by Steven Henry
“An apology to the lady’s a good place to start,” Corky added.
“Oh, sorry,” Mickey said. “I didn’t know any ladies was present.”
Corky’s habitual smile had vanished. “You bloody gobshite,” he spat. “Your mum didn’t teach you manners, so I guess I have to.”
Carlyle put up a hand. “Easy, Corks. This isn’t your affair.”
Corky smiled again, but no one would have confused it with a friendly expression. “Is this a private fight, then? Because I’m perfectly willing to pitch in.”
“Anytime, pencil-dick,” Mickey growled. He levered himself to his feet.
Several things happened simultaneously. Carlyle and Evan both started to speak. Veronica settled back in her chair and licked her lips, an expression of anticipation on her face. Erin dropped a hand toward her ankle holster.
Corky moved faster than any of them. Erin knew he had incredible reflexes. She’d seen him snatch a falling beer-glass out of midair, and interrupt a bomb between trigger and detonation, so she should’ve been expecting it, but she still didn’t see his hand move. One moment he was seated across the table from Mickey. The next instant, a knife was quivering in the green baize tabletop, the blade planted squarely between the third and fourth fingers of Mickey’s right hand. Corky was standing now.
“Still fancy your chances, big fella?” Corky asked.
“Nice trick,” Mickey said. He plucked the blade out of the table with his left hand. “Except now I’ve got your knife.”
Corky chuckled. “You really think I only brought the one?”
“That’s enough, Mr. Connor, Mr. Corcoran,” Evan said quietly.
Mickey slipped his right hand into his pocket. His fingers curled around something. Erin tensed and got ready to pull her piece.
“I said, that’s enough, both of you,” Evan repeated, ice in his voice. “We’re not having this.”
Mickey scowled. “Sure,” he grumbled and resumed his seat. Corky held out his hands in a gesture indicating he’d never wanted trouble.
“I apologize, Miss O’Reilly,” Evan said. “Mr. Connor was out of line. He forgot his manners. It won’t happen again, I’m certain.”
Erin fought the urge to moisten her dry lips. She met Evan’s eyes and saw no softness at all. It was purely practical considerations that had made him intervene. Otherwise, he’d have happily watched the two men kill each other.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“And I’ll be having my blade back,” Corky said to Mickey.
Mickey looked down at his left hand. “You want your blade?” He took his other hand out of his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the blade. He flexed, without apparent effort. There was a sharp, metallic snapping sound. He tossed the blade, minus its handle, across the table. “There ya go.”
“That’s a thousand-dollar knife,” Corky said, but he grinned while he said it. “I guess I’ve no choice now but to take all your chips by way of compensation. Fortunately, I’d already planned to do that. I think it’s my bet, Maggie?”
Maggie hadn’t participated in the confrontation at all. She gave Corky a slight nod, her eyes very large and alarmed.
“Then I’ll raise the full fifty,” Corky said.
And just like that, the game went on, as if nothing had happened. Erin took a gulp of her beer and wished she’d ordered something stronger. It looked like being a long evening.
* * *
Corky was true to his word. He buckled down to the serious business of cleaning out Mickey’s chips. He did it methodically and competently, so much so that Erin wondered just how good a gambler the Irishman could be if he put his mind to it. Inside half an hour, Mickey’s last chip went into the pot, which Corky won with three jacks. Mickey scowled, but didn’t say anything. Apparently he’d decided not to pick any more fights that night. He didn’t leave, but pushed his chair back against the wall and concentrated on drinking Carlyle’s good top-shelf whiskey and glaring.
Erin’s luck ran out soon after, most of her chips winding up as part of Finnegan’s stack, or as collateral damage in Corky’s crusade.
“I guess I’m out,” she said ruefully.
“You put up a good show,” Carlyle said with a smile. “My first game with these lads, I lost my shirt inside of an hour.”
“I don’t remember my first game,” Corky said. “I’d rather a lot to drink, I suppose. Found myself riding the subway to Brooklyn with empty pockets and a sore head.”
“He won,” Carlyle said to Erin in an undertone. “And he was reasonably sober when he left the game. What he did after that, I’ve no idea.”
Erin was actually glad to be out of the game. It let her watch the others more closely. She noticed something interesting. Evan O’Malley somehow managed to neither win nor lose big. His chip total hovered around the starting two thousand dollars, no matter what. He didn’t even seem to be trying very hard. His cold blue eyes roved around the room, never resting very long on any single person, but she was sure he was aware of everything that was happening.
Mickey was watching Erin, and she didn’t like it. She was used to being eyeballed by sleazy thugs. It came with wearing the shield and being a woman. But the way he was looking at her was more than simple male lust. She saw anger, bordering on hate. She could feel the man’s barely-contained violence. She tried to keep acting the part of a lovestruck woman, paying most of her attention to Carlyle, but it was hard with that vicious presence on the other side of the table. What she really wanted to do was pull out her ankle gun and slap cuffs on him. If her handcuffs would even fit around those enormous wrists.
“I think that’s enough for one night,” Evan finally said at eleven. The game wasn’t over; Veronica was hanging on to a couple hundred bucks, and Finnegan was basically broke. Evan had his starting two thousand, plus an extra fifty. Carlyle had more than doubled his stake, and Corky had everything else.
“Good night for you, Corks,” Carlyle observed.
“Night’s not over,” Corky said with a grin. “We’ll see if my luck lasts till morning.”
The various O’Malleys were getting to their feet, putting on coats. Veronica leaned over and whispered something to Corky. Erin was just close enough to hear her.
“You still look lucky to me. If you’re not too tired, you and I could go somewhere and… talk.”
“Thanks, Vicky,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’ve a prior engagement. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again soon.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” she said. Then she swayed out of the room in her stiletto heels. Corky shook his head and sighed.
“What’s the problem?” Erin teased. “She seems like just your type.”
Corky turned to her with apparent surprise. “You think so? I prefer to put in a bit of effort. Besides,” he added in an undertone, “the woman’s a man-eater. She’s had me in her claws once. I had bruises after, and you don’t want to know where.”
Erin couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Carlyle said to the dealer. “You’ve done a grand job, as always.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. Those were practically the only words she’d said the whole evening. She disappeared into a brown wool overcoat and took up position a little behind Evan. The O’Malley chieftain worked his way around the table to Erin. He extended his hand. It was clean and well-manicured, with a Notre Dame class ring on the fourth finger.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss O’Reilly,” he said. “I look forward to our further acquaintance.”
“Thanks,” she said, shaking hands. His grip was firm. Their eyes locked for a moment. Erin had to steel herself not to look away. The icy force of the man’s will hit her almost like a physical blow. This was the first time she’d been up close to the head of a major organized-crime family. This was no two-bit hoodlum.
“It’s unusual to have a peace officer at one of these gatherings,” he said. “I trust you�
��ve found your experience educational and rewarding.”
“Educational,” she agreed. “Not so rewarding. Your guys got all my cash.”
Evan smiled and for an instant he looked almost human. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll come out ahead in the end, if you look to your interests. Good night, ma’am.” He turned and left. Mickey went out just ahead of him, acting the part of a bodyguard. Finnegan and Maggie followed.
“I’ll be on my way,” Corky said. “I think I’ll just stop in the pub and get one for the road.”
“Caitlin gets off duty at midnight,” Carlyle said.
“Is that so?” Corky pretended to be surprised. “I’ll take that into consideration. I hope your luck improves, Erin.” He winked at her and headed for the bar. Then it was just Carlyle and Erin in the room.
“Well, darling,” he said. “What did you think of the lads?”
She took a long, deep breath and let it out, trying to relieve some of the tension knotting her shoulders.
“I don’t know how you hang out with these guys,” she said. “Jesus, I thought Mickey and Corky were gonna kill each other.”
Carlyle nodded. “I’ll have a word with Corks,” he said. “He shouldn’t have let himself be baited so easily. I fear he was trying to impress you.”
“I don’t need a white knight,” she retorted.
“I know that, and so does he. It’s a reflex for him. He’s not even trying to get you in bed.”
“Maybe not anymore,” she said.
He chuckled. “Aye.”
“Mickey’s a real asshole.”
Carlyle nodded again. “I can see why they made you a detective,” he deadpanned.
Erin had to smile. “I can’t believe he’d act like that in front of his boss, though.”
“Really? I thought it was obvious.”
“Obvious, huh? Enlighten me.”
“He was doing exactly what Evan wanted him to,” Carlyle said. “You’re a K-9 officer, Erin. Surely you know an attack dog when you see one.”
“Evan was using him to test me,” she said. “Without committing himself.”
“He was testing both of us,” Carlyle said. “Evan likes to understand the weaknesses of the people around him. He was probing for your buttons, to see which ones he could push.”
“Did Corky screw up the test?” she asked.
“Perhaps.”
“Did I pass?”
“We’ll know in a day or two.”
“How will we know?”
“If no one tries to kill you, you’ve passed.”
Erin looked sharply at him, looking for a hint he might be joking. He didn’t seem to be.
“Jesus,” she said again. “How do you live like this?”
“The same way everyone does,” he said. “You’d be surprised what a lad can get used to. In a way, it’s no different than growing up in Belfast during the Troubles. You never knew when some lad would take a shot at you, or perhaps throw a petrol bomb. It was good practice for the Life.”
“I guess I should go home,” she said. “And try to get some sleep. That’s assuming no Irish hitmen are waiting for me.”
“I’d not worry about it,” he said. “I think Evan liked you.”
“How can you tell?”
“I work with gamblers. Everyone has tells, even the best. And I’ve known Evan for years. He doesn’t trust you, of course. I’m not certain Evan O’Malley trusts anyone on God’s green Earth. But he invited you in the first place, and that’s promising. Small steps, darling.”
“This whole thing would be a lot easier if you’d just taken me home to meet your parents instead,” she said.
“You’re only saying that because you’ve not met my mum,” Carlyle said.
“She’s worse than a mob boss?”
He smiled. “Perhaps you’ll have the chance to judge, one of these days.”
Chapter 7
“You look like shit,” Vic said.
“I had a late night,” Erin replied. “What’s your excuse?”
“You kidding? This is me on a good day.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“That I look good?”
“No. That you’ve ever had a good day.”
He considered that for a moment. “You’ve got a point. So, what were you doing when you should’ve been getting your beauty sleep?”
“Hanging out with thugs and murderers.”
Vic smiled. “Hey, you get to do that at work. Why waste your down time on it?”
“Because the sex is good.”
He laughed. “Another good point. Except now you’re expecting me to believe you’re getting any action these days.”
“More than you.” Erin was quietly amused at telling the straight truth, knowing Vic wouldn’t believe it. Carlyle was right about the best way to lie.
“You two ready to do some work?” Webb asked.
“Sure thing,” Erin said. “What’s going down?”
“I heard back from our Federal friends.” His voice was drier than usual. “They let me know that they have no objection to an interview of New York City resident Lorenzo Bianchi, in New York City, by New York City detectives.”
“Generous of them,” Vic observed.
“He may be under sealed indictment, of course, but they didn’t tell me that,” Webb went on.
“That being what ‘sealed’ means,” Vic added.
“Neshenko?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Shut up.”
“You were saying, sir?” Erin prompted.
“But barring that, there’s no open RICO investigation on him,” Webb finished. “That means he’s ours if we want him.”
“Do we?” she asked. “It might be his son we’re after.”
“We’ll go after them both,” Webb said. “The kid’s more likely to crack. Assuming he knows anything, of course. We mainly need to establish which hands the candy passed through on its way to Ridgeway. Anyone along the line could’ve tampered with it.”
“This is why mom always told me to check the seals on food packaging,” Vic said. “And to watch for razor blades in my Halloween candy.”
“Neshenko?”
“Shutting up, sir.”
“You really think they’ll talk to us?” Erin asked. “I mean, these are Mob guys.”
“We have to try,” Webb sighed. “We don’t have nearly enough for search warrants for these mopes. Either they talk or they don’t. They’ll probably lawyer up.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Tribeca, right on the edge of Little Italy. Penthouse apartment.”
“Fancy. I shoulda worn my good necktie,” Vic muttered.
Erin gave him a look. Vic only wore a tie as mandated by the department. His ties were, as a rule, forgettable.
“The good one doesn’t have coffee stains,” he explained.
* * *
They parked Erin’s Charger and Vic’s Taurus outside Bianchi’s apartment. The neighborhood was posh and overpriced, just the sort of place for stockbrokers, CEOs, Mafia underbosses, and associated sociopaths. The detectives showed their shields to the doorman and took the elevator to the top floor.
“So, the kid lives here, too?” Vic asked. “What is he, twenty-five?”
“I think so,” Webb said. “They’ve got basically the whole top floor. Plenty of room. And you know how Manhattan real estate goes. It’s cheaper for him to stay at Mom and Dad’s.”
“How much is this guy’s rent?” Vic wondered.
“More than we make in a year,” Erin said.
At the door to the penthouse, Webb glanced at the other two. “I don’t know this guy,” he said. “But he’ll know us. Bianchi’s been dealing with cops since the two of you were in diapers. He’s old-school. I’ll take the lead, but if either of you see an opening, feel free to pitch in. You never know what’ll crack him open.” He reached for the doorbell and gave it a firm push.
&
nbsp; After a short wait, they heard three bolts being drawn back. The door opened a couple of inches, showing the chain-lock still in place. A young man’s face appeared in the gap.
“Yeah? Whaddaya want?” he demanded in classic New York style.
Webb held up his shield. “Lieutenant Webb, NYPD. Are you Paulie Bianchi?”
A woman’s voice came from behind the kid, the sort of strident, demanding voice Erin remembered hearing a lot back in Queens. “Hey Paulie! Who’s at the door?”
“Cops,” he called back over his shoulder.
“What do they want?”
Paulie turned back to Webb. “Whaddaya want?” he asked again.
“We just have a few questions, for you and your father,” Webb said. “Mind if we step inside?”
“Get lost, why don’t you?”
Webb sighed. “I’d like to do this in a congenial manner.”
“The hell you talking about?”
“He means he’d rather talk to you than have me do it,” Vic said over Webb’s shoulder.
Paulie looked him up and down. “Whoa, you’re a big piece of meat, ain’t ya? Juice much?”
Vic tilted his head. His muscular neck cracked audibly.
“Yeah, real tough guy, hiding behind your badge,” Paulie sneered. “And your boss.”
“The only hiding I’m seeing is you behind your door,” Vic said. “And your mom’s skirt.”
“Eat me, dickwad.”
“Look,” Webb said, stepping between them. “This is just a formality. We just want to talk, and we’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”
“Forget about it. You ain’t comin’ in here without a warrant.”
Webb sighed again. “Kid, are you seriously telling me you’ve got something lying around here, in front of your mother, that you don’t want the police to see?”
“I ain’t hidin’ nothin’!”
“Paulie!” his mom called. “Quit yappin’ and let ‘em in. We’re good, law-abiding citizens. We got nothin’ to hide!”
Paulie, still grumbling, unfastened the chain lock and stepped sullenly out of the way. The detectives trooped into the apartment. Paulie blinked when he saw Rolf.