He looked down at McCarthy, who was trying to sit up, spat in his face, said,
“You ever talk about my sister like that, I’ll fucking kill you.”
McCarthy got shakily to his feet, said,
“Assaulting an officer and making death threats, I could lock you up right now.”
Kebar sneered,
“So, go ahead.”
McCarthy shook his head, said,
“Give us Morronni, I’ll see you do only one to five.”
Kebar laughed.
“Fuck you.”
McCarthy said,
“Okay, mister, play hardball but you might consider you’re taking the Irish kid with you, now get the fuck out of here, start packing for the pen.”
Kebar turned without a word and left.
Rodriguez said,
“Your jaw is swelling, better get an ice pack.”
McCarthy rubbed his face, the pain was kicking in, and he said,
“The bastard is out of control, just where we want him.”
And he smiled, despite his swelling jaw, he thought his answer was good.
He liked that.
It was... cool.
I borrowed Nora’s car, a battered Pontiac and what a hoor to maneuver. I’d learned to drive on a stick shift and this automatic gig, though obviously easier, took some getting used to.
And...
New Yorkers, not the most patient bunch, you learn as you go. I’d taken to following Kebar, if he was taking down the guy who attacked Lucia, I wanted to be there, Jesus, I had to know what he knew... had to.
But screwing with McCarthy was part of it.
And Lucia... she was the true reason.
Word was she wasn’t coming back from the catatonia she’d retreated into and that made me so hot, being interrupted... how do they say... midmaneuver... just when I was in the zone, lost in the ice palace.
Four nights I followed him, trying to be real careful. He’d, as he’d taught me... ream me a new one if he caught me.
He’d drive to a dive on Eighth and then just sit, watching, I knew he was memorizing the players, the times they came and went, and getting a feel for the terrain.
He was going and soon, I could sense it.
And me... I knew Lucia had saved me from... like, you know... doing something to Nora.
Who polices the police?
Twelve
Fourth night, I was dozing, despite the flask of coffee I’d been sipping from, and too, Nora and I had an active night previously. I was resting my head on the wheel when a gun barrel pushed into the back of my neck.
My first thought was... Gino... and I was gone.
Then Kebar’s voice:
“Not too hot on this surveillance gig, are you, kid?”
He withdrew the gun, asked,
“The fuck you think you’re doing, IA put you up to this, that it?”
I said,
“Us Micks don’t rat out anyone except our own people.”
I heard him sigh, then he said,
“Come on, I’ll buy you a brew.”
We got out of the car and I clocked he was wearing all black, combat pants, leather jacket, and sneakers. He’d shaved his head, added to the air of menace. We headed two blocks back, went into a bar that was marginally a cut above the dive on Eighth. The bar guy looked like a hardarse, asked,
“Get you officers?”
Kebar ignored the officers jibe, said,
“Maker’s Mark, two, and two Bud.”
He put a twenty on the counter, the guy said,
“On me, guys.”
Kebar waited till we got our drinks, said,
“I want something from you, I’ll ask, got it?”
He did.
Kebar left the change on the counter and we took a table, he raised his shot, said,
“Here’s to you, you dumb Mick.”
Then we got to work on the Bud and he reached in his jacket, took out a bundle, handed it over, said,
“Don’t unwrap it here.”
I took it, felt heavy, and stashed it in my pocket. He said,
“It’s a Ruger, takes a full clip and is real fine for up close and personal.”
Then he looked at me, surprise on his face, said,
“You weren’t carrying, were you?”
I shook my head, Nora had asked me not to carry my police issue with me. He said,
“Christ, you are a dumb schmuck, what if something went down this evening, were you going to follow me in and use, what... offensive language?”
I had no idea and told him so. He stared at me and then gave a full laugh, not the bitter one he usually paraded but one of genuine amusement, said,
“You freaking kill me, kid, I dunno, are you just flat out stoopid or one of the hombres with the biggest cojones I’ve ever met?”
Before I could answer, he said,
“Listen up, buddy...”
Buddy!
“I’m going down, between IA, Morronni, the filth who hurt Lucia, there ain’t no way I’m walking, and you have a real future, I ’preciate your support but it’s best if you just take off.”
I said,
“Same again.”
Went to the bar and the bar guy said,
“Your partner is one mean dude, yeah?”
I put a twenty on the counter and he pushed it away, said,
“Get with the game.”
I thought, fuckit, put the twenty back in my wallet, brought the drinks back.
Kebar was staring at me and I went,
“What?”
His eyes were granite and he accused:
“You didn’t pay, did you?”
Jesus.
I said,
“Big deal, the guy wants to stand us a drink, what’s the harm?”
He lashed out, gripped my wrist like a vise, snarled,
“Today he had you for chump change, but he has you, and next thing, the bloodsuckers own your ass, now get back up there, give him the goddamn money.”
Fuck.
I did.
The bar guy smirked, said,
“I had you pegged for having balls, guess I was wrong.”
Humiliated in about three different ways, I went back and drained my bourbon. Kebar said,
“You want to kill some mother now?... Right... Welcome to my world.”
I stood up, said,
“You know, I was just trying to help you, but you know what, all the damn lectures, the little homilies, I’m sick to death of them, you have a good one.”
And I stormed out of there.
Could be my imagination but I swear I heard the bar guy chuckle.
Lucky I wasn’t meeting Nora, the rage, it triggered the urge and then... that frigging zoning... and... stuff happened.
I was shooting the shit with one of the uniforms, leaning against our cars, grande Starbucks with an extra shot of espresso, my hand leaning casually on the butt of my gun, my radio squawking, I was finally able to figure out what the hell the spew of data meant, it was like learning a new language but one day it just begins to make sense and you can filter out what is relevant and what is fluff.
I felt like a cop, NYPD BLUE... and feck, I loved it.
Back home, being a Guard, sipping tepid tea, twirling your lousy baton, mostly you felt... useless.
Watching the party girls, skirts up to their arse, and then, corner of my eye, I’d see a swan do that graceful glide along the basin, such beautiful necks those creatures have.
But this, this was the deal.
The cop, looking at my hand resting on my gun, asked,
“How’s that working for you?”
Cops will talk hardware all day.
I said it had a nice light weight but the trigger was sometimes liable to fold in on itself.
He nodded, said,
“See, yer Glock, the department insisted we had to keep up with the crims and carry that, but I tell you, you’re chasing a perp on foot, the freaking thing sometimes goes off, blow your foot or worse your balls off, me, I carry a little extra.”