Payback

by Lorenzo Carcaterra

Behind us, sirens came from all directions, and I knew that the situation was under control.

  I walked over to Bobby and checked on his facial wounds. “I heard shots fired,” he said. “Glad you weren’t the one taking the bullets.”

  “Cops will be here soon,” I said. “The two on the ground are going to the hospital. Looks like their pal Mark will be joining them.”

  “They can take the collar,” Bobby said. “As long as they don’t cut them loose on a bond once their wounds heal and before I get a chance to talk to them.”

  “Chief Connors will handle it,” I said. “These three aren’t going anywhere. Not for a while at least.”

  “You should have let me go up against the two,” Bobby said. “You could have handled Mark as easy as I did.”

  I glanced at the blood covering Bobby’s face. “It doesn’t look like he was that easy to me,” I said. “You look like you went fifteen rounds with Smokin’ Joe.”

  “He sucker-punched me,” Bobby said. “I thought he was going to pull his gun and he almost decked me instead. I haven’t been in one of these kinds of brawls since my first year on the job.”

  Three RMPs and an ambulance pulled to a stop. At the corner, a uniform officer began to redirect traffic. “You need to go to the hospital, too,” I said. “You might need some stitches. At the very least something to stop the blood from coming out of your nose.”

  A uniform patrolman came up behind us and we pointed him toward the fallen Mark, still lying on his side, bleeding and moaning.

  I started to walk with Bobby toward a second ambulance pulling up to the scene. “They might keep you for a few hours,” I said. “I’ll let Connie know. She’ll have the kitchen cook up a meal for you and bring it over.”

  “I’d like that,” Bobby said with a smile. “I can’t think of a faster way to heal than to have a great meal with Connie sitting by my side.”

  “You’ll get the meal,” I said. “Only Connie won’t be the one bringing it to you.”

  “What?” Bobby said. “You don’t trust me with her?”

  “Not for a minute,” I said with a smile of my own.

  45.

  ONE POLICE PLAZA

  THE NEXT DAY

  I SAT ACROSS FROM CHIEF CONNORS, waiting as he read through several pages of police reports and memos. The chief dropped the pages on his desk, sat back in his thick leather chair, and flipped off his reading glasses. “Looks like you’ve kept yourself busy the past couple of days,” he said. “Five dead ex-cops up in Inwood Park. That seems to be the main course. The three you put in the hospital—one critical, by the way—were the dessert.”

  “It sounds grim,” I said. “And you can pass on all the heat you’re taking back to me.”

  “I can handle the heat, Tank,” the chief said. “That stays on me. But what I won’t tolerate is you going out there out of control. And five dead—ex-cops, to boot—and three in the hospital reads to me like you’re out of control.”

  “Those five ex-cops were part of Eddie Kenwood’s crew,” I said. “And, if it means anything, they had come there to kill me.”

  “Maybe so,” the chief said. “But, meanwhile, you’re sitting across from me alive and well and they’re getting powdered and dressed in their best suits by a Long Island mortician.”

  “I wasn’t the one who took them out,” I said.

  “I don’t need a connect-the-dots puzzle to reach that conclusion,” the chief said. “They went down with knife wounds put to them by people who know how to handle a blade. In all the years I’ve known you, the only time I’ve seen a knife in your hand is when you’re cutting into a steak.”

  “As for the three yesterday,” I said, “the two I shot were both in self-defense. They were armed, as the report there no doubt states. The weapons were handed over at the crime scene. The third guy in the hospital was put there by one of Dee Dee’s guys. Not by me. And if he hadn’t put him there, the guy would have taken out a federal agent for sure.”

  “Look, Tank,” the chief said, “I’m not trying to throw a pity party for any one of these bastards. If the Kenwood bunch had their way, they would have taken you down and it would have been weeks before we found your body. So I’m not losing a second of sleep over them.”

  “The three from yesterday were hired hands from the accounting firm we’ve been looking into,” I said. “We were there to meet with a confidential informant. The CI never made it to the meeting. The three that did came looking to do some serious damage. We were lucky. They weren’t.”

  “Is the CI dead?”

  “Most likely,” I said. “These guys don’t play games—they’ve got too much to lose. The same holds true for Kenwood and his bunch. What’s happened so far might well be just the beginning. I have a feeling it’s going to get a lot worse before both cases are wrapped up.”

  The chief took a deep breath and stayed quiet for a moment. “With Kenwood you need to prove that someone else killed Rachel Nieves. And with the firm, as dirty as they may well be, you need to prove they orchestrated the death of your brother and his wife. How close are you to either one?”

  “Kenwood killed Rachel Nieves,” I said.

  The chief stared at me, then he slammed a closed fist against the top of his desk. “Kenwood? Are you sure? Are you locked-down goddamn sure?”

  “I got a confession,” I said. “From Kenwood himself. He was at the meeting in Inwood Park. I guess he figured with five of his surrounding me, I didn’t stand a chance of walking out of there alive, so he might as well come out with it. And he did.”

  “Still leaves it your word against his,” the chief said, slowly regaining his composure. “You’re going to need at least one more witness to pin it on him.”

  “There was another witness,” I said. “He’s been working with me, helping out on both cases. The U.S. Attorney has agreed to give him blanket immunity. If you can get the higher-ups here to do the same, then we might be able to work out a deal.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the chief said.

  “You’ll need his name,” I said.

  The chief smiled. “I have his name,” he said. “There’s only one guy with a crew as good and as lethal as his. And, to top it off, they cleared out the pockets and took all the possessions of the dead ex-cops. That’s not something your regular gangbanger has a habit of doing.”

  “Alban doesn’t work for free,” I said. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”

  “And we might need one—if not more than one—of Kenwood’s ex-cop crew to flip on him on the Nieves murder in return for a reduced sentence,” the chief said. “Providing any of them are still alive by the time you’re done.”

  “I think we’re getting close on the firm, too,” I said. “They wouldn’t be sending three heavy hitters after me if they didn’t feel our heat. Plus, Carmine is working his end.”

  “How so?”

  “He put a bug into the right ears,” I said. “The mob guys who are invested with the firm have their own accountants looking deep into their numbers. If they find out they’ve been screwed out of even one nickel, they will be less than pleased, and when that happens, blood usually flows.”

  The chief nodded. “I’ll clean up the mess you left behind,” he said. “The Inwood situation can be written off as a turf war with some bad badges caught in the middle. And Dee Dee is already at work on yesterday’s incident. Her guy gets jumped by some bad guys, a heroic ex-cop comes to his rescue. Something along those lines.”

  “There’s one more thing you need to know,” I said. “Kenwood has something on me. Something big.”

  The chief rested his reading glasses on his desk. “What?”

  “It’s something everyone close to me needs to know,” I said. “I plan on telling them in a few days. I’d like you to be there. I’ll let you know when. Would do it sooner, but w
e have a surprise lined up for my nephew, and I don’t want to do or say anything to spoil that for him. Kid’s been through enough shit as it is.”

  “Is it back from when you were a cop?”

  “No,” I said. I stood and turned to leave the office. “It happened long before I joined the force.”

  “Whatever it is, you do seem shaken by it,” the chief said. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d even say you look scared. And that’s a look I’ve never seen on Tank Rizzo.”

  I met his eyes and nodded. “You’re right about that, Chief,” I said. “I am scared. Scared to death.”

  46.

  THE BROWNSTONE

  THAT SAME DAY

  CARMINE AND CONNIE CAME IN carrying large platters piled high with food from the restaurant. Chris walked in behind them, two large baskets of bread curled in his arms. “There’s plenty more food coming our way,” Carmine said.

  Connie rested the platter on the dining room table. She then walked over toward me and wrapped one arm around my waist. “He has no idea,” she whispered. “Dad made everyone in the restaurant take an oath not to say anything.”

  “Where’s the crate?” I asked.

  “I put it in your office and closed the door,” Connie said. “In case the puppy made any noise. I left him water and a little bit of food.”

  “Kibble or veal cutlet?” Pearl asked, smiling.

  “I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” Connie said.

  “Who’s going to give it to him?” I asked.

  “I think this falls under your command, partner,” Pearl said. “Your house, your nephew, and now your dog.”

  “Thanks, roomie,” I said. “But remember, he’s Chris’s dog and he’s the team’s responsibility. We all agreed, at least that’s how I remember it.”

  “Go get the puppy, honey,” Connie said. “We’ll worry about the logistics later.”

  I walked out of the room and headed toward my office. As I passed Chris, I smiled and gave him a warm pat on the shoulder. The truth was, despite my initial negativity, I’d warmed to the idea of Chris having a puppy. I began to realize the good it would do for him, as well as for me and for Pearl. For all of us.

  The past few years had been difficult ones for many of the members of my team—me and Pearl being shot off the job and then having to make the adjustment to civilian life and maneuvering our way toward a new career path. And Pearl had the additional burden of coping with the physical and mental anguish of life in a wheelchair.

  Working our previous case earlier in the year, we’d had to bear the loss of Joey, a man too talented and young to be felled by a bullet that was meant for me. His death is another that can never be erased from my mind. He died in my arms, the blood from his wound seeping through my fingers and drenching my clothes, his body spread across a cracked and stained New York City sidewalk. He died because of me. There is no one else to blame.

  Chris lost both his parents—a brother I had once loved, and his wife, who was a stranger to me. I took Chris in to live with me and watched him adapt to a much different life, a fifteen-year-old boy forced to grow up faster than he should have. His anger at their deaths and his resentment toward me had dissipated somewhat these past few months, but traces of it lingered.

  Carmine had suffered a brutal beating at the hands of a drug lord I butted heads with in the spring. It took him a few weeks to recover and he more than got a taste of revenge, helping in the fight to take down the dealer. But it had slowed him down and made him more aware of his age and limitations. Even though a fresh battle against a hard-to-take-down opponent is like rocket fuel to a former crime boss like Carmine.

  Alexandra had had to deal with two thugs, one who was more than ready to slice off a chunk of her face. She used her wiles and a loaded gun to ease her way out of that traffic jam, but, still, the very thought of the damage she could have suffered troubled me.

  Carl had come out of the previous case more determined than ever to prove his value to the team. The combination of the loss of Joey and the arrival of Chris had matured him in some ways, and he realized he needed to step up and be as much of a role model for my nephew as his friend had been. And through it all, Bruno had helped me keep the crew united and focused. His was the steady hand, always there when needed, fearless, willing to step into any situation, regardless of the danger.

  Things between me and Connie had also changed, but for the better. Chris had drawn us closer and, rather than becoming a wedge between us, had fortified the bond that already existed. And while the addition to the team of her old college boyfriend didn’t exactly give me cause to jump for joy, I didn’t think of Bobby as a threat to our relationship.

  And now we were ready to add a dog to our menagerie of misfits. An olde English bulldogge, meant as a gift for Chris. My hope was that, in time, he would prove to be a gift to us all.

  I opened the door to my office and flipped on the light. The gate to the small crate was open and empty. I looked around the office and found the puppy snuggled under my chair, tiny head curled against his two folded front legs, one eye open and glancing up at me.

  I bent down and sat on the wood floor and lifted him gently into my arms. I held him close to my chest and rubbed the back of his soft neck. “You picked the lock on the crate,” I whispered to him. “Considering you’ve only been up here less than an hour, that’s impressive. I have a feeling you’re going to fit right in.”

  47.

  THE BROWNSTONE

  MOMENTS LATER

  WE ALL STARED AT CHRIS, our faces hard as stone, doing our best to contain our enthusiasm and hide our smiles. “What’s going on?” Chris asked.

  “We’ve added a new member to our crew,” I said. “He’s young, inexperienced, and is going to need quite a bit of looking after. That’s going to fall on you, at least the bulk of it.”

  “Who is it?” Chris asked.

  “His name’s Gus,” I said. “He’s going to be rooming with you. The space is big enough to hold the two of you.”

  “How young is he?”

  I shook my head. “To tell you the truth, I’m not that clear on those details,” I said. “I wasn’t the one who picked him out.”

  Behind me, Gus let out two yelps that passed for barks and eased his way past my legs and moved toward Chris. “He’s on the short side,” Carmine said, “but trust me, that’s gonna change.”

  We all spread out and watched my nephew reach down and grab the puppy and hold him in his arms. His eyes were filled with tears and he had the widest smile I’d yet seen on his face. I looked at my entire team and saw the same reaction.

  “You got us a dog?” Chris said. “I can’t believe it! You got us a dog!”

  “No, honey,” Connie said. “We got you a dog. We’re his family, but he belongs to you.”

  “His papers are all in order,” Pearl said. “And we signed him up with the vet around the corner. They’ll take care of him in case he gets sick, give him shots.”

  “We even got him health insurance,” Carl said. “I can’t believe he’s got medical coverage.”

  “Something you should consider,” Bruno said to him. “Might come in handy one day.”

  “I ordered a bunch of food for him,” I said. “The vet gave us a list of what he should and shouldn’t eat. He’s got enough in the pantry for a few weeks.”

  “And he can’t play with other dogs until he gets all his shots,” Carmine said. “Don’t want him catching anything he don’t need to catch.”

  “Does he have a leash?” Chris asked.

  “He’s got a couple,” I said. “And a few collars with his name and my cell-phone number stenciled on them. And when he’s older, we’ll have a chip put in him. In case he decides to pull a Papillon and make a break for it. Makes it easier to track him down.”

  “I don’t know what
to say,” Chris said. His emotions were getting the better of him, and he squeezed Gus closer to his chest.

  Chris scanned the room and stared at the faces that, in short order, had grown to become his family. We would never replace what he had lost, nor would we attempt to do so. But we could all, collectively, make him at home in what had to still feel like an unfamiliar environment so he’d gradually accept his new surroundings as his own.

  “The little guy might be hungry,” Carmine said to Chris. “You’ll find a couple of bowls in the kitchen, on the island there, hard to miss. They have the pup’s name written on them.”

  “And don’t give him tap water to drink,” Bruno said.

  “Why not?” Carl asked.

  “None of us drink it—why should Gus?” Carmine said. “Give him the Acqua Panna, that’s the best. If you’re in a pinch, Poland Spring is a good substitute.”

  “I’m glad to see we’re not going to spoil him,” I said. “Maybe I should have ordered his food from Tramonti’s instead of the vet’s office.”

  “That would have been a better way to go, you ask me,” Carmine said. “But he’s a baby still. We got time before we break him in on eggplant parm with a side of baked clams.”

  Chris walked over toward me and held Gus out for me to hold. “Can you take him for a minute?” he said. “There’s something I need to show you.”

  I lifted Gus and cradled him in my right arm. Chris reached into the rear pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded batch of papers. He flipped them open and handed them to me. I grabbed them with my free hand and scanned the first page. There were fifteen names typed down the left side of the page, with dollar amounts next to each one.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “There are forty-five names on those pages,” Chris said. “The figures are how much money each has invested in the accounting firm. The money is kept in offshore accounts and, as far as we can tell, none of it has been reported as income to the IRS.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” I asked.