“I know, which is why I wanted the gun tested. It ties to Mickey. I think the gun used to kill Kellan and that woman Sally was also stolen. I think I even witnessed the exchange. I saw one of Mickey’s goons passing along a gun and cash to some guy, a wad of cash. A murder for hire was made to look like a murder-suicide.”
“But why? What did your cousin Kellan have to do with Mickey?”
“He was gunning for me,” Jimmy said.
“Again, why?”
“Because my father let his sister die,” Jimmy said.
“Yeah, I don’t like this one bit.” Ralphie shook his head like the past was pressing against him.
Frisano shook his head and excused himself by stating he needed to make a phone call. Jimmy asked that he not speak of any of this, not yet. A deep look filled with darkness passed between the two men, and words were unspoken. Frisano stepped outside, leaving Jimmy and Ralphie to themselves, to a fresh round of beers courtesy of the bartender. They hadn’t asked. They hadn’t needed to. They must have looked like they needed it. Jimmy had moved the gun off the table. No sense drawing unwanted attention or eliciting fear.
“So that’s him.”
“Let’s not go there, not right now,” Jimmy said.
“Like I told you, I don’t understand attraction, but I can feel it when I see it.”
“From him?”
“Hell, from the both of you. I feel like I’m a third wheel on a date with one ending.”
“Frisano and me…it’s gonna have to wait. What I’m doing is for Kellan and for Paddy.”
“He’s been like a father to you,” Ralphie said with a careful nod.
“He didn’t deserve to bury his son.”
“And in retaliation you’re going to do what?”
Jimmy paused, sipped at his beer, and then took a larger gulp. “I’m going to bury another man’s son.”
Chapter Fifteen
Night had fallen. Jimmy was back in Manhattan and headed home to his mother’s house. He knew she wouldn’t be home yet. It was her late shift at the Calloway, and of course she had taken to visiting Paddy’s Pub afterwards, a worried sister looking out for her brother. Jimmy supposed he could take the same caring approach, especially as when he opened the door to the apartment, Meaghan was in the process of throwing a book across the room. The thick paperback landed in front of him. Jimmy heard the impact over his closing of the door.
He didn’t say anything at first. He hung up his jacket in the front closet then reached down and picked it up. What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
“Well, at least you’re reading,” he said, entering the living room.
“Jimmy, I’m not in the mood.”
“You made that abundantly clear.”
Jimmy gave the paperback the once-over. It looked like it had been through the war. Pages were folded back, corners of the cover were bent, and the spine was broken in several places. She hadn’t been kind to it.
“Not the first time you’ve sent this flying across the apartment?”
“God, I hate all that happy advice in there, miracle of birth and all that crap.”
“Hormones raging?”
“Jimmy, I don’t know what’s worse, knowing I’m going to push this kid through my body or what follows after. I mean, I’m gonna be stuck with this kid forever. Wait. Before you call me a horrible mother, I don’t mean it that way… It’s just, Jimmy, all I did was sleep a guy once, and what happens? He gets me pregnant—and turns out to be gay. Christ, Jim, I’m going to be a single mom. Ma, she won’t say it, but it’s not how she envisioned becoming a grandmother.”
“Meaghan, you can plan all you want. Life has a way of changing how it plays out.”
She grew silent. He held the book out to her, and she accepted it into her arms, almost like she was cradling a baby. Jimmy sat down on the edge of the sofa.
“You’ll be a great mom, and when you’re feeling overwhelmed, well, Ma will be there,” He paused, “Not to mention Uncle Jimmy.”
“You’re not around a lot, Jimmy. Always so busy working your cases.”
“A man has to work,” he said, “But never fear, I’ll be there when you need me. When I do get to learn who I’ll be playing with? I mean, do you even know the sex of the baby? You haven’t said.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“But you’re not saying.”
“Nope,” she said. “I don’t want Ma to go crazy, especially with Christmas coming up.”
“Don’t want to jinx it?”
“Like you said, life doesn’t always go as planned. I still have two months.”
“You got a name picked out yet?”
“Yup,” she said.
He smiled. “We don’t give you enough credit, Meaghan. You’re going to be fine.”
It was a rare moment between the two of them. Meaghan was usually irritable even before she became pregnant. The school of hard knocks had played games with her over the years, and he knew she often felt less smart than her lawyer sister or her street-smart brother. She was the kid, the youngest, the one who was always adding streaks of gray to Maggie’s hair, except she would be the first of them to bring a new McSwain into this harsh world. She was unmarried, she had no plans to, and she’d already said the baby would not carry the Martino name, making Rocky a mere donor. Jimmy made a vow this child, boy or girl, would be a McSwain through and through.
“You hear from Ma?” he asked.
“Said she’s going to Paddy’s after the show.”
“Figured.”
“What about you, Jimmy?”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind. Think I’ll go to my room, try to work some of it out.”
“Could you make me some tea first, maybe get me a piece of pound cake.”
He learned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. “For my expectant sister, anything.”
Jimmy rose from the sofa, making his way to the kitchen. He felt it had been weeks since he’d been there, remembering the Monday dinner which Kellan had shared with the family. The way the two of them cleaned up afterwards. Jimmy remembered the spilled blood of that night, how it had been the first drop of too much that had been shed since then. He grabbed the tea kettle, poured water in it, and turned on the stove, watching the gas flame flicker beneath. It gave off warmth and comfort, which was welcome given the coldness that had consumed Jimmy’s day. He opened the fridge and pulled out the pound cake as well as chocolate sauce and a can of Reddi-wip. He’d surprise Meaghan with a treat and then decided why not make one for himself.
He pulled open the utensil drawer and stared down at spoons, forks, and knives.
Knives, like guns, did damage. They were the implements used in the two cases consuming him. He knew in his gut where the gun had come from that had killed Kellan, but what of the knife that had sliced Henderson Carlyle into something not quite human? Something nagged at Jimmy. The man had been killed on the steps of Serena’s brownstone, so whoever had done the deed had done so with premeditation. So someone had to have carried a knife with them, right?
But what kind of person did that? How did the guilty party know where Henderson would be there and at that late hour?
For starters a doctor carried an assortment of items like scalpels, but the damage done to Henderson was as savage as it came. Only a large knife could have done that. His earlier suspicion concerning Dr. Philippe J’Arnoud came rushing back to him, and he thought perhaps he could make a call to his client, Melissa, and nose around his schedule, confirm he’d been where he claimed to be. But what would she offer Jimmy, Certainly not a way to incriminate her husband? He didn’t want to tip her off to his suspicions.
His thoughts were interrupted by the whistling of the tea kettle. The water was boiling.
He poured out two cups of Lemon Zinger and added a bit of honey to both. He prepared the two plates of cake, drizzling the chocolate sauce all over the plate. Then he put the used knife in the sink and let it sit there, as though it se
rved as a reminder to stay focused. Grabbing a tray from the cupboard, he stacked the plates and mugs on it and returned to the living room and set the snack down in front of his sister.
“Sometimes you’re a good brother, Jimmy.”
They enjoyed their dessert together in companionable silence. Meaghan was determined to get every drop of chocolate off the plate, using her finger to scoop up the last sweet remnants. She’d relax with her tea next and watch some TV.
“You’re off duty,” she said.
He kissed her forehead again but said nothing else. Sometimes he didn’t need to.
Jimmy retired to his bedroom, thinking he might want a shower but first just dropping onto his bed. How strange is felt to be home at this early hour, the time not quite nine o’clock. He liked to be out and about, working a case or sharing a beer. Some nights he would go out to one of the local gay bars, usually Gaslight on 46th and 9th. He’d listen to some music and flirt with a hot guy. On rare occasions he’d go home with one of them.
Images of Steven Wang came to him, the two of them sharing a bed in sweaty exchanges. It had been nice. Steven had been nice. He just wasn’t what Jimmy wanted. Not that he ever confessed his feelings, but moving in with him…he might have felt like a kept man. He was too independent for that. As for Frisano, with whom he’d spent so much time that day, denying the heat that sizzled between them was fruitless. Even the senior Frisano could see the attraction between the cop and the detective, a father who wasn’t so much a homophobe as he was afraid of jeopardizing a carefully laid-out future.
Frisano had departed from Lou Limerick’s before Jimmy. He was needed at the precinct.
He’d taken the renegade Glock with him. It was twice stolen now.
“What will you do with it?” Jimmy had said.
“Hopefully put a killer behind bars,” He paused, “Maybe two of them.”
Jimmy’s eyes closed. He wondered what it would be like to shut his brain down even for an hour. A sound startled him. His tense body was unable to relax. A loud siren rang out. His first thought was that Meaghan was watching a cop show, but the sound was all too real and all too close. He shot up out of bed and drew the curtain back. His window faced 10th Avenue, and he could see swirling lights, red and pulsing, all of them atop several fire engines. The trucks thundered up the wide avenue. He wasn’t sure where they were headed other than further uptown. He then saw several police cruisers join the fray, the sight of which raised the hair on the back of his neck. A nasty chill ripped along his spine.
He left his room and walked with determination to the foyer, where he grabbed his coat.
“I knew you couldn’t sit still for long,” Meaghan said.
“It could be important,” he said. “You okay?”
She patted her stomach, adding a rueful grin. “Not like I’m all alone.”
He smiled and then made his way out the door, bounding down the five flights and emerging into a night filled with smoke, an acrid smell which he took for burning rubber. Sirens still filled the night, capturing the attention of several pedestrians on the sidewalk, some tourists off the beaten path taking photos and videos with their phones. Jimmy walked at a fast clip, crossing 10th Avenue when he had the light, his ears directing his direction, taking him closer to the action. 51st Street was where the fire trucks had turned down, about six of them parked at haphazard angles in front of a building engulfed in fire. Jimmy knew it, of course.
Rocco’s Garage, Mickey Dean’s headquarters. What he smelled were those tires melting amidst the intense heat. As he got closer he heard the crackle of the fire and watched as leaping flames danced in the night sky. It was an intense fire, being battled by a bevy of New York’s bravest. He saw the engine from Midtown #34. Their trucks were branded, “Never Missed a Performance.” Located at 49th and 8th, they were probably the first responders, but they had help at this point. Jimmy dared to get as close as he could before being waved off by a cop in uniform. Jimmy noticed the police cruisers were from Midtown North.
Jimmy stood in place, watching as the fierce fire ate the structure, destroying it, and he felt his heart deflate about the potential evidence burning inside. Fingerprints, DNA, and proof of Mickey’s presence would evaporate, as would any potential loot—drugs, guns—whatever else he was trying to sell on the black market. The whole thing smelled not just of smoke but of arson: a deliberate attempt to cover up the fact the place had been used as a front for illegal activity. The question on Jimmy’s mind was who had set it, Mickey himself or perhaps the man he worked for? The timing was suspect for sure. Only that morning Jimmy had been at One Police Plaza revealing what he knew about the activity at Rocco’s. Now it was a fireball, releasing its demons into the cold night air. Heavy smoke billowed up, illuminated by the moonlight. It was a clear night after the last night’s snowfall. Jimmy felt heat on his face. The fire was that intense even from two hundred feet away.
“Hey, you, I told you to move along,” said the same officer from a couple minutes before.
Jimmy didn’t want to get in trouble, but he didn’t want to leave the scene. He crossed the street, where he sat on the stoop of a brownstone on the north side of the street. He pulled out his cell phone and thought about who to call. His first instinct was Frisano. It wasn’t his jurisdiction, yet he’d worked in tandem with Midtown North on Kellan’s case, choosing to be the official who would deliver the bad news to the family. He didn’t call. He sent a text.
MICKEY’S HQ ON FIRE. WATCHING IT BURN. COINCIDENCE?
He didn’t believe in coincidences. He believed things happened deliberately. He believed in timing, and in this case it was too convenient. Mickey knew he’d been exposed and that his place of operation had been compromised. Given the intensity of the fire, Jimmy assumed an accelerant had been used. The arsonist wanted to enact as much damage as he could before the NYFD could arrive and douse the flames. The danger was keeping the fire from spreading. Thick, incendiary brush grew in the dark alley between the garage and the buildings on either side. It was important to contain the fire. Still buildings had been evacuated, and some residents hung out on the streets. Hands clasped, Jimmy saw prayers wafting upwards like the smoke.
His phone buzzed with Frisano’s response.
I HEARD. TRYING TO GET DETAILS. STAY TUNED.
Jimmy remained in place, minutes clicking away into an hour. The fire was under control, and the blaze was staving off the cold. Sitting and watching dedicated professionals do their jobs filled Jimmy with pride. Despite his issues with the NYPD for their failure over finding his father’s killer, he knew they were women and men who devoted their lives to the safety of others. Firefighters were cut from an even tougher cloth, stalwart in their strength battling smoke and flames that could just as easily singe them and take them from this world. Respect was not a piece of paper received after training. It was earned on the job.
It was after eleven o’clock when the fire was finally doused and just a few embers glowed.
Jimmy saw a few news vans from the local channels and reporters on the scene filing reports. A fire chief was being interviewed while his men put the final blasts of water on the ruined structure. The roof had collapsed, and the window, where Jimmy had snuck through just a couple days ago, was gone along with the office and the desk where he’d found the gun. Perhaps hidden crates of drugs. Anything a police raid might have found was obliterated by the destructive force of fire unless it had been cleared out first. Burning a shell.
Jimmy felt he was back to square one. Had Mickey Dean won this round? Had he realized his operation had been compromised? Was he already relocating to a new location, and on whose orders had the chop shop been set on fire? Did it have anything to do with the Blue Death symbol? It was the second place of business Jimmy had discovered and inadvertently shut down. Just how far could he take it before retaliation came his way.
He thought of Kellan. His death was the opening salvo. Mickey Dean meant business.
“H
ey, Chief, we got something here….”
Jimmy heard the words from a thick-accented firefighter running hard despite the heavy equipment he wore. Jimmy stood and casually eased his way closer, so he could hear what had been discovered. Neither man paid any attention to Jimmy.
“You find something?”
“Yeah, two bodies, charred like last night’s barbeque.”
“O’Neal, whoever is inside, remember, they had mothers.”
“Sorry, I wouldn’t want to be either of them, not now. Hell, not earlier either.”
The chief winced at the thought. He waved over a nearby cop. “We’re gonna need special assistance here. We may want to call the commissioner’s office. This one’s gonna take a while for us to clean up, and I’m not sure we’ll like what we find. The marshals are already on scene.” The chief wiped sweat from his smoke-darkened brow. Jimmy saw the man cross himself, a citizen of faith. He still had it, even in the face of death, maybe because of it.
Jimmy had to wonder: who were those latest victims of an escalating war.
Had someone taken Mickey Dean out, or had Mickey been the instigator, an arsonist as well as a killer.
Jimmy hoped Mickey wasn’t among the victims. He knew too much and possessed too much info, info Jimmy wanted. There was no need to add more questions to a case that haunted him forever.
§ § § §
Clues would be few that night. The investigation into the fire and the identification of the two bodies would take some time. Jimmy knew there was nothing more he could do, so he drifted back toward home. Thinking he might need a drink, he started off toward Paddy’s, hoping Maggie was there. He’d already spent quality time with his sister, Meaghan, so perhaps the long night’s journey into would day end on a good note with a welcome breather beside his mother, yet Jimmy only got as far as 48th Street and 9th before his phone was ringing. It seemed that night was sister-themed.
“Mallory, hey, what’s up?”
“You need to get here now.”
“Where is here?” His heart stopped. “Is Ma okay?”
Guardian Angel Page 24