Coney Island Avenue

by J. L. Abramo

  “Yes, Vinnie. And if you don’t get to the point soon I might pull ahead.”

  “The next morning, yesterday, I get a call from the assistant manager at work and he tells me some big ape came in looking for the recorder, and wasn’t too happy when he didn’t find it there. Bobby tells me the guy is sporting a jogging outfit, a thick gold chain around his neck, like some Tony Soprano wannabe, and I’m wondering what the deal is.”

  “And?”

  “And, I’ve got the fucking thing and I’m looking it over while Alison is in the shower.”

  “Alison?”

  “A girl I’ve been seeing. Very hot but maybe talks too much.”

  “Got it, go on.”

  “So I listen to the tape and I realize who one of the two men on the tape is, like maybe the biggest building contractor in all of Brooklyn. Restaurants. Office buildings. Condominiums. Nearly all the Erie Basin waterfront in Red Hook. His fucking name is on everything.”

  “And?”

  “And this,” Vinnie said, and he pressed the play button.

  “I’m going to run down to the New Times for coffee and a sandwich to go, can I bring you anything?”

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Of course not,” Murphy said.

  “How do you feel about Ripley coming on board?” Rosen asked as they walked to the restaurant.

  “I don’t know if I feel anything about it, but I think it will be good. I liked him when I met him,” Murphy said. “You know my opinion of the FBI, gang of blowhards. Ripley wasn’t like the federal cops I’d met, who think all other cops are amateurs. The last time I saw him we were together on that roof with Gabriel Caine, making Butch and Sundance jokes just before the poor guy got blown away.”

  “That poor guy killed three young people. The first was only eight years old.”

  “I never condoned what he did. I remember talking with Lorraine about Caine when she was in the hospital, before we caught up to him. I asked her if she thought he was responsible for his actions or driven insane by his grief. I had just lost my brother Michael and I guess I was thinking about all of the people out there who need help and don’t find help.”

  “Or won’t accept help,” Rosen said.

  “That too. In any case, I felt sorry for the poor bastard.”

  “Speaking of Lorraine, have you seen her lately?”

  “It’s been a few months. I keep telling myself to call her and then I don’t. It seems whenever we get together, we get each other thinking about Lou,” Murphy said. “And it’s still hard for both of us.”

  “How do you feel about Ripley taking Vota’s desk?” Rosen asked. “And please don’t give me the I don’t feel I think routine.”

  “No problem. It will be better than talking to the pictures on my wall.”

  “Have you talked to Augie?”

  “No. I thought I should give him time with his family,” Murphy said. “It’s funny you mention Augie.”

  “What’s funny about it?”

  “When you called me over to the scene on Lake Street and I was trying to get away, before Augie knew about his nephew, he decides to ask me how we were doing.”

  “How who were doing?”

  “Us. He asked if it was working out, being together on and off the job.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I dodged the question, told him I had to run and I would get back to him on that.”

  “That is funny,” Rosen said, remembering her little chat with Samson on the same subject.

  “What do you think?” Murphy asked.

  “We’re here,” she said, as they arrived at the door of the restaurant. “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “Wow.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Vinnie said.

  “And the guy who gave you the tape recorder?”

  “Didn’t do me any favors. He must have guessed someone was after him so he dumped it on me.”

  “And that someone knows you have it?”

  “That someone, probably the other guy on the tape, believes I have it and once he realizes I flew the coop he’ll know for sure.”

  “You could have stayed and said you knew nothing about it.”

  “People like that never believe you, even if you’re telling the truth. And if he found me, or I should say when he found me, I would’ve spilled my guts and told him everything he wanted to know.”

  “You could have given it back,” Carmine suggested. “You could still give it back.”

  “Carmine, you’ve been away from Brooklyn too long. He will assume I heard the tape, no matter what I say, whether I did or not. And he’ll put me with the gorilla in the jogging suit and I could swear on my mother’s life and on a stack of bibles I would never say a word and it would do as much good as telling the ape I dig his gold chain.”

  “What are you going to do?” Carmine asked.

  “I have no fucking idea. That’s why I came to you. You’re the only friend I have whose IQ reaches double digits.”

  “I’m flattered. Do you know who the other guy is?”

  “The other guy?”

  “On the tape.”

  “No. Someone who cleaned up his mess, right? I mean, you heard it.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Fuck,” Vinnie said, suddenly realizing he had put his friend in the same leaking boat he was in.

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this, Carmine. I should leave right now, before anyone knows I was here.”

  “Where would you go, what do you have for money?”

  “Seventeen dollars and fifty-eight cents.”

  “You counted it?

  “Twice.”

  “Forget it, Vinnie. We’ll work something out.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure. I need to sleep on it. In the morning we’ll try to figure a way out of this mess. Right now, I would rather you help me knock-off this twelve-pack and I would like to hear some juicy details about your talkative friend Alison.”

  Samson came out of his office and found Ivanov at her desk working on the Paulie “Bonebreaker” Gallo report.

  “Where is everyone?” Samson asked.

  “Sandra and Murphy ran out for coffee, Richards had to go over to the Crossroads Juvenile Center to testify on the laundromat softball bat stick-up.”

  “Senderowitz and Ripley?”

  “At your service,” Bernie said as the two detectives walked into the squad room.

  “Get anything?”

  “Do we have a travel budget?” Ripley asked.

  “This isn’t the FBI, the NYPD doesn’t pay for gas mileage,” Samson said.

  “How about air mileage?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Plane fare,” Ripley said. “We think Vincent Salerno may be in Chicago.”

  “May be?” Samson said. “What do you have?”

  “An address and phone number. A kid he grew up with. According to Vincent’s mother they were like two peas in a pod,” Bernie said.

  “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to call and find out if he’s there?”

  “If Vincent doesn’t want to talk to us he might skip again,” Ripley said.

  “So, you want to go to Chicago.”

  “Actually,” Senderowitz said, “we would both like to go to Chicago.”

  “That won’t be an easy sell,” Samson said. “I’ll do whatever I can to get it authorized, but I sincerely doubt it is going to happen before morning. And if it doesn’t fly, we will have to call the kid and cross our fingers.”

  “Fair enough,” Ripley said.

  “Meanwhile get the information you need on plane flights.”

  “Planning the company retreat?” Murphy asked, as he and Rosen strolled in.

  “Bernie and Ripley are going to Chicago,” Ivanov said.

  “In mid-August?” Murphy said. “You may as well stay in Brooklyn and get baked alive right her
e.”

  “Yes?” Fred Salerno said when he answered the door.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir. I’m Detective Andrews.”

  “We already told the other detectives all we knew about Carmine,” Salerno said.

  “Carmine?”

  “Carmine Brigati, Vincent’s friend in Chicago. Don’t you people communicate with each other?

  “I’m sorry. I thought I might catch the other detectives here.”

  “Listen, we know you are doing your jobs, but my wife is still extremely upset and we need time to ourselves. If we hear from our son, or think of anything else, we’ll call.”

  “I understand completely, and I apologize again for the intrusion. We truly appreciate your help.”

  “I may have some good news, Sully,” Lorraine said.

  Frank Sullivan had joined her and her parents at the dining room table for dessert and coffee.

  “Tell me.”

  “Does Mr. Marconi have any skills as a car mechanic?”

  “Absolutely. He ran an auto parts store. Robert could build a car if he had all the pieces.”

  “I spoke to a friend in the DA’s office,” Lorraine said, “who would rather remain anonymous. Prosecutors don’t like being known as compassionate. I think we can plead for a suspended sentence and community service, if Judge Epstein is having a good day. And here is where it gets more hopeful. One of the community service options is at a public trade school in Brooklyn teaching automobile mechanics, and something very good could come out of this mess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It could work into a full time teaching position, a decent salary and all of the city employee benefits. We go before Epstein in the morning to propose the plea bargain.”

  “Do you think the chances are good, Lorraine?” her father asked.

  “I do.”

  “Lorraine, I can’t thank you enough. I want to pay you for your services.”

  “Not necessary, Sully. I have to meet my self-imposed pro bono quota.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Sully, just pass the plate of cannoli please.”

  He made the call from a public telephone on the corner of Chambers and Broadway in lower Manhattan.

  “This is Mr. Smith,” the man on the receiving end answered.

  “I could use some good news for a change.”

  “I got him.”

  “You have him?”

  “Not exactly, but I’m pretty sure I know where I might find him.”

  “Pretty sure and I might are not my favorite expressions.”

  “I went to his parent’s place, claiming to be a police detective.”

  “And?”

  “His old man dropped a name.”

  “I hope you didn’t have to kill the father too.”

  “I told you it was Gallo, the guy was a maniac. He put one in the boy’s head without a warning,” Mr. Smith said. “What was I supposed to do about the girl?”

  “You were saying the father dropped a name?”

  “Yes, and unfortunately the NYPD caught it too. But I found an address, and with all their red tape I’m certain I can get to him before they do. I’ll jump on it as soon as possible.”

  “Are you too busy right this minute?”

  “I have to make travel arrangements, the address is in Chicago.”

  “Then the boy does have it. He’s running.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “By the way.”

  “Yes?”

  “The young man Gallo killed. His father is a cop. As, of course, was Investigator Heller.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Well put. There is going to be a lot of heat.”

  “I guess Gallo is lucky he won’t be feeling it.”

  “Please don’t disappoint me again. Find the tape.”

  SEVEN

  Vincent Salerno woke to the aroma of coffee and the smell of bacon.

  He found Carmine at the kitchen stove, cracking eggs into a skillet.

  “Good morning, van Winkle,” Carmine said. “Do you like your eggs up or over easy?”

  “Over burned.”

  “Make yourself useful. Pop some of that bread into the toaster, and pull the butter and the cream out of the fridge. The coffee mugs are in the cabinet above the sink. And set this bacon on the dining table.”

  Vinnie also found and set plates and silverware.

  “Nice work,” Carmine said.

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Watch the bread, the toaster is erratic,” Carmine said, sliding a couple of fried eggs onto each plate.

  “Did any thoughts about my problem visit you during the night?” Vincent asked, carrying the toast over.

  “I have an idea. But let’s dig in first, before the food gets cold.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, that flight out of Newark is fully booked. The next flight is at ten.”

  “What about another airport?”

  “JFK or LaGuardia?”

  “It doesn’t matter, the soonest available.”

  “Let’s see, give me a moment.”

  He felt like throwing the cell phone through the windshield.

  “Okay,” said the reservationist after a few long minutes. “I can get you on a non-stop out of JFK at eight-fifteen, arriving at O’Hare at nine-fifty-eight. That’s only eighty-four minutes after the Newark flight arrives.”

  “Fine, book it,” he said, thinking about his impatient employer.

  Eighty-four minutes would seem like a lifetime.

  Samson had called the Chief of Detectives, asking for Trenton’s clout to get timely authorization for the travel request. Senderowitz and Ripley climbed aboard a United Airlines flight from Newark to O’Hare at seven Friday morning.

  “How did Samson pull it off?” Ripley asked.

  “Late calls to friends in high places. Sam can be very persuasive, he was afraid if we didn’t jump on it someone else might get to the kid first.”

  “Do you think Vincent knew about what happened to his sister and it scared him all the way to Chicago?”

  “No. I don’t believe we are dealing with a bad kid, just a young man who did something to seriously piss-off the wrong people,” Bernie said. “I think if he knew his sister was killed he would not have bolted. I think he’d want to be with his family, and try to help nail whoever did it.”

  “So, when we break the news, he should be willing to come back to New York with us and talk,” Ripley suggested.

  “That’s the thing,” Senderowitz said. “You just never know.”

  John Cicero came into the precinct and stormed up to Kelly’s desk.

  “Is Murphy in?”

  “Should be here by ten,” the desk sergeant said.

  “How about Captain Samson?”

  “Sitting in traffic on the Belt Parkway. Maybe I can help you, Detective.”

  “Why is there an APB out on Vincent Salerno?”

  “We just want to talk with him. He may have been one of the last people to see his sister alive.”

  “And to see my son alive. I need to speak with Vincent’s parents. I don’t remember where they live. Can you give me the address?”

  “It’s our case and we have it covered. His parents convinced us they don’t know where the boy is. Don’t forget the Salernos lost a child also and they have been questioned a number of times since it happened. Listen, we understand you want to help, Detective,” Kelly said, “but we should give them some time to themselves.”

  “No, you listen. Fuck you. I’ll find them myself.”

  “What’s up, Sam,” Murphy said, answering his cell phone.

  “Tommy, where are you?”

  “Shore Road Park under the Verrazano Bridge, trying to keep Ralph from following a squirrel up a tree.”

  “I need you to get to the Salerno home right away,” Samson said.

  “Did the kid show up?”

  “No. But John Cicero showed
up at the Six-one asking about the kid and according to Kelly he was not very cordial.”

  “Did Kelly mention Chicago?”

  “No, but Cicero is going over to grill the boy’s parents. I need you to head him off.”

  “That’s just swell,” Murphy said. “I’m on my way.”

  “Great breakfast,” Vinnie said. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Can you stop chewing for a minute and tell me about your idea?”

  “You have to go back to Brooklyn and let them find you,” Carmine said.

  “Are you nuts?”

  “No. Listen. You are safe as long as they don’t have the tape. Like you said, they will eventually find you. You admit you found it, say you left it in the restaurant and tucked it away somewhere in case someone came back looking for it, and you forgot to mention it.”

  “How do I explain the little trip to Chicago?”

  “You never came to Chicago.”

  “So where have I been for two days?”

  “Say you got a wild hair and went to Atlantic City.”

  “Atlantic City? What if they decide to check it out?”

  “Do you remember my cousin Geno?”

  “Tall gawky kid, used to play baseball with us?”

  “He works in Atlantic City. He’ll say you were down there if I ask him to, he owes me big time.”

  “What if they don’t believe me, or don’t care? What if they think I heard the tape? Once they have it, I’m a threat.”

  “You’ll need to make a judgment call, go on intuition. Once they get the tape, if you see anything or hear anything that convinces you it’s not over you let them know about your insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “It’s sitting right in front of you.”

  “The salt shaker?”

  “The CD.”

  “Come on, Carmine, you’re killing me.”

  “It’s a copy of the tape.”

  “How did you make a copy of the tape?”

  “I have an analog to digital converter. I use it to input my father’s old record albums to my computer, so I can burn CDs to listen to them in the car.”