarco and Manny, the net was $1,725,000 and change.

  Beck wired Esther an additional $331,250—the balance of her one-quarter share of the sales. That left one share for Beck and his men, one share to fund a trust for Amelia, and one share Beck donated to organizations that helped women and girls escaping from prostitution.

  During the time Beck and Alex helped Esther plan her new life, she argued less about testifying for the FBI than she did about her new name.

  Beck and Alex insisted she pick a name completely different from her current name. Esther was adamant that Queen remain part of her name, explaining that her mother had named her after the Queen of the Persian Empire.

  After a good deal of debate, everyone finally agreed on Tamara Elisabeth David, after Tamar, the daughter of King David. This, of course, was a downgrade from a queen to a princess, ironic in its connection to Amelia’s working name, but Queen-Esther allowed it because she had grown fond of Amelia, even though she never admitted it. She also liked the biblical connection to Tamar, and the inclusion of Elisabeth, which was her mother’s name.

  Although everything had worked out as Beck had hoped, there were still loose ends. Ippolito was alive and able to connect Beck to Palmer’s death, but he had no proof, the building security-camera recordings were long gone, and he had no interest in implicating himself in the murder of an NYPD detective.

  Quite a few in Jackson’s crew escaped the FBI sweep, but none of them were big players. There were still three young men alive who knew Amelia had shot Derrick Watkins, but Beck couldn’t see why any of them would come forward, and the cops weren’t looking to reopen the case.

  What exceeded Beck’s expectations was how effortlessly Amelia became part of the Red Hook household. She became the kitchen assistant of the baleful Manny Guzman. Not in his private downstairs bar kitchen. Manny would never allow that. But he did let Amelia shadow him in the second-floor kitchen. It gave him almost daily pleasure to have someone to pass his skills on to. And Amelia made him very proud when one night in late June she single-handedly prepared an evening meal for everyone in the house, plus the formidable Willie Reese.

  Willie’s role as personal bodyguard evolved more into the role of an overprotective older brother. He let it be known in the neighborhood that no one was to bother Amelia. Not a look, not a comment, and certainly not a touch. It took someone of Willie’s size, demeanor, and reputation to enforce his edict since Amelia effortlessly attracted male attention, but it held, and gave Amelia an opportunity to thank Willie Reese for something she had never experienced in her entire life—the freedom to walk in a neighborhood without fear of being harmed or harassed. Her gratitude gave Willie a sense of pride and satisfaction he’d never experienced.

  When it came to Ciro, who visited the Red Hook headquarters the least, Amelia kept her distance. She had concluded correctly that Ciro Baldassare was not a man to be taken lightly, and also the least susceptible to her charms. However, Ciro knew Amelia Johnson had made her bones, so he treated her with a good deal of deference and respect, which she returned in kind. He enjoyed making a point about how Amelia had saved Demarco by taking on a giant albino assassin. He called her The Kid. She called him The Italian.

  The deepest bond of all blossomed between Amelia and Demarco. She couldn’t quite understand how someone who looked like him and was able to beat down a man like Whitey Bondurant could be gay. And perhaps she felt obliged to test him every once in a while by being softly seductive around him, which both pleased and amused Demarco. Amelia became his little sister/makeover project/coconspirator. When it came time to buy clothes for her father’s memorial and burial, Demarco took Amelia directly to Bergdorf’s, where he helped her pick out a beautiful, Akris Punto jacket in black, a dark purple embellished-edge silk blouse, and black Francoise-twill fitted pants, all of which fit her long-limbed figure beautifully, making her look effortlessly elegant.

  Walter, as promised, had made all the funeral arrangements. He joined Beck, his men, and Amelia for the burial at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, not far from where all the troubles had started. It was a pleasantly warm day in June, the sun shining softly in a bright blue sky dotted with lazy clouds. Woodlawn had the reputation of being one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the world, and so it was, although Packy’s plot occupied a spot in a rather plain corner of the graveyard.

  As they laid Packy to his final rest, Beck thought about that day at Port Authority, waiting for his friend who had never appeared. Not having been able to spend one second of Packy’s freedom with him, and knowing he would never see Packy again had caused a deep, permanent ache in Beck’s heart. Thankfully, some of that pain was assuaged when he gazed at the calm, statuesque Amelia standing at the grave site. They had saved her, Beck told himself. At least they had saved her.

  In the safety of the Red Hook headquarters, they all continued caring for Amelia. Demarco took her shopping for clothes until she was outfitted to his satisfaction. They talked about makeup, hairstyles, movies, YA books, and the latest TV shows. Willie continued to watch over her. Manny tutored her. Ciro made her feel formidable and confident.

  Beck separated Amelia from her Glock, explaining the risk it presented. He had his doctor friend Brandon Wright, gently and carefully do a thorough evaluation of Amelia’s health. The good doctor maintained doctor/patient confidentiality, but he let Beck know Amelia had not emerged from her life of abuse unscathed. Among other things she had contracted a common sexually transmitted disease that had to be attended to. She had several vitamin deficiencies, and had never received the immunizations and vaccinations she should have had as a child. The good doctor also discovered that Amelia needed glasses, which, of course, gave Demarco another reason to shop.

  As they approached two months, Beck became anxious to get Amelia out of New York. There were still witnesses from Mount Hope Place. Jackson, Bondurant, and others were all awaiting trial, and there was always a possibility her name might come up in the ongoing investigations. He knew the farther away from him and the others she got, the safer she’d be.

  Most important, Beck was determined to give Amelia a chance to live the life she deserved. To attend school regularly, to have a boyfriend, to simply be a teenage girl. It was time to guide Amelia on to the next phase of her life, even though it meant he would have to bear the loss of saying good-bye to her for a very long time.

  Beck didn’t look forward to breaking the news to Amelia. She acted reserved around Beck, treating him as an authority figure, something akin to the father she’d never had. Nevertheless, they had fallen into the habit of sitting together at the bar downstairs while Beck read the morning paper and sipped his coffee. Sometimes Beck would talk about a piece of news he came across, or ask Amelia what she thought about a topic. But on the morning of July fifteenth, Beck cleared his throat, suppressed the emotion churning inside him, and said to Amelia, “I think it’s time.”

  “For what?”

  Beck found himself unable to answer.

  Amelia pressed. “Time for what?”

  He cleared his throat. “For you to meet someone.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend of mine.”

  Amelia gave Beck a look. “You going to tell me what’s up, or make me be patient and wait until you’re ready to tell me what’s really going on?”

  Beck put down his coffee cup, turned to Amelia, pleased at her perception and straightforwardness. He spoke to her calmly and carefully. He told her his thoughts, his concerns for her safety, his hopes for her future. He told her about Janice Elkins and about the restaurant/bar she now owned, although he didn’t tell Amelia how he had let Jani
ce know she could buy the place from Edward Remsen at a good price because he needed cash for lawyers, and lent her the money to do so. He explained to Amelia that Janice Elkins needed help with her restaurant, and suggested Amelia might like working for her, and perhaps living with her in Ellenville, while she attended high school. He told Amelia about the demographics, the school system, all the information he had carefully studied and wanted her to know.

  Amelia asked, “Why all the way up there?”

  “We need to put some distance between you and New York City, Amelia. If something happens, it would be too easy for them to find you. And it seems like, everything considered, Ellenville might be a good place for you.”

  Amelia didn’t argue. Beck didn’t try to sell her on his plan.

  He told her it would be up to her. He asked her to try it out. Then explained how he had set up a trust fund for her from the sales of Eric Jackson’s properties, and how they would invest her money so she wouldn’t have to worry too much about supporting herself, or paying for college, or maybe even buying a house or starting a family someday. Beck knew these were things Amelia couldn’t quite grasp, but he spoke of them anyhow.

  Finally, he explained to her that it would be safer for her to start out with a new name.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, we were thinking Amelia Jones. Alex already has it all set up. If you like it.”

  “Jones?”

  “It’s Demarco’s idea. What do you think?”

  It was then that Amelia felt the depths of what had gone on between her and Beck and his men, and the bittersweet sting that came with knowing this brief, secure interlude in her life was about to end. Tears filled her eyes.

  Beck patted her arm and tried to console her, even though he felt like he might cry, too. “Hey, c’mon. It’s because he loves you. We all do.”

  She blinked back the tears, wiped her cheeks, and forced a smile. “I ain’t cryin’ just about the name. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “When I gotta go?”

  Beck shrugged. “Soon. Demarco says you’re going to take your driving test this week.”

  “With my new name?”

  “With your new name. I traded in the Ranger for a nice used Subaru Forester you can have. You’re going to need wheels up there.”

  “I like that truck. How come you traded it?”

  “Well, I don’t want that vehicle anywhere near Ellenville.”

  She nodded. “Some bad shit happened up there, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You ain’t comin’ up there, are you?”

  “Not for a while. I can’t take the chance of ruining things for you in that town.”

  “How long before I get to see you again?”

  Beck tried to hide the pain that made him grimace. “I don’t know.”

  Amelia nodded. Thinking her own thoughts. After a moment she said, “You all did so much for me.”

  “And you for us, Amelia. You know that, right?”

  Amelia tried to say something, but didn’t, for fear she might cry again. After a few moments she steeled herself, sat up straighter, and turned to Beck.

  “Before I go, you gotta do one more thing for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “I didn’t know my father, but I know he was tryin’ to help me. And I know you all thought he was a good man.”

  “He was.”

  “So, I think I should know about him. And about what happened to him. Will you tell me? All of it?”

  Beck nodded, thinking over her request. And then he began to talk about his friend, his true friend and her father—Packy Johnson. He told Amelia about Dannemora and Eastern Correctional, about how Packy had saved him, and how angry and tortured he had been about Packy’s death. He went through all of it, telling her things he’d never told anybody, but only as much as necessary.

  Beck explained how he’d figured out Palmer had shot Packy. He tracked everything through for Amelia from the moment he’d discovered Palmer had planted the murder weapon in the Mount Hope apartment, describing how that had enabled him to frame Derrick for Packy’s murder, and provide a phony motive for Beck to shoot Derrick.

  He told her how Walter had found out what the cops were doing and provided ballistics evidence that had helped him figure out Palmer’s crimes.

  He explained how the ledger books and computer files from Derrick and Biggie had led to discovering the scope of Eric Jackson’s criminal enterprise. He assured her justice had been done without giving her any details that might compromise her.

  They talked about how Beck would never get over the loss of his friend, and how helping her had helped him. But Beck didn’t tell her about how separating from her now pained him deeply.

  When he finished, Amelia seemed to be deep in thought.

  She said, “You figured out the cop did it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Cuz there wasn’t no twenty-two up at Derrick’s apartment.”

  “Right.”

  “What kind of gun did you say it was?”

  “HP Phoenix. All black. Three-inch barrel. It wasn’t there when we took the guns off Derrick and his crew.”

  “Yeah, none of them guys in Derrick’s crew would bother carrying a gun like that.”

  Amelia became even more silent and inward. Beck worried that talking about how her father died hadn’t been a very good idea, but he didn’t try to console her, or ask how she felt. He sat silently with her, giving the young girl time to absorb everything he had told her. At one point, she turned and stared at Beck.

  He asked, “Did you want to ask me anything more?”

  For a moment, Beck thought Amelia was going to say something, but all she said was, “No. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

  Beck nodded. “Good.”

  Amelia changed the subject. “So, anybody driving upstate with me?”

  “Demarco. He wants to make sure everything is cool with you up there.”

  “And if it ain’t?”

  “Then we’ll figure something else out. We’re not getting rid of you, kiddo. We’re never going to stop looking out for each other.”

  Again, a serious mood descended on Amelia.

  “You’re right, Mr. Beck. We got to look out for each other. Always. No matter what.”

  77

  On the morning when they were to drive up to Ellenville, Demarco helped Amelia load up her Subaru. The day was overcast and unseasonably cool.

  She wore skinny jeans, new Nike cross-trainers, and a long-sleeve raglan top. And, of course, her new glasses. Demarco had picked out the blue Prada frames with her and made sure her prescription lenses were perfect.

  Amelia drove. Shortly after they set out, she said to Demarco, “I want to ask you a favor.”

  “What?”

  “I want to stop by my grandmother’s. Say good-bye.”

  “Okay. It’s on the way.”

  Amelia said very little on the drive to Hoe Avenue, which didn’t surprise Demarco. The young girl was leaving a place where she had learned to feel safe, for an unknown life in a place she’d never been.

  When they arrived in her old neighborhood, instead of parking in front of her grandmother’s building, she drove to 173rd Street and parked the car next to a brick wall that bordered the south end of the courtyard behind the public housing unit. The wall had an overlapping section that allowed entrance into the courtyard.

  Amelia told Demarco, “I won’t be long. Can you stay and watch the stuff?”

  Demarco tilted his seat back and said, “Sure.”

  Demarco didn’t think about why Amelia chose to go in the back way, and Amelia didn’t explain why she didn’t want anybody to see her entering the building. She quickly made her way through the courtyard, found the hidden key she always used to sneak into her grandmother’s apartment, and let herself in. She ascended to the second floor and knocked on Lo
rena’s door.

  After a few moments, she heard Lorena shuffle toward the door and yell, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Amelia.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Let me in.”

  Lorena opened the door. At first she didn’t recognize Amelia dressed in her new clothes, wearing glasses. Amelia stepped past Lorena into the stuffy, dark apartment, the air heavy with the cooking smells and the general odor of the old woman. For a moment, the aromas brought back the stifling memories of her previous life, which added to the anger roiling inside her.

  Lorena turned away from Amelia, ignoring her, oblivious to how dangerous it was now to stoke Amelia’s anger by once again making her feel rejected.

  The old lady sat by herself on her plastic-covered couch, but Amelia refused to let Lorena rebuff her. She sat next to her, turning sideways to face her grandmother.

  “I’m leaving the Bronx,” Amelia said.

  “So?”

  “So I wanted to say good-bye. And ask you something.”

  Lorena looked down, a sour expression twisting her face.

  “Why you leaving?”

  “I have to.”

  “Because of him.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “My father?”

  Lorena looked up and sneered at Amelia. “Father? What father? Paco never see you. What he ever do for you? You leaving because he come here and ruin everything.”

  “He ruined everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? He tried to help me. What did you ever do for me except make me feel like I was worthless?”

  “I give you a place to stay. Food. Clothes. I give you everything.”

  Amelia stared at the Lorena’s sneering, angry face and had to stifle the urge to slap her.

  “Yeah, well, now I need something else from you.”

  “What?”

  “A gun.”

  Lorena looked at her for a moment.

  “Why you come to me?”

  “Cuz you got one.”

  Lorena grew quiet. She glared at Amelia.