Coney Island Avenue

by J. L. Abramo

  “You made a copy of the tape so you could listen to it in the car?”

  “I made a copy so you would have something to bargain with.”

  “Bargain for what?”

  “Bargain for your safety. As long as there is a copy out there, you’re protected.”

  “And if they don’t believe me?”

  “You show them the CD.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Then you tell them you have a second copy, I have the entire recording on my computer. You tell them you made arrangements to have it delivered to the police if anything should happen to you.”

  “It’s too complicated,” Vincent complained, “and it’s fucking dangerous. Why don’t I just take the damn thing to the police in the first place?”

  “Because then you can’t name your price for keeping quiet.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s called blackmail,” Carmine said.

  Murphy caught Cicero before the other detective reached the front door.

  “John, hold up.”

  “Back off, Tommy.”

  “They don’t know anything I can’t tell you, let them be. Let’s grab a cup of coffee and talk.”

  “They lost a daughter, I lost a son, I only came to commiserate.”

  “Come on, John, let it wait,” Murphy said, stepping between Cicero and the door.

  “Get out of my way, Murphy,” Cicero warned.

  And then Fred Salerno opened the front door.

  “What’s going on here, haven’t you people intruded enough.”

  “Fred, it’s John, Eddie’s father,” Cicero said.

  “John, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. Do you have any news?”

  “No, Fred. I just came to give my condolences. My wife and I cared a lot for Angela.”

  “Thank you. Marie and I have thought of your family also, but she is still very upset and can’t see visitors right now. And I need to get back to her.”

  “I understand,” Cicero said. “Have you heard from Vincent?”

  “I told you yesterday I would let you know if we did,” Fred Salerno said, addressing Murphy, who was standing by hoping Cicero would maintain control. “And then after you left, still another detective came and I had to go through the whole thing again.”

  “Did you get his name?” Murphy asked.

  “I can’t remember. I would say he was in his early-thirties, on the short side, five-seven or eight, well-dressed for a police detective.”

  “You told him about Vincent’s friend Carmine?” Murphy asked.

  “Yes,” Salerno said. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all,” Murphy said.

  “Thank you for coming, John. Please give our sympathies to your wife. I need to get back inside.”

  Cicero just nodded his head.

  “Thank you, sir,” Murphy said. “We are very sorry to have bothered you again.”

  “His friend Carmine?” Cicero asked when Salerno had gone back inside.

  “We believe Vincent may have run off to Chicago.”

  “Chicago?”

  “Detectives Senderowitz and Ripley flew out this morning to try to find the kid,” Murphy said. “John, whoever came here after we left yesterday was not one of ours, not a detective at all. It was someone looking for Vincent and for something he may have. And I think it may have been one of the men who killed Edward and Angela. Let’s get away from here and find a place where we can talk. I’ll tell you everything.”

  “It’s about time. Let’s go.”

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “I need to call Senderowitz,” Murphy said, “warn him they could be expecting company.”

  “Well?” Carmine asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I have money. I can get you on a flight back to New York this afternoon. You go straight to your parents’ house, try to sell the Atlantic City story. How many days did you miss at work?”

  “Just Wednesday. I wasn’t scheduled again until tomorrow.”

  “Good. You call work, apologize for missing your shift, promise it will never happen again, plead for another chance, and then hopefully you go in tomorrow and remember finding the tape recorder.”

  “I’m having trouble deciding what to do, it sounds crazy,” Vinnie said. “Is there a park nearby, somewhere I can sit alone awhile and think?”

  “Hoyne Park.”

  “Where?”

  “Go left when you leave the building, and left again at Thirty-fourth Street. It’s a few blocks down. I think this could work, Vinnie, but you can’t waste time. You need to make up your mind.”

  “I won’t be long,” Vincent said.

  Carmine Brigati’s residence was in a two-family on South Bell Avenue in the McKinley Park neighborhood, west of the South Loop.

  Senderowitz and Ripley parked the rental across the street from the house, left the car, and walked to the front door.

  “It’s on the second floor,” Bernie said, checking names on the mailboxes. “Go around back. See if there is another way in or out.”

  Ripley returned in a few minutes.

  “A fire escape with a landing accessing two windows. Could be the kitchen and bedroom.”

  “Do you mind keeping an eye on the escape?”

  “Not at all,” Ripley said. “Yell if you need me.”

  Bernie climbed the stairs and knocked.

  “That was quick,” Carmine said as he opened the door.

  “Mr. Brigati?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Detective Senderowitz, NYPD.”

  “Do you have identification?”

  Senderowitz showed his detective shield.

  “NYPD. You must have taken a terribly wrong turn somewhere.”

  “I’m looking for Vincent Salerno,” Bernie said, resisting the urge to smack the kid.

  “I haven’t heard that name in a while. The last time I spoke with Vinnie he was still living in Brooklyn.”

  “We have reason to believe he may come to visit you here.”

  “I’m sorry you had to travel all this way, Detective, but I haven’t heard from him in years. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. Are you expecting someone?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said that was quick when you opened the door.”

  “No. Well, yes,” Brigati said. “I’m working at home today and I’m waiting for a messenger to run something over from my office. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  Senderowitz pulled out one of his cards.

  “If you hear from Vincent, would you please ask him to call? You would be doing him a favor.”

  “I will. And I will call you as well.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Bernie said, and headed back down.

  “He claims he hasn’t heard from Vincent,” Senderowitz said, after joining Ripley in the back of the building.

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I don’t know. He was cool as a cucumber, to the point of being an obnoxious little shit. I’m not sure.”

  “What do you want to do?” Ripley asked.

  “We came all this way. We may as well sit and watch for a while. What do you think?” Senderowitz said just as his cell phone rang.

  The call lasted less than a minute.

  “What was that?”

  “That was Murphy. He said someone else from New York might be on the way here.”

  “Well, I guess that settles it,” Ripley said, “let’s sit and watch for a while.”

  Mr. Smith took a taxi from the airport to South Bell Street to save time. He paid the driver and let the cab go before walking to the building entrance.

  As soon as he was inside, Detectives Senderowitz and Ripley jumped out of their car.

  “Take the back,” Senderowitz said.

  “Got it.”

  Bernie entered the building and stood quietly at
the foot of the stairs listening.

  Carmine opened the door expecting Vincent.

  “Detective Andrews, Chicago PD,” Smith said. “I’m looking for Vincent Salerno.”

  “What the hell,” Carmine said. “I just went through this with a dick from the NYPD. Show me some ID.”

  “Will this do?” Smith said, pulling out a gun.

  He ushered Carmine back from the door and entered the room.

  “Don’t waste my fucking time, kid. I fucking hate plane rides. Either you are Salerno or you know where he is, what is it?”

  Senderowitz stood right outside the door, service weapon in his hand.

  “Carmine?” he called from the hall.

  “Answer him.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Bernie. You left your car headlights on.”

  “Who is it?” Smith whispered, pointing his weapon at Carmine.

  “The guy who lives downstairs,” Carmine said, thinking fast.

  “Get rid of him.”

  “Thanks, Bernie, I’ll take care of it.”

  Bernie pushed the door open and stepped in, his gun held out in front of him.

  “Drop it,” Senderowitz said, feeling a little foolish saying it.

  Smith grabbed Carmine with an arm around the neck and pulled the boy close.

  He pressed his weapon against the boy’s head.

  “No, you drop it, or I put one in his ear.”

  “Who gives a fuck? I hardly know the kid, and he’s a wiseass. Besides, if you kill him we won’t have to bother proving you killed the two kids back in Brooklyn.”

  Mr. Smith turned the gun on Senderowitz, who didn’t have a clear shot. Bernie dropped to the floor and Smith pulled the trigger missing Senderowitz by inches.

  Smith wheeled around to a sound behind him and he squeezed off two more shots before taking two in the chest.

  “Nice shooting,” Senderowitz said, getting to his feet. “Maybe too good.”

  Carmine stood like a statue, if a statue could shake uncontrollably.

  “He was shooting at us,” Ripley said.

  “I’m not really complaining, it would have been nice to chat with him is all,” Bernie said. “Carmine, calm down. Do you need a glass of water?”

  “Yes.”

  “I got it,” Ripley said.

  Senderowitz sat Carmine down on the sofa.

  “Listen, son. This is not the end of it. If you know where Vincent is, tell me now. We can protect him.”

  “Vincent walked over to the park, a few blocks from here. Less than an hour ago,” Carmine answered without hesitation as Ripley handed him a glass. “You go left when you hit the street and left on Thirty-fourth.”

  “Ripley, call this in and wait for the CPD to take over. I’ll walk down and try talking to the boy.”

  “Go,” Ripley said.

  “Carmine, come with me. I’ll need help telling your friend his sister was killed.”

  It didn’t take long for Murphy to tell Cicero all he had to tell.

  “So you’re saying the two men who showed up on Lake Street were actually there looking for Vincent Salerno,” Cicero said, “or something he may have had that belonged to them. And one of them killed the other under the El on McDonald Avenue and may now be hunting for Vincent in Chicago.”

  “That’s what we have, from ballistics, an eye witness on the street, and Vincent’s co-worker,” Murphy confirmed.

  “And you are saying because of a cheap fucking tape recorder Vincent may have picked up in a restaurant, my son and Fred Salerno’s daughter are dead.”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “And no one has any idea what was on the thing that necessitated the execution of two innocent young people?”

  “No one we’ve been able to talk to.”

  “So we need to find the second shooter, because he definitely fucking knows. And find Vincent, who may know. And both might be in Chicago.”

  “Yes. And so are Senderowitz and Ripley.”

  “Have you heard from them?” Cicero asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Does that worry you?”

  “Not yet,” Murphy said.

  When Senderowitz arrived back at the house, with Carmine and Vincent in tow, the corpse had been removed and the crime scene techs were wrapping up. Ripley introduced Bernie to the lead CPD detective, Tyrone Jackson.

  “Driver’s license identified him as Lee Wasko. I have Detective Ripley’s statement,” Jackson said. “It works for me. It reads like a righteous kill.”

  “My partner saved my life.”

  “I need for you and Mr. Brigati to sign off on it.”

  “No problem,” Bernie said. “I wonder if you could help us out.”

  “Go on.”

  “Wasko fired three shots. I was hoping we could take one of the three slugs back to ballistics in New York. For comparison.”

  “I think we can spare one,” Jackson said. “Perry, let me have one of those slugs you took out of the wall. Put it in a separate bag.”

  “And maybe a snapshot of the deceased,” Senderowitz added.

  “Sure. I’ll fax it over to Brooklyn.”

  After the exchange, everyone left except Bernie, Ripley, Carmine and Vincent.

  “Ripley, see if you can get Vincent a seat on our return flight.”

  “It’s already done, I was being optimistic.”

  “I need to give Samson a quick call, tell him it looks as if both suspects in the Lake Street case have been spoken for,” Bernie said.

  After calling the captain, Senderowitz got down to business.

  “Alright, we have a few hours. We need to decide how it is going to go down when we get back,” Senderowitz said. “So let’s sit and get comfortable.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Jesus, now what?” Carmine said.

  “It’s probably the pizza,” Ripley said.

  “You ordered pizza?”

  “I never tried Chicago deep dish here in Chicago, I figured it was as good a time as any.”

  “How did you find a place that delivers here?” Bernie asked.

  “Actually, my phone found it.”

  “Amazing,” Senderowitz said.

  “That’s all I know. Now I have to get to the precinct, and I need to stop at home first to shave and shower. When I got the call this morning I was literally running around a park trying to rescue squirrels.”

  “Promise you’ll keep me in the loop, Murphy.”

  “I will. As soon as I hear about Chicago I’ll give you a yell.”

  “I don’t want to cause you trouble, but I can’t just sit on the sidelines in the dark.”

  “I understand. I’ll let you know.”

  “And Murphy.”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell your desk sergeant I’m sorry if I was rude this morning.”

  “Kelly thrives on rude, but I’ll tell him.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay,” Murphy said. “Later.”

  Murphy walked away wondering if he had done a terrific job of talking Cicero down or if the man was a terrific actor.

  Lorraine walked out of the courtroom and called Sully at Campo’s grocery.

  “It looks good,” she said. “Epstein went for the deal. Mr. Marconi will begin his community service teaching on Monday. They’re taking care of the paperwork now. He should be home in time for a late lunch.”

  “That’s great news, Lorraine. If there is anything I can do for you.”

  “You can keep your eye on Robert. Make sure everything is going alright. If he tries anything foolish again there won’t be much we can do.”

  “I will,” Sully said.

  Ripley, Bernie and Vincent returned the rental at O’Hare and shuttled to the terminal.

  After checking in they went to the departure gate, waiting to board.

  Vinnie was sitting, tapping his foot on the floor like Fred Astaire on amphetamines.


  “Can I speak with you for a moment, Ripley?” Senderowitz asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s take a little walk.”

  “What’s up?” Ripley asked, when they were out of Vincent’s range.

  “I feel like I was a bit bossy today,” Bernie said. “Telling you what to do. Go around the back of the building, use the fire escape, stay and wait for the Chicago police, make arrangements for Vincent’s plane ticket.”

  “No problem, I admire those who can delegate. I’m used to doing things the FBI way. I need to learn how it’s done in the NYPD, and I understand Captain Samson put me with you for a reason.”

  “I just don’t want you to think we are not a team, or that you can’t tell me if you feel I’m making a bad call.”

  “I’m not shy, Bernie, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Good. Now I need to talk to Samson and get everything in place for our arrival and I need you to sit and talk with that kid, he’s a wreck.”

  “What do I talk to him about?”

  “Vincent,” Senderowitz asked when they returned. “Are you a Mets fan or a Yankee fan?”

  “Mets, totally.”

  “There you go,” Bernie said to Ripley.

  Detective Murphy was tapping on Samson’s office door ten minutes after Senderowitz called.

  “Come in.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “Tommy, you fooled me. I couldn’t tell it was you.”

  “Rosen told me you think I abuse your office door.”

  “What I failed to mention to Rosen was it is part of your appeal.”

  “You should point out my appeal to her at every opportunity.”

  “How did it go with Cicero?” Samson asked.

  “When I got over to him he was ticking like a time bomb. I managed to sit him over a cup of coffee and I think I diffused it somewhat. Then again, he may have been playing me. In any case, I had to tell John everything. He knows about the tape recorder and also knows about Vincent and the second shooter, he is as anxious as we are to find them both and get some answers.”