It was an accepted fact that Charley had the best nose in the business.
Then came the morning of September 11, 2001.?
Charley and Harry had been on the chaotic scene before the second tower fell, had spent exhausting hours combing the deadly ashes at Ground Zero, crawling through its surreal depths, seeking victims in the twisted remains of the Trade Center. On the fifth day nobody was surprised to hear Charley’s urgent bark. It was only after he continued for almost five minutes that a firefighter followed Charley’s cries and found Harry, crumpled in the wreckage, with Charley standing beside him, refusing to leave despite the smoking ashes that scorched his feet.
Ellison was DOA, felled by a massive coronary. His companion had to be carried out, his feet so badly burned he could not walk.
Cody found them both in an ambulance; Charley, his head lying on Ellison’s shrouded body, his sorrow a low wail, wrenched from his heart.
“Nobody can get near them,” the medic told Cody. “The vet’s on his way over with a shot for the dog.”
“I’ll take care of the dog,” Cody said.
“He’s got to be put down, Captain.”
“I said I’ll take care of the dog,” Cody repeated, his anguish underscored by anger.
“Look at his feet, sir. He’ll never walk again.”
“Then I’ll carry him,” Cody said, climbing into the ambulance.
Charley’s eyes shifted slightly and his lips curled back from his teeth. The wail turned into a snarl.
Cody sat down next to him and slowly reached out to him. He held his hand a few inches from Charley’s nose, watched it quiver, saw a flicker of recognition in his black eyes. Cody moved his hand slowly back to Charley’s neck, and began to pet him as he whispered in his ear.
“It’s okay, pal, let him go. I’m here to take you to a safe place.”
And Cody called Dave Fox.?
For two months Charley lay close to death while Fox, using a mutable combination of antibiotics, native American herbs and experimental drugs, labored to cure his edematous wounds; another three months before the dog could stand on his own; still another three of laborious physical rehabilitation before he could walk, and then only with uniquely padded boots to protect his paws.
Throughout the lengthy and painful recovery, Charley lived with Cody, surrounded by his toys and Ellison’s favorite jacket, thick with his scent; things Cody had gathered from Harry’s apartment after the funeral. Before he was well enough to walk, Cody patiently carried him to the Loft every day where he slept in Cody’s office, curled on the jacket; took him to surrounding parks to bond with other dogs and to bathe in restorative sunlight; washed his paws with balms, liniments and anodynes at night. The crew talked to him, sneaked him bones and other treats, devotedly welcomed him into the family.
Finally, one night as Cody was dozing off, he felt Charley warily slip on the bed and curl up beside him.
Cody was the new man in Charley’s life.
And he still had the best nose in the business.?
As Cody and Charley headed up Mulberry, Cody’s cell phone rang. It was Rizzo, who was running recon in the south end with Annie Rothschild.
“You anywhere near Hester and Mott?” Rizzo asked.
“Yeah, I’m on Mulberry about to cross Hester.”
“We’ve cruised past Jimmy Farrell twice. He’s sittin' in front of the Venezia, sideways in his patrol car with his feet on the sidewalk. Been there about ten minutes.”
“Probably grabbing a smoke. You know how they are about smoking in the cars.”
“Thing is, it bein’ Saturday, I had Vinnie check the Five roster and Jimmy’s not on duty today. Seems a little funny is all.”
“I’ll trot by. Charley and I are headed for the park. It’s on the way.”
He signed off and they moved the block down Hester to Mott. Farrell, Captain of the Fifth, was still sitting there. Wearing jeans and a heavy sweat shirt, he was unshaven and was lighting one cigarette off another with a smoked-out butt between his feet. His eyebrows were welded into a worried frown.
“Hey Cody,” Farrell said, surprised to see him. “Hi Charley.” He scratched the dog’s ears.
“Everything okay?” Cody asked. “You look a little ragged.”
“I feel a little ragged. We had a farewell party for one of the guys last night and I’m a little hung over. So who calls me at six-fuckin-thirty? Mama Crosetti. Tony didn’t come home last night. She can’t find a key to the place. So I send a car to pick up Ricky and bring a key. He lives out in Forest Hills. They should be here in twenty minutes or so.”
The drapes were pulled across the door and windows.
“I checked the back. The place is locked up and there’s no lights on. I banged on the door a couple of times but I got nowhere.”
“You got any needles? Let’s go in.”
“Seems a little drastic. Tony probably lay down on the sofa after they closed and fell asleep. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time. Meanwhile, I feel like I been hit on the head with a fuckin’ night stick.”
Cody looked up Mott Street and saw Rizzo’s cruiser half a block away. He called them on his cell and Annie answered.
“Swing by slowly and hand me a pair of lock needles, two pairs of gloves, and a flashlight.”
“Okay. What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing. We want to check to make sure.”
The black car slowed down as it approached and the window slid down. Rizzo handed Cody the gloves, needles, and light.
“Sure you don’t need any help?” Rizzo asked.
“Nah. Uncle Tony didn’t make it home last night. Probably asleep on the couch. Just circle the block until we check it out.” He handed the light to Farrell, “Stand behind me, Jimmy, so nobody sees me busting into the place.”
“Okay. Nobody around, anyway, it’s too early. Can I have a swig of your water?”
“Be my guest.”
Cody was an old pro at using needles. He stuck each of them in the keyhole and worked the hook until he felt the tumblers click. The door opened and Cody, Charley, and Farrell entered the darkened restaurant. It was warm and the lingering aroma of garlic and herbs greeted them.
“Stay right here,” Cody said, closing the door behind them. “Where’s the light switch?”
“Right here,” Farrell answered, reaching behind Cody and flicking on the lights to the main dining room. He was careful not to touch the switch pad, in case it held prints. The dimmer switch was set on low and soft light bathed the room. To their right was the main dining room, to the left, the bar with the stools upside down and lined up on top of it, beyond it the door to Uncle Tony’s office. The wall beside his office closed off the kitchen with its two swinging “in” and “out” doors to prevent waiters from head-on collisions. Straight ahead of them was the maitre d’s desk and behind it, the cloak room, and farther to its right, a hallway leading to the private dining room and the rest rooms. Cody flicked on the flash, swung it slowly until the finger of light pointed at the office door.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Cody said, handing Farrell a pair of gloves and reaching down and loosening his jogging shoes. “Take off our shoes, put on the gloves, and you follow directly behind me. We’ll go to the office first.”
“Is all this necessary?”
“SOP.”
“Christ, if he is sleeping and we cruise in there he’ll probably have a damn heart attack.”
“Let’s hope that’s all it is.”
“Jesus, Micah, you always were the cautious one.” Then he yelled, “Hey, Uncle Tony, it’s me, Jimmy. You in there?”