by Tim O'Mara
I thought back to Frankie’s grandmother. How she had called Cruz instead of the police after her place was broken into.
“You seem to be doing quite nicely for yourself,” I said.
“God has been very good to me, yes.”
God. The government. What’s the difference?
“You will go to your uncle’s office, Mr. Donne, and retrieve what is mine. When that is done, I will consider this matter to be concluded.”
“Just like that?” I asked.
“You do not trust me.”
“Probably about as much as you trust me.”
He laughed. “If I wished you harm, it would already have befallen you. I only wish to have my property returned.”
“And I want the boy home safely and his family left alone.”
“We are in agreement then. No harm will come to the boy or his family.”
“Like his father?”
Cruz shook his head. “That was not done on my word. Yes, the father stole from me, but his death did not solve anything. We are here now, are we not?”
He had a point.
“I need some time to get into my uncle’s office.”
“You will do it tonight. My men will take you there.”
I took a shot and added to my lie. “I can’t just walk into my uncle’s office. He’s a deputy inspector. I can’t get into the building without him being there.”
Cruz considered that. “I will give you until Sunday morning. Before first light.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sunday morning at four thirty. You will have my property by then.”
Four thirty? “Or…”
“You may use your imagination,” he said.
“And what happens when this deal is completed?”
“This is not a deal, Mr. Donne. A deal is made when one party has as much to gain or to lose as the other. You have much more at stake here than I. It would be in your best interest to keep that in mind.”
Cruz could teach a thing or two to the politicians he so greatly despised about not answering questions.
“There is a small park along the river,” Cruz continued. “A block north of the oil tanks and across from the old mustard factory.”
“I know it.”
“There is a phone booth. At four thirty, you will answer it and be given instructions.”
“Why don’t you just give me the instructions now?”
Cruz smiled. “You have chosen your friends—and family—wisely, Mr. Donne. An admirable quality. I failed to recognize that when we first met. The expeditious way in which you removed your sister was impressive.”
“I’m like that when my family’s been threatened.”
“Another thing you have in common with the boy.” He paused for a bit. “You will pick up the phone at four thirty. You will listen and act accordingly.”
“You still haven’t told me what happens to me when you get your property back. And how do you know I won’t just turn it over to my uncle and let the power of the New York Police Department come down upon you and your church?”
Cruz listened, and when I was done, nodded. Like he’d had his answer all ready.
“Unlike you, Mr. Donne, I am open about my faith. And I believe you when you say you only wish the boy home and well.” He leaned forward, close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath. “That will not happen if you vary in any way from the arrangements I have made.” After a moment, his face turned away from me, and his eyes returned to the altar. To the crucifix. The foundation of his church.
“As for what happens to you … we all make sacrifices.” He closed his eyes and without opening them again, said, “You may leave now.”
With those words, Ape pulled me out of the pew and thrust me a few feet toward the church’s exit. I turned back, hoping to get a little more information from Cruz, to keep the conversation going, but Ape’s body blocked my view. I craned my neck to see past him. Just before Ape gave me one last shove through the massive church door, Elijah Cruz stepped up onto the altar and kissed Christ’s feet.
*
I stood outside on the steps of the church and watched the low clouds as they raced against the darkening sky for what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than five minutes. The last of the sun’s light was barely visible, and it was time to go home. Again. I was scared, angry, tired, and in pain.
What the hell was I going to do now?
I needed help. Who could I go to, looking and feeling like shit at seven thirty on a Friday night who wouldn’t ask any questions? I took out my cell phone and dialed Edgar’s number. His recorded message told me he wasn’t home, but my call was important to him and I should leave a brief message. As I was doing so, he picked up and explained he was screening.
“You never know,” he said, then told me he’d pick me up in ten minutes.
It’s good to have friends.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on Edgar’s couch with my eyes closed, an icepack on my head, and a cold Diet Pepsi in my hand.
“Pizza’ll be here in ten minutes,” Edgar said. “I asked them to rush it.”
“You got any ibuprofen?” I asked.
“I’ll do you better than that.” Edgar vanished into another part of his basement apartment and returned a half-minute later with a small bottle. He rattled it like a salesman. “Friend of mine got these in South Africa. Can’t get them here. Three of these’ll put you right out.”
“I can’t afford to be put out, Edgar. Just give me two, okay?”
He shook a couple of small blue pills out and handed them to me.
“Two’ll do you fine. This friend? Former Special Ops. Swears by this stuff.”
“Terrific.” I chased the pills with a sip of soda. “Thanks, Edgar. I really appreciate this.”
“Please.”
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Edgar staring at me. Dying to know the latest developments. I could hear his breathing and imagined him about to fall over with curiosity. When I got to the part where I called him from the pay phone, the pizza showed up.
Edgar opened the box. “So go to your uncle. Tell him everything. He’ll help get—”
“Frankie killed,” I said. “I’m back to square one here, Edgar. Cruz has Frankie, but I’m not sure where. I have shaky proof—at best—of any wrongdoing on his part and, oh yeah, the guy’s a fucking freak. Frankie wouldn’t stand a chance, and I wouldn’t put it past Cruz to do as much damage to my life as he could.”
We ate a couple of slices in silence before Edgar had an idea.
“You gotta call your buddy,” he said. “Billy.”
“You haven’t been listening, Edgar. Cruz said no variations. That means no cops.”
“He’s your friend. I got the feeling at the Q he’d do anything for you. Was I wrong?”
You don’t know how right you are, I thought. But was I willing to do that? Put a friend’s career—or more—on the line? This was my fight. I picked it. Now I had to pussy out and rope in a buddy to bail me out?
“You’d do it for him,” Edgar said.
I leaned back, thought about it for a few seconds, and said, “Give me the phone.”
He already had it in his hands.
*
“Can’t do much about it tonight, partner.” Billy told me he was sitting out on his almost-finished back deck. The girls were down for the night. His wife was out with the ladies, and he was smoking a cigar and drinking a cold beer. I had forgotten about his daughters and was about to tell him to drop the whole thing when he said, “La Casa Diner. Tomorrow at eight.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that, Raymond.”
When I hung up, Edgar came into the living room carrying something that looked like a parachute. He unrolled the most comfortable sleeping bag I’d ever seen and laid it out on the carpet. He’d probably gotten it from his friend in Special Ops.
“I’ll sleep out here,” he
said. “You take the bed.”
“I’m not taking your bed, Edgar.”
“I insist.”
“Just get me a towel and a toothbrush. I’ll be fine.” He was about to insist again when I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, Edgar. You came through big-time. You’re a good friend.”
He put his arm around me and gave me a half hug. “So are you,” he said. I could swear there was a tear in his eye as he turned away. “Towel and toothbrush are in the bathroom.” His back was to me as he spoke. “Take your time. Good night, Ray.”
“Good night.”
Chapter 32
BILLY MORRIS WAS SEATED AT ONE of the back booths at La Casa Diner with enough scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and bagels on the table to feed a family of five. He poured himself a cup of coffee while eyeing Edgar as the two of us slid into the booth.
“Thought this was gonna be just me and you, partner,” Billy said, picking up a plastic bear full of honey and squeezing some into his coffee.
If Edgar’s feelings were hurt by Billy’s greeting, he hid it well. He fixed himself a big plate from the family-style portions on the table as I poured myself a cup of coffee. First things first.
“You look better than I thought you would,” Billy said.
“Edgar took good care of me. Slept like a baby.”
“Good to know.” That got a smile from Edgar. “Now, I know you gave me the Reader’s Digest version last night, but I wanna hear it all again. Slowly, and don’t worry about boring me with the smallest of details. Go.”
I did, and when I finished, Billy nodded.
“Ya had no clue this Cruz guy was involved before last night?”
“No.”
“Or that those two bad guys worked for him?”
“Never saw them together. No.”
“Jesus.” He drank a little coffee.
Edgar took the opportunity to pick up the honey bear and pour a little into his own coffee. He took a sip and didn’t do a very good job hiding his disgust.
Billy smirked. “Least I could do is call up the old house, see if they know anything about this guy … Vega?”
“He said no cops.”
“Hey,” Billy said, spreading out his hands, his sign for me to take it easy. “Just a friendly chat between old friends is all.”
“I mean it, Billy. Anything goes wrong, Frankie’s in a shitload of trouble. Me, too.”
Billy shook his head. “I don’t get it, Ray. I mean, why for fuck’s sake did you get involved in this to begin with?”
“He’s one of mine, Billy. If I had known it was going to develop into this, I would’ve called my uncle and stepped back. But I didn’t. Shit got real deep, real fast. I had to find out what was going on.”
“Not like you to get caught leaning, partner.”
“I know.”
“You think maybe you shoulda seen this coming?”
“I fucked up, okay!” I said, loud enough to make the waitress step back as she brought us another pot of coffee. She took away the old one and placed our bill under the sugar dispenser. I gave her an apologetic smile and lowered my voice. “Now I need to fix it. You think it’s easy coming here, asking for help? I’m putting you in a bad position, Billy. I know that. I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t important.”
Edgar shifted uncomfortably. He picked up his coffee cup, remembered the taste it had left the last time, and chose a glass of water instead. We were all silent for about a minute.
“Okay,” Billy said. “You got absolutely no idea what Cruz thinks you have?”
“No.”
“And the reason he thinks you have it…”
“… is because Frankie told him I did.”
“How long has he had the kid?”
“Good question,” I said. “Long enough to know Frankie’s not in possession of what he told Cruz I have.”
“I see why you like this kid so much. Forget I said that.” As he thought, I grabbed half a bagel and spread some butter on it. “Can what he’s looking for be at your school?”
“Possible,” I said. “But I doubt it. I checked my box yesterday.”
“Home?”
“I never got a chance to find out.”
“We need to do that.” He turned to Edgar. “You can swing Ray by his place, right?”
Edgar sat up straighter. “Yes, sir. I … Billy. Yeah. Absolutely.”
Billy grinned and said, “Good. I’m gonna drive by the park and check it out. See if I can figure out why Cruz wants the meet there.”
“How about we all do that?” I said. “Cruz told me to wait at the pay phone.”
“Yeah?”
“Edgar,” I said, “tell Billy about that trick you did with the phone at The LineUp.”
“It’s not a trick, Ray. It’s a—”
“Just tell him.”
He did, and when he was finished, Billy nodded.
“And you could do that right now?”
“I don’t see why not. I got the equipment in my car.”
Billy stood. “Let’s go to the park first, boys.” He took a final sip of coffee and slid the bill toward me. “Don’t forget to leave a good tip, Ray. Ya scared the shit out of Carmen.”
Chapter 33
I CAN’T SWEAR TO IT, BUT I’D bet good money that River Street Park is the smallest park in the city system. It looks like someone noticed there was about sixty feet of unused riverfront space between the old sugar factory and an oil storage facility and decided to put in a few picnic tables, post a green sign with a Parks Department maple leaf on it, and call it a park. According to the historical plaque on the restored smokestack, ferries used to leave from this spot every five minutes before the Williamsburg Bridge was built in 1903.
Edgar parked right behind Billy’s Jeep. Before I could get out of the car, he was over at the pay phone, checking it out.
Billy gave me a grin. “That guy’s something else.”
“If he says he can do it,” I said, “he’ll do it.”
Edgar came back to his car, popped the trunk, and took out a toolbox.
“You guys got my back while I work my magic?” he asked.
“Anyone asks you what you’re doing,” Billy said, “tell ’em to call a fucking cop.”
Billy and I walked over to the water as Edgar made his way back to the phone. Billy put his foot on a rock and looked across the river toward Manhattan. Two men in baseball caps fished, and an older man made his way around the rocks picking up empty cans and putting them into a garbage bag. A good breeze was coming off the water. With the dark clouds sailing eastward over the city skyline, I was almost convinced it might rain.
“I don’t like the location, Ray,” he said. “A meet like this has a higher likelihood of going bad when there’s more than one viable exit or entrance.”
“You think a boat could get in here?” I asked, watching as the waves crashed against the rocks and the foam retreated into the river.
“Mine could. Be a bit rough, but it’s doable. Enough to let someone off.”
“Or on.”
“That, too.” He shook his head. “Don’t like it. Means we need a man on the water.” He stepped back and did a three-sixty, taking in the small park. He pointed up at the three-story, gun-metal gray tower adjacent to the oil tanks. “Could just situate my heavily armed self up there and wait for them to show up.”
“I won’t even justify that with a response,” I said. “What about Edgar?”
“For the meet? He may be good at the techie shit, but no way I’m trusting a wannabe with this kind of job. I’d like to find someone who can handle a boat. Preferably their own.”
“What about yours?”
“If it wasn’t up on blocks in my backyard. Suffered some structural damage last week, courtesy of my asshole brother-in-law, who can’t read a fucking depth chart. Was gonna fix it this weekend, but I don’t have the necessary materials, and even then it’s a six-hour job at least, and we don’t go
t that kind of time.”
“Can you borrow one?”
“It ain’t a lawn mower, Ray. I can’t just call somebody and ask if I can borrow his boat for an early-morning errand. Not without dealing with a whole lot of questions you don’t want answered.”
My inner light bulb went off. “What if I knew someone who could fix yours?”
“This time of year? Anybody any good’ll be booked for a few weeks at least.”
“But if I did know someone?”
“Do you?”
“I might,” I said, taking out my cell phone.
It took a little while for me to remember the name of the company Lisa’s father worked for. When it came to me, I called information and had the phone company connect me. I wasn’t sure if Mr. King worked on Saturdays, but after three rings he picked up. After exchanging hellos and how-you-doings, and his telling me how grateful he was for my helping Lisa—who would definitely be back in school come Monday—I told him what I needed.
“I can free myself up in an hour,” he told me. “What kinda job are we talking about?”
I handed the phone back to Billy to let him work out the details. I joined Edgar over at the pay phone. He was holding the hand piece and using a small screwdriver to implant something.
“One of the newer ones,” he informed me, with more than a touch of sarcasm. “Designed to prevent just this kind of interference. I tell you, Raymond, when I retire, these guys are gonna pay me big bucks to show them how to do this right.”
“You almost done?”
“Couple more turns of the screw,” he said. “And there we have it.” He put the mouthpiece back where it belonged. “As good as when the company first installed it.”
A minute later, Billy came over. “You save this guy King’s life or something?”
“I was there when his daughter made an important life decision,” I said.
“Sounded like he’d take a bullet for you. Anyways, he’ll be at my house in less than two hours. I called the wife and told her to expect him.” Billy looked at the phone and then at Edgar. “You done already?”
