“You’d think this shit only went on in the South.”
“Then you’d think wrong,” Kaprowski said.
They had reached his car. He pointed at a group of men standing in front of a small bar across the avenue.
“Those clowns probably have something to do with it, the fire,” he said. “The bar there, the Peanut, that’s been mobbed-up since it opened.”
“And here I thought they were concerned citizens,” said Levin before they both sat inside the car.
“What do you have on Kelly?” Kaprowski asked.
“He visited Eddie Vento’s place a little while ago dressed like a homeless hippie,” Levin said. “It’s tough to disguise yourself you’re over six feet with red hair and freckles. I could give him an A for effort, but that’d be cheating.”
“Vento there?”
“I don’t know. Kelly didn’t go in the bar. He went in the doorway alongside the bar entrance. There are four apartments in the building above it, two on each floor. Vento’s wife’s on the title for the building. Vento keeps the barmaid he’s banging in a one-bedroom on the second floor facing the street. Probably where Kelly went. He went home from there, but I don’t know if Vento was there or not. He might still be.”
“What good’s Kelly without Vento?” Kaprowski asked.
“No good, but IA is stretched thin because of what’s going on here in Canarsie, all the stolen cars. Word is there are cops running interference for the boys further up this avenue, the junkyards on Flatlands over towards Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“Chop shops.”
“What I’m hearing. Not to mention the Fulton Fish Market and what’s going on there.”
“It’s a federal task force handling that, the fish market,” Kaprowski said. “There’s gotta be more to the cars if Internal Affairs is stretched thin here in Canarsie.”
“Has to do with a few MIAs is what I heard,” Levin said. “Mob associates that’ve vanished around stolen cars.”
“Okay, that’s the Gemini Lounge,” Kaprowski said. “Further up Flatlands across Ralph Avenue. The guy owns the Gemini’s allegedly the same guy whacked a porn dealer fell out of favor with local goodfellas. Jewish name, the porn dealer, I forget it offhand.”
“Who’d’ve ever known porn was so lethal,” Levin said.
“Don’t kid yourself. The animals running things on the streets now, they’d kill for an extra ten cents on the dollar. Between all the films they’re making and the controversy with the courts, the porn business is booming.”
“Something tells me you’d prefer it if Internal Affairs wasn’t so focused on the cars.”
“I’m not worried about IA, Levin. What they don’t know won’t hurt us. If you could’ve placed Kelly with Vento, had something concrete, it’d be one less day wasted is all. Dirty cops are dirty cops. Hopefully we’ll bring them all in together, the ones in bed with the mob over stolen cars and guys like Kelly running interference for their porn business.”
“And then they’ll cut their own deals.”
“Probably,” Kaprowski said. “But those deals’ll bring down a wiseguy or two, which’ll bring down another couple and a couple more after that. And probably one or two dirty cops’ll kill themselves from being disgraced and I know I won’t lose any sleep over the likes of them.”
“Okay, then,” Levin said.
“Let me know when Kelly starts this investigation for real,” Kaprowski said. “I want names, addresses, license plate numbers and blood types, you can get them.”
“Blood types?”
Kaprowski was looking at the men in front of the bar.
“Can you drop me back at my car?” Levin asked.
“Where’d you park?”
“Rockaway Parkway. Across the street from Johnny Porno, where he lives.”
“I’m impressed,” Kaprowski said.
Levin held up a finger. “That’s one address,” he said. “In case you’re counting.”
“You sober, Billy?” Detective Sean Kelly asked Billy Hastings. “Because if you’re not, I’m not gonna waste my time.”
Kelly had found Hastings sitting on a bench on Emmons Avenue in Sheepshead Bay. Restaurant traffic across the avenue was heavy as Kelly watched four fairly attractive middle-aged women dressed for action get out of a Buick Electra parked at the divider. Three had dark hair, one was a redhead. The redhead wore a tiger-print short dress with matching heels.
“Big red,” Kelly said.
“Huh?” Hastings said.
Kelly watched as the women crossed the avenue and went inside Randazzo’s clam bar.
“Guineas on parade,” he said. “Except maybe red. She could be one of God’s children.”
Hastings turned to see what Kelly was talking about, but was too late.
“You sober or not?” Kelly asked him.
“You wanna smell my breath, go ’head,” Hastings said. He opened his mouth wide.
Kelly slapped his face.
Hastings jumped up off the bench. “You wanna try that again?” he said. He was showing teeth inches from Kelly’s chin.
Kelly took a half step back. “Down, boyo,” he said. “It was a play slap, for Jesus sake. No need to lose your lunch.”
Hastings had relaxed his mouth but continued staring.
Kelly avoided the eye contact. He looked to his right and saw the redhead was back out of the restaurant. She stopped at the curb to let the one-way traffic pass before crossing to the divider. As she passed under the street light, Kelly could see she had fair skin and freckles.
“Nice,” Hastings said. “Very nice.”
The Electra was parked on the water side of the divider. The redhead made eye contact with Kelly before opening the door. The two exchanged smiles before she got what she had left behind, closed the door and headed back across the avenue. Kelly thought he detected an extra swivel to her hips.
“Fuck face,” Hastings said. “Over here.”
Kelly turned to Hastings again. “I smacked you, lightly, because you’re jerking my chain, Billy. I ask you you’re sober, you know what I mean. Pills, the white stuff, whatever it is you shove down your throat or put up your nose. I wanna know you’re hearing what I have to say, understanding it. This is important, that you understand, because I’m hearing things from different people about your actions of late and it’s making a lot of guys you don’t wanna make nervous very nervous. Guys didn’t want me to secure your pension inna first place. Old friends of yours. Guys thought maybe you’d crack from the pressure and give one or two of them up. Guys thought, still do, maybe you’re better off onna day trip on one of the fishing boats behind us. In case they need some extra chum.”
Until he was forced into retirement a week ago, Hastings had been an eleven-year veteran detective with the New York Police Department. A dirty cop with a drug habit and a deviant sexual appetite, Hastings had a short temper and an inability to control it. When he was caught on camera starting a fight in a connected bar, a fight he eventually lost, Lieutenant Detective Kelly assumed the role of peacemaker and brokered a deal with higher-ups for Hastings to leave the department without losing any of his pension or benefits. Tonight, after hearing a rumor about Hastings buying throwaway handguns, Kelly came to warn him against acting foolish.
Hastings remained silent.
Kelly offered him a cigarette.
“Sure,” Hastings said.
Kelly handed him his pack. “The point being,” he said, “your temper and tough-guy reputation aside, you’re looking for throwaways suggests you haven’t calmed the fuck down yet. A genuine fear you’re not yet willing to let sleeping dogs lie has stirred up some tension amongst former friendlies. I did what I could for you, Billy. So did some other people. You were more than lucky to walk away with your pension, the benefits. You could’ve done worse. A lot worse.”