When I got back to my office it was late afternoon and raining. I was wearing my leather jacket to keep my gun dry and I had my collar up when I walked in from the alley where I parked. When I got out of the elevator on the second floor the corridor had that gray look that indoors gets on days like this one, and the lights from open doors along the corridor made yellow splashes on the corridor floor. One of the open doors was mine. I unzipped my jacket before I went in.
Hawk was at my desk reading a book with his feet up. He was wearing lizard skin cowboy boots. He glanced at me over the book.
"Cops talk to you?" he said.
"Yeah," I said. "What are you reading?"
"Book by Stephen Hawking," Hawk said. " 'Bout the universe."
"Only that?" I said.
"Campus cops and Walford cops and some state cops all hanging around Dwayne," Hawk said. "Figured I wasn't needed."
"Tell me about the hit on Dwayne," I said.
"Two guys pull up about five, quarter of, park in front of the condo, walk up to Dwayne's place and ring the bell. Door opens and they go in quick. I figure I better go in right after them and I do. They in the living room with Dwayne and the girl."
"Chantel," I said.
"Un huh, and there's an Uzi showing, so I say 'How dee doo' and shoot the guy with the Uzi and his associate turn around with a hand gun and. . ." Hawk shrugged and made a shooting motion with the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, bringing the thumb down like a hammer falling.
"Chantel sort of moaning and got her face against Dwayne, and he hanging on to her like she gonna blow away, so I call the campus blue bellies and pretty soon there a lot of people there."
"Danny Davis got killed," I said. "They tell you that?"
"Yeah. Should a had him covered too," Hawk said.
"I know," I said.
"Can't think of everything," Hawk said.
"I'll say."
We looked at each other silently for a moment. Then Hawk nodded. I did too. "What we going to do about this?" Hawk said.
"Dwayne will turn," I said.
"Better than dying," Hawk said.
"So we're going to have some leverage on Deegan," I said.
" 'Less Dwayne runs," Hawk said. I looked at him.
"Think like Dwayne. You black, you look up to white people, but you scared of them. You don't trust them. All your life they been calling you nigger, acting like you don't matter. Now, he got his life on the line, his girlfriend's life on the line. He can trust the system, trust the white cops and the white judge to protect him, same system been telling him he don't matter for the last twenty-one years. Stand up to a white guy wants to kill him and count on the white system to protect him."
"Or," I said, "he can run. He can bury himself in the black ghetto of choice and hide for the rest of his life."
"What would you do?" Hawk said.
"Run for the ghetto," I said. Hawk nodded.
"Can you watch him," I said.
"Can't watch him forever," Hawk said. Then he smiled. "Well, I could, but I don't want to."
"Stay with him a couple of days, give me time to try and put something together."
"You want me to stop him if he runs?" Hawk said.
"No," I said. "Just want to know where he runs to."
Hawk went to hang around outside of Dwayne's, and I went to my desk and sat down and called Detective Maguire in Brooklyn. Things were looking up; I got him.
"I'm going off duty, in fact I was supposed to go off a half hour ago," Maguire said.
"I thought you New York guys never slept," I said.
"We don't," Maguire said, "but we need time off for fucking. What do you want?"
I said, "If I got Deegan to turn on that OTB thing would you deal?"
"Maybe."
"If I got him to give you the rest of the outfit, can you get him immunity?"
"He turns on the rest of the outfit and he'll need witness protection. That's Feds."
"Will the federal attorney deal on this?"
"Ain't a federal crime," Maguire said. "Why's he give a shit?"
"That's up to you," I said, "convince him."
"Yeah?"
"Can you do that?" I said.
"Maybe."
"Why don't you look into it and find out," I said.
"How you going to get Deegan to turn?" Maguire said.
"That's my problem," I said. "You work on what he'll get if I do."
"Hey," Maguire said, "I gotta know you'll turn him. I'm not going to be walking around down here saying he's turned, and find out he hasn't, and end up looking like an asshole."
"Would anyone see the change?" I said.
"I mean it," Maguire said. "I'm not sticking my neck out on the word of some guy I never even met. I mean I talked to you twice on the phone, and you got me making deals with the federal attorney."
"Magic," I said, "isn't it."
"It's bullshit," Maguire said. "You gonna turn him or not?"
"I'll turn him," I said.
"You do and we'll talk," Maguire said. "We can work something out."
"Might get your picture in the Daily News," I said.
Maguire hung up without comment.
I swiveled around and looked at the rain washing down my window. Now I could discuss these things with Deegan. If I could find him. If he didn't shoot me when I did. If Dwayne would testify.
"I need a drink," I said out loud.
No one said no. So I sat in my chair, got out a bottle of Glenfiddich and a glass and poured some neat and sipped it and watched the rain as night settled in behind it.
33
I didn't have to find Bobby Deegan. He found me. I'd been sitting maybe an hour and a half watching it rain when he walked into my office without knocking. The only light in the room was my desk lamp with the Tiffany glass lamp shade that Susan had insisted would dress up the whole office. When I heard the door open, I swung around and opened the right hand drawer of the desk. I kept a spare gun in there and it was always nice to have it handy. Deegan stood in the doorway with the light from the corridor behind him. He wore an oversized, lightweight trench coat with the collar up, and a gray tweed cap.
"I'm not here for trouble," Deegan said. I waited.
"We need to talk," he said.
I nodded at the chair in front of my desk. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down and stuck his legs out straight in front of him. I took a second glass out of the left hand drawer and put it on the desk and poured some Glenfiddich into it. Deegan leaned forward and took the glass and sniffed it and took a sip. He swallowed, and nodded his head.
"Single malt," he said.
We were quiet, the rain blurring down outside the window behind me.
"You're trouble," Deegan said.
"Nice of you to notice."
"Can't seem to get you out of the fucking way," Deegan said.
I nodded. We both sipped some scotch. Sipped thoughtfully, an ounce and a quarter of Glenfiddich will last half an evening.
"So what are we going to do about this mess?" Deegan said.
"I been giving that some thought," I said.
"Those were good people went after Dwayne," Deegan said. "Brooklyn guys. Guy Dwayne's size, you want the best."
I waited. Deegan would get to where he was going.
"You do them?" he said. I shook my head. "Black guy?"
I nodded.
"Gerry said he was good," Deegan said.
He was holding the glass of scotch in both hands in front of his chin, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He rubbed his chin absently on the rim. I could hear the faint scratch of his beard against it. Deegan looked like a guy who would have to shave twice a day.
"Guys Gerry sent me for you didn't work out too good either," he said.
"Boston guys," I said.
Deegan nodded. He drank a little scotch. I pushed the bottle across the desk and he leaned forward and poured himself another inch, and pushed the bottle back across the desk to me. He leaned back in his chair again.
"I want out of this," he said.
"Un huh."
"I want to deal."
"What you got to deal with?" I said.