Art heaved a jagged sigh and didn’t say anything for a moment. Ethan waited for the rest. Finally, it came. “We figured it out, but not before he murdered two more. I guess he thought it would be suspicious if the final victim was his wife. Did you know the Feds got pulled in for the case? They thought it was a serial killer. I guess he sort of was, just not your garden-variety type.”
Ethan almost didn’t know what to say for once. “Why haven’t I ever heard about this?”
“Like I said, swept under the rug as best they could; the big guys didn’t want it to get out that one of their own boys went rampage on the city. Makes us all look bad, that kind of thing.”
“Holy shit — that’s terrible, Art.”
“The worst part is I began to blame myself. Here we were the two of us together, trying to solve this case, and the whole time he was faking his distress and I didn’t see it. It was right in front of me.”
“But you couldn’t have known what he was doing,” Ethan said.
“It doesn’t change anything. Seven women are dead, and to this day those same big boys upstairs think I’m not the detective I should be. How could I not figure it out? He was my partner, you know? How did this happen?”
“Sometimes there are just people who do a good job at hiding their crazy.”
“Trust me, I know,” Art said. “I think I’ve nearly seen everything, and I’m not sure I want to see much more — because just when you think you’ve seen it all, something happens that blows your world away.”
Art’s revelation had been unexpected and eye opening, but a glance at the clock told Ethan the night was dwindling and this conversation would have to be picked up later. “Hey man, thanks for sharing that. I know it must have been hard. I wouldn’t mind hearing more sometime, but I’d better give Fredericks that call before he cans my ass permanently.”
“Give ‘em hell, kid.”
“Yeah, I’ll try. And Art — thanks again for everything.”
“No problem, buddy.” There was a touch of sadness in the big man’s voice, as if he had so much more to say and Ethan felt a tinge of guilt for not having more time to continue the conversation.
He disconnected the line and dialed Fredericks’ home number, but his mind was still glued on the story of Lewis Martinelli. He imagined himself in Art’s situation, and wondered how it must have felt to have been deceived so completely for so long. Ethan hoped he never had to experience something like that.
Fredericks answered the phone then, breaking his thoughts. Nine minutes later — after a series of outbursts, rants, and grumbles from his boss — the man finally calmed down and agreed to meet at Jo Ann’s Café in the morning.
Shortly after ending the call, Ethan flopped back on the bed. It had been a long damn day. Moments later, he drifted into sleep surrounded by a pile of Tobias’s papers.
18
The Breakfast Slug
“I gotta hand it to you Ethan, you sure do have some stones with the crap you’ve pulled lately,” Fredericks said as he slid into the seat opposite Ethan.
“I was born that way; it’s my cross to bear.” Ethan smirked around a mouthful of breakfast. Jo Ann’s Café didn’t sit in the safest of neighborhoods but the food was amazing and worth the risk. “So were you able to get what I asked for?” Ethan said after swallowing.
Fredericks leaned back. “Would I be here if I wasn’t?” He produced a light brown folder he’d been carrying and slapped it on the table. “I’ll admit, I thought you were getting your panties in a bunch about your uncle, but after that raid at his estate, even I’m starting to believe there is some shady shit going down.”
A waitress bearing the name tag ‘Aurelia’ walked by to tend to other patrons, and Fredericks raised his finger to snag her notice. She stopped when she saw the badge hanging from his chest pocket, glinting like pure gold, and her dark eyes flashed as if saying, Anything for the boys on the street. “What can I get ya darlin’?” Her twang made her sound like a member of the Kennedy family.
“Coffee, black.” Fredericks faced the woman, offering Ethan a glimpse of his legendary ear hair. Ethan usually tried to avoid looking at it but he was almost a captive audience here. It was like the Garden of Eden and grew in wicked formations. He half expected a slithering serpent to shoot out and offer a bite of the forbidden fruit. Ethan suppressed a shudder and quickly averted his eyes.
As the serving girl left on her newly given mission, Fredericks gazed back at Ethan. “I want to get something straight with you before we move on. Art isn’t your errand boy, and I don’t like my detectives running around on the city’s dime chasing down leads I’m not aware of. No more behind my back shit; everything goes through me from here on. Are we clear?”
Ethan nodded, and Fredericks continued, “I assume you already spoke with Art so you’re aware that Bracamontes didn’t tell us too much we didn’t already know. Also, our boy Bailey is still in the hospital. He’s pretty shaken up by the whole ordeal. I’d be surprised if he decided to wear blue again.”
Fredericks was probably thinking the same thing as Ethan. He’d seen it several times during his short career, so he couldn’t fathom how often his boss must have witnessed it: a cop gets a close call and decides to throw in the towel. Much like a guy with a motorcycle who loves to feel the speed of the machine beneath him and the wind in his face, then sells the cycle at half price just to get it out of the garage when fate nearly claims his life.
The serving girl came back and set the mug on the table, then gave a quick top off to Ethan’s cup. She flashed a grin and moved on to her other customers before they had a chance to ask for anything else. Coffee wasn’t a big tip opportunity for her, cop or not.
Fredericks rubbed his hands together and wrapped them around his cup, then took a giant swig. “Jesus, this coffee is so weak it’s helpless.”
“It’s okay to me; I think the cigarettes are killing your taste buds.” Ethan dumped a heaping spoon full of sugar into his own java.
“If you keep using too much of that shit you’re going to die young, Tannor.”
Ethan could feel Fredericks eyeballing him, but he pretended he didn’t notice and returned to his breakfast. “Life is short, right?” He pointed to the file. “Do we have new leads?”
“Contrary to popular belief — and despite its strangeness — your uncle’s case isn’t the only one on my desk. A lot of shit’s going down all at once. The higher ups and the Mayor want that Brooklyn Vigilante case closed; there’s been another killing.”
“Same MO?”
“It’s not really an MO — unless taking out each of The Seven Kings systematically can be considered that. But you know the really odd thing?”
Ethan shrugged, waiting for Fredericks to elaborate.
“I knew every last one of those sons of bitches almost twenty years ago, when they were small time. Couldn’t seem to put them away except one, but even then it wasn’t for long. It’s like someone found my short list of names and is cleaning up what I couldn’t.”
“Wait a minute. The Kings? You knew them all?”
Fredericks gave a slow nod. “There’s Eduardo Dominguez, Don Chuey, and Rogelio Gomez.” He ticked off a finger for each name. “They’re all six feet under now. That still leaves Raul Salazar — who’s currently locked up and maybe in the safest place — Marco Murillo, Javier Menendez, and then there’s La Sombra — who nobody seems to know. He’s the only one I don’t have information on.”