Against the Law

by Against the Law (epub)

  Donna put on the gear and followed him, then whistled when she saw the bodies laid out on tarps. The steam and heat were turned off and everything was lit, but there was still blood everywhere, on the floors and walls. “Yeah, we’re up to seven dead.”

  “Eight,” Fusco said as he came up from the pool room. He looked like a cartoon character, big and round in his baby blue hazmat suit, with his red, round face in the hairnet. It was hard not to smile. “We drained the pool and, guess what, found a Russian spy.”

  “A spy?”

  “An intelligence officer. Nikolai something. Attaché for business affairs or whatever. But apparently he’s with their CIA.”

  “I see,” she said, thinking about Mike’s impromptu visit yesterday.

  “But most of the Russians are more familiar. Remember Sergey, who you lost at the airport?”

  “Rings a bell,” Donna said, through gritted teeth.

  “Well the good news is you can stop looking. Someone stabbed him to death in the sauna.”

  “Mostly all knife wounds,” Parks said. “I guess this is a tough place to sneak in a gun.”

  “And extra clips,” Donna added. “I mean if you’re taking on an army.”

  “And speaking of army, here’s the other good news. The three dead guys who aren’t Russian? They’re all mercenaries.”

  “Mercenaries? Why is that good news?”

  Parks grinned at her. “Because all three were contractors, supposedly overseas, working for the Wildwater Corporation.”

  “Really?” Donna couldn’t help but smile big now too. “So I was right.”

  “It makes sense,” Fusco said. “They landed here and tried to take over the dope trade.”

  “And now they got hit back,” Donna said. “Hard.”

  Fusco nodded. “They should have learned their lesson in Afghanistan.”

  “But hit by who?” Parks wondered aloud. “And how many? I mean it had to be like an assault team right? And with knives. I mean who the hell knows how to cause all this mayhem with just a knife?”

  He looked from Fusco to Donna, but now they both just looked at the floor, and shrugged.

  Donna called Tom to check in and let him know about the new developments, ask about getting some more FBI down there, maybe Janet to help with forensics.

  “What bathhouse? I thought you were at the hospital.”

  “I was on my way, sir, but this is an important piece of the case . . .”

  “I understand, but if you get an infection and they amputate your arms or something, it’s going to fuck up my whole week, so get your ass to the ER and then report on this tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and told Fusco.

  He shrugged. “Take your time. This party is going to go all night.”

  She walked down to the ER, which was madness like always, a hundred other dramas playing out, less bizarre than hers maybe but just as important to those caught up in them. She showed her badge to the woman behind the counter, hoping to get bumped ahead in line.

  “You here for the Russian girl?” she asked.

  “Russian girl?” Donna asked, feeling a tingle go up her spine. “What Russian girl?”

  “I don’t know her name, she doesn’t speak English so I hope you speak Russian. I mean I guess it’s Russian. But she came in with a bad burn and all covered in somebody else’s blood. So we called the police, but they never came so I figured you’re them. Except, like I said when I called it in, you got to speak Russian.”

  “What room is she in?”

  The nurse gave her the number and pointed and Donna went down the hall, but when she pushed the door open and entered there was no Russian girl and no patient in the bed at all. The only person there, sitting in a chair in a nice gray suit, was Gio Caprisi.

  When Victoria saw Donna her first impulse was to kill her. After all, she’d ruined her play, so beautifully planned and staged, and caused her a fair bit of trouble. It was extremely annoying, and as with anything annoying, a bug let’s say, your first impulse is to crush it. But then again, she reasoned, this Donna was only doing her job, and doing it bloody well actually, better than most of these clods, and she felt she should really be more supportive of a fellow woman excelling in such a male-dominated field. It really was a boy’s club still, and what with the Russian,Noylaskya, this was turning into a real female empowerment kind of moment. So, good for her. Besides, Victoria knew that impulse control was one of her issues, and that part of what made her a professional was focus—in this case, focus on her primary targets. Who were still out there. So when Agent Donna spoke to the nurse and then rushed off down the hall, no doubt looking for Yelena, whom she was not going to find, Victoria silently wished them both well. And she left.

  39

  “GOOD EVENING AGENT ZAMORA,” Gio said, with a big smile, standing politely. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “Mr. Caprisi,” Donna said, taken aback. “What brings you here? Visiting a sick Russian friend maybe? Or business associate?”

  Gio shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t think I have any Russian associates.”

  “Not anymore maybe. There’s a bunch of dead ones floating around in the bathhouse.”

  Gio shrugged it off. “My family business is ices and gelato, as you know. Actually, we had three trucks out here today. All spotless. Not even a dead fly floating in a melted sundae, I promise.”

  “I’m impressed you didn’t get a spot on your suit either,” Donna noted.

  “Well I mostly supervise these days.”

  “Then why are you here? Trouble in the ice cream world? A tummy ache? Brain freeze?”

  “What do you think? I’m looking for you. It’s urgent. I called your office line and they referred me to another agent, Newton I believe. And he sent me here. I have a tip.”

  “About?”

  “A guy named Robert Richards. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s the CEO of a company called Wildwater.”

  Donna breathed in sharply, but she kept her poker face. “I’ve heard of him. What’s he got to do with you?”

  “Me?” Gio shrugged lightly. “Nothing. As far I know, they don’t sell ice cream. But I’ve been told, by reliable sources, that if you search his office, particularly the safe, you will find the evidence you need to prove he’s been selling heroin and using it to fund a terror cell. I believe that’s your business, Agent Zamora?”

  She stood and leaned over him. “Who told you this?”

  “Sorry. I don’t remember.”

  She raised her hand and was about to put a finger in his face, something that even an FBI agent would be wise to think twice about, then thought twice and lowered her hand. “Enough games,” she said, calmly. “I can take you in as a material witness.”

  He shook his head, sighing heavily. “Agent Zamora, don’t you even read your own website? I did, when I checked for your phone number. You know what it said? Anonymous tip line. No questions asked.” Noticing the mirror on the wall, he shot his cuffs and buttoned his jacket. “I’m going to go now. I had a long day. And I suggest you get some rest too. You have a big worm to catch. Get there early.”

  Then, with a smile and nod, he left. Donna kept the frown on her face until he was out of sight, then pumped her fist once and broke into a grin as she called Andy. “Get started on a warrant. We’re going into Wildwater tomorrow. Early. Bob Richards’s office. Right. I’ll see you back at the office. And I’ll bring the coffee. Thanks, bro.” Then she called Fusco and Parks. Then she called her mom and told her she was pulling an all-nighter.

  “But what about the date, mija?” her mom wanted to know. “Did Toomey come? Was he nice? How did it go?”

  “It went so-so,” Donna told her.

  Gio kept his face blank until he left the hospital, but as he got into Nero’s car, he was grinning. He was riding shotgun. Pete and Little Eddie were in the back.

  “Liam called, Boss,” Nero told him as he pulled out. “They’re all ready for us.” />
  Gio looked in the rearview at Little Eddie, who looked like he was sitting in a dentist’s waiting room or the principal’s office. “You ready for this?” he asked. “It’s Okay if you’re not.”

  Eddie nodded, a little too quickly. “I’m ready Uncle Gio . . .” Then he blushed. “I mean Boss.”

  Gio laughed. “Uncle Gio is fine. I held you when you were a baby. Now you could put me on your lap.” He turned around, making a serious face. “But you better not fucking try it.”

  “I would never . . .” Eddie blurted and everyone laughed. Pete patted his arm.

  “Relax, kid. You’re among friends. And I know your Dad is looking down now too, and he’s proud.”

  Old Shenanigan’s Public House was packed with a raucous, roaring crowd, but they entered through a rear alley, where one of the Madigan crew was waiting to lead them directly into the basement storeroom and then to a long-forgotten sub-basement, the stairs to which were normally hidden behind a painted-over metal door concealed by storage cabinets. They filed down the narrow stairs—Little Eddie had to go sideways—and found Liam and Josh waiting by the light of a battery-powered lamp. It was a low, damp, dusty space with a dirt floor. Now a couple of yards of that floor had been dug up, and Anton was sitting in the hole among the soil, broken concrete, and rock, still in his bathrobe. On closer inspection, you could see that some of the debris in the hole with him were actually fragments of old skull and bone.

  “Gio!” Anton said when he saw him, and started to get up. “Thank God you’re here . . .”

  “Relax, Anton,” Gio said. “Have a seat.” Josh kicked him in the chest and he sat back down. “You must be tired. But it’s over now. Your crew are dead. Your dope operation is shut down.”

  “That wasn’t me. It was Sergey.” Anton put a cigarette in his lips with shaky fingers and searched for his lighter.

  “Sergey didn’t take a leak without your order, we all know that,” Josh said.

  “You were White Angel,” Liam said. “That crap almost killed me brother.”

  “Now I’m responsible for addiction?” Anton asked. “It’s a disease. They’ll find some other poison.”

  “Never too late to quit though,” Liam said and snatched his cigarette.

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry, New York State law. Smoke free environment.”

  “Gio, these kids are crazy,” Anton went on. “They can’t just kill a boss. You have to listen to me. We’re friends for fuck’s sake.”

  “You’re right.” Gio nodded. “Old friends.”

  “Yes!” Anton agreed.

  “I saw another old pal of yours today,” Gio added. “Alonzo.”

  “How is he?” Anton asked.

  “Better. Talking, eating, you know. It’s a slow recovery but boy did he smile when I told him I’d be seeing you tonight. Really cheered him up.”

  “Oh . . .” Anton wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “And another friend of yours, Maria, she sent a message too. What was it again? You know her funny way of putting things, right?” He chuckled and the others grinned.

  “She’s a pisser,” Nero said.

  “She sure is,” Gio said. “Oh, now I remember. She said, when you chop him up, save his balls and I’ll feed them to my new puppy.”

  Everyone laughed except Anton.

  “Funny, right?” Gio said. “I guess she thinks they’ll help the puppy grow up stronger. Me, I’m not so sure.” He looked at Anton critically. “I think we’ll just feed you to the rats and worms.”

  Anton snarled. “You’d know all about licking balls and sucking dick, wouldn’t you? Faggot.”

  “Hey!” Liam kicked him in the head. “Show some respect. Me and Josh are the faggots here.”

  Still smiling, Gio raised his gun. “Suck on this,” he said, and fired. The first bullet entered his gut and he sat back, grunting and holding the wound. Gio handed his gun to Nero, who aimed carefully as Anton shook his head.

  “This is for Eddie,” Nero said and fired. He passed the gun to Pete.

  “For Eddie,” he said, and shot him again.

  Now Anton was on his back, bleeding into the dirt, eyes rolling, and gasping like a fish on dry land. Pete put the gun into Little Eddie’s hand and Nero whispered to him, “Just aim right in the center of his chest. Take a breath. And then squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

  Little Eddie nodded. “This is for my father,” he said, and then carefully squeezed.

  Afterward, Gio took Nero, Pete, and Little Eddie for a steak at Peter Luger’s, then they drove out to the island and Nero dropped Gio at home. The kids were in their rooms for the night and Carol was in bed reading, wearing his old Mets T-shirt. When Gio walked in, she looked up from her book and took off her glasses.

  “There you are, I was getting worried.”

  He made a face. “Why? I called. Only danger I was in was from a massive red-meat coronary.”

  “I know. It’s just. You know. Ever since what happened.”

  He sat on the bed and took his shoes off. He was supposed to take them off downstairs but forgot about half the time. Then you still had to remember to carry them up and put them in the closet, or you got scolded for leaving them in the hall. It wasn’t really a good system.

  “Listen,” he said, squeezing her foot under the blanket. “I don’t want you to worry anymore. As of tonight, that problem is taken care of.”

  She sat up and put a hand on his shoulder. “You worked it all out? You found a solution?”

  “Yeah. A permanent one.”

  “Oh . . .” A chill went through her as she realized people had died tonight. But she didn’t remove her hand. She squeezed his shoulder.

  “Wow your shoulders are tight,” she said. “You need to relax.”

  “What’s that mean?” he asked, lying down with his head across her legs. “I forgot.”

  She kept kneading his shoulders. “Maybe we should have a barbeque, you know, before the weather turns. Invite your sister and Jimmy and your mom. My family. The kids can ask their friends to use the pool. And you can invite Joe, and some of your friends, like . . .” She hesitated, wondering who that might be. “Nero. And Pete.”

  “Sounds great,” he said into the blanket. He knew he had to get up and brush his teeth, but he was already half asleep.

  Joe entered quietly, because that was his habit and training. His grandmother was so used to his coming and going at odd hours that she rarely woke up. He moved through the dark apartment and into the bathroom, silently shutting the door before he hit the light. Sitting on the toilet cover, he ran the cold water in the tub, unwrapped his feet, and washed away the dried blood. Then, with a tweezers and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, he began to pull the little slivers of glass from his feet and drop them into the wastebasket one by one.

  40

  THEY SERVED THE WARRANT at six. Donna was first through the door, Fusco stepping aside and gesturing for her to precede him, which she acknowledged with a nod. It was her tip, but it was also a tip of the hat, and she took it as such. Then came Parks, Andy, and a swarm of others, plenty of work for everybody sorting through this large, sprawling office, collecting the evidence—papers, computers, files, phones—that would take many hours to process. Donna, however, led her party straight to Richards’s office, while he was being woken up and fetched from his private apartment. It was like some duke’s den—polished wood and burnished brass, old carpets and oil paintings, even a fireplace—all transported, through the magic of money, to a glass lookout floating in space, far above Manhattan. Andy went by, leading the executive assistant, Jensen, with one hand and carrying a laptop in a plastic evidence bag with the other. Then came Fusco, half-guiding half-dragging Richards by the elbow, while Parks had his camera out, taping everything. He grinned at Donna, who kept a straight face for the camera. Richards was dressed in rumpled khakis and an untucked dress shirt, but his feet were bare and his sparse hair floated around his head. Minus his toupee, he a
lready looked defeated, like he’d been scalped. As luck would have it, Donna was sitting in his luxurious desk chair, behind his grand mahogany showpiece when he came in, going through his drawers.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he roared.

  “Executing a search warrant sir,” Donna said and stood up, holding his day-planner in her gloved hand. “Can you direct us to the location of your safe please?”

  “Safe? What safe?”

  “Janet,” Donna called to the forensics specialist who was busy directing two men as they loaded a filing cabinet onto a dolly. “Can you get some guys with tools in here to start tearing out the walls?”

  “Gladly.”

  “Wait,” Richards said, looking at his gorgeously polished and grained woodwork. “It’s behind that painting.”

  “The one of the hunting dogs, sir?” Donna asked.

  “Hounds, yes.”

  “Grab the hounds, will you?” she asked Janet, who carefully removed the painting. There it was, a built-in safe with a digital keypad. Parks moved in closer for a shot. Fusco dragged Richards over.

  “Now then sir,” Donna continued, speaking loud for the camera. “Will you confirm that this is your safe?”

  “Yes, obviously, but it has nothing to do with the business. It just has purely personal items in there and I haven’t even opened it in weeks. I almost forgot about it.”

  “Does anyone besides you have the combination?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Then, for the record, will you state that no one but you has access to this safe or has used it, to the best of your knowledge? And all items within are your personal property?”

  “That’s what I said,” he barked, losing his temper. “You’re wasting your time. There’s nothing but my personal private property in there.”

  “Did you get that?” Donna asked Parks.

  He gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Sir, please open the safe.” She stepped back and Richards, after a push from Fusco, stepped forward, grumbling. He punched in a code and reached for the handle.