Pulled up his pants and strapped to his foot, a Browning.
He drained his coffee, said,
“Our last mayor, the guys loved him, he was a no-shit guy, told the dopers, fuck you, fuck your rights, and got the streets clean, he’d have made one great pres but you know what, ain’t going to happen.”
Before I could hear more, I was summoned by O’Brien, who accused:
“Goofing off?”
Then added,
“You’re wanted upstairs.”
I figured, IA again.
Figured wrong.
O’Brien stopped outside the conference room, asked,
“You familiar with a task force?”
“Sure.”
He knocked on the door and we went in. A long wooden table, lots of brass sitting round, all with stony expressions, O’Brien said,
“This is Officer O’Shea.”
A tall gaunt man, in civvies, at the top of the table, said,
“O’Shea, I’m Special Agent Peters, head of this task force.”
I was standing at attention, learned back in Ireland, you face the top guys, act submissive.
He said,
“Stand at ease, Officer.”
I did.
He indicated a thick file, asked,
“You know anything about a strangler, traveling in Brooklyn?”
“No, sir.”
He looked round at the assembled faces, then:
“Good, we’re trying to keep a lid on it, prevent panic, three women to date have been strangled in Brooklyn, all in their late twenties.”
He let me digest that and I asked,
“How does this concern me... sir?”
He bit his lower lip, then:
“Well, you’re a Mick, and the killer, he’s using rosary beads to strangle the women, green beads I might add.”
I said,
“I didn’t do it, I don’t even have a beads.”
He glared at me, snapped,
“Is that an attempt at humor, O’Shea?”
“No, sir.”
He said,
“Reason we asked you here is, you’re fresh off the boat, full of all the Mick Catholic mumbo jumbo, and we wondered if you had any input, insights into this?”
The snide dismissal of my faith rankled but I kept a lid on it, said,
“I’d need to think about it... sir.”
He was already dismissing me, I’d been useless, said,
“You do that, don’t strain yourself.”
O’Brien indicated I was to leave and he followed me out. I said,
“I think that went well.”
He stared at me, said,
“You fucked up good, here was a chance to move on up and what... you get smartass... Jesus H.”
And he strode off.
I tried,
“Sir, I’ll work on it.”
Without breaking stride, he said,
“I won’t hold my breath.”
I’d fucked up, my smart mouth doing me in yet again. I was back riding the bloody desk and Christ, I so wanted to be on the streets. Nothing touched the sheer rush of that. It was the not knowing, the constant anticipation of something major. Twiddling a pencil, answering the phones, checking through traffic files, I was bored out of me skull. To occupy my mind, I thought about what that prick had said.
Three stranglings.
Fuck, the fourth, I’d have thought she’d be easy to find, and her neck, not my favorite, it was mottled, was sorry to waste the beads on her.
Fucking whore.
Morronni had gathered his crew, even the smashed-up Gino, just released from the hospital and hurting, hurting real bad.
There was Fernandez, the psycho who’d supposedly done the job on Lucia, then the muscle guys, and others down the totem pole.
Fernandez, usually out of his head on dust, swore he hadn’t done that bitch, he didn’t even know where the fucking hospital was, hell, he swore, he could hardly find his way to Brooklyn most days.
Morronni said,
“Kebar, the mad fuck, has been staking out your place, Fernandez, sitting outside every night, and we figure he’s about ready to take a run at you.”
Morronni didn’t share that he had personally threatened Kebar with retribution and although he hadn’t actually got around to it Kebar, of course, had to figure it was the attack on Lucia, talk about bad fucking timing.
Fernandez, dressed in gangbanger denims and leather, smiled, three gold teeth showing, said,
“Bring it on, muthah.”
Fernandez didn’t give a good fuck about being accused of shit, especially if he couldn’t remember it, all his life, he’d been accused of some stuff, most of it, yeah, he’d done... he thought.
Morronni sighed, God be with the days you could get decent help, using these off-the-wall crazies was like handling explosives, never sure when they were going to blow up in your face, he said,
“He’s got backup, that Irish kid, looks like he’s going to come in with him.”
Fernandez seemed delighted, the mad bastard, said,
“The more the merrier, we’ll be ready.”
Morronni looked at him, went,
“Wasting one cop, bad enough, but two, the heat would be intense, no, we have to get rid of that Mick kid, my gut tells me he’s trouble, but the K-bar, whole other story.”
Gino, still seething, asked,
“Boss, I get to deal with that cocksucker, right?”
Morronni said,
“All in good time, now lemme think about it.”
Then, tiring of them, he said,
“Get the fuck out of here.”
The crew took off and Morronni was left with the damaged Gino, who said,
“Boss, Fernandez, the crazy fuck, he’s going to be a major problem.”
Morronni said,
“Him and Kebar, they’ll be, how should I put it, canceling out.”
Gino wasn’t always sure what the hell his boss was thinking but he liked the sound of this, it sounded... biblical.
Other people have a nationality. The Irish and the Jews have a psychosis.
Thirteen
Just when you’ve settled into a routine, albeit a hated one, the powers that be shake it up, shake you up.
O’Brien summoned me to his office and without any preamble said,
“You’re back on patrol.”
I was delighted, said,
“That’s great, thank you... sir.”
He gave a nasty chuckle, said,
“Don’t thank me yet, you’re back with Kebar.”
I tried to roll with that, said,
“We’ve worked fairly good together, got some decent collars.”
He looked at me, like, was I really that thick? Said,
“Jesus H, how dumb are you? The order came from on high and trust me, they aren’t doing you no favors, Kebar is fucked, he’s as good as gone and looks like they’re bringing you down with him.”
I had no answer to that and he barked,
“Get your ass in gear.”
Kebar was leaning against the car, his head fresh shaved again, he said,
“Dead men walking.”
He got behind the wheel and I waited till we pulled out before I asked,
“The fuck’s that mean?”
He had two Starbucks foam cups on the dash, indicated I should take one and said,
“They’re giving us enough rope to hang ourselves, we’re history.”
I was seriously pissed at how everyone was just wiping me off the board and asked,
“So what do we do?”
He swerved past a stalled cab, growled,
“We do our job, is what we do.”
He flicked a file at me, said,
“Take a look.”
It was on a guy named Crosby, a child molester, had taken two falls and was out again. I asked,
“And?”