Chasers

by Lorenzo Carcaterra

  “It put you in play,” Natalie said. “While Angel and eventually the G-Men focused their limited attention on a small band of rogue cops, I not only was able to make my moves under their very gaze but they would even on occasion turn to me for advice. Talk about having your cake.”

  “So the only collateral damage to come out of that restaurant was the sap in the booth,” Dead-Eye said.

  “It’s not as if Angel ever needed an excuse to rid himself of potential enemies,” she said. “But the only real target in that restaurant, as far as I was concerned, was the waitress.”

  The room swirled slightly, the bile rising in his throat. For the first time in his life, Boomer felt overwhelmed by the horror of a crime. His right hand instinctively moved toward his holster, fingers eager to grip the hard end of a gun. He felt duped and foolish, a washed-up cop taken in by beauty and a beast all rolled into one. “What made you so certain that I would go after them?” he choked out.

  “The same that tells me that as much as you want to kill me right now, you won’t,” Natalie said. “And you never could. I made it my business to get to know you. I studied you. You were my exam and, if I may grade my own results, I passed with flying colors.”

  “You did more than pass,” Boomer said, struggling against the odd sensation of heaviness that was overcoming him. “You won it all. And I lost. I’m walking away as empty as I came in.”

  Natalie nodded. “And where does that leave us now?” she asked.

  “Back where we were before all this started,” Boomer said. “You on one side, me on the other. Only this time I won’t be putting together a team to come after you. The field is all yours.”

  “A wise move by a wise man,” Natalie said.

  “But we will stiff you with the tab for the champagne,” Dead-Eye said. “And don’t be a short arm when it comes to the tip, either.”

  Boomer slid his chair back and stood, his eyes never moving off Natalie’s face. “If luck holds for both of us, we won’t ever see each other again,” he said. “Not in this life, at any rate.”

  Boomer turned and walked toward the side exit of the empty restaurant. He reached for the door handle and turned it. He stopped and lowered his head when he heard the three muted gunshots, three bullets firing in rapid succession. He listened for the gasp and the low moan that quickly followed and waited for the thud of a body falling facedown against the hard surface of a thick mahogany table. He opened his eyes, swung the door away from his face, and stepped outside into the light of the warm afternoon air.

  18

  Boomer and Dead-Eye sat in the front seat of a parked sedan, facing the Hudson River on the edge of Pier 72, their backs to the southbound lanes of the West Side Highway. A four-story cruise ship was moored to the dock, water gently lapping against the sides of its mammoth hull, its passengers free for the day to explore the streets of the city beyond.

  “I’m sorry you had to be the one,” Boomer said.

  “It had to be somebody,” Dead-Eye said. “So why not me? She had to stand for what she did to Angela, and there was only one way for that to happen.”

  “But I could never have done it,” Boomer said. “I could never have pulled the trigger on her. Even after what I knew she did, I still could never have brought myself to the point of raising my gun and pulling that trigger. And that’s the first time I could ever say that about anyone.”

  “That’s because you were in love with her,” Dead-Eye said. “You denied it, but we both knew it was true. And love clouds your judgment as much as it does your vision. I didn’t go in with that particular monkey on my back. Not that it was all that easy for me to do—don’t get me wrong on that count. Just that it was easier.”

  “She wasn’t surprised by it, was she?” Boomer asked.

  “Not so you would see it on her face,” Dead-Eye said. “She was smart enough to know I wasn’t hanging back to get in a quick hug and a kiss. And she grew up in this rodeo, so she had to have a sense of what was going to happen.”

  “You think she knew it coming in?” Boomer asked. “That one of us was going to take her out?”

  “I think she knew coming in that we were wise to her,” Dead-Eye said. “And that you were there to tell her so and I was there to put her down.”

  “But still she came in,” Boomer said. “On her own, empty. No bodyguards anywhere in sight.”

  “She came to see you, Boomer,” Dead-Eye said. “That was the only reason she agreed to the meet. She wanted to see you one last time.”

  “What are you getting at?” Boomer asked.

  “Give it some thought,” Dead-Eye said. “A woman that smart, able to run an outfit that big and cold enough to waste an innocent kid just to get you and me back into the game so she can take down two bands of dealers without them catching a whiff, is going to be dumb enough to walk into a restaurant setup that could be put together with scratch paper and Crayolas?”

  “You’re saying she came in there knowing it was going to end up a hit?” Boomer asked. “Am I reading you right?”

  “Finally, the dust is starting to clear,” Dead-Eye said.

  “Why would somebody that smart do something that stupid?” Boomer said.

  “Same reason a cop like you couldn’t draw down on a gangster like her,” Dead-Eye said. “She fell in love, too.”

  Boomer put his head back and closed his eyes, the sound of the traffic behind him a blend of white noise. “I was crazy enough to think there might be a way for it to work,” he said. “Until I knew she was behind it all, I was looking for a happy ending.”

  “Don’t start getting sobby on yourself,” Dead-Eye said. “You’re not the only cop to get caught up with someone from the dark side. We all skirt the line at one time or another, and you can’t cast blame on us for doing it. Three-quarters of couples out there met their lady or their husband on some job or other. People who work in banks marry bankers. Doctors tend to screw nurses, like that. We look to stay within our world, and in that case our options are fairly confined. On the high end, if we’re really lucky—a lawyer maybe, an ADA we worked a case with, or, God forbid, one of those Legal Aid Set ’Em Loose Betty types. Otherwise, a partner or a cop you know from the job. And then, on rare occasions, somebody we should be chasing for reasons other than love.”

  “Who was it for you?” Boomer asked. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

  “There are no secrets in foxholes and squad cars,” Dead-Eye said. “It was a while back, wasn’t even married yet. I was in uniform, and let’s just say she wasn’t. At any rate, I’m banging heads pretty heavy with her crew, even going on the hunt during my off time. I mean, I’m in fifth gear, looking to take them all down and get my ass booted up to plainclothes.”

  “That was the old Action Jackson crew, am I right?” Boomer asked. “They treated the edge of the Queens-Nassau border like they were left the deed to the land.”

  “That’s them,” Dead-Eye said. “Gail was one of the runners in that crew. And, just like you at first, I took one look and fell flat on my face. I was so hooked that I might as well have been jabbing a needle into my arm. It was as close as I ever got to forgetting who I really was—that’s how much love I carried for that lady.”

  “What changed it back?” Boomer asked.

  “I saw a kid on the street one morning,” Dead-Eye said. “Right after I had done an all-night stakeout. I was heading toward a deli to grab some coffee when I spotted him faceup in a filthy alley. He couldn’t have been more than seven, weighed as if he were two years younger, track marks like a fucking Metro-North Westchester route up and down his arms. He was stone-cold dead, and I remember thinking at the time that was probably the luckiest thing that could have happened to him. And in that same moment I realized I could never make a life with someone who moved the shit out onto the streets that put this kid into an early grave. It doesn’t take much, Boomer. Most times nothing more than a cold, hard slap of reality.”

  “How did it end out
?” Boomer asked.

  “The same as it does for most in that chosen line of work,” Dead-Eye said. “She caught a few slugs from someone who wanted to move a lot faster than she did. The last time I saw her, she had her eyes closed and her hands folded, lying faceup in an open coffin. But let me tell you, even with all that shit I think about Gail every once in a while. About what could have been between us. And the answer to your next question is no.”

  “You read minds now, too?” Boomer said. “Or is that a talent you’ve been keeping on the down and low from me?”

  “Yours is the only mind I can read, because it’s so much like mine,” Dead-Eye said. “But no, I could not have been the one to put Gail down. I didn’t want to be with her and I wanted to put her out of business, but I couldn’t do it with a gun in my hand.”

  “You know the guy who did?” Boomer asked.

  “It was one of her own that put her down,” Dead-Eye said. “Some delusional dealer accused her of taking too much skim from his daily profits. He waited until she nodded off and then strangled her while she was asleep.”

  Boomer lifted his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked over at Dead-Eye. “You fall in love with a drug dealer,” he said, “and I drop head over toe for some Russian mob queen. I guess it doesn’t really say much for either one of us.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Dead-Eye said. “It shouts out everything you need to know about us. It sums us up all the way to the letter t and tells you the kind of men we both truly are.”

  “Which is what, exactly?” Boomer asked.

  “Face up to it, old friend,” Dead-Eye said. “The two of us, you and me, we’re nothing more than a wasted pair of fucking romantics. Hard-core heartbreakers.”

  19

  It was a cloudless New York morning, the type of sun-drenched day that made the city streets glimmer and the skyline seem as if it were chiseled by magical hands. The Circle Line cruise boat slipped out of the dock, did a slow turn at the edge of the pier, and wound its way through the cold waves of the Hudson River, engine churning against the ever-present strong currents, up toward the serenity of the open waterway.

  The summer crowd was sparse, free of children not yet clear of a daily school schedule and adults who had still not dipped into their valued vacation days. The passengers were a colorful mix of camera-toting tourists, retired couples, college students eager for a morning spent away from the confines of dorm life, and a cluster of middle-aged women—all leaving the demands of city living behind, at least for a few hours.

  Boomer leaned on an iron railing on the top tier of the boat, staring out at the city to his left. Buttercup sat up next to him, her head tilted back against the cool river breeze, her gold shield resting on her chest, clipped to a thick chain around her neck. Ash stepped up next to both, handing Boomer a container of coffee, the lid still on firm. “Black, three sugars,” she said. “That should toss your heart into high gear.”

  “If you’re going to bother drinking it,” he said as he reached for the coffee cup, “might as well drink it right.”

  “Let me guess,” Ash said, looking down at Buttercup, a smile on her face. “She didn’t pay for her ride. Am I right?”

  “You’d be surprised at how far in life that shield can take you,” he said. “Get you into places you never dreamed you’d get in.”

  “From private clubs to smoke-filled back rooms, the shield is your key,” Dead-Eye said, stepping up beside them, Quincy right behind him. “Properly used, a shield can be a much more powerful tool for a cop than even a gun.”

  “Give me a for instance,” Quincy said.

  “There was this place on the West Side a few years back, had all sorts of shit going on behind closed doors,” Boomer said. “During the day it was an art gallery—anybody, from housewife to homeless, could go in free of search or charge. The minute it turned dark, it became a millionaire’s social club, and anything went once that happened. Drugs, S&M—you name it and they tried it. There were no boundaries in that place.”

  “I tried getting in the undercover way,” Dead-Eye said. “I dressed myself up as sharp as any high-end dealer—leather pants, matching top and tie, fedora with a feather, the works. I wasn’t just the bomb. I was a ticking bomb.”

  “How far did that getup take you?” Ash asked, not hiding her laugh.

  “He didn’t even get through the front door,” Boomer said. “There was a guy big as a ’57 Chevy blocking the entrance. He towers like a skyscraper over Dead-Eye and asks to see his Gold American Express card, which, oddly enough, he did not possess.”

  “More than that,” Dead-Eye said, “I didn’t even know what the fuck he was talking about. I’m standing there and I’m thinking, Shit, you mean American Express makes cards in different shades? Where was I when that memo hit the air?”

  Their laughter echoed off the waves, the cruise liner doing a gentle bounce, easing through the water as it made its way up the Hudson. “So did you ever get in?” Quincy asked.

  “I walked back to the unmarked and there’s Boomer sitting there fuming,” Dead-Eye said. “He’s not seeing me standing there dressed as Huggy Bear from Starsky & Hutch. He only sees a detective treated like a wet mop by some guy built like a semi with half a dozen priors on his sheet. Boomer jumps out of the car, storms right past me, and heads off like a runaway bull for that front door. And damn if he wasn’t inside in less time than it takes to boil an egg.”

  “What did you tell the guy at the door?” Quincy asked.

  “I get there and he slams a hand right on my chest,” Boomer said. “It felt like he crushed a lung. Looks down at me, smiles, and tells me that his club is a private club for members only. I looked right back, jammed my gold shield right between his eyes, and said to him, ‘So is this, asshole. And if I’m not inside in less than a minute I will drag your big ass downtown and put you inside a crowded holding pen. Now, you may have a good lawyer and he may make a call and get you out in five, maybe six hours, but by that time you would have been everybody’s woman.’”

  “What did he do?” Ash asked.

  “The only thing he could do,” Boomer said. “He stepped aside, swung the door open, and let me in to do some damage. As it turned out, he was the only player that night me and Dead-Eye didn’t bust.”

  The cruise boat veered upriver, swinging slightly to the left, the sun doing a slow rise, warming their faces, its late-morning glare giving the water a glassy look. Quincy leaned his back on the rail and raised his face to the sky. Dead-Eye slowly unwrapped a piece of Bazooka bubble gum and slipped it into his mouth. “You still feeling any pain in your wounds?” he asked Quincy.

  “Not really,” Quincy said. “They healed up pretty fast, which even caught the doctors off guard, considering my other problem.”

  “How are you doing with that?” Boomer asked. “It getting any better, any worse, or still the same?”

  “A little bit of all three,” Quincy said, staring out at the soapy-looking waves. “I never know which myself until I open my eyes and start the day. If you had called yesterday and asked me to make this trip, I wouldn’t have had the strength to pick up the phone. Today, I feel strong enough to go for an afternoon run. Tomorrow is anybody’s guess.”

  “Was that doctor I reached out to any help to you?” Boomer asked.

  “He knows as much about the disease as most of the white coats, which isn’t all that much. But the one thing he doesn’t do is bullshit me, and that I really appreciate,” Quincy said. “He never feels the need to put a happy face on the truth. That means a lot. So has every minute I’ve spent with this group, including Rev. Jim.”

  “Put the thanks in your pocket,” Boomer said. “I didn’t put you on this team because I felt sorry for you. I chose you and I chose Ash for one reason only. You’re both great cops, and without either one of you it wouldn’t have gone down anywhere close to the way it did.”

  “You and Dead-Eye did more than that, and you’re probably not even aware of it,” A
sh said, struggling with her emotions and choosing her words with care. “You showed us we could go on. That our lives didn’t have to just wither away and end with scars and injuries or a sickness. That we could still have an impact. I don’t know where I’ll go from here, but wherever it is and whatever it is, I’ll be able to handle anything that comes my way.”

  “Where would you like it to go?” Dead-Eye asked. “You had your pick of the lot, either one of you, what would it be? I know you both hinted at it a few times in the past, but now would be a good time to hear it said out loud.”

  Ash and Quincy exchanged a look and then both turned toward Boomer and Dead-Eye, Buttercup sound asleep at their feet. “Before you take it there,” Boomer said, “okay if I ask if your boat trip was worth it, even if it’s not a sailboat?”

  “It was better than any dream I ever had,” Ash said, smiling, back in control of her feelings again.

  “You could have a lot more days like this one, you know,” Boomer said. “It doesn’t need to be a onetime thing. Look around and take in what you don’t see as much as what you do see. No dealers, no shooters, no bangers, just a hot sun on a warm day. I’m just pointing out what maybe should have been pointed out to me and Dead-Eye way too many years ago.”

  “I need to feel alive, Boomer, for as long as I’ll still be alive,” Quincy said. “And you’re right, it is beautiful out here and in many other places neither one of us has ever seen. But the only time I’ve ever felt alive, truly alive, has been these last few weeks working and banging heads with this group. And I don’t want to lose that, at least not until I have to.”

  “You’re not going to lose anybody—toss the worry on that right now,” Dead-Eye said. “If that’s what it is that you want—that whatever it is we do next, we do it together—then that has my vote, too.”

  “Does that go for you as well?” Boomer asked Ash. “We keep the team in place and go into the next step as one?”