Coney Island Avenue

by J. L. Abramo

  “Did you call Rosen and Murphy?”

  “I called you.”

  “That’s right, you did. What’s cooking?”

  “Kenneth Ramirez.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who killed his wife and shot Jimmy Samson. We found out his mother lives in Brooklyn. He could be hiding out with Mom.”

  “Where?”

  Kelly gave Bernie the address. Bay 38th Street and 23rd Avenue.

  “And, Detective.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “This guy is armed.”

  “Noted.”

  “What?” Ivanov asked as they moved to their car.

  “Off to see the mother of a wanted murderer. I’ll let you do the talking this time. I’ll drive. It’s up the street from Angelo’s Bakery. I’ll treat you to a cannoli.”

  Ripley walked into the 61st Precinct at ten-thirty. As he passed through the lobby he nodded to Kelly, who appeared to be up to his ears in paperwork. He walked upstairs to the detectives’ squad room and found no one there. He rang the desk sergeant.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Out,” Kelly said. “I could run down the list of exactly who is where, but I’m too busy sitting on my hands.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  Ripley cradled the handset just as his cell rang. His sister, Connie.

  “Hey.”

  “I just got a call from Justine Turner. Something came up and she can’t make it to dinner with us tonight.”

  “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

  “I doubt that. Anyway, you and the boys are still on the guest list. We’ll eat around six. I can pick the boys up from school.”

  “Sounds good,” Ripley said. “I’ll call when I’m on the way. I’ll grab some wine.”

  “We’re having enchiladas, better make it beer.”

  “Ten-four.”

  “Have a good day.”

  “You do the same,” Ripley said, ending the call.

  He still wondered what everybody else in the gang was up to.

  Senderowitz parked across the street from the address. It was a small, neat looking house—with two floors above a garage.

  “Do you know how to use that thing?” Bernie asked, indicating the technology built into the unmarked squad car. “It’s like rocket surgery to me.”

  “What do you need?”

  “See if you can pull up the APB on Ramirez. I’ll be right back.”

  Senderowitz climbed out of the car and crossed Bay 38th while Ivanov played with the computer.

  “What did you get?” he asked when he returned.

  “Light skinned Hispanic. Five-nine, one-sixty, brown hair, brown eyes, twenty-eight years old, works for a long distance trucking company out of Long Island City.”

  “Drives a late model Toyota Corolla. License plate L647AN.”

  “The car is in the garage?”

  “Should give us some leverage when mom insists she hasn’t seen her little boy. Let’s go ask. Stay alert.”

  Ivanov glanced at the clock in the dashboard.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I’m supposed to meet someone near the precinct in five minutes, and I don’t have a cell number for her.”

  “Call Kelly,” Bernie suggested. “If Richards or Ripley made it in, ask if one of them can get to her.”

  Kelly put Marina through to Ripley.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you please run down to the New Times, find Lorraine DiMarco, and tell her I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it. Please tell her I’ll call later.”

  “Sure. How will I know her?”

  “She’s an extremely attractive attorney.”

  “That should narrow it down considerably. I’ve got you covered.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well?” Senderowitz said.

  “Let’s do this.”

  “You’re running out too?” Kelly said as Ripley was rushing past.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “That’s what they all say. And I’m certain Richards will show up any minute, go up to the squad room, and then call down with twenty questions about where everyone went and why.”

  “Tell him we all went to the bathroom. Let him guess why. ” Ripley said, as he sped out the door.

  He spotted her as she reached the restaurant entrance.

  “Ms. DiMarco?”

  “Yes?”

  “Detective Ripley, from the Six-one.”

  “Did you catch me jaywalking?” she said, showing a big smile.

  And big bright green eyes.

  “Detective Ivanov got stuck out in the field. She wanted me to give you her apologies. She said she’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry?”

  “Like, have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I still need lunch. Would you care to join me?”

  Irene Ramirez insisted she hadn’t seen her son. When confronted with the Toyota in the garage, she said he was there two days ago, left the vehicle, and she hadn’t seen him since. The detectives could have written the script.

  “There are a lot of people looking for him. He shot a police captain’s son, made a lot of people angry. He would be a lot better off if he turned himself in before something really bad happens,” Ivanov said.

  “If he shows up, will you call us?” Senderowitz asked.

  “I will,” the woman said.

  Sure she will, Bernie thought.

  “Well?” Ivanov asked when they were back at the car.

  “I think he’s still here, in Brooklyn, staying with Mom or with someone else. It will be harder to spot him with the car in the garage. We’ll request a stake-out here, update the all-points bulletin, and try to find out who else he knows in the neighborhood. I suppose we can get a search warrant for the house. We’ll run it by Sam. I trust the super on Avenue T will call if Gogol shows his face. We may as well get back to the precinct before they think we drove to Philadelphia for a cheese steak sandwich.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Ivanov said.

  Officers Landis and Mendez were sitting at a table outside a fast food restaurant drinking coffee.

  “McCafé,” Mendez said, “what a concept. What’s next—McCabernet?”

  “How are things at home?”

  “Great. I’m pricing Tough Sheds for when the new kid arrives.”

  “Make sure it’s big enough for your beer refrigerator and a big screen for your NFL Package.”

  Stan’s cell rang. Rey could hear his partner’s end of the exchange.

  “Landis…shoot…hold on,” he said, and then scribbled something on a paper napkin. “On it…will do.”

  “What?”

  “That was Kelly. They need us to stake out a house on Bay Thirty-eighth. We’re looking for the guy who shot Jimmy Samson.”

  “Do you sometimes feel as if all we ever do is wait for something that never happens?”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Landis said.

  Rosen and Murphy walked to a pizzeria on Kings Highway, picked up a slice each, and ate off paper plates on the way back to the car parked in front of the Print Shop.

  “This could be our guy,” Murphy said. “And he might live around here.”

  “And if pigs could fly.”

  “Where the hell did that expression come from?”

  “It’s debatable—either from an ancient Scottish proverb, from Puritan John Winthrop of Massachusetts, or from a Pink Floyd album.”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “Do you know who played first base for the nineteen-eighty-three Mets?”

  “Dave Kingman. Keith Hernandez took over at first base in eighty-four.”

  “There you go. And what that tells me is we could both use a recreation break.”

  “I would settle for a break in this fucking case.” />
  Part Three

  SONS AND DAUGHTERS

  I prefer peace. But if trouble must

  come, let it come in my time, so

  that my children can live in peace.

  —Thomas Paine

  TWENTY ONE

  Kenny Ramirez had been hiding out at his mother’s house since shooting his wife. He couldn’t really remember how he had felt when he found them in the bedroom. He couldn’t really remember pulling the .357 Magnum from the hall closet. All he could clearly remember was the terrible roar of the shots.

  And as he raced to Brooklyn that night, Kenny could remember wishing he could turn back the clock.

  Ramirez had been waiting since late Tuesday night for his mother to dig up the money.

  On Friday morning, she had come back from the bank with ten thousand dollars in cash.

  “What will you do?” his mother asked.

  “I’ll change the plates on the car, wait until dark, and run.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll give it some thought when and if I make it to Jersey.”

  And then Ramirez spotted the man snooping around his mother’s garage.

  He grabbed the cash, kissed his mother, and went out the back door.

  He called her an hour later.

  “They were detectives, Kenny. They saw the car. And they are watching the house,” his mother said. “You can’t come back here for the car, and I’m sure they will be watching the buses and trains.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I love you, son.”

  “I love you, Mom. I’m really sorry.”

  On Friday afternoon they had all returned to the Six-one—with the exception of Captain Samson.

  Ripley came in first, after his unplanned lunch with Lorraine DiMarco.

  Richards arrived next. Sergeant Kelly was glad Ripley was already there to satisfy Marty’s curiosity.

  When Ivanov and Senderowitz walked in, Marina approached Ripley.

  “Did you see Lorraine?”

  “Yes. I told her you would call her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem at all. In fact it was one of my most pleasant assignments,” Ripley said, just as Rosen and Murphy came in.

  “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Murphy said.

  “Learn anything?” Senderowitz asked.

  “If you know anyone planning to get hitched, we can steer you to a great deal on wedding invites and probably get you a discount on flowers.”

  “That bad?” Ripley said.

  “Worse. The pizza was cold.”

  “Do you have a minute, Murphy?” Ripley asked.

  “Sure. Give me a minute to grab a cup of yesterday’s coffee.”

  Ivanov didn’t want to talk about what she and Bernie had been up to all morning, so she asked Richards about the visit to the pediatrician instead.

  “It was okay,” he said.

  Marina sensed something was wrong.

  “What’s up?”

  “The doctor heard something.”

  “Heard what?”

  “An irregularity in Sophia’s heartbeat.”

  “Jesus, Richards. What does that mean?”

  “He’s not sure. They’ll need to run some tests.”

  Ivanov didn’t know what to say so she said what she always said when she didn’t know what to say.

  “Try not to worry, Marty. I’m sure everything will be all right.”

  “I had lunch with Lorraine DiMarco.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was circumstantial.”

  “Okay, whatever that means.”

  “I would like your opinion.”

  “About Lorraine?” Murphy said.

  “Yes.”

  “She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met.”

  “I would like to see her again.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “No. I wanted to speak with you first.”

  “You don’t need my permission.”

  “I was thinking about Lou Vota.”

  “Lou was like a brother to Sam and me. We think about him and talk about him often. But we’ve moved on—and I hope Lorraine has been able to do the same. That’s all I have. You’ll have to get the rest from her.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “This coffee really sucks,” Murphy said.

  Kenny Ramirez had been sitting in the movie theater for hours, with ten thousand dollars in his pocket and no real plan. All he knew was he needed a vehicle—and stealing a car would be a lot trickier than pulling plates off one.

  And he knew he would have to wait until dark.

  Ramirez slid down in his seat as the film began for the third time.

  Kelly transferred the call up to Senderowitz just after five.

  “This is Harry,” the caller said.

  “Harry?”

  “We met this morning when you interrupted my carpet cleaning.”

  “Did our guy show up?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “I think I’ll stay in my apartment.”

  “Good idea.”

  “The lobby door will be unlocked. Three-B.”

  “End of the hall, got it. Is there another way out?”

  “There’s a fire escape off the kitchen window in the back of the building.”

  Of course there is, Bernie thought.

  He caught Ripley heading out.

  “I received a tip on the location of a fugitive. Can you ride with me?”

  “Sure. It will make up for the time I missed this morning. Give me a minute to call my sister and tell her I may be late for dinner.”

  Sarah Sanders stood on the porch for nearly five minutes before finding the courage to ring the doorbell. No answer. She knocked on the door, waited a minute, rang the doorbell again and knocked again. No answer.

  She had come this far, so back in her car she called Staten Island. She was told he wasn’t there anymore, had transferred to a job in Brooklyn. She was given another phone number.

  She was about to call but hesitated long enough to decide she would think about it over a cup of tea.

  “What are you doing for dinner?” Murphy asked.

  “Whatever you’re doing,” Rosen said. “We could pick up something to cook at my place, try to find a comedy on HBO, and go from there.”

  “I promised Augie Sena I would take him for a drink later tonight.”

  “So, let’s eat at Joe’s Bar and Grill. We can take both cars and I can go home from there.”

  “Sorry, it’s been planned all week.”

  “No problem. I could use some down time, and I know you’re not a big fan of comedies anyhow.”

  “Give me a minute,” Murphy said. “I want to check in with Sam.”

  Samson and Alicia had run to the hospital after dropping the girls off at school and had sat at their son’s bedside all morning. Jimmy had been in and out of sleep. When Jimmy was awake, they talked about anything except what happened at the Ramirez house a few nights before. Later, they went back to the school to pick up the girls. They talked with Kayla and Lucy about their school day, and told them Jimmy sent his love.

  Alicia stayed at home to prepare dinner for the girls, and Samson returned to the hospital.

  “How’s it going?” Murphy asked when he reached the captain on his cell.

  “He’s been in and out of sleep. He’s feeling stronger. The doctors think he might be ready for mild physical therapy in a few days. How about you?”

  “Rosen and I ran down a few dead end streets.”

  “I heard we got a lead on Kenneth Ramirez.”

  “Bernie and Ivanov visited the mother. She stonewalled them. Landis and Mendez are sitting on the house.”

  “Are you done for the day?”

  “Well done. Off to dinner with Rosen followed by drinks with Augie.”

  “What about the others?”


  “Ivanov and Richards are out—robbery assault at an ATM on Avenue V. Senderowitz and Ripley took off, I don’t know where to.”

  “I’ll be in tomorrow,” Samson said.

  At six, a replacement team of two plain clothes officers arrived at the Ramirez house on Bay 38th Street to take over surveillance.

  “I can’t fucking wait to get home for some real food,” Mendez said, just as Landis’ cell rang.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Landis said, after the call from Kelly. “Ripley and Senderowitz need backup.”

  The memorial assembly for Jenny Greco, and now Patty Bolin, ran late.

  It was just after six when the cheerleader squad met for a rehearsal in the gym with their dance instructor, Emily Bledsoe, following the assembly.

  The cheerleader squad was two members short, and the football team was missing a star receiver, but the first home game for the Lafayette Patriots was still scheduled for the following Saturday.

  Sergeant Kelly grabbed the phone before it could ring a second time.

  “Sixty-first Precinct.”

  “I’d like to speak to Detective Senderowitz.”

  “Senderowitz is not in. Can I help you?”

  “When do you expect him?”

  “Can I ask who is calling?”

  “His daughter.”

  “Detective Senderowitz was rushed to Coney Island Hospital,” Kelly said. “I’m very sorry. I haven’t heard anything more yet.”

  TWENTY TWO

  Samson raced from one hospital to another. When he arrived at Coney Island Hospital he found Ripley waiting.

  “How is he?”

  “He’s alive. The doctors and nurses aren’t saying anything yet about his condition.”

  “What happened?”