Johnny Porno

by Charlie Stella

“You get the tags?” Kelly said.

  “We gonna bother to run them?” Levin asked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The warning we gave this guy,” Brice said.

  Kelly bit into a pickle. “You guys have a beef?”

  Levin was about to take another bite of his sandwich. “You want the sandwich back?”

  “Don’t be a wiseass,” Kelly said. “I’m serious, what’s the problem here?”

  “It seems kind of silly, us sitting out here all day after we approached the guy a few days ago,” Brice said. “And the guys pulling up, the way he’s meeting them out there, it’s probably a show anyway.”

  “Not to mention me having to park back at the deli a few blocks away if we’re letting him know we’re here.”

  “I just parked there myself,” Kelly said. “Walk’ll do you good, but neither of you shouldn’t trouble yourselves thinking so hard. Not that I need to share it with you two, but there’s a clever method behind the madness. Not to mention the easy-as-pie overtime.”

  Levin took a drink from his soda. “Except this way we never even get to see the movie,” he said. “I was looking forward to it.”

  Kelly glanced over his shoulder to shoot Levin a dirty look.

  “Don’t mind him,” Brice told Kelly. “He’s got his balls twisted for having to blow tomorrow’s overtime on some wedding.”

  Kelly huffed. “He should show a little appreciation is what he should do.”

  “You were saying?” Levin said.

  “You talking to me?” Kelly said.

  “Something about the clever method and the madness.”

  “You’re enjoying yourself trying to push my buttons. That’s good.”

  “So’s this sandwich,” said Brice, trying to change the subject. “Where’d you get them?”

  “Grabstein’s.”

  “The place in Canarsie?”

  Kelly didn’t answer Brice. He turned on his seat to look into Levin’s eyes. “Out with it, you have a problem.”

  “The guy there wash his hands before he handled the meat?” Levin said.

  Kelly was still staring Levin down. “Fuck you,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ, lighten up,” Brice said.

  “He charge you?” Levin asked Kelly. “Sometimes they don’t they see a badge. You show him yours?”

  “You think I’m dirty? That what this is about?”

  “Maybe,” Levin said. “Except guys on the take know enough to share with their partners.”

  “Fuck your mother,” Kelly said.

  “Then I’d have to fuck yours and I’m not sure I’d want to.”

  Kelly showed teeth. “How about I break your fucking jaw?”

  “That’d take too much time,” Levin said. “I’d have to fall asleep first.”

  Kelly thumbed toward the curb. “You wanna take a walk and see?”

  “Oh, oh, oh!” Brice yelled. “What the fuck already. Give it a break, both of you. I’m supposed to be the immature one here.”

  Levin and Kelly were still locked in a stare-down. Brice saw it and nudged Kelly so the senior detective had to turn to face him.

  “What?” Kelly said.

  “I think it’s too hot today and it’s getting to the both a yous,” Brice said. “So why don’t one of you go home and the other stay in the back and take a nap maybe. How’s that sound?”

  “That mean you prefer I leave?” Kelly said.

  “We’ll have time to smooch tomorrow. Mr. Happy back there is off.”

  “You volunteering for a double tonight?”

  “I’m not,” Levin said.

  “I didn’t ask you,” Kelly said.

  “In case you were wondering.”

  Kelly pointed a threatening finger at Levin. “One day you’re gonna push and there won’t be anybody around to stop something from happening.”

  “You mean like breaking my fucking jaw?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But then I wouldn’t be able to eat these wonderful lunches.”

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he said. “Kike asshole.”

  Levin rewrapped the other half of his sandwich and set it on the seat alongside him. “And on that note, I’m gonna leave early,” he said. “My stomach don’t feel so good anyway. I think it’s bad, the meat.”

  “That the pastrami?” Kelly said. “Yeah, well, I spit on that one.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Brice said. “Don’t say shit like that when people are eating.”

  Levin was out of the car. He walked around to the driver’s side and winked at Brice. “See you when I see you,” he said. He raised his right hand and wiggled his fingers at Kelly. “Tootles.”

  “Fuck you,” Kelly said.

  Levin winked at Brice again and left.

  “I hate that fucking guy sometimes,” Kelly said. “College-boy cocksucker thinks he’s so fuckin’ smart.”

  Brice glanced at his watch, then saw Levin skipping across the street. “You know what? He just might be.”

  “Fuck him,” Kelly said. He reached over the seat and grabbed the other half of Levin’s sandwich. “Three dollars,” he said. “I ain’t wasting it.”

  * * * *

  Levin had just turned the corner when a car pulled up alongside him at the curb. He glanced to his right and saw a black man behind the wheel. Levin thought the man looked official and kept walking.

  A few steps later the driver tapped the horn.

  “Detective?” he called.

  Levin ignored him. The driver pulled up a few feet ahead of Levin and parked. This time Levin stopped. The driver extended his left arm out the window and presented his badge.

  “Special Agent Stebenow,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  Levin thought he recognized the man’s voice. “What about?”

  “Sean Kelly.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Stebenow turned the engine off and got out of the car. “I know you’re with Internal Affairs and I’m not looking to blow your cover,” he said. “I’m concerned for a witness of ours. I’m afraid your guy has maybe figured out who it is.”

  Levin looked up and down the block.

  “We can take a drive if you want,” Stebenow said.

  “You have air-conditioning?”

  “Sure,” Stebenow said.

  Levin walked around the back of the car.

  “Stopping me like that, out in the open. That supposed to be a threat?” asked Levin once he was in the car.

  “It’s not like that,” Stebenow said.

  Levin pointed at the dashboard. “Air conditioner.”

  Stebenow brought up the windows before turning the air-conditioning on.

  “You make the sign of the cross before when you said that, about not being here to blow my cover?” Levin said.

  “I’m not jerking your chain,” Stebenow said. “I have concerns, aside from my official capacity.”

  “You’re a humanist, that it?”

  “I believe I have a witness whose life is in danger.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  Stebenow turned the corner and pulled to the curb. “We have to go the full fifteen rounds on this?”

  “This when you count to three?” Levin said.

  The two men stared at one another until Stebenow closed his eyes. When he opened them Levin was still staring. Stebenow checked his side view mirror, then pulled away from the curb.

  “It’s a woman,” he said.

  “What’s her name?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “There you go,” Levin said. He pointed to a delicatessen off the corner. “You can let me out there.”

  “Hold on a minute. Hear me out.”

  “If you’re looking to share information, you’re gonna have to offer something up front. I’m not going first.”

  “You could have my ass in a sling for my approaching you,” Stebenow said. “I’m out of my jurisdiction. I know that.”

  “So,
what, you’re just the trusting type?”

  Stebenow parked again, this time turning the engine off. “I don’t have anything for you,” he said. “Nothing I can share beyond a fear of Kelly.”

  Levin waited for more.

  “I think he’s onto our witness,” Stebenow said. “I think he might be watching her.”

  “I’m supposed to be more sympathetic now?”

  “I’m being honest. I think Kelly is watching the girl.”

  “And you need me to verify it.”

  “It isn’t about the case, trust me on this. I’m afraid for her life.”

  “You hear yourself?” Levin said.

  “It isn’t the case.”

  Levin motioned toward the delicatessen with his head. “Buy me a soda,” he said.

  Both men got out of the car. They walked to the corner and crossed the street. Stebenow followed Levin inside. Both men stopped under the breeze from the air conditioner.

  “That feels good,” Levin said.

  He walked to an aluminum garbage pail filled with ice, reached an arm in and pulled a can of soda out. Stebenow grabbed a container of orange juice from an open refrigerator.

  Levin had his wallet out before Stebenow. He paid for both drinks. “You owe me,” he said.

  They stepped outside where Levin popped the soda top and drank deep from the can. Stebenow pinched open the container and sipped at the juice.

  There was a bench alongside a rack of newspapers. Levin sat on one end, Stebenow on the other end.

  “It’s Vento’s girlfriend,” the special agent said, “the one from his bar. There. Now you can have me canned, you want.”

  “And?”

  “She’s working off a drug bust. It was her boyfriend, but she was helping. They played tapes for her of him with another woman and she agreed to deal him away. He died inside. Natural causes, you can believe it. Somebody in the DEA was a friend of the federal prosecutor and when they found out she was involved with Eddie Vento, they put the hammer to her. ‘Turn informant or get used to munching muff the next dozen years.’ You know the deal. They laid it on thick, actually told her how big black bubble-butted butch-dykes like skinny white girls inside the joint. Scared her half to death, so she went to work for us.”

  “She was helping her boyfriend deal drugs, then dealt him away, she’s not some babe in the woods.”

  “No, she’s not. And chances are she’ll fuck up the rest of her life down the road anyway, but this is one I’m not comfortable watching go down.”

  “As in there’ve been others.”

  “A couple, yeah.”

  “Maybe you’re in the wrong line of work,” Levin said. He took another deep drink from his can of soda.

  “I’m definitely in the wrong line of work,” Stebenow said, “but until I’m out, I can’t watch another witness go down, not like this.”

  “I’m not fond of plea deals either, but that shit is out of my hands. I’ve come to accept it.”

  “And when they die, the witnesses? You ever have that?”

  “Personally, no, but there are plenty dirty cops ate a bullet once they were nailed. You should know better.”

  “You know anything about my witness?”

  “Nothing,” Levin said. “If Kelly is tailing somebody for Vento, he’s not discussing it where we can pick it up on a wire.”

  “He probably wouldn’t. It’s the girl Vento keeps in the apartment above his bar. She also bartends a few days a week.”

  “She have a name?”

  “Bridget Malone.”

  “Malone? That’s somewhat familiar. Don’t forget, though, I get to listen to OC surveillance two months after the fact. Best case scenario, one month. Whatever’s going on behind closed doors with Kelly and Vento, we don’t know.”

  “Could you put somebody on him for this?”

  “I’m not the top cop in my outfit. Talk to the guy is.”

  Stebenow frowned.

  “You’re talking a favor then, and a twenty-four-hour one, the surveillance,” Levin said. “How’m I supposed to pull that off?”

  “What if I offered my time?”

  “And when you get spotted?”

  “I might not.”

  Levin laughed. “And when you get spotted?”

  “Look, the girl, she’s got her own problems, don’t get me wrong, but this time she’s out of her league. She doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “Most of the dopes get caught up with the mob never do,” Levin said. “And then they find themselves in the middle of it and they make deals and put their trust in a system that could care less about them. Your federal prosecutor probably can’t wait to run for mayor. Your SAC probably can’t wait to become director. Guys like you can’t wait to become SACs.”

  “And guys like you?” Stebenow said.

  “I can’t wait to retire,” Levin said. He finished his soda and tossed the can in a small trash pail under the bench. “I was Catholic, I’d make the sign of the cross.”

  Stebenow waited for Levin’s attention. “Will you look out for her?” he asked when he had it.

  “I won’t jeopardize my investigation or my job,” Levin said. “I’ll do what I can outside of that, but it won’t be much. Don’t forget I’m with Kelly most of the time. Unless you want I should ask him.”

  Stebenow went to the newspaper stand and wrote his phone number on the cover of a Daily News. “That’s where you can reach me,” he said.

  “Okay,” Levin said. “And you’ll get my number if I ever use yours.”

  Stebenow headed back to his car. Levin watched until the special agent had crossed the street, then fished some change from his pocket, left it on the outdoor counter and grabbed the newspaper off the stand.

  Chapter 27

  The realtor said he would come before he finished for the day, somewhere between four and five. Kathleen straightened up around the house. She scrubbed the floor, cleaned the windows, then put out a vase of fresh flowers.

  Billy spent most of the time in the basement before heading out without telling her where.

  More secrets.

  The Vasquez murder still bothered Kathleen. She looked through newspapers from earlier in the week and found the story in Monday’s paper. Vasquez had been killed late Sunday night in Seaview Park. His wife, who was waiting in their car while he stepped out to do his business, found the body.

  Kathleen knew the park from one of her trysts with Vasquez, one of a few she’d never mentioned to Billy. It was their second time together, when Billy was working nights. Vasquez had taken her to the park where they had sex in his car.

  When she confessed the affair to Billy, she had only mentioned the first of their encounters and even then she had made up some of the story. Billy made her write it down in a spiral notebook along with several other accounts of her sexual history. Some she embellished, others she omitted. Reading from the notebook eventually replaced foreplay for Billy.

  Still, she was sure she’d never told Billy about her and Vasquez in the park. She decided to check her notebook. She went to her closet where she kept it hidden on the top shelf under a row of shoe boxes.

  Originally, he’d tricked her into the confession, making her jealous with a phony one of his own about having sex with an assistant district attorney. Kathleen’s need to hurt him back was why she had told him about Vasquez, but she never regretted it until now. Their sex life had intensified. Later Billy’s voyeurism encouraged her being with other men. Ultimately her physical pleasure was more intense with Billy, but the rituals he seemed to require were becoming uncomfortable.

  Kathleen did love Billy and she knew he loved her; there was that between them, but as she positioned a folding chair in front of her open closet she remembered the first few lines of her written confession.

  I met Victor Vasquez at a bowling alley one night while you were working late. I wore my tight white pants and saw him checking me out. We smiled at each other and later he bought me a drink at
the bar there.

  Kathleen had been too scared to give Billy a phony name and now she wondered if she should have. She hoped she was wrong as she brought the notebook down off the closet shelf. Then she opened the cover and saw the confession had been torn out.

  * * * *

  It was a lot of work, but John was close to finished distributing the film a few minutes after four o’clock. Fitting the new stops before his regulars, he finished up his route on Merrick Boulevard in Valley Stream. It was a familiar stretch of road he knew from when he had shopped for a new car the year he was married to Nancy. They had visited Buick, Chrysler and Chevrolet dealerships there back before he’d realized the mistake he’d made marrying her.

  Now he dropped off the film at a warehouse and used a pay phone to call Melinda.

  “Hey, it’s me,” he said when she answered.

  “John?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Long Island, just finishing up.”

  “Where on the Island?”

  “Valley Stream.”

  “That’s close. How’s your head?”

  “Fine. It’s fine.” It nearly was; the headache barely bothered him.

  “Feel like dinner?” Melinda asked.

  “Sure. Should I pick you up?”

  “Just come by. I’ll cook.”

  “Really?”

  “I can cook, John.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Steak okay?”

  “Anything’s fine.”

  “Great. See you in a few.”

  He hung up, realized he was excited just talking to her again and felt like a kid for it. John hadn’t dated in more than six months. It was more than a year since he’d been intimate with a woman.

  Things were looking up, he thought, at least in the short term.

  Tomorrow would be another story as far as work went. Each stop would take longer than today. He’d have to count and recount the money, repeat the speech about anonymous head-counters who might’ve been there to make sure the counts were accurate and then he’d be traveling with a lot of cash back to the bar in Brooklyn. He was guessing he’d have close to ten thousand dollars.

  As he drove away from the warehouse, John wondered if Nick Santorra had found the whistle yet. He knew it was childish, but he couldn’t help smiling imagining the punk tearing his car apart.