by J. L. Abramo
“He comes home, opens a small auto repair shop, and marries his high school sweetheart. His older brother is a firefighter who dies at ground zero. His father runs the pizzeria. Johnny can’t keep up with the new automotive technology, can’t afford to buy the diagnostic equipment needed to service the late model vehicles, so he joins his old man at the restaurant.
“Two years ago his father has a massive stroke and Johnny has to take over the shop. He has two kids, seven and five, and a two-year-old. He works twelve, thirteen hours a day, only sees the kids in the morning because they are already asleep when he gets home at night.”
Murphy took a breather and knocked down another shot.
“Then there is Joe Bando. Bando has been terrorizing the neighborhood since he was in grade school. He worked his way up to a mid-level position in the Colletti Family and when Colletti and his sons were killed, Bando moved up. The only obstacle keeping Bando from being crowned the fucking Prince of Gravesend was Mario Crimi, a Brooklyn prosecutor whose major mission in life was to put Bando away, or at least make Bando’s life miserable.
“Mario Crimi lives on West Ninth Street between U and T. Johnny Fazio leaves the pizzeria one night, walks to his car parked on Ninth, climbs in, and before he can turn the key he sees Crimi walk up to his house on the opposite side of the street and start up the stairs. A man with a handgun steps out of a car parked under a streetlight in front of the house and puts three in Crimi’s back. When the shooter turns to get back into the car, Fazio can see his face clearly. And Johnny scribbles down the plate number as the car speeds away. Johnny calls it in and, when the uniforms arrive, he names Joe Bando as the gunman.
“Joe Bando is at Rikers awaiting trial, and Johnny was the prosecution’s star witness. I have no doubt Bando reached out and had Johnny killed. He needed Fazio silenced and, judging from the brutal beating, he wanted to send a message to anyone who might ever think of crossing him. I need to find the motherfucker who beat Johnny to death and get him to finger Bando.” Murphy said. “I need another fucking beer.”
“What if we find no witness and the forensics team comes up empty?” Maggio asked, as Augie moved to the bar to grab another round.
“I’m going out to Rikers tomorrow after the funeral.”
“You can’t think Bando is going to give you anything.”
“There’s someone else out there who may be persuaded to lend a hand,” Murphy said.
Just as Sena dropped three more bottles of Sam Adams onto the table, there was a tapping on the window. He walked over to the door and let Sandra Rosen in. The dog ran in after her and went straight for Murphy, tail waving like a flag in a hurricane.
“Augie woke me up—he thought you might need a ride. I stopped on the way to liberate Ralph, and he wanted to tag along.”
Eight hours later, after the funeral service for Stan Landis at Holy Cross Cemetery, Murphy changed from his dress blue uniform into a suit, white shirt and tie, and drove out to Rikers Island.
Tony Territo was already waiting in an interview room at the prison when Murphy arrived just before noon.
“Well, what a surprise,” Territo said. “Did you bring lunch?”
“I need your help.”
“Give me a hint. Why would I help one of Brooklyn’s fucking finest who put me in here?”
“I didn’t put you here. A jury of your peers put you here after you gunned down Dominic Colletti, his two demented sons, and Sammy Leone.”
“Didn’t exactly break your heart, did it?”
“You help me and maybe I can help you.”
“How can you help me? I’m up on four counts of voluntary manslaughter,” Territo said. “If I ever get out of here, my son will have grandchildren, if the idiot can manage to find someone to marry him. Short of getting me a conjugal visit with Angelina Jolie, you can’t do shit for me.”
“Why weren’t you convicted on first-degree murder?”
“Because the geniuses in the prosecutor’s office couldn’t put the murder weapon in my hand and offered me what some might call a bargain, unless they had to eat the fucking crap they call food here.”
“And because you thought Leone and Colletti killed your daughter and everyone believed you believed it. You’re eligible for a parole hearing in four years. You need to think more positively, Tony. With a little help maybe you can see daylight in time to broker a wife for Anthony Junior.”
“You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown, Murphy. But I have to admit I like your style. What is it you think I can do for you?”
“Johnny Fazio was murdered last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, he was a good guy. Wasn’t he set to testify against Joe Bando—witnessed Bando gun down an assistant D.A.?”
“Johnny had a wife and three kids. He was viciously beaten to death, Tony.”
“And you think Bando got to him?”
“I’m sure of it. Johnny was silenced and left in the toilet as an example. I need to find the mad dog Bando set loose on him.”
“I don’t have anything to do with Bando, he was a Colletti lieutenant and I’d just as soon piss on him as talk with him. But I’ll snoop around—see if I can catch a whiff of anything here inside. Do you remember my cousin Stevie? I was holed up at his place when you picked me up.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll ask him to put an ear to the ground also. He’ll give you a shout if he hears anything and, if I do, I’ll send word through Stevie.”
“Thanks.”
“If you want to thank me, next time you grace me with a visit bring a sausage and pepper hero from John’s on Stillwell Avenue.”
Murphy parked behind the precinct and phoned Detective Maggio before going in.
“Where are you?” Murphy asked.
“I’m down at the scene. Four uniforms have been bothering everyone out on the avenue, in storefronts, or at home in their apartments. No one heard or saw a thing other than the woman who called it in last night. And the crime scene unit found absolutely nothing in the pizzeria.”
“Do you need me down there?”
“I’m about to head back to the Six-one. I decided to call a recess until people start getting home from work this evening. Although I would think if there were any witnesses we would have received a call from a conscientious citizen by now.”
“I don’t expect many citizens will be talking once they learn how Johnny Fazio was rewarded for his conscientiousness.”
“How did it go at Rikers?”
“I’ll fill you in when you get back. The short answer is we wait and see.”
When Murphy entered the squad room, Rosen was on him immediately.
“I just received a call from Derek Fielder at the forensics lab. If I have to say this twice it will be twice as unbelievable,” Rosen said, and she led Murphy over to Samson’s office.
“The fingerprints lifted from the steering wheel, trunk, and both front doors of David Rose’s car match those of a bonded interstate CDL driver. The prints were on file with the Department of Transportation.”
“Nice build up,” Samson said. “Did you get a name?”
“Kenneth Michael Ramirez.”
“Incredible. No question?”
“None.”
“Unfuckingbelievable,” Murphy added.
“Ivanov was on a plane to Denver at seven this morning. She was met at the airport by two detectives from Denver PD, Ramirez was placed into her custody, and they boarded a quick turnaround flight due to arrive at Kennedy around three. Kelly has the complete itinerary. Have him assign two uniforms to follow you out to pick them up at JFK, I want Ramirez to ride in the radio car, Ivanov can ride with you. I’ll probably be gone when you get back, but I’ll be waiting for my cell to ring,” Samson said. “I would like you and Ivanov to lock Ramirez in an interview room and stay there for as long as it takes to find out what the fuck is going on.”
“On it,” Rosen said, heading out of the office.
Murphy made a
move to follow.
“Tommy?”
“Yes?”
“Where have you been while Maggio has been running the show out on Avenue U?”
“I went out to Rikers to have a heart-to-heart with Tony Territo.”
“Sit,” Samson said. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”
Annie Maggio called her husband at the Six-one.
“What’s up, Detective?”
“I’m getting ready to leave. How late will you be tonight?”
“I’m already home. We quit early because we have a big day tomorrow. The final debate before the primary is Sunday evening, and there’s a world of preparation to deal with.”
“Well, then, what do you want to do?”
“I’m doing it. I’m cooking dinner and uncorking a bottle of wine. Later I want to watch one of those South Korean crime movies you love so much so you can put your arm around me and tell me when I can open my eyes again. After that, it’s all up to you.”
Rosen called Samson’s cell.
“Ramirez signed a statement. He jacked the car with Rose in it in front of the convenience store on Stillwell, while Rose was waiting for Carla Sanchez to pick up milk. Later, Ramirez decided he needed to be behind the wheel so he knocked Rose out, tied him up and put him in the trunk. He left the car at the train station in Wilmington, walked to a hotel, and forgot about Rose. We sent him over to central booking and lock up. Ramirez will be arraigned Monday on charges relating to the carjacking and abduction. A.D.A. Caldwell will be talking to the Queens County D.A. with regard to what they want to do about the homicide and attempted murder charges out there.”
“Good work, tell Ivanov I said so. And do me a favor. I’m at a birthday party trying to keep six kids all under eight years old from assaulting the cake before dinner.”
“Lucky you,” Rosen said. “What do you need?”
“Try to get hold of Jesse Fulton at the One-eleven in Bayside and fill him in on Kenny Ramirez. Tell Fulton I’m sorry I couldn’t phone myself, but will give him a call tomorrow.”
“Do you need me to stay?” Sarah asked.
“No. I’ll be okay,” Senderowitz said. “Thanks for getting me home today, and for cleaning up. I hardly recognize the place.”
“Don’t kill yourself looking for a bottle, you won’t find one.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I’ll be back after work tomorrow, we’ll cook dinner. If you need anything call me.”
Sarah stopped at the door, came back to Senderowitz, and kissed him on the forehead.
“Goodnight, Dad,” she said.
“Kayla, Lucy, get your things it’s time to go.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Lucy said. “I want more cake.”
“It’s very late and we have a big day tomorrow,” Samson said. “Connie is giving us cake to take home.”
“What big day?”
“Silly,” Kayla chimed in. “We’re going to see Jimmy tomorrow.”
“Can we bring Jimmy some cake?”
Marina Ivanov and Jack Falcone sat drinking espresso at La Sorrentina Restaurant in Dyker Heights.
“That was a terrific meal,” Marina said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try the gelato?” Falcone asked. “It’s truly amazing.”
“I’m stuffed, maybe next time. How did you find this place?”
“It opened the year I was born. I waited tables here part time when I was in college. Listen, Marina, I didn’t want to bring it up over dinner, but how is your sister doing?”
“She’s taking it hard. She had already been planning the wedding. And I think she is feeling some guilt, for getting Alex involved in the business at the Lobnya Lounge and with Markov.”
“Yuri Markov assaulted your sister, and the man who loved her needed to do something about it. It was his decision, Rachel didn’t encourage it, you and Rachel pleaded with him to stay out of it. You’re her big sister. You should be able to help her understand she’s not to blame.”
“It might be easier to convince her if I didn’t feel guilty myself.”
“About what?”
“Not being able to protect Alex, when we knew Markov wanted revenge.”
“We did all we could. If we have learned anything from history it’s that when someone is determined to hurt or kill another person, they will find a way in spite of our best efforts to prevent it.”
“You may need to keep reminding me.”
“I’ll be happy to. What would you like to do now?”
“Maimonides is not far from here. Marty Richard’s daughter has been there for several days. Marty and his wife have been practically living in the hospital. It looks like the girl will be okay, but I’ve been meaning to stop in.”
“Let’s do it,” Falcone said. “We can bring gelato.”
“It was great meeting you,” Connie said.
“It was great meeting you guys also,” Lorraine said, “Thanks for having me. Your girls are precious.”
Ripley thanked his sister and brother-in-law, scooped up the boys, and walked Lorraine out to her car.
“It was a terrific time,” Lorraine said. “Call me.”
“Dad,” Mickey said, tugging at Ripley’s leg.
“What is it, son?”
“Can Lorraine come to our house and read us a bedtime story?”
“I don’t know,” Ripley said, turning to Kyle for the older boy’s reaction.
“It’s okay with me,” Kyle said, looking from his father to Lorraine.
“Well, in that case,” Lorraine said. “I’d love to.”
Murphy was in John Paul Jones park watching Ralph run. He was thinking about the meeting at Rikers, the absurdity of asking Tony Territo for help.
As much as absurdity seemed to be in fashion.
Murphy spotted three teenage boys standing near one of the cannon, talking in hushed voices like they were planning to rob Fort Knox. He could easily pick out the leader—animated, pleading, persuading, and finally earning agreement.
“Hey,” he called, “whatever it is you are thinking of doing, don’t do it.”
Murphy whistled, Ralph ran to his side, and they walked home.
THIRTY FIVE
The telephone woke Murphy very early Sunday morning.
“What the fuck?”
“It’s Stevie Territo. Meet me at the Del Rio at eight.”
“Can I bring my partner?”
“Sure,” Territo said, and hung up.
“What the fuck?” Rosen asked.
“Stevie Territo wants a meet at eight.”
“Tony didn’t waste any time.”
“Tony is jonesing for a sausage and pepper hero. I need to call Maggio.”
“I need to get some sleep.”
Kayla and Lucy stood at their father’s side as he worked on his famous elephant pancakes. His wife Alicia sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the Sunday Times.
“Is there anything worth hearing about?” Samson asked, turning from the stove.
“I’m reading about the Democratic mayoral candidates, the final debate is tonight.”
“Don’t talk, Dad,” Kayla said, “you’ll burn them.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Lucy.”
“When is Jimmy coming home?”
“It may be awhile, sweetheart, but we will visit him again soon.”
“It was fun writing my name on his cast,” Kayla said.
“Me too.”
“You wrote Kayla’s name on Jimmy’s cast too?”
“No, Daddy, I wrote my name. L-U-C-Y.”
“Well I’m glad you both did, it will help Jimmy remember you.”
“Will Jimmy forget us?” Kayla asked.
“Never.”
“You’re burning the pancakes,” Alicia said.
Stevie Territo slipped into the booth and poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table.
“We found your guy.”
“Pos
itive?” Murphy asked.
“Tony got it from the prison grapevine, and what I learned confirmed it. Al Bianca. He was muscle for the Colletti Family under Sammy Leone’s wing, now he works freelance. The man is a beast, used to fight pro, nearly killed a guy in the ring once.”
“Where?”
“Here’s the address where he’s been hanging lately,” Stevie said, passing Murphy a slip of paper. “But I’d hurry, he moves around a lot.”
Murphy called Samson at home.
“What?”
“How quick can we get a search warrant?”
“What for?”
“For the motherfucker who killed Johnny Fazio,” Murphy said. “Maggio and I would like to pay him a visit, but we would also like to get inside his place and look around. We would hate to blow a prosecution on some fucking technicality.”
“It’s Sunday morning, can it wait until tomorrow?”
“If Bianca hears he’s been asked about, he’ll disappear.”
“I’ll have to wake Trenton, and owe him one, and he’ll have to wake a judge, and we’ll both owe the judge one.”
“This animal beat a good man to death. I would ask you to wake up the fucking Pope if it would help collar the fuck—and then I could owe you all one.”
“Give me an address,” Samson said. “I’ll call you back.”
“So?” Maggio asked when Murphy put the phone down on the table.
“He’ll call back.”
“Well,” Stevie said. “We may as well have breakfast.”
Alison Davis was up early Sunday morning trying to make sense of the latest reading assignment in her statistics textbook. Alison was still working at a bridal shop on 18th Avenue while taking evening classes at Brooklyn College. She hoped eventually to give up fitting wedding dresses and take up teaching grade school.
Vinnie Salerno found her beating a pencil on the kitchen table when he finally made it out of bed himself.