Lawyers, Guns and Money

by Bob Mayer

  TONIA TTENW INDOW SONTH EWORL DXXXX

  MEETY AZZIE ATNOO NSAME BOATX

  “Important?” Morticia was making a curving pass to the counter to pick up dishes.

  “My dance card is filling up,” Kane said.

  “Save some space,” Morticia said. “Thao just put some peppers on the counter.”

  Kane drew the .45 and rested it on his left thigh as Agent Shaw entered the Washington Street door.

  “Should I dive for cover?” Morticia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kane said, “but get out of my line of fire.”

  “Righto.” Morticia moved to the counter and retrieved meals for a pair of transvestites on the far side of the diner.

  Shaw looked like shit and there weren’t more agents following him as backup so Kane kept his finger on the outside of the trigger guard, while he turned on the tape recorder.

  “I didn’t know what Tucker was up to,” Shaw said, standing at the edge of the counter and keeping his hands clear from his sides. “Can I sit?”

  Kane nodded.

  Shaw sat down, eyes red, deep pockets under them. He put his hands on the table. “They found Tucker last night. Seems he fell onto the tracks at 242nd Street up in the Bronx.”

  “Accidents happen,” Kane said. “I don’t think Tucker was sure of where he stood, so it’s easy to slip and fall. Where do you stand?”

  “Damon was Tucker’s guy,” Shaw said, the words coming fast and guilty. “I was against it from the start, but he was my partner. And then he set me up. Tucker told me it was a benny of the job. Some high-class hooker on Gramercy Park. I shouldn’t have done it. I got a wife and kids. But, fuck, you know.”

  “You’ve got it backward,” Kane said. “Tucker was Damon’s guy. So were you.”

  “I don’t know what he had on Tucker,” Shaw continued. “But it was bad.”

  “What’s going on with the Swords of Saint Patrick?”

  Shaw frowned as if that was a strange question. “Shit, man, I don’t know. Could have been bullshit by Damon.”

  “It wasn’t,” Kane said. He leaned forward. “Nothing Damon gave you two was ever sent up the chain of command, was it?”

  “No.”

  “No paperwork at all?”

  “No.”

  “No one at the FBI, other than you, knows about these Swords of Saint Patrick?” Kane asked.

  “It was probably just Damon jerking our chain,” Shaw tried, without conviction.

  “Then why were you guys in the Bronx checking on it? Bringing me in?”

  “Tucker was worried about you for some reason,” Shaw said. “Then after going to the meeting at your lawyers, he started weirding out.”

  “Do you know a guy named Whitey Bulger in Boston?” Kane asked.

  “Who?”

  “Why the fuck are you here?”

  “To tell you I had nothing to do with whatever Tucker was up to last night.”

  Kane leaned back in the seat. “You just went along with Tucker and Damon? You’re telling me you had no idea what Damon was doing in his factory?”

  “I didn’t know anything about the place,” Shaw said. “What I said at HQ was true. We never tailed Damon there.”

  “Because Tucker didn’t want you to,” Kane said. “Sofia Cappucci. Did you call her after I left HQ the other day?”

  “I didn’t. Tucker disappeared right after you. He was gone for a few minutes. He had all sorts of weird contacts.”

  “I’m going to give you one chance, Shaw. Did Damon or Tucker say anything about these Sword guys? What the target might be? Where they might be hiding?”

  “I don’t think Damon knew anything more, either, since he wasn’t helping them.”

  “If I was you, Shaw, I’d turn in my badge and move to Montana and become a cowboy or a tree or more aptly, a rock. You’re done in the FBI and you’re done in the city. Go.”

  Shaw scooted out of the booth and scurried away.

  “You don’t look happy,” Morticia chipped in as she cruised by. Then she brightened as the Gansevoort door opened. “Omar! Morning, sweetie.”

  “Morning, pretty lady,” Omar greeted her as she pecked him on the cheek.

  Omar took up most of the width of the other side of the booth from Kane. “Why do you have your gun out?”

  Kane was startled and he holstered. “The FBI was just here.”

  Strong frowned. “You were gonna shoot the FBI, Kane? Even for you, that’s a bit much.”

  “Did you get the donuts this morning?” Kane asked.

  Strong looked up as Morticia put a cup in front of him and poured. “You’re right. He’s not funny.”

  “I know,” Morticia said. “His mood seems to be getting worse. The usual, sweetie? Do you have time?”

  “I do and yes,” Strong said.

  More customers entered and she moved off.

  “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” Kane said. “Do you come bearing more good news?”

  “I wanted breakfast,” Strong said, “and I was in the area.”

  “You tracked Son of Sam to the Village?”

  “No. I was at headquarters.” Strong lowered his voice. “We got a good lead. Real good. We’re gonna nail the son-of-bitch in the next day or so.”

  “Congratulations,” Kane said. “What was the break?”

  “A parking ticket,” Strong said. “At the last shooting. One of the witnesses reported seeing a uniform in the area writing tickets. When we checked, we didn’t find anything filed. They were going to blow off the witness, thinking she was making it up—we’ve had lots of that—or confused. But I talked to every patrolman on duty that night in that precinct. Found the officer. He hadn’t turned his in and was worried he’d get in trouble.”

  “Details,” Kane said.

  “Details,” Strong agreed, but he didn’t appear thrilled. “Of course, the boss just took the lead from me.”

  “Can’t have the donut man making the bust?” Kane asked.

  “More like can’t have the junior black guy do it,” Strong said, “since it’s going to be the biggest story of the year.”

  “Fucked up,” Kane said, but he had some doubts about biggest story of the year.

  Strong echoed him the second time. “Fucked up, indeed. I just got told.”

  “Going to drown your sorrows in some pancakes?” Kane asked. “Let me ask you something, since you just came from the font of all police knowledge. Is there any buzz in the building about IRA terrorists in the city?”

  Strong had the cup of coffee halfway to his mouth, but the hand froze. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Kane said.

  “Don’t drop that in my lap and then nothing me,” Strong said. “This have anything to do with the M-16s, Damon and the fire?”

  “Partially,” Kane said. “I don’t think you want to know what I know.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” Strong said. He took a deep drink of coffee, put the cup down. “But since you opened Pandora’s box and unleashed your plague on me, you don’t get to shut it. What’s going on?”

  Kane glanced to make sure Morticia was busy. He’d run this all through his mind enough times, that he was able to give Strong the quick version, in under two minutes, minus killings and other incriminating information. By the time he was done, Morticia arrived with his pancakes and bacon.

  “You all right, sweetie?” she asked. She gave Kane a dirty look. “Did Kane ruin your morning?”

  Strong forced a smile. “No. We’re discussing the sad state of the city.”

  “Neither of you lie very well,” Morticia said, “which is odd given your occupations.” She waved a hand. “Go on. Conspire without my wisdom and insight.” She walked away.

  “There’s not a peep of that on the force,” Strong said. “We see everything on the Task Force. The IRA wouldn’t do that here.”

  The brief summary had left out the IRA faction bit, so Kane filled that in. He withhel
d what Caitlyn had told him, because Omar would want to know how he knew it and of course . . .

  “There’s more to this,” Strong said. “Stuff you aren’t telling me. A reason you can’t fire a flare.”

  “There is,” Kane admitted.

  “Fruit of the poison tree?” Strong asked.

  “Fruit of the fucking-dead tree,” Kane clarified. “My recent FBI visitor confirmed the Feebs are also clueless about this, for various reasons, mainly being fucked up.”

  “Without more, you won’t be believed,” Strong said.

  “I know,” Kane said. “But without getting that more, I wouldn’t know much of anything. A Catch-22.”

  “Jesus, you are a plague, Kane.” Strong’s pancakes were getting cold.

  Kane gripped the edge of the table. He leaned forward; his voice harsh. “Fuck you, Omar. You’d think someone would be happy there are less evil shits infecting the world with their sickness.”

  Omar sat back. Kane glanced to the side and realized Morticia had hovered into range for the last part. Omar looked at her also.

  “Something wrong?” Morticia asked Strong.

  “I’m sitting with Kane,” Strong said.

  “Ah!” Morticia moved off.

  “You got a point,” Omar said. “I don’t agree with it, but you have a point. Do you have any proof of this? Something tangible?”

  “No. And the FBI is a dead end.” Kane checked his watch. “If this is for real, we’ve got twenty-nine hours. I have more information than anyone. If I can’t track these guys down by tomorrow morning, you can send up a flare and I’ll give you a target.”

  “We lose a day,” Strong said.

  “Of what?” Kane replied. “You’ve got nothing solid to report. Just some guy said something. And once we open this can of worms it goes to the Nabisco Factory, the FBI and Damon and a bunch of other shit that will muddy the waters so much NYPD could have a month and get nowhere and some good people will get hurt. It’s taken you this long to get close to Son of Sam.”

  Strong’s face tightened at the last comment. But then he nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. They won’t let me make this collar; they’re not going to believe me with this. I’m not sure I believe you. As usual, you’re keeping things from me.”

  “Best for everyone,” Kane said. He looked past Strong as the Kid entered, NY Times in hand.

  “Beautiful morning,” the Kid said, sliding the paper in front of Kane, as he nodded at Strong. “Morning, officer.”

  “It was,” Strong muttered.

  “Hey,” Kane said to the Kid. “You ever hear of a group called the Gentleman’s Club?”

  The Kid glanced at Strong, which was an affirmative and a question.

  “You can talk,” Kane said. “He’s dependable. Right, Omar.”

  “Like a Rolex,” Omar said.

  Kane scooted over so the Kid could sit on his side.

  “Rich guys,” the Kid said. “Sometimes they hire people for parties.”

  “What kind of parties?” Kane asked.

  “Wild and crazy,” the Kid said. “I’ve never been to one, but the money is good. But scary. They’re a bunch of mostly old men, but hey, nothing new there.”

  Strong was following the conversation.

  “Where are these parties held?” Kane asked.

  “Lofts or empty office space that hasn’t been rented. They move around. No one knows beforehand and never in the same place. The people they hire get picked up by limos.” The Kid frowned, glanced at Strong, then continued. “They especially want boys. The younger the better.”

  “Pieces of shit,” Omar muttered.

  “Thanks,” Kane said. “You’re smart to stay away from them.”

  “Makes one smart person at this table,” Strong groused.

  Kane peeled off a twenty and passed it to the Kid.

  “Thanks. May the force be with you,” but the Kid said it without the usual energy and left.

  “Do I want to know what that was about?” Strong asked.

  “You’ve never heard of the Gentleman Bankers?”

  Strong shook his head.

  “Rich homosexuals,” Kane said. “Seems there’s a lot of them. Very powerful.”

  “I picked up the homosexual part.” Strong was lost. “And how does that have something to do with the IRA?”

  Kane nodded. “That’s why I’ve got to stop this. Too many moving parts for anyone else to get up to speed in time.”

  “He’s living a dangerous life,” Strong said, losing Kane for a moment. “Your newspaper boy.”

  “I’ve offered him a job here,” Kane said.

  “Magnanimous of you.”

  “Screw you.”

  “And if you fail to kill the fruit of this tree?” Strong asked. “What then?”

  “Then it’s NYPD’s problem. You don’t hear from me by tomorrow daylight, you’ll know we failed. Everything we’ve learned will be in my apartment.”

  “Jesus,” Strong muttered. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his card. “I’ll be waiting for your call.” Strong slid out of the booth. “I don’t understand you, Kane.” He paused and leaned close. “Be careful, all right?”

  Strong wasn’t out the door before Morticia zoomed by. “How come he never leaves happy after talking to you?”

  “I’m the harsh rocks of reality,” Kane said.

  “Hey, your friend, Truvey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s okay,” Morticia said. “We talked a bit. Did you ask your lawyer friend, Toni, about gigs for her?”

  “I did,” Kane said. “Do you want me to ask for you?”

  Morticia froze. “What do you mean?”

  “Thao said you’re an actress. A singer.”

  Morticia folded her arms. “He did? You two talked about me?”

  “We had some time on our hands,” Kane said.

  Morticia sat down across from Kane and her façade faded. “You don’t talk much,” she said. “At least not to me. And the other people that come in, half the time you’re holding a gun. You kinda scare me.”

  Kane was surprised. “I scare you?”

  “I can’t believe Truvey thought we were an item. And you’re my boss.”

  “Thao runs the place,” Kane said.

  “What else did he tell you about me?”

  “That’s about it. Oh. And that you live with a woman. Your friend whom Toni helped.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Why would who you live with bother me?” Kane was having a hard time keeping his focus on the twists and turn of this conversation.

  “It bothers most guys who find out,” Morticia said.

  “Right,” Kane said.

  Morticia hurried out of the booth and to her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m bothering you.”

  Kane gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re not bothering me. I just asked if you want me to talk to Toni about your acting thing. Whatever. Not a big deal.”

  “It’s not a thing. It’s my life.”

  The way Morticia said it gathered Kane’s focus. “What?”

  “Singing. The acting is part of it on Broadway. And my son. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “You have a son?”

  “Remember?” Morticia said. “Woodstock? Second best moment of my life? My son being born was the best.”

  “He lives with you?” Kane was lost.

  “No. He’s with my father. This is my shot. My dream. My dad and I agreed and he’s helping me as much as he can. My son is with him. I have two years to make it. If I don’t live my dream, what kind of life can I show my son?”

  Kane sat back, the new vinyl crinkling. “Okay.”

  A sparkle of anger in her eyes. “’Okay’?”

  Kane put his hands up. “I got a lot going on. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Toni. I’ll tell her to stop by here one morning. You see her, I’ll have told her what it’s about. Does that help?”

  The anger was gone as quickly as it had come. “
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just hard. Yeah. That helps. I wouldn’t have brought it up, except I have to try everything I can. Go do what you have to do. Between the CIA, the FBI, the evil shits, and Omar, I have a feeling you’ve got something more important than my career going on.” She left the booth and headed to the serving counter to swoop up plates.

  Kane pulled out his notepad and made an entry to remind him of the conversation because he had a feeling a lot might happen before he made it to Toni’s. He went to the payphone, dropping a dime. He checked his notepad and dialed Toni’s new office.

  Mrs. Ruiz answered promptly on the second ring. “Marcelle and Associates.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ruiz. It’s Will Kane. Who are the associates?”

  A chilly silence met his weak attempt at humor.

  “Could you inform Toni that I’ll meet her this afternoon at let’s say three, same place, instead of ten this morning?”

  “I will inform Ms. Marcelle.” Two seconds ticked off. “Is that all?”

  “Yes and—” the line went dead.

  Kane replaced the receiver and went into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Dai Yu,” Thao said.

  “Morning.”

  “Do you wish for me to come with you to this boat?” Thao asked. “We can close early.”

  “No, I’ve got it.”

  “That Yazzie is very dangerous,” Thao said.

  “He said the same about you.”

  “If true, that would be a good reason for me to accompany you.”

  “I don’t expect the meeting to be adversarial,” Kane said.

  “You told me you killed one of his men,” Thao pointed out.

  “Yazzie seems mission focused,” Kane replied, but Thao did have a point.

  “And when the mission is over?” Thao asked. “What will his focus be?”

  “I’ll deal with whatever happens then.” He hesitated, then committed. “I might need your help tonight.”

  “Do you know what is planned?”

  “I know the target,” Kane said. “I’ve got to figure out where they’re launching from, although I’ve got a good idea.”

  “And you will not be involving Sergeant Merrick?”

  “I will not. That’s why I need your help.”

  “I will be ready.”

  “I’ll stop by here later today and we’ll make a plan.”