Coney Island Avenue

by J. L. Abramo

  When Ivanov and Richards arrived at the scene, the ATM bandit had already been collared. The victim had chased the perp down, tackled him, taken his gun, and held him until two uniforms took him into custody.

  “Got to love civilians who do our job for us,” Richards said.

  “He could have got himself killed.”

  “Better one of us should get killed for someone else’s sixty dollars?”

  Before Ivanov could decide what to do with that one, her cell rang.

  “What?” Richards asked.

  “Senderowitz had a heart attack.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, but it was a close call. He’s at Coney Island,” Ivanov said. “Jesus. This is my fault.”

  “I won’t even ask what that means,” Richards said.

  “I was at the back of the building, Bernie was in front. I had called for backup and was waiting,” Ripley began. “Then the guy climbs out onto the fire escape, spots me, takes a few shots, and I return fire. I hit him, he fell, and he was dead when he hit the ground. Mendez came running up to me. Rey said Landis was with Senderowitz, and they had called for an ambulance. Bernie must have been impatient and gone up alone. He’d been shot at through the apartment door. Luckily he wasn’t hit but Landis and Mendez found him unconscious in the hall. The emergency medical technician said it was his heart.”

  “Who was this guy?” Samson asked.

  “Ivan Gogol. There were a couple of warrants out on him, felony assault. Bernie said he was tipped-off to Gogol’s location.”

  “By who?”

  “The superintendent called to tell Senderowitz that Gogol had entered the building.”

  “How did the super know Bernie was looking for Gogol?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are Landis and Mendez now?”

  “They went to the morgue with the body to take care of paperwork.”

  “I want you to call them, send them back to the super, and find out how he came to call Senderowitz. And I want to know right away.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a woman in the visitor’s lounge who was asking for you.”

  “Who?”

  “She gave me her business card,” Ripley said, handing it to Samson. “She’s a freelance journalist. Sarah Sanders.”

  “How did media get on to this already?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Call Landis and Mendez.” Samson made a quick call to Murphy and then headed for the lounge.

  “Should we be at the hospital?” Rosen asked.

  “Sam said there’s nothing we could do there but get in the way. And I’m sure Bernie wouldn’t want us to let the calamari get cold and soggy on his account,” Murphy said, as Augie set the plate on their table.

  “Ms. Sanders.”

  “Yes,” she said, as she looked up from the book she was reading.

  “I’m Captain Samson. I don’t know why you are here—but the NYPD is not ready to make a statement.”

  “I’m here to see my father,” she said.

  “Sarah?” he said, once it sunk in. “My God. I’m sorry I didn’t know you. The last time I saw you, you couldn’t have been more than eight years old.”

  “I remember you very well. You were so gigantic to an eight-year-old—my mother had to constantly remind me you were a friendly giant.”

  “I think I scare my own girls at times. How is your mother?”

  “Mom passed away Sunday.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. Bernie didn’t say anything.”

  “He didn’t know. I haven’t seen my father in long time. My aunt finally talked me into trying to see him before it was too late. And it just might be.”

  “It would take a lot more than one heart attack to finish Bernie.”

  “How much scotch will it take?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Sarah. But maybe you can help your father address that question. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk about it.”

  “Excuse me,” Ripley said, coming into the lounge.

  “Give me a minute, Sarah.”

  Samson followed Ripley into the corridor.

  “The superintendent said Senderowitz and a woman detective had come looking for Gogol this morning. Gogol had just left. Bernie asked him to call if Gogol came back.”

  “Who was riding with Bernie this morning?”

  “Ivanov.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She and Richards just walked in. They’re at the nurses’ station.”

  “Tell her I need to talk to her. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Sarah,” Samson said, when he returned to the lounge.

  “Do what you need to do, Captain Samson. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

  All but one of the girls left after the rehearsal in the gymnasium.

  Carla Sanchez stayed behind to talk with Emily Bledsoe.

  “I’ve decided to leave the squad,” Carla said.

  “I understand what you’re feeling. Everyone is confused, and probably a little frightened. But I truly believe it would be better for all of us, and the entire school body, if we work at moving forward as quickly as possible and not allow these tragic events to control our emotions and undermine our goals. I understand cheerleading for a school football team is not fighting for world peace or crusading against world hunger, but there is something to be said about tradition and school pride and keeping our morale up, particularly in times of turmoil. Will you think about it?”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you in a hurry to leave?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. I am in a hurry. And if you will help me get all of this gear put away, we can both be out of here in twenty minutes.”

  Captain Samson led Detective Ivanov out of the hospital and to a bench across Ocean Parkway.

  “Tell me about Ivan Gogol. And don’t say anything that could make me angrier than I am already.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  Ivanov ran it down.

  “Why were you snooping around the Lobnya Lounge in the first place and, if you knew where Gogol was, why didn’t you tell Falcone when you spoke to him this morning?”

  “Gogol was holed up in our backyard, Bernie was handy, and I thought it would be more expedient. The guy was a wanted felon.”

  “That’s not the way we work, Detective. I asked you to stay away from the Holden case. It belongs to the Sixtieth precinct. You should have given it to Detective Falcone.”

  “It’s about my family, Captain,” Ivanov said. “If Detective Senderowitz had been shot at in the Sixtieth, and the shooter was still at large, would you stay away from that?”

  “If you had followed protocol, or at least let me know what you thought was expedient, would Detective Senderowitz be up in that recovery room?”

  “I’ve made you angrier. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll call the CO at the Sixtieth, tell him there is reason to believe Alex Holden may be in danger, and suggest they keep an eye on both Holden and Markov. And I’m not looking for apologies. I want to hear that you understand you acted wrongly, and I want to be assured it won’t happen again.”

  “I know I screwed up and it won’t happen again.”

  “I’ll let it go with a warning this time, and a three-day sabbatical. But that won’t happen again either.”

  “Great dinner, Augie,” Rosen said.

  “Augie?”

  “Yes, Murphy?”

  “Can we take a rain check on boy’s night out? I’m feeling we should get to the hospital to check on Senderowitz. How about tomorrow night?”

  “Sure, Tommy, whatever works for you. I hope he will pull through all right. Do you have time for dessert?”

  “That works for me,” Murphy said.

  “Do you need a ride home?” Emily Bledsoe asked.

  “I h
ave my mom’s car. They went to the city and they won’t let me walk anywhere at night any more. I’m parked right out front on Bay Forty-third.”

  “I’m parked in back. I’ll see you Monday. Give some thought to what we talked about.”

  “I will,” Carla said.

  Samson sent everyone home.

  Senderowitz was moved to a private room. Samson called his wife to say he would be staying for a while, waiting for permission to see Bernie.

  “They say he was very lucky,” Sam told Alicia. “It was a serious cardiac arrest and he suffered a concussion when his head hit the floor. They’re doing tests to determine if he’ll need by-pass surgery or a pacemaker. In any event, the doctors are recommending two to three weeks of home recuperation.”

  Samson joined Sarah Sanders in the lounge, and they talked over coffee in paper cups.

  An hour later a nurse came in to let them know the patient was awake and they could go in for a very brief visit.

  “Can you give me a few minutes with him alone?” Samson asked.

  “Sure,” Sarah said.

  Senderowitz smiled weakly when Samson came into the room.

  “Come to tell me what an idiot I am? I identified myself and when there was no answer I stepped in front of the door to listen for movement. He started shooting and then I felt my chest explode. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  “You should have waited for backup.”

  “That too. Did they get Gogol?”

  “Ripley shot him on the fire escape.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ripley’s two for two.”

  “I don’t think he’s looking to break records. Everyone was here, and I chased them away. The doctors want you to rest, but there’s someone I think you should see before the lock down. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

  Sarah was waiting outside the room when Samson walked out.

  “Go ahead,” Samson said.

  Carla Sanchez swore out loud and turned the key again.

  The same clicking sound and no go.

  “Sounds like the starter.”

  She looked up to the car window.

  “Jesus, you scared me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s dead, it would be best to deal with it tomorrow morning. I suggest you call your parents, I can wait with you until someone comes to pick you up.”

  “I can’t call my parents.”

  “No phone? You can use mine.”

  “They went to a Broadway show. They won’t have their phones on during the performance.”

  “I can give you a ride.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call a cab.”

  “It’s really no trouble.”

  She gave it a moment’s thought.

  “Can we stop at the deli on Stillwell Avenue? I told my mother I would pick up milk on the way home.”

  “Sure,” he said. “My car is just across the street.”

  Kenny Ramirez had been walking 86th Street looking for a vehicle he could get into without alerting the entire neighborhood.

  Where’s an old beater with no alarms when you need one?

  As Kenny approached Stillwell Avenue he spotted a car double-parking.

  A young girl climbed out of the vehicle and ran into a deli.

  Ramirez rushed up to the car, pulled out his .357, opened the door, and dropped into the passenger seat.

  “Drive,” Kenny said.

  TWENTY THREE

  Samson began the day on Saturday preparing breakfast for his wife and daughters. Lucy helped him mix the batter while Kayla helped Alicia cut fresh fruit and set the table.

  “Can you make a horse, Daddy?” Lucy asked, standing beside him at the stove.

  Using a teaspoon he dribbled batter into the center of the pan in a long oval, trying to approximate a body. He added two legs, a neck, and a head. It wasn’t bad until the batter began to spread and transform into something very different.

  “How about an elephant?” he asked his youngest.

  “Okay.”

  Murphy was still in bed when Samson called. Rosen was in the kitchen preparing to cook omelets.

  “I’m heading to the hospital to check in on Jimmy, then over to see Bernie. Can you keep things in order until I get in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ivanov is taking some personal time. We’ll put Ripley and Richards together for a few days. Anything on Ramirez?”

  “Not a thing. I’m sure his mother tipped him, and there’s no reason for him to go back there if he can’t get to his car.”

  “Let’s keep the surveillance going until this afternoon. Then arrange to have the car impounded. Ramirez used it to flee the scene after the shooting so it’s fair game. Anything on the Greco or Bolin cases?”

  “We can’t catch a break. And Sandra is losing patience.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rosen doesn’t agree with holding information from the public that might help generate leads. And she’s really having a hard time lying to the families.”

  “It’s the company line. Whether I agree or not it isn’t my call.”

  “She knows that. But it doesn’t make her any cheerier.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Maybe you can talk to Chief Trenton before you talk to Sandra. She’s going to ask you if and when the company line might be redrawn.”

  “I hope to be in by noon,” Samson said.

  By the time Ripley was ready to leave the hospital the night before he had missed dinner at his sister’s place by more than three hours.

  He had called to apologize.

  “Can the boys stay there tonight? I don’t want to drag them home this late.”

  “Of course,” Connie said. “Why don’t you come here? I’ll fix you some food and you can stay over also.”

  “I’m beat, and I’ve already had something to eat,” he lied. “I’ll come over in the morning and we can have breakfast—if that’s all right.”

  What he didn’t say was that he had killed another man and knew he wouldn’t be sleeping like a baby.

  When he reached home he fixed a sandwich and washed it down with a lot of Irish whiskey.

  It knocked him out but it didn’t chase away the bad dreams.

  He woke up in the morning with a decent headache. He was scheduled for duty Saturday. He drank enough water and coffee to make it to breakfast with his boys before heading in to the Six-one.

  “I heard you took care of the felon who shot at Senderowitz,” Kelly said as Ripley passed the sergeant’s desk.

  “All in a day’s work,” Ripley said, and he went up to the squad room hoping for a better day.

  Marina dropped in on her parents Saturday morning in time to join them for breakfast. As her mother prepared the food, her father asked for a talk.

  “You don’t work today?”

  “I went off the reservation yesterday and the captain gave me three days off to think about it.”

  “I am as angry as you are about Rachel being assaulted and about what is happening to Alex.”

  “He’s being framed, Dad. And he could be in danger.”

  “You can’t help Alex by breaking the rules yourself. And if you keep stepping on toes, you will be shut out completely.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I am right. Leave it to the proper channels and respectfully ask to be kept informed. Trust Captain Samson and Detective Falcone. They both care, and they are both good at what they do. It will work out, Marina.”

  “Are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”

  “I’m saying what I believe.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Marina said.

  “See if your mother needs help in the kitchen.”

  Her father was right about Sam, and about Jack. They did care. And she owed Falcone an apology. She thought about asking Jack to dinner.

  “How do you feel?” Samson asked.

  “I feel like a hospit
al patient,” Senderowitz said. “How is Jimmy?”

  “I’m sure he is feeling trapped also, but he seems to be doing much better. At least physically.”

  “The head stuff will take time. But he needs to get on his feet first so you two can stand eye to eye when you get down to it.”

  “How was seeing Sarah?”

  “It was a shock. I almost had another heart attack. You should have warned me.”

  “I was afraid you might try crawling under the bed.”

  “Or going out the window? She has a lot of anger, Sam. I wasn’t a good father or husband.”

  “I was very sorry to hear about Susan. They should have told you she was sick.”

  “Susan’s sister might have advised it, but she wouldn’t force it. It was Sarah’s place to make the decision. And if I knew, I don’t know that I would have had the courage to see Susan. And it could have got in the way of Sarah and her mother spending the time they needed to say goodbye.”

  “What now?”

  “We wait and see. But I’m a little too old to change, Sam. So unless Sarah is willing to meet me halfway it won’t work.”

  “Meeting halfway goes both ways,” Samson said.

  When Murphy and Rosen arrived at the precinct they found Ripley and Richards in the detectives’ squad room.

  Murphy called Richards over to Ripley’s desk.

  “Ivanov is out until Tuesday. While she’s gone, you two can ride together. When Marina comes back, Samson will find a temporary partner for Ripley until Bernie returns from medical leave. For starters, we need the names of anyone who purchased a new Midwood High School jacket in the past month or two.”

  “It’s Saturday, the school is closed,” Marty Richards said. “How are we supposed to find that kind of information today?”

  “Do some detecting.”

  “Do you have any idea how many names that could be?” Richards asked.

  “No, I don’t. But once you get them all we can count them together.”