“Everything taken care of?” she asked.
“No, nobody’s still there,” he said.
“Well, you can take care of it later, huh?”
“Yeah,” Freddie said. “I tried, didn’t I?”
“Sure, you did. Right now you’re gonna take care of me, huh?”
“Yeah?” Freddie said.
They walked away from the building arm-in-arm. Ten minutes later, Benny Napkins pulled up in a cab with Jeanette Kay, whom he had picked up outside the Trans-Lux 85th Street. Jeanette Kay was anxious to get upstairs because Crime of Passion, with Barbara Stanwyck and Sterling Hayden, was showing on Channel 5.
The Jackass refused to take off his stocking.
“That is a mask,” Bozzaris told him, “and there are laws against people wearing masks.”
“It’s not a mask, it’s a garment.”
“Be that as it may, it is still a mask,” Bozzaris said.
“It’s a stocking,” The Jackass said.
“If you wear it over your face, it’s a mask.”
“If you wear a mask on your foot, does that make it a stocking?” The Jackass asked.
“Don’t be a wise guy,” Bozzaris said.
“I know my rights,” The Jackass said, because whereas he was not too terribly bright, his empirical knowledge of criminal law was formidable and impressive.
“Be that as it may,” Bozzaris said, and decided then and there to advise him of his rights, it being the habit of bums all over these days to complain that this or that thing was not done according to the book. “In keeping with the Supreme Court decision in Miranda versus Arizona,” he said, “we’re required to advise you of your rights, and that’s what I’m doing now.”
“Correct,” The Jackass said approvingly.
“First, you have the right to remain silent, if you choose, do you understand that?”
“Correct, and I do.”
“Do you also understand that you need not answer any police questions?”
“Correct, and I do.”
“And do you also understand that if you do answer questions...”
“... my answers may be used as evidence against me, correct. I understand.”
“I must also inform you that you have the right to consult with an attorney before or during police questioning, do you understand that?”
“Yes,” The Jackass said, “and I also understand that if I decide to exercise that right but do not have the funds with which to hire counsel, I am entitled to have a lawyer appointed without cost, to consult with him before or during questioning.”
“Correct,” Bozzaris said.
“Do you understand all of your rights?” The Jackass asked.
“I do,” Bozzaris said.
“Do you want a lawyer?” The Jackass asked.
“What?” Bozzaris said, and blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. “Listen,” he said, “don’t be a wise guy. The last wise guy we had in here is right this minute languishing in the Tombs.”
“I want a lawyer,” The Jackass said.
“Do you have any special lawyer in mind?”
“I do.”
“Who?”
“Mario Azzecca,” The Jackass said, and Bozzaris suddenly sniffed the sweet scent of money wafting on the stale squadroom air.
Azzecca was in bed with his wife Sybil when the telephone rang at two o’clock in the morning. He immediately knew it was trouble. His son up at Harvard had undoubtedly been busted on a Possession of Marijuana charge, little bastard.
“Hello?” he said.
“Lieutenant Bozzaris here,” the voice on the other end said. “There is something important we have to discuss.”
“At two o’clock in the morning?” Azzecca said.
“Who is it?” his wife asked.
“Go to sleep,” Azzecca said. “Hold on a minute,” he said to Bozzaris, “I want to take this in my study.” He got out of bed in his pajamas, put on a dressing gown, and went out of the bedroom and down the corridor to where Sybil — out of the goodness of her miserly heart — had provided him with an eight-by-ten work space in a twelve-room apartment. He picked up the extension phone and said, “What’s so important, Lieutenant?”
“Money,” Bozzaris said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about somewhere in the vicinity of fifty thousand dollars that is now in our possession,” Bozzaris said.
The telephone began shaking in Azzecca’s hand. “What about it?” he said calmly.
“Our information leads us to believe that maybe this money is earmarked for one Carmine Ganucci in Naples,” Bozzaris said, and Azzecca immediately realized that Freddie Corriere, that dumb bastard, had somehow got himself picked up on the way to Benny Napkins’ place.
“Your information is wrong,” Azzecca answered, because why had Bozzaris said “in the vicinity of fifty thousand dollars?” What vicinity? Corriere had been carrying exactly fifty thousand dollars in an envelope with a rubber band around it, not to mention the airline ticket to Naples.
“Be that as it may,” Bozzaris said, “I have no desire to interfere in the various activities or industries you fellows are engaged or involved in, so long as they are not criminal in nature, or evil in intent. You may recall that not too long ago, some of my fellows picked up a worthless batch of figures which were meaningless to us and certainly not indicative of any crime being committed, so we returned them to their rightful owner, namely one Joseph Dirigere who, in gratitude, contributed seven thousand four hundred dollars to the squad’s pension and retirement fund.”
“I remember,” Azzecca said.
“I thought you might,” Bozzaris said. “Now, similarly and likewise, I have no way of knowing whether this currency is what is sometimes referred to as tainted money, or bad money, or dirty money, I have no way of knowing that. In looking it over, it seems to me like just any normal kind of money, which is neither clean nor dirty, but just plain cold hard cash.” Bozzaris paused. “On the barrelhead.”
“How much?” Azzecca said.
“Same as last time,” Bozzaris answered at once.
“Too much,” Azzecca said.
“All right, all right, who wants to haggle where hardworking policemen are involved? Make it an even five thousand.”
“Ridiculous,” Azzecca said.
“I’m willing to compromise,” Bozzaris said. “Thirty-five hundred.”
“Two thousand.”
“Twenty-five hundred?”
“Two thousand,” Azzecca said, “and not a penny more.”
“It’s a deal,” Bozzaris said. “Where shall I send your man with the remainder of the cash?”
“Freddie?”
“Is that his name? He ain’t told us a thing. And, also, he’s got a goddamn stocking pulled over his head.”
“I always knew he was a little queer,” Azzecca said.
“Be that as it may,” Bozzaris said, “shall I send him over to your place after we make the agreed-upon deduction at this end?”
“Yes. But tell him to leave the package with the doorman.”
“The doorman? Don’t you want him to come upstairs?”
“If he comes upstairs, I’m liable to strangle him with my bare hands, right here in my own living room,” Azzecca said.
“I’ll make believe I didn’t hear that,” Bozzaris said, and chuckled. “Nice talking to you.”
“Send the ticket back, too,” Azzecca said.
But Bozzaris had already hung up.
At twenty minutes to three, the buzzer in Azzecca’s kitchen sounded while he was sitting at the table drinking a glass of milk. He went swiftly to the wall and pressed the TALK toggle.