He thanked Burkes and hung up.
5
Jack loitered at the rear of the Isher Sports Shop and made small talk with Abe about the wake and funeral until the door closed behind the last customer. When he was sure they had the shop to themselves, he leaned on the scarred counter.
"Any news?"
Abe spread his hands and shook his head. "Not a thing."
Jack had asked Abe to poll his fellow gunrunners about the Tavor-2.
"Nothing?"
"What can I say? This will take time. Not like there's a directory out there. And the ones I do know aren't talking."
"Really? I'm surprised they wouldn't trust you."
"Trust shmust. Who knows anymore in this business? What if I'd been picked up and what if I'd cut a deal to rat out my competition? After nine-eleven, already we were paranoid. Now…"
Jack nodded. The runners took a beating from all the post-9/11 security measures—especially the truck and van searches.
Abe said, "After La Guardia, with the feds trying to trace the Arabs' weapons, we're all running scared."
"Nobody's saying anything?"
"Like clams they become as soon as they hear what I'm asking. Not that I expected them to yammer like yentas, but I can see the shutters close and hear the doors slam when I say the magic word."
"Tavor-two?"
"Right. 'Never heard of it'… 'Never carried it'… 'Don't know what you're talking about'… 'Why ask me? I run a candy store.' Bupkis I got. Sorry."
"It's all right. Least you tried."
"Until this cools down or something breaks, like mummies they'll be. Too scared of the feds."
That started an idea…
"But what if they're hit by something that scares them more?"
He decided to put in a call to Joey Castles.
6
Jack had called him and asked for a meet at this Upper West Side dive called Julio's. They'd met out front and wandered in. Typical neighborhood watering hole except for all the dead plants hanging in the front windows. What was up with that?
Joey could tell Jack was a regular by the way just about everyone crowded around him, patting his shoulders and shaking his hand and saying how sorry they were about his dad.
Joey hung off to the side, feeling like he was standing there with his dick in his hand. But not for long. Jack cut it short and said thanks but he had some business. Everyone wandered back to their places.
So now the two of them sat in a back corner. A short, ripped spic brought them a couple of Rolling Rocks. Jack introduced him as the owner.
"Anything I can do, meng," he said as he gripped Jack's hand. "Anything. You just say the word."
When he was gone Joey ran a finger through the wet ring left by his beer bottle and said, "You got something shaking, Jack?"
"Not a thing. Nada. My guy's been asking around and coming up empty."
"And your guy is…?"
Jack gave him a look.
Joey smiled. This was what he liked about this guy.
"Jack the Sphinx. A boccalone you ain't."
"I put the word out to everyone I know on the street to call me first if they hear anything. No one's called."
"Same here."
"The key is those Tavor-twos. They weren't bought at Wal-Mart. Can only be so many in the country. We find who sold them, we can find who they sold them to."
Joey shook his head. He'd had the same thought.
"Trouble is, no one's talking."
"That's because they're not scared of us."
"So what do we do? Brace them? Put the hurt on them?"
Jack gave him another kind of look.
"Come on, Jack. I know what you're thinking: Joey's a bidonista, what's he know about rough stuff? Maybe you don't know 'cause you've never seen, but I can handle myself."
"Never crossed my mind, Joey. No, I was thinking of a bigger scare than us."
"Like?"
"Well, I know your last name isn't Castles. What I don't know is if you're connected."
Joey wondered where this was going.
"Not directly, no, and we like to keep it that way. But you can't operate, least not for very long, you don't give the outfit a piece. Pop did it; Frankie and I been doing it."
"Can you make some calls?"
"Yeah, some. But I know someone who can talk higher up the chain." Joey was liking the idea more and more. "Yeah, by the time Pop retired, the boys had made a chubby piece from him, a piece they didn't do nothing for. Got it 'cause they fucking exist and nothing else. No reason he can't look for something back. Not a lot, nothing that'll cost them anything, just some information."
"Think he'll do it?"
"Pop? He'll jump at the chance. I'll tell him to ask the boys check around and see if anyone's sold a Tavor, or even a bunch of five-fifty-six hollow-points, to a dune monkey."
"That'll do it. But the cops might already know that."
Joey shook his head. "They don't."
"You know for sure?"
"For double sure." Here was a chance to impress Jack. "Frankie and me made us a few friends in the PD over the years." He made a motion of slipping his right hand into his waistband. "You know what I'm saying. That's how I found out about the cyanide bullets. They're keeping me posted. Seeing how much me and Frankie paid them over the years, they damn well fucking better. Time those meat eaters earned it by doing something more than looking the other way."
A smile twisted Jack's lips. Just a little. Just for a second.
"You sound like a good guy to know. They telling you anything else?"
"They hear the Homeland Security people are pretty sure the shooters had inside help."
"Pretty sure?"
"Well, they don't know who yet, but they say someone at the airport had to be helping the fucks. First off, they came and went through an 'Employees Only' door. Second, they got away so clean, they had to have inside help."
Jack shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Look at me. I got out, and no one was helping me."
"Yeah, that's right. You were there. But why didn't you just—?"
"Long story. But back to our problem: Who, what, and where is Wrath of Allah?"
Joey shrugged. "Gotta be somewhere. I mean, we know they exist."
"But they may not be calling themselves Wrath of Allah. In real life they could be calling themselves Seventy-five Virgins Here We Come, but they use a different name when they call the media."
Joey closed his eyes and squeezed the neck of his Rock until he thought it would break.
"The slick fucks."
He relaxed his grip, opened his eyes, and stared at Jack.
"How do you stay so cool, man?"
He watched Jack's jaw muscles work.
"Cool? Who's cool? I'm so burned I want to throw something. Or break something. If the owner wasn't a friend I might be going for a twofer and toss this table through a window."
"You hide it well, man."
"Years of practice."
Joey leaned back. "So… what we do we find these faccio di stronzones?"
"We'll cross that bridge—"
"Hey, I know it's a long shot, but what say we get lucky? What we gonna do? Call nine-one-one and tell them where they're hiding? As if. Don't know about you, but I don't wanna see them sit in jail for a couple years waiting to go to court, then get traded for some hostage somewhere. Or get sprung on some technicality. Blood demands blood, Jack. Know what I'm saying?"