But the job could only hang me once. Taking a DA’s investigator (currently on a leave of absence) into a potentially life-threatening encounter isn’t encouraged either. If things went wrong.?.?. Well, if things went wrong, I’d just have to blackmail Inspector Sarney into protecting me. All that bullshit about denying any knowledge of Harry Corbin’s activities? Harry knew where the bodies were buried and he didn’t intend to become one of them. After a light supper at seven o’clock, Adele and I headed into the bedroom to dress. I saw Adele glance into the office as she passed the open door, then stop suddenly.
‘What’s that for?’
I followed her eyes to the snap gun lying next to my computer. ‘That’s a snap gun.’
‘I know what it is. I want to know what you plan to do with it.’
‘Simple. If I confront Aslan in a public place, there’s a good chance that civilians will be endangered, if not injured or killed. I’m hoping the snap gun will get me into his apartment.’
Adele folded her arms across her chest, her expression bordering on grim. ‘Simple? Corbin, we’ve been together too long. I know simple isn’t part of your game plan. There’s more to this than a threat to public safety.’
‘I want a few minutes alone with Aslan. A polite conversation that might include the odd damaging admission, or even a full disclosure of the facts.’ I winked. ‘And I also want to control the situation, which is why I plan to be waiting inside the apartment when he enters.’
I was hoping the last part would get me off the hook, but Adele continued to study me for a long moment before leading me into the bedroom. I watched her rummage in the closet, sliding hangers back and forth. Finally, she emerged bearing a pair of Grade III-A Kevlar vests. Thick and heavy, III-A body armor is designed to stop any handgun round and most rifle rounds, and to minimize the blunt force trauma associated with bullet impacts, even when there’s no penetration. Myself, I would have been content with something lighter, something less confining, but this decision was clearly out of my hands. I pulled the vest over my head, fastened the straps, stared at myself in the mirror. I’d acquired the vests long ago, while assigned to the Manhattan North SWAT Team. Now I felt like a posturing fool.
Adele and I arrived at Blessed Virgin to find Sister Kassia standing next to an elderly Latino. I introduced Adele before turning to the old man whose job was to drive the small yellow bus parked at the curb. I told him that under no circumstances was he to leave that bus.
‘I don’t care what happens, don’t be a hero. Stay in the bus.’
‘Hey, man, I’m just.?.?.’
‘Listen to me, the only thing I want you to say is yes.’
‘Si.’
The issue settled, I led the bus through south-eastern Queens. We took the scenic route, along surface streets lined with storefront businesses, Maurice Avenue, 69th Street, Broadway. It was raining just hard enough to loosen the oil and grit on the asphalt, to transform the roads into shiny black sheets that reflected the rainbow of neon to either side.
The districts we passed through were commercial and there were traffic lights on every block, with no apparent effort made to synchronize them. As often as not, the light ahead turned red just as the one in front of us turned green. Meanwhile, I wanted nothing more than to jam the gas pedal to the floor even though I knew the four-cylinder Nissan was more likely to stall than accelerate.
At Roosevelt Avenue, I was brought to a stop by a screaming fire engine double-timing beneath the elevated tracks that carry the 7 Train. Roosevelt Avenue was never designed for traffic. The el’s girders come down almost in the middle of the street, narrowing the road into a pair of lanes, and it’s always slow going. But the ladder truck’s driver seemed not to notice. He continued to run the siren full blast as he shifted into the left lane, effectively blocking oncoming traffic. When that traffic came to a screeching halt, everything stopped, including Harry Corbin. Hurry up and wait. The city demands activity. You can sense its frantic pace in the foul air you breathe as you hustle down the street. But at the same time it puts an endless series of obstacles in your way. The ladder truck, with its driving-challenged pilot, was just another example.
Or so Adele explained. ‘Get used to it, Corbin,’ she said. ‘You’re looking at your heritage.’
I nodded agreeably, but didn’t fail to note the gleam in her eye or the flush in her cheeks.
‘Feel good to be a cop again?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ she admitted, ‘it feels great.’
As Adele and I walked toward the brick apartment building on 38th Street, I pulled out the chain concealed beneath my shirt and let it fall against my chest. What with the shield dangling at the bottom of that chain, and the Kevlar body armor, my status must have been obvious to the superintendent, who opened the lobby door after I rang his bell. The super was a wizened man from the Middle East who might have hailed from any of a dozen countries. For just a moment, when I told him to return to his apartment, I thought he was going to become difficult. But then Adele flashed her billfold, revealing her Investigator’s shield, and said the magic word, ‘Immigration.’ Seconds later, we were alone.
Ignoring the elevator, we climbed the stairs to a featureless second floor hallway — cracked tile floor, brown walls, yellow ceiling, green doors. I paused for a moment to get my bearings, then followed the corridor to apartment 2B where Adele and I drew our weapons.
‘You ready?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’
As I’d driven past the building in search of a parking space, I’d noted the closed window on the second floor. That meant there was somebody else in the apartment besides Zashka and the women, but that Tynia would open the door when I knocked. Though we’d have to go in hard, we’d have the advantage of surprise. Still, my heart was pounding away. And drawing my Glock didn’t slow it down, either.
I took a deep breath, glanced at Adele, then tapped on the door. It opened immediately and I stepped into a large room, shouting, ‘Police, police, police.’
Zashka Ochirov was sitting on a chair at the far end of the room, her mouth hanging open. Tynia was standing to my right, still holding the door as Adele made her entrance. To my left, two male Caucasians were perched on opposite ends of a couch. They seemed to levitate, eyebrows shooting up, hands rising as though yanked by a string.
‘Anybody else in the apartment I should know about?’ I asked Tynia.
‘No.’
‘Then get moving.’
Tynia disappeared into a rear bedroom and I focused my attention on the two men. Wary now, their eyes reflected a measure of calculation that required my immediate attention. I didn’t know them or what they might do. Better to take precautions early on.
‘Get on the floor.’
I grabbed the first man by the shoulder and yanked him off the couch. Tall, wiry, and much the younger of the pair, he was most likely to resist. When he did, reaching out to grab my arm, I slammed the Glock into the back of his head and he went down hard.
‘Now you,’ I told the older man. ‘Get on the floor.’
‘We have not done nothing,’ he said as he complied. ‘We are abiding the laws.’
I searched both men for weapons. They were clean. Then I pulled the cushions off the couch, discovering a manila envelope where the older man had been sitting. The envelope was stuffed with cash.
I wanted to kill them, right there, and I might have done it if Adele hadn’t laid a hand on my shoulder. Tynia had come into the room, along with the rest of the women and two children, an infant and a toddler. The toddler’s eyes were wide with fear. His hands were balled into fists and his jaw was quivering. Suddenly, he turned away from his mother and flew into Zashka’s arms. She stroked his head and kissed him.
‘Little Teddy,’ she said, speaking without an accent, ‘you have to be a brave boy now. You have to help your mother. She needs you.’