Kat and I held onto each other, shivering for the rest of the flight. Wuss that I am, tears spilled down my cheeks. Kat’s face wasn’t exactly dry, either.
Don’t Push It
“Will you look at those strobes,” my father said, holding his revolver to Garth’s temple while he peered out the window at the airport looming below us.
As Garth worked the controls and talked to the tower, the plane began its descent. My father leaned into him. Lifting the man’s right headphone, he said, “Bye, bye, sucker,” as we made the final approach.
I made a face. “You and the parrot.”
“Smart bird, Rooster,” he countered.
I said nothing. I could see fire trucks, squads, a van bearing a U.S. Marshal’s logo, and unmarked cars lining the runway.
After we landed, Tig and three of his special agent buddies entered the cabin as soon as I opened the passenger door.
Tig looked past me. “Hi, Paddy,” he said. “Congratulations, you finally got them.”
My father pointed to me. “All I did was follow my daughter’s lead.”
“Your daughter?” Tig asked.
I almost got sick. If my father thought I was going to fall for his flattery, he could think again. I couldn’t bear to look at him, although I must admit, I wondered how Tig knew my father.
“One of the suspects is wounded,” I said, pointing to Rip on the floor.
I could tell Lorraine had been crying. She stood by the wing, waiting to help us as we climbed out. Kat broke away from me and ran to her. I heard her asking about her grandmother’s wake and saw Lorraine shaking her head.
We stood there, the three of us huddled together, watching while paramedics wheeled Rip to an ambulance, and federal marshals led Garth and Liese Goncourt away in shackles. I could see Liese gesturing toward the plane and doing her gentle old lady act. The marshals didn’t seem charmed.
Inside, I started filling out a statement while Kat told her story, and we all listened, anxious to hear where they’d kept her.
“Last night I heard you and a man talking to Rip,” she said. “Didn’t you hear me pounding?”
How had I missed it?
“That huge house, I hate it. I had to stay in a tiny room. I thought Kirsten wasn’t like the rest of them, but she’s the one who took my phone and backpack. I’ve got to study for a chemistry test Tuesday, too.”
“Kirsten was the one who picked you up?”
Kat shook her head, nodded, then shook her head again, saying she knew there was something strange about her aunt when she’d gotten into the car, but hadn’t realized what was going on until after they’d gone a little way. “She’s a terrible driver. When we didn’t jerk down the block, I thought something was up.”
They’d driven into a neighborhood she’d never seen before. “We parked in a small garage and stayed there. I was scared, really scared. But pretty soon the real Kirsten came along in Abe’s car, smiling and doing her Ladies and Gentlemen thing.”
Kat said she thought it was some kind of joke until Rip removed his wig and laughed. “That’s when Kirsten called him a fool for not taking my backpack. Then they gave me something. That’s all I remember. And how dumb am I? I could have called for help before she came along.” She shook herself. “We could have died. They were going to throw us out of the plane. I felt the wind all over me. Granny used to call windy days the breath of God.” Fresh tears.
I felt watery eyes coming over me, too, but told myself to keep it light, something I’m great at doing. “Charlotte will let you use her books until the feds return yours.”
Tig took our statements, and I messaged him the video of Liese Goncourt shoving a blindfolded Kat into the plane. He played it, saying what I’d already known, that we probably couldn’t use it in court.
We thanked Edna for her help and walked toward the car. It was hard to keep my eyes open until my father asked if he could drive us back to Brooklyn. I shook my head, wide awake and angry with him for leaving over twelve years ago, pissed at myself for being such a hardnose.
When he opened the door to what I assumed had been Garth’s Chevy, I realized he’d been the one tailing me. “Where’d you get those weird tags?”
“Friend of mine owns a dealership in Bensonhurst and lends me wheels whenever I need them.”
I forced myself to look at him. “So let me get this straight: you’ve been following me since—”
“I was following the Goncourts. Then I saw you and Denny outside Phyllida’s house the night Liese Goncourt slipped Phyllida the drugs. I thought you’d seen me.”
I must have looked puzzled.
“I parked, ran around to the side and slammed into an icicle, of all things. After that, I began tailing you.”
“At least trying,” I said, “but I slipped away a lot.”
“Dream on. Didn’t Phyllida ever bother to fix her gutter?” he asked. He told me he was moving back to Brooklyn.
My heart almost stopped.
Shuffling his feet, he told me he couldn’t live on his pension and social, so he’d be looking for a part-time gig. He paused before asking me if I knew anyone who was hiring. I shook my head fast, a stone grinding deep in the pit of my stomach. In the fading light I looked into his gray eyes, noted his gristle, the deep lines around his mouth. How long had it been, I asked him.
“Twelve years, eight months, ten days and—” He looked at his watch.
“Forget it. You’re still a skip.”
“You in business for yourself?”
I knew what he was angling for, and I wasn’t about to throw him a lifeline, at least not until he proved himself. Still, the Fina Fitzgibbons Detective Agency could use someone with his skill and experience. I cocked one side of my mouth, picturing him doing all the grunt work, then rejected it. Drowning in my lost child, I watched him give me one of his old smiles, and my heart ached for a simpler time. I thought of Denny and how he’d handle it if his father left him and then returned, remembering what he’d said to me, when was it, only a handful of hours ago. “But thanks for all your help,” I said. “I know I owe you my life.”
“Twice, missy. I gave it to you twice.”
“Not counting the time you left and took it away, to say nothing of what that did to Mom.”
I couldn’t look at his face, but I knew I’d oozed out some of his bravado. “I guess sometime we’ll have to talk but not today. I guess …” I was about to offer him that part-time job he wanted, but hesitated. “Except I need you to answer my questions.”
“You’ve always got a million. Shoot.”
“Just two today. Were you the one punching out Garth in front of Lucy’s last week? How did you get onboard today? How do you know Tig? How do you know the Goncourts?”
“That’s four questions, but here goes.” He took a deep breath and told me, yes, he’d seen me go into Lucy’s, and when Garth showed up later on Lucy’s stoop, he took care of him.
When I didn’t respond, he moved on to my question about sneaking onto the airplane, asking if I’d seen a fuel truck. When I told him I’d watched it leave, he said earlier he’d persuaded the driver to give him a lift to the craft, paid him handsomely to detain the pilot while he climbed onboard, and hid behind a tarpaulin, assuring me he’d cleared the extra weight with load planning prior to takeoff.
“So Edna knew about you?”
He nodded. As for knowing Tig, that was a longer story, but he said they’d worked together for years. Until he’d retired last month, my father had been an undercover agent assigned to an office in upstate New York, where he’d become an expert in human trafficking. He’d been following the Goncourts for years and knew all about their Bensonhurst operation. “It’s too complicated to get into, but they traffic between Russia and some of their neighbors, smuggling young women to Canada and then to Brooklyn, have done ever since I was involved. The old lady and her mother set up the business. Lately, it’s been foundering. We like to think it’s because of us, but m
ore than likely there’s weakness at the top—the old gal’s no longer steering the biz.”
I frowned. “Are you going to do something about Abe Goncourt?”
He looked at his watch. “Already in custody. Tig knows more about the take than me.” He told me they’d been working in close cooperation with CSIS, which I knew as the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, and they’d made the arrest yesterday in a hotel room in Montreal.
“And what about the parrot?”
“Too many questions.” He winked, shoving a business card into my hand and saying he hoped we could get together soon.
“Don’t push it.”
Why I did an about-face, I don’t know, but standing there and squinting at his card, I rethought my previous decision not to offer him work. My agency was growing, I told myself. Lately we’d been stretched, had to turn down work, and provided he didn’t do the skip thing again, I really could use someone like my father with his experience, especially if Jane was going to throw more surveillance work our way. Part-time, and he’d be on probation. I figured I’d give him all the jobs I didn’t want, the ones too dangerous for Cookie. In addition, he could do all the filing and entering. Then I grinned, picturing him and Jane Templeton confronting each other. Besides, Denny and I could use a vacation.
Kirsten, Rip, and Garth didn’t interest me all that much, but the old redhead, I’d love to get into her head. Plus, I still had a lot of questions, not that she’d give me answers.
“Get me an interview with Liese Goncourt and fast. If you do, I think I may have a job for you.”
Driving Home
Confused and crying a little, Kat sat next to Lorraine in the backseat, admitting the worst thing about her ordeal was being without her phone.
“I knew I’d never see Granny again, except to visit her at the mausoleum. All right, I got over that, sort of, except for the ache whenever I saw pictures of her in my head. But when that man pretending to be my aunt took me, I thought I’d never see my friends again.” She started crying.
Through the rearview mirror, Lorraine shot me a do-not-disturb look, but I had to know more, so I began asking Kat questions. It must be the detective in me. I summarized what she’d already told us, and asked her about where they kept her.
“Next thing I knew, I woke up in this dark room. No air, I couldn’t breathe.” She told us her grandmother appeared. “She said the same old thing, how I was going to work for her.”
I almost threw up listening to the rest of her story. Kat started in again about how it was all her fault for getting into the car without looking at the driver, for being so weak and letting them do what they did to her. She whispered something to Lorraine, who held her then, talking low and working her magic, telling Kat how she never needed to fear Liese Goncourt again. The closer we got to Brooklyn, the happier Kat became. There was silence for a while as we inched through Staten Island.
“Wait until Denny hears,” I said.
“I’ve tried reaching him a few times,” Lorraine said, “but he hasn’t returned my calls.”
Kat asked if she could use my phone to call Charlotte, and after skimming through her capture and today’s events, she spent the next twenty minutes talking and laughing with her friend. I could hear them discussing boys, teachers, making plans. Fifteen, her last year of childhood.
The demonstration had to be over by this time. We flew over the Verrazano and crawled on the BQE, watching the gathering darkness. Almost home. I opened the window a crack and took a whiff, breathing in my beloved Brooklyn.
When Kat was finished with my phone, I punched in Jane’s number. She congratulated me, saying she’d heard everything from her FBI counterparts.
She paused. “Is Lorraine there? I need to talk to her.”
I passed the phone back and in a few seconds watched Lorraine’s mouth form an O.
Hand on her heart, she said, “Denny’s been hurt. Brooklyn Hospital. Intensive care. Hurry!”
Full of Sleep
How we ever made it off the bridge and into the hospital I don’t know, but I remember stopping outside Charlotte’s building, where she and her parents were waiting outside for us, Kat running to them. Off to one side stood two men dressed in black suits. I recognized one of them, an agent who’d stormed the Goncourts’ home in Princeton. He held out a backpack, and my admiration for the feds soared. I watched as Kat thanked them, her arm shooting inside the bag and retrieving her phone.
After Lorraine told Charlotte’s mother about Denny, we sped the rest of the way to the hospital, Lorraine reminding me to turn off the ignition after we parked. Thoughts raced through me, pictures, really, of our last days together, our ridiculous fight, Denny standing on the stoop looking after me as I drove away.
Outside the hospital, there were ambulances, satellite trucks, squads. Uniforms lined the entrance. Somehow Lorraine and I, tears flowing, made it up to the ICU.
Flanked by several patrolmen, Zizi Carmalucci was standing outside his door.
“They won’t let me in, but I need the story,” she said.
I guess she thought I was going to work magic? I walked past her into Denny’s room and almost lost it when I saw Robert standing in the far corner, one hand over his eyes, the other holding a Rosary.
Denny lay in the bed unmoving, eyes closed. He was stuck with needles, an oxygen mask covering his face, his whole body caught up in lines and nurses and machines.
Lorraine rushed to him and kissed his forehead. His eyelashes fluttered. She whispered something, and he opened his lids.
Then I lost it big time.
His eyes flicked from his father to his mother, slid around the room and met mine. “Fina.”
I blubbered like a baby.
“Now I feel better, honest,” he said and went back to sleep.
“Sedated,” the doctor said, turning to Robert and Lorraine.
Clancy stepped into the room, still in his riot gear.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Denny was standing next to me when this guy comes up and starts yelling in my ear, shoving me, going for my face. Denny tries to tackle him, and the guy turns on him. Suddenly I see a blade. Next thing I know, Denny’s clutching his arm and sinks to the ground. Happened so fast.”
He told us the rest—the man, not a protestor, really, had a history of violence. “They got him in custody.”
“Do me a favor and tell the story to that reporter,” I said, pointing to Zizi.
I heard the tail end of the doctor talking to Lorraine and Robert.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” the on-duty doc said, fingering the back of his scrubs. It was the same guy we saw in Phyllida’s room the night she was admitted. “If he hadn’t been wearing his vest …”
I swallowed.
“My son’s strong,” Robert said. “We’re taking him home tonight.”
The doctor shook his head. “Couple of days. We need to watch him.”
Where had I heard that before? “I’m staying here until he’s able to leave.”
“It’ll be a few days at least,” the doc said. “He lives alone and—”
I shook my head. “We live together. He’ll have round-the-clock care.”
Denny’s eyes were fully open. He was asking the nurse to raise his bed so he could sit up.
I went to him, hugging him as best I could, smelling blood and crowd and the faint odor of his cologne. I kissed him right on his oxygen mask. “If I hadn’t been such a hardnose, this never would have happened.”
“Talk. That’s what we need to do.” His voice was muffled through the mask. “Sit on the couch together. Talk to me about all the kids you don’t want. Tell me about the fickleness of love. Talk to me about your old man. Tell me about the gentleness of all protestors.”
“That wasn’t a protestor. You know that.”
He smiled.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lorraine wiping her glasses and nodding. Then it hit me. Why hadn’t I seen it before
—Denny had been confiding in his mother.
“They don’t call you the flying red raccoon for nothing,” Robert said. But his face was wet, his nose a dripping faucet as he gave me a bear hug. “Without your dad, you’d be fish food.”
For a second I wondered how he’d heard about the airplane ride so quickly. It couldn’t have been from Zizi. She wouldn’t have known. And it wasn’t from the papers: it happened across the Hudson, a foreign territory as far as Brooklynites were concerned.
“How did you—”
“Fathers talk, you know.” He shoved the beads into his pocket.
A nurse stuck her head in and motioned my way, telling me someone wanted to speak to me. Zizi.
“OMG, I just heard! Let’s go to the lounge and you can fill me in. After they read my story, everyone in Brooklyn’s going to know about the Fina Fitzgibbons Detective Agency and how you broke up a human-trafficking ring and saved yourself and a teen from sudden death. I need names, the who, what, where, background, what it felt like to confront death, the seething terror, everything.”
My father had been blowing his horn. I calmed her down and told her I’d text her the facts as soon as I had a moment.
An older nurse came in and told us we were being too noisy and we’d better leave. “Patient needs his rest.”
“That’s it. I’m out of here,” Denny said. “Where are my clothes?” He tried to sit up, wobbled and fell back into the pillows. His face was ashen.
The nurse wagged her finger. “One more day, guy, and then you’re out of here.”
After everyone else left, Denny and I were silent a while.
“Tired?” I asked. Stupid question, his eyes were closed.
When he woke a while later, he said, “Tell me what happened at the airport.”
I did. Holding hands, sitting by his bedside, I felt, I don’t know what, as if a new life surged through me, although I felt wiped, grit sticking to my eyelids. It wasn’t like walking on air or being sexually charged, nothing like that, but I could see almost to forever. I knew then what love was about. For I was in love with Denny, pure and simple and forever, sophisticated or corny, it made no difference. Denny was not my father; I was not my mother; together we’d make a new history.
The Brooklyn Drop (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 4) Page 23
