The Hook

by Tim O'Mara

  And then he was gone.

  I went to my office and called to thank Billy for putting me in touch with Richie Hebner and to see when he was free for some beers.

  ‘I’m free today, partner,’ he said. ‘How about we go out to Canarsie, meet this Al Biancotto guy, and then go for some beers.’

  That was quicker than I had expected, but I knew enough that between work and his family Billy didn’t get a lot of free time. ‘Let me get back to you on that?’

  ‘Gotta check in with the missus?’

  ‘More like an FBI agent. I’ll call you back.’

  ‘CCC?’ Henderson said. ‘Out in Canarsie. Let me run that past the guys in the joint task force, along with this Biancotto guy’s name. But, yeah, I can make a trip out there today. Just let me clear it with my field director. I’ll call you back.’

  After playing phone tag for about an hour, my ‘backup’ met me at four thirty in front of the entrance to the L train a few blocks from my school.

  ‘Billy,’ I said, ‘meet David. David, Billy.’

  They shook hands and Billy said, ‘So you’re the Special Agent, huh?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Just like Mulder and Scully? The X Files?’

  ‘You know, Sergeant Morris,’ Henderson said, ‘that joke was hysterical the first hundred times I heard it. Now, not so much.’

  ‘I knew you guys would get along,’ I said. ‘C’mon. We got a train to catch.’

  Even though Billy and Henderson both had cars, I suggested we take the train. That way we didn’t have to deal with any traffic and there’d be no argument over whose car we were going to take. If we compromised and took two cars, that would give the impression that we were rolling up on Biancotto and that’s the last thing I needed. This was not to be a show of force. I wanted information; that was it. The subway was also neutral territory, and I didn’t want either of these guys feeling superior to the other because he was the one driving.

  My plan was simple: I just wanted to find out if Biancotto had been dealing to MoJo again. That’s not the kind of question you could just call up and ask a guy, even if you did have his number. It was the kind of question you could ask a guy if you went to see him directly; ask nicely, with an NYPD sergeant and an FBI Special Agent as backup, both of whom were carrying and kind of owed me. I also wanted to know – but was not sure about getting the answer to this one – why MoJo was in possession of Biancotto’s merchandise if, as I was hoping, he was not using again, and why that merchandise was laced with fentanyl?

  See? Simple.

  I explained all this to my companions during the subway ride and they didn’t question me. At least not out loud. What they were thinking could have been a whole other story. Billy Morris had known me for years and was not one to doubt me. I’d just met Henderson a week ago, and he and I both knew who had to earn the trust back in this relationship. Either way, it was the only plan I had, and these were the only two guys I knew who could help me out on very short notice. When Allison called and asked what I was doing, I half-lied and told her I was getting together with Billy. OK, more than a half-lie. Closer to ninety percent. I didn’t see any reason to worry her, and chances were real good I’d be home not too long after dinner.

  The ride took less than half an hour. I found it charming that outside the Canarsie subway station was a sign welcoming us to this part of Brooklyn and featuring a drawing of the Native Americans who we had stolen the land from. Canarsie was one of those parts of Brooklyn that looked pretty much the same as it had twenty, thirty, forty years ago. I was sure that would change soon. There were some signs of residential and business improvements – read that as ‘gentrification’ – around the L train station, as it provided a straight shot into lower Manhattan for two dollars and seventy-five cents. But when we found Al Biancotto’s place, it clearly hadn’t changed much since Reagan was in office.

  The faded and ripped blue awning above the store still read ‘ABC The Last Stopp for Lap Topss.’ I’m guessing ABC stood for Al Biancotto’s Computers.

  As Richie had led me to expect, there was Al standing outside the store, under the ancient awning, which was flapping in the slight breeze; he was talking to a young white kid in a sweatshirt, knee-length shorts, and a blue baseball cap. With them was a tall bald guy in sunglasses, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans. Al was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and shorts, and had the whitest legs I’d ever seen on someone this side of an albino. He was also wearing sunglasses and one of those wide-brimmed white hats you usually see on old men using metal detectors to look for hidden treasure on the beach. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his hands didn’t look happy.

  I turned to Billy and Henderson. ‘You guys stay here. I’m gonna go over and talk with him.’

  ‘What if he tries something?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Then your being over there just gives you a better view of him trying something,’ I said. ‘If anything goes down, you’re across the street. This goes the way I want it to, I’m back in five minutes and we’re back on the L to Williamsburg.’ Before he could ask I said, ‘And I don’t answer negative questions, just use your best judgment.’

  I headed across the street. I was about halfway there when a car beeped at me, drawing Al’s attention. He gestured with his head toward me and the two guys he was conversing with flanked him. This was not the first time strangers had approached the boss outside his place of business. When I got close enough, I could smell the sunblock and cocoa butter. I could also see the blue veins that crisscrossed Al’s legs, arms and hands like a road map. It was hard to tell how old he was. With so little color in his skin, he could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty.

  He looked me up and down and said, ‘You’re new.’

  ‘As compared to …?’

  ‘The other narcotic guys they got working around here.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not a cop.’

  He looked over my shoulder. ‘Well, your two friends definitely are so what does that make you?’

  I took a step closer and shrugged. ‘Someone who has friends who are cops.’

  He smirked. ‘Should I be impressed?’ he said. ‘’Cause I gotta be honest, I don’t feel all that impressed. I got lots of friends who are cops.’ He slapped his boy on the arm and they had a good laugh. The bald guy stayed shut.

  When they settled down, I said, ‘I’m here to talk about MoJo.’

  Al considered that. ‘You friends with him, too?’

  ‘I was. I’m also friends with his wife, Lisa. You know her?’

  ‘I know she’s a colored woman,’ he said. Then added, ‘Excuse me. African American. I forget to be politically correct sometimes.’ Again with the laughter.

  ‘She’s concerned he was using again,’ I said, going for direct, not waiting for the chuckles to die down this time and not wanting this conversation to go any longer than it had to. ‘You know anything about that?’

  Al tipped his sunglasses and exposed a pair of blue eyes that were so light they made me think he may have worn those glasses indoors, too. The rumors that his eyes were pink were greatly exaggerated.

  ‘For a friend of MoJo, you sure do sound like a cop,’ he said.

  ‘I’m a teacher. MoJo was working at my school when he was killed. They found fentanyl in his system and his wife wants to believe that he was not using anymore because that’s what he told her.’

  ‘And that would be the first time that a white guy lied to an African American woman to get some dark pussy, right?’ More laughter.

  This guy needed a beating. Not now and probably not by me, but he needed a beating. I tried again. ‘Were you selling to MoJo again, Al?’

  ‘First of all,’ he said, ‘people I know call me Al. You can call me Mr Biancotto. Second, I stopped selling to MoJo years before he knocked up the colored woman he called his wife. I wouldn’t have taken his business after that. I don’t mind my kind dipping the wick in the dark wax every once in
a while – who can blame them, right? – but when they start procreating, adding to the mixing of the races, I draw the line.’ He slid his glasses back. ‘So the answer to your question, friend of MoJo, is no. I was not selling to him.’

  ‘Any idea why he had sixty bags of Double-H on him?’

  The glasses came all the way off now. ‘The fuck you say?’

  ‘Sixty bags. Your tag. Cops found heroin and fentanyl in his system. They also found a heroin/fentanyl mix in the bags.’

  That got his full attention. ‘I know you don’t know me real well, friend’ – he took the last step there was to take between us – ‘but I am not one to fuck with. I believe you sorta know that or you wouldn’ta brought Starsky and Hutch across the way there, but I’m not sure you get the whole meaning of that statement.’

  I held my ground and looked over my shoulder. Billy looked ready to pounce. I slowly raised my hand, telling him I was fine.

  ‘Listen, Al,’ I said. ‘I did not come here to fuck with you because I know that would be a stupid thing to do. I came here to get an answer for a friend. I believe you just gave me the answer I was looking for. I hear you’re a man of your word’ – I hadn’t heard that, but it couldn’t hurt to say it – ‘so I believe you. I just gave you some info you could probably find helpful. Someone is out there distributing fentanyl under your label.’

  He gave that some thought. So did I, and I was pretty sure we were thinking the same thing. If we were, it could be helpful for the good guys.

  ‘OK, friend,’ Al said when he was done thinking. ‘I heard you and you heard me. I think we can consider our conversation done here.’

  I was about to agree when something else occurred to me and I decided to push my luck. ‘Any of your guys,’ I said, ‘have a tattoo on his hand of a red, white, and blue swastika?’

  ‘Why you wanna know that?’

  I told him the story of the guy who dropped off the package that got Gator sent away to Riker’s and how that guy was probably involved in MoJo’s murder. This time, it didn’t take long for an answer.

  ‘Lots of my guys got tattoos of lots of stuff,’ he said. He turned his arms over so I could see a black H on each of them with CCC running across the horizontal line. His boy rolled up his sleeves. I counted two Confederate flags, two pairs of SS lightning bolts, and a swastika. The lightning bolts looked like prison ink. The bald guy just stood there with his arms behind him. He wasn’t gonna show me shit. ‘And, yeah, we put our beliefs in ink. I don’t keep track of how they decide to represent, so … But I will tell you this. If you’re thinking I put the hit out on MoJo, take that shit somewhere else. Just ’cause I don’t like who the man decided to procreate with, don’t mean I’m gonna risk all I got by ending him. One of my guys did that, they had their own beef with MoJo – got nothing to do with me.’

  He looked across the street. ‘Make sure your friends understand that. I’m not looking for no more visitors around here.’ He leaned in closer so I could get a good look at his gray-blue eyes. ‘Things could get ugly if that happens. And that ain’t going to be good for no one.’

  As he slid his glasses back into place, I said, ‘I hear ya. I appreciate your time.’

  Al Biancotto gave me a creepy smirk. ‘Call next time,’ he said. And one last time, I listened to him and his boy laughing as I walked away. Fun job these guys had.

  When I got to the other side of the street, Billy had one of his trademark grins on his face. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that seemed to go just fine.’

  ‘On what do you base that?’ I asked.

  ‘By the fact that you’re walking back here under your own power and we never moved from our position of observation.’

  ‘There is that.’

  ‘What did he say?’ David asked as we walked back to the subway.

  I gave them the story and as it was pretty short to begin with, they got it all. When I was done, Billy said, ‘So not a candidate for Canarsie’s Man of the Year, huh?’

  ‘Nope,’ I said. ‘But there is that silver lining.’

  ‘Do tell,’ Billy said.

  We kept walking to the L train. ‘When I was kid,’ I began, ‘my uncle rented this place way out east on the Island. In Quogue. At the time it was the only one-syllable stop on the Long Island Rail Road.’

  Billy turned to Henderson. ‘In case you haven’t picked up on it, Ray here is a word nerd. Tell the story, Ray.’

  We began climbing the stairs to the train. ‘I used to go hiking along the cliffs overlooking the water, getting as close to the edge as possible without falling. Every once in a while, I screwed up and I fell. Rolled down into the beach area and came up with a mouth full of sand, but no real injury.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘One day,’ I went on, ‘I was walking, and I found what looked like an old faded football, so I kicked it.’ We went through the turnstiles. ‘It wasn’t old, and it wasn’t a football. It was a beehive. As it tumbled down the cliff, I saw about a hundred bees flying out, and they were not happy.’

  Henderson said, ‘They come after you?’

  ‘They had no idea who kicked them. They were just pissed off and were probably going to go after the next person they ran into. Some innocent person on the beach more than likely.’

  The next L train toward the city was pulling in as Billy asked, ‘What the hell does that have to do with what just happened?’

  We got on the train, and since this was the first stop going our way, easily found three seats together. ‘I think,’ I said sitting between the two, ‘I just kicked a beehive. Now we just gotta see who the bees go after.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  We were about to go for those beers when my cell phone rang. It was Allison. ‘Can you meet me at the precinct?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You need to see something.’

  ‘But you’re OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Just get here as soon as you can.’

  I looked at Billy and Henderson. ‘Go,’ they said in unison.

  When I got to the Ninetieth Precinct, Allison was outside with Royce and a uniformed female officer who was taking pictures of the company car. I went right over, put my arm around Allison, and said, ‘Someone break in?’

  ‘No.’ Allison walked me over to the driver’s side window and pointed at where someone had drawn an upside down arrow. ‘I found that after my last interview.’

  ‘What’s it mean?’ I asked, knowing the answer would not be good.

  ‘The first thing it means is someone’s following me.’ She held up her phone as Royce joined us. ‘And … I looked it up. Most upside down Native American symbols represent death.’

  I turned to Royce. ‘So this is a threat?’

  Royce said, ‘That’s how we’re treating it, yes.’

  I looked at the car and noticed some fingerprint powder on the windows and door handles. That was optimistic of them. All I saw were smudges, and whoever had drawn the arrow never had to touch the car. Try as they might, the cops would come up empty.

  ‘Can we drive it home now, Detective?’ I asked.

  The uniformed officer with the camera took one more picture and said, ‘OK by me, sir.’ She raised the camera. ‘Not much here.’ See?

  ‘Go ahead,’ Royce said. ‘Call nine-one-one immediately if you suspect anything.’ He looked at Allison. ‘You want an escort home?’

  ‘I’m with Ray. What could happen?’

  Royce rubbed his goatee. ‘I’m the wrong one to ask about that, Ms Rogers.’ He looked at me. ‘You might want to call your uncle. Have someone watch the front of your place for a couple of days.’

  ‘You read my mind, Detective.’ We shook hands. ‘Thanks.’

  I called Uncle Ray on the way home and he assured me he’d have a car outside our building within the hour. Forty-five minutes later, we were home and got a call from an Officer Paulson. She said she was down the block in a light blue four-door if we needed anything. She sounded very serious. />
  Neither one of us was very hungry, so we just snacked on some leftovers from the fridge. Allison was a little more shaken up about the arrow incident than I had first thought. We sat on the futon watching TV, and she was about as quiet as I’ve ever seen her. I was about to ask her if she wanted to go out for some air and some ice cream when my phone rang. Not recognizing the number, I said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Raymond Donne?’

  ‘This is he. Who’s this?’

  ‘Eddie Price,’ he said. ‘From Newer Leaves? We met the other day. At the mem— well, at both memorials. I got your number off of Maurice’s paperwork. I hope you don’t mind.’

  I stood up. ‘Not at all, Mr Price. What’s up?’

  ‘Do you have a moment to talk?’

  ‘Sure.’ I took the phone out to the balcony. ‘Go ahead.’

  He was silent for a few seconds, then said, ‘I hope this doesn’t sound weird.’

  You don’t know what passes for weird these days, brother.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Did MoJo mention anything to you about some … work he was doing for me up at Newer Leaves?’

  ‘Not to me, no.’

  ‘What about your friend Edgar?’

  ‘You’d have to ask Edgar, Mr Price,’ I said. ‘If it were security work, wouldn’t Edgar have been involved?’

  ‘This was more of a …’ He struggled for the right word. ‘Personal matter.’

  ‘Like I said, MoJo said nothing to me. Do you have Edgar’s number?’

  ‘I do. It’s also on the paperwork as a reference. I’ll check with him tomorrow.’ It didn’t sound like he was going to get much sleep tonight.

  I waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, I said, ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Yes, goodnight, Raymond. Thank you.’

  That made two people – three if I included RV – in two days who had asked me if MoJo had spoken to me about something to do with Newer Leaves. I went back inside and bounced that off Allison.

  She lowered the volume on the TV. ‘That is odd. At least McLain came right out and said what it was he wanted to know. You think it’s the same thing? And if whatever Price had going on with MoJo was “personal,” why ask you about it?’