The apartment building was close to the last stop on the L train on Rockaway Parkway. The firehouse and the Sixty-ninth Police Precinct were also nearby. Billy had served his first two years on the force at the Sixty-ninth.
The area was mostly commercial with a lot of local traffic bottlenecked between Flatlands Avenue and the train station on Glenwood Road. Billy parked a few blocks off the main drag and walked back toward Rockaway Parkway. He had disguised himself with a blonde wig, fake eyeglasses and an exaggerated limp. Police experience had taught him how most people avoided looking into handicapped people’s eyes.
He stopped for a slice of pizza and a soda and could see Albano’s building on the next block from where he stood outside the pizza parlor. His mind wandered to an image of Kathleen with Albano entering the same building; Albano’s hands around her waist as they climbed the stairs to his apartment. Billy imagined them kissing inside the apartment doorway before Albano guided her into the bedroom. He imagined them shedding their clothes and then the look on Kathleen’s face as Albano positioned himself between her legs.
Fire engine horns blared from inside the firehouse and interrupted Billy’s daydream. A single fireman stood in the middle of Rockaway Parkway to halt traffic while the engines pulled out of the garage. Billy was impressed with how fast they were on their way. Vehicular street traffic had been halted less than a minute.
He walked in the same direction the fire engines had gone, stopping once to bend over and tap the gun he was carrying in an ankle holster. Today it was his weapon of choice, a Walther PPK. Five years ago he had killed a perp from across Kings Highway with a single shot to the forehead using the same gun. It was what he thought about as he headed toward John Albano’s address; if it became too inconvenient getting up close, he could always shoot from a safer distance.
He was close to the building when he saw the old man was no longer sitting on the stoop.
Chapter 30
The car had been making noise all day and now it was driving Nick crazy. He pulled into a gas station on Sunrise Highway and asked the attendant there to check out the sound his car was making. The attendant said the mechanic was busy and that he couldn’t leave the pumps unattended.
“I can’t leave the thing here overnight,” Nick told him. “How the hell would I get home?”
“What kind of noise is it?” the attendant asked.
“A high-pitch sound. I don’t get it until I hit thirty miles an hour or so. It’s loud on the highway. Someone might’ve fucked with my engine, put sugar in the tank or something. I don’t know, I’m not a mechanic.”
“If you want we can put it on a lift and take a quick look, but I can’t drive it. I’m on the pumps.”
“Alright,” Nick told him. “Can I use your phone in the meantime? I gotta make a few calls.”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll put the car up.”
“In the office?” Nick said.
“Yeah,” the mechanic said. He waited until Nick was out of earshot and added, “You’re welcome.”
Nick called Fast Eddie’s and left the station number for someone to call back. Ten minutes later the phone rang. He picked it up before it disturbed the mechanic.
“It’s me,” he answered.
“Yeah?” Eddie Vento said.
“I got stopped,” Nick told him.
“And?”
“Just like you said. They took the loop reels and left. Nothing after that.”
“Good.”
“Although I gotta tell you, it wasn’t easy not slapping one of those cops in the face. He had a big mouth.”
“Yeah, well, that would’ve gone over great, you hitting some cop. Aside from the fact they would’ve redid your face for you, it would’ve given me a headache I don’t need.”
“Why I stayed calm.”
There was a pause where Nick was sure Vento huffed.
“That it?” Vento said.
“Yeah. I had to stop at a gas station—”
The line went dead. Vento had hung up.
“Fuck you, too,” Nick said.
He went out to the garage where the mechanic was pointing up at something at the bottom rear of the car. The attendant was laughing.
“The fuck is so funny?” Nick said.
“That,” the mechanic said.
Nick stepped closer but couldn’t make out what it was taped to the bottom of the tailpipe.
“What is it?” he said.
“Why you heard a noise,” the attendant said.
“This a quiz game?” Nick said.
“It’s a whistle,” the mechanic said. “Somebody taped one to your muffler tailpipe.”
“That son of a bitch,” Nick said.
“No harm done. We just have to take it off.”
“Then do it,” Nick said. “I don’t have all fuckin’ day to amuse you two.”
He watched as his car was lowered enough so the whistle could be removed. “You want it?” the attendant asked after taking it off.
“Yeah,” Nick said.
A few minutes later, after giving the attendant two dollars and getting a dirty look as if the guy had spent half the day rebuilding an engine, Nick was on his way home. He considered driving straight to Brooklyn and returning the favor by taping the same whistle to John Albano’s tailpipe, there would be some justice in that, but Nick preferred doing something to the Buick that would cost Albano a lot more than two dollars.
The first thing that came to mind was a windshield, maybe both. It was illegal to drive a car with a broken windshield so Albano would have to have them repaired. When that happened, Nick was thinking he could either pour a couple pounds of sugar in the Buick’s gas tank or just wait until the windshields were repaired before breaking the glass again.
There were a few things he could do to keep John Albano behind the eight ball. Then he remembered Stanislaus Bartosz and Nick pulled to the curb to call the Polack and find out what the fuck had happened, if anything, the night before. He tried the bar where he’d spotted Bartosz on Cross Bay Boulevard and was stunned when he learned the bad news.
“The big guy’s dead,” the bartender said. “Some kids found him near Fountain Avenue. It’s on the news.”
Nick was stunned. Bartosz was a genuine tough guy. Nick couldn’t imagine somebody like Albano getting the drop on him.
Unless it was somebody else, he wondered.
He got back in the car and lit a cigarette. He smoked it to the filter before he decided Bartosz’s death had to have been mob-related. The Polack must’ve had a beef with somebody, maybe a wiseguy since his body was found near Fountain Avenue. The area had a reputation for being a mob dumping ground.
Feeling a little more relieved, Nick returned to daydreaming about fucking with John Albano’s wallet. Albano would have to skim off the top to pay for car repairs. Nick could bring it to Eddie Vento’s attention and offer to take care of the problem himself. It would be a double bonus to make his bones whacking somebody he hated.
Nick spent most of the rest of his drive home daydreaming about killing Albano. The rest of the time he was thinking about the ceremony when he would become a made man. Then, instead of taking shit from Eddie Vento, he could give it to somebody else.
* * * *
“What is it you want?” the professor had asked.
Louis could tell the man was scared. “I’m not here to register for one of your classes,” he said.
The professor looked confused.
“Has to do with how you can’t keep it in your pants,” Louis said. “I’m here for some money.”
The professor swallowed hard. “How much?”
“What’ve you got?”
“On me? Not much.”
“Then you’d better find some, because I’m not leaving here without something makes Holly feel better about herself.”
Holly had rung the bell and then answered when the professor asked who it was. Louis had gone in when the door was buzzed and left her waiting outside
. The professor had turned pale when he saw Louis at his apartment door.
“Look,” he said. “I already went and borrowed a few dollars this morning. I tried to call Holly all day and wanted to settle this before it got out of hand.”
“You apologize?”
“No, not yet. She wouldn’t let me.”
Louis rubbed two fingers together. “Show her some love.”
“The money?”
“Why you’re a professor.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you grabbed your sausage.”
“I can’t explain how that happened,” the professor said. “All I can say is I’m sorry.”
Louis put his hand out and the professor handed him the five one-hundred dollar bills. He pocketed three of the five bills on his way down the stairs and showed Holly the other two in the vestibule. She told him she didn’t want the money. He kissed her on the forehead.
That had been earlier. Now he was on his way home after taking Holly back to the dorm and promising her he’d reconsider their situation overnight. He had told her he’d get back to her sometime tomorrow after she had taken her best shot at getting him to take her home. The way he saw it, Louis had done her a favor waiting until his rash was completely gone before screwing her again anyway. Not that he told her about the crabs he’d picked up not too far from her dorm, but he knew that putting her off was the smart play and that if he was going to need her again it would be the next day when he robbed Albano.
Tonight he preferred spending the night alone.
And if he didn’t need Holly, he’d never see or talk to her again. It wasn’t like she was any great shakes in bed anyway.
* * * *
Levin had just finished listening to the last set of surveillance tapes when Brice showed up at his front door. It was a few minutes after ten o’clock. Levin stashed the tapes under a pillow and the recorder under the couch but didn’t notice he’d left a notepad he’d been using on the coffee table.
He turned on the television and found preseason football highlights before answering the bell.
Brice looked exhausted. Levin showed him into the kitchen and handed him a cold beer from the refrigerator. They returned to the living room where Levin made sure to sit on the couch. Brice sat in an armchair facing the couch.
“Everything okay?” Levin asked.
“This investigation is bullshit,” Brice said.
“Yeah, so?”
“You think Kelly’s on the take?”
“That’s a heavy accusation. What do you think?”
“I didn’t accuse,” Brice said. “I asked. And I asked you first.”
“Fair enough. It’s not easy being the one to throw the first stone. I’m not enthused about working with him, I’ll tell you that much.”
“It’s a bullshit stakeout.”
“Yep.”
“Doesn’t that mean something?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Brice lit a cigarette. “I thought you were pushing it pretty hard with him. Looked like the two of you would’ve gone at it I wasn’t there.”
“That was a pissing contest, kid. Nothing more than that.”
“It seemed like more.”
“Trust me,” Levin said.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to go down with him if he is dirty. I don’t like the idea of being made a fool of, either.”
“Could be he’s keeping things to himself because he doesn’t want us involved.”
“He ever offer you money?”
“Today was the first time he’s ever offered anything, that lunch he bought us.”
Brice set his beer down to rub his face with both hands.
“You’re thinking too much,” Levin said.
“He’s dirty, it’s with the mob,” Brice said.
“They’re the ones pushing the film.”
“That’s the other thing, that film. I mean, really, who gives a shit? Not me.”
“Probably not Kelly either, but you can always take it up with the honorable Whitman Knapp or Mayor Lindsey, or our beloved commissioner, Mr. Murphy, you can get a few minutes with him. Chasing this dopey film is policy right now. Bullshit policy, but policy. From the White House to the Gracie Mansion, Deep Throat is supposed to be deep-sixed.”
“Then Kelly’s jerking us off,” Brice said. “The way he’s pursuing it.”
Levin took a sip of beer.
“What’re we supposed to do?” Brice asked. “Assuming he’s dirty, I mean.”
“There’s only a few things you can do. Ask for a transfer, a piece of the action, if there is any, or shut up and ignore the man. Do what he says within reason and if it doesn’t feel right, get a stomach ache.”
“Like you did today.”
“I’ll guarantee you the rest of my day was better’n yours.”
“There’s nothing else?” Brice said. “What about the license plates we took down? I ran those.” He pulled his wallet out, thumbed through it until he found a piece of paper and read from it. “Logan, Greco, Isolano, Cohen, Bloom, Albano and then the guy we stopped, Santorra.”
“Johnny Porno,” Levin said.
“Who?”
“Albano.”
“Oh, yeah, well, Kelly seemed most interested in him, too, that name afterward.”
“Maybe he’s the sacrificial lamb. A guy Kelly can justify himself with, this detail, if he needs to bring somebody in.”
“Then he is dirty.”
“If, I said. If he needs to bring somebody in.”
“This is bullshit,” Brice said. “Either he is or he isn’t.” He guzzled what was left of his beer.
“I’ll get you another one,” Levin said.
Brice sat on the couch. As he did so he noticed a notebook on the end table. He saw Kelly’s name scribbled alongside a date and then a line from that date to another. He tried to read the next name, but couldn’t make it out. He picked up the notebook when Levin returned with a fresh beer.
“What’s this?” Brice said.
Levin handed off the beer and took the notebook.
“It’s personal,” he said.
“What, you dating Kelly or something?”
“That’d be personal, too.”
“Holy shit, Levin. If you’re Internal Affairs, let me in on the joke.”
Levin brought the notebook to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him when he returned.
“Well?” Brice said.
“Maybe you wanna calm your jets,” Levin said. “You’re the new kid on the block. I look into something, nobody’ll question it. I forget to tell Kelly, he’ll throw one of his fits, but that’s all he’ll do. You do it and he’ll bounce you.”
“You think the guy is dirty or not?”
“He might be, but that’s all I’m willing to say and it’s way more than you better say. I don’t particularly like Kelly. Fact I think he’s a scumbag. But if he’s clean I don’t wanna see him ruined by rumor.”
“Jesus Christ, you don’t make it easy. The hell do I do?”
“I’d think twice about doing anything. Prostitution, gambling, fuck films, they’re all harmless vices. Ever hear that before? You do anything to Kelly you’ll be selling your soul for the wrong price. If Kelly’s dirty and he may well be, let Internal Affairs handle it. It’s what they’re there for.”
“Fine. What about Albano? You think he’ll give us something if he thinks he’s going down?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Maybe he walks away. I’m not sure we can approach him yet. Not if Kelly’s got an eye on him. I think it best for now we just play the game the way Kelly wants.” He motioned back toward the bedroom. “What we do on our own, we keep to ourselves. At least for now we do.”
Brice took a long swig from the beer bottle, then another, killing it. He set the empty down on the coffee table and noticed a football magazine was opened to the New York Jets schedule. “I’m starting to wish I had a hobby,�
�� he said.
Chapter 31
The night he was knocked out in the bar Billy hadn’t told his wife he was stopping there on business. Their original plan was to have drinks in a West Village place Kathleen had found in a swingers magazine. The Happy Couples lounge had advertised soft and hard swing nights, the former being introductory for newcomers to the lifestyle and the latter for more experienced couples. Billy had agreed to arrange a soft swing where he would watch Kathleen engage in foreplay with another couple.
They had stopped at the Williamsburg bar for him to sell information he had glommed off a drug dealer he’d shaken down earlier in the week. An Hispanic illegal was putting out street loans from a bodega close to Vento’s bar.
The wiseguy had acted indifferently to the information about the bodega and said, “What’s that got to do with me, some spic is putting out money?”
“You could tax the guy for protection money or put him to work soliciting loans for you,” Billy had said. “Or you could take him for what he is, competition.”
“Those people do that shit with their own kind,” Vento had said. “They charge them five, up to ten percent, depending on the turnaround. My customers wouldn’t go to some bodega unless they were looking to beat the guy. I’m not worried about it.”
“The guy is up the block and you’re not worried?”
“Not at all.”
It had frustrated Billy that the wiseguy wasn’t biting. “Maybe I should work for him,” he had said.
“Now you’re talking out your ass,” Vento had said.
“You think so, huh?”
“I also think you should lay off my bartenders when you’re looking for lunch money,” Vento said. “That badge can get you in as much trouble as you can make with it.”
“That a threat?”
Vento hadn’t answered.
Billy left the wiseguy’s office and had gone upstairs where he saw John Albano getting cozy with Kathleen. The way Vento’s men seemed to be enjoying it, Billy had felt he had to act. The fact Albano had tried to back down wasn’t enough, not with all those goombahs in the same room. Later he would learn from a friend with the Organized Crime squad that Vento had installed cameras in the ceiling at either end of the bar and the entire fiasco had been caught on film.
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