The Heart of an Assassin

by Tony Bertot

  “Dad, I don’t plan to walk the beat. I plan to be the best damn detective you ever saw. My goal is to be your boss so I can fire your butt,” Tyler responded.

  They both stared at each other and started to laugh out loud. His aunt quickly shushed them, ordering them to behave. They both stared at each other. Their love was unquestionable, and Tyler called him dad.

  “Hey, Tyler, snap out of it,” his partner, Eric, shouted.

  Tyler was now a detective with the Twenty-Fifth Precinct out of upper Manhattan. Though Eric and Tyler had been partners for over a year, Eric knew very little about him.

  “What’s going on?” Eric asked.

  “Uh, nothing,” responded Tyler.

  They had been called to investigate a shooting on 120th and St. Nicholas. The neighborhood had not changed as much as Tyler thought it would. Crime had gone up, but for some reason, this area remained almost untouched by the increase. This was the first time they were called to his old neighborhood since his assignment to this precinct.

  There were several police cars already on the scene cornering off the area. Tyler walked over while Eric was getting the details from the first officer on the scene. A young black man was face down in a pool of blood. It appeared he had been gunned down as he ran from his assailant; there were two gunshot wounds in his back. A bag of groceries lay scattered on the ground just ahead of the victim.

  Tyler examined the position of the body and the surrounding area. The victim was not wearing colors (scarf, belt, or jacket), which would indicate whether or not he belonged to a local gang.

  Eric joined Tyler after a while. “Vic’s name is Jimmy Johnson Junior, lives over at 222 St. Nicholas. Someone said they think the Spades, a local gang, did the shooting. But they aren’t sure,” Eric said.

  Tyler stared at Eric for a few seconds. “Did you say Jimmy Johnson Junior?” Tyler asked.

  “Uh . . . Yes. Why? You know him?” asked Eric.

  “Maybe.” Tyler, who had been squatting over the body, got up and started for 222 St. Nicholas, followed by Eric.

  As he stood in front of the building, the memory of his painful past resurfaced. They used to hang out on this stoop. He, Charlie, Jimmy, Davie, and a few other friends whose names he no longer remembered.

  He walked up the stairs and rang the Johnson bell to gain entry into the building. “Hello, who’s there?” someone asked though the intercom.

  “Ma’am, it’s the police. I’d like to talk to you,” Tyler said. The bell on the door rang, and they were let in.

  While Tyler and Eric climbed the two stories to apartment 2A, Tyler felt a sickening feeling inside. He had been here before, a long time ago. The door was opened, and they stepped into a neat apartment.

  Mrs. Johnson was sitting in the living room to their left, and they approached her. “Ma’am, I am Detective Santiago and this is Detective Thomas. Do you have a son named Jimmy Johnson?” Tyler asked.

  “Yes, is something wrong?” she inquired.

  Tyler approached Mrs. Johnson and sat in a chair beside her.“I am so sorry, ma’am, but your son was shot and killed,” Eric said.

  There was silence. Mrs. Johnson sat there staring at them, then said, “My son died over ten years ago, young man. That was my grandson,” she responded. “Why, he was a good boy, never got into trouble, was doing real good in school. Why?”

  Tyler looked at her and knew what she was going through. He knelt down facing her. “I am so sorry,” he said.

  She looked into his eyes, staring, and then reached out for him. “Oh my God, Tyler, it’s you. Oh my God, I know how hard this is for you,” she said. They both embraced each other and remained that way for a few minutes.

  Eric did not know what was going on, but stepped out into the hallway. Leave it alone, he thought to himself.

  When he heard Tyler begin to question Mrs. Johnson, he went in and found him still kneeling in front of her; the tears in his eyes had dried up. Eric did not interfere. He simply waited until Tyler was through with the questioning.

  When Tyler got up, he grasped her hands and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You are in my prayers,” he said to her.

  “And you in mine,” she responded. Tyler and Eric took their leave.

  A few minutes later, they were walking toward their car. Tyler informed the paramedics, who were now loading the body into their ambulance, to advise the coroner that he would be helping with the arrangements on behalf of the family and gave them his card.

  “Give me the keys,” Tyler told Eric with an outstretched hand, indicating that he toss him the keys. Eric complied and jumped into the passenger’s side, just in time before Tyler gunned it. The car peeled out, heading uptown toward 127th and St. Nicholas; Spades territory.

  Eric sat quietly in the car, wishing he could say something to defuse the situation. But he had seen Tyler before in this state. There was no talking to him. Just got to make sure nothing goes wrong, Eric thought to himself.

  A few seconds later, they were cruising up St. Nicholas. Then Tyler saw what he was looking for. On a park bench, up against a stone wall running alongside St. Nicholas Park, he saw a group of black teenagers. All were wearing a black scarf, some with spades tattooed on their arms.

  Tyler pulled over and stepped calmly out of the car. With Eric behind him, they approached the six teenagers at the bench. Three of the teenagers stood up and came forward as Tyler and Eric approached.

  Tyler pulled out his revolver and aimed it at the head of one of the approaching teenagers. They all froze. Tyler continued to walk forward, past the three that stood up to greet them. In the meantime, Eric pulled his weapon out, and though he kept it in check, he meant to use it if any of these punks tried anything.

  Sitting on the bench was Lamont Spaling, leader of the Black Spades. “What you want, man?” asked Lamont of Tyler.

  “I want you, you asshole,” Tyler responded while bringing the gun barrel up to his face.

  “Hey, you crazy, man,” Lamont said alarmingly. “What, why you say that, man?” Lamont asked, obviously shaken.

  “Cause you killed my friend’s kid over on 120th,” Tyler responded.

  “Man, I don’t know what you are talking about. That wasn’t us. I swear, man,” Lamont cried out.

  “Well, I am going to find out who did it, and if I hear you, or any one of your whores here were in on it, I am coming for you,” Tyler finished.

  Tyler stepped back slowly, then turned his back on them and walked away. Eric followed, walking backward with his weapon still out, cautiously watching to see if any one of them made any sudden moves.

  As they drove back to the precinct, Eric asked Tyler if he was all right; if there was anything he needed to talk about. Tyler told Eric it was something from the past and that he would rather not talk about it right now. Eric nodded and they drove silently the rest of the way.

  The Assignment

  June 6, 1984 (New York City)

  When Eric and Tyler returned to their precinct, they were advised that Captain O’Malley wanted to see them.

  Captain John O’Malley had been at this precinct for more than twenty-two years and had known Tyler’s uncle well. Tyler’s uncle died in a gun shooting a few years before Tyler had transferred to Manhattan. At the time, O’Malley had promised himself that if Tyler ever managed to transfer over to his precinct, he would watch over him, and he’d been true to his word.

  “Eric and Tyler reporting as requested, oh great leader,” Eric announced.

  “Cut the bullshit, Eric!” commanded O’Malley.

  “Uh . . . sorry, sir,” responded Eric.

  Tyler smiled and grabbed a seat in front of O’Malley’s desk. Eric followed suit and sat without any more comments.

  “Got a job for you, right up your alley. We got an official, turned stoolie, who needs protection from the mob. We’re looking for volunteers to keep an eye on him around the clock. We took a vote while you two were out, and it was unanimous that you take on the
assignment,” O’Malley announced.

  “But, Captain, we got ourselves an assignment already. That kid that was gunned down was probably an innocent bystander,” Tyler responded. “Also, sir, I knew his father and know the family. I owe it to them.”

  The captain stared at Tyler and then over to Eric. He knew it was a mistake to have sent him over there, to his old neighborhood; it must have been hard for him.

  “It’s for that reason I am taking you off this case; too personal,” O’Malley said. “Sorry, Tyler, but I really need you guys on this one. Rumor is that a professional hit man has been hired to take this guy out. It is believed that he is already in town. I am giving you full authorization to do what is necessary to keep this guy alive. I don’t care if you take him home with you, or if you move to another state, just as long as you have him in the Manhattan courthouse at eight o’clock, Monday morning, the sixth of August, to testify against the Giordano family.”

  “Why us?” asked Eric. “Why not the feds?”

  “’Cause they believe there is an informant in the FBI, which they haven’t been able to flush out, with ties to the Giordano family. Your assignment is sitting somewhere safe, for now, and we need you to pick him up and disappear for a few weeks. Simple as that,” O’Malley concluded.

  “Where exactly is he?” asked Eric.

  “Before I tell you where your assignment is, I need you two to let your loved ones know that you’ll be out of touch for several weeks. Be back here tomorrow morning bright and early,” responded O’Malley.

  Tyler had no one to call. His aunt now lived in a nursing home. He would check in on her every once in a while; things weren’t the same after Uncle George was killed in a street shootout. Tyler was there when it happened, just like he was there when his mother was gunned down. This time, though, the killer did not get away. Tyler was by his uncle’s side in an alley, with his head in Tyler’s arms. As his uncle said his last words, Tyler heard click, click.

  It was the assailant in the darkness, lying between a garbage bin and a tenement wall. He was aiming a pistol at Tyler, pulling the trigger; it was empty. Tyler had reached for his uncle’s gun and, with uncontrollable rage, fired two shots into the assailant, and then replaced the gun in his uncle’s hand.

  Tyler again felt the emptiness and loss of love. He held his uncle’s lifeless body with tears streaming down his face. They fell silently, caressing the only father he ever knew. He felt no remorse for the life he took. He would leave it in the alley to be absorbed by hell.

  A quick investigation proved that Officer George Santiago died in the line of duty, killing his assailant before taking his last breath. His uncle was awarded for heroism and died a hero. Shortly after that, Tyler passed his detective test and was reassigned to the Manhattan precinct.

  The loss of his uncle had changed him. He now approached his job with fearless intent and defiance. He could be challenged, but never intimidated. His job was now his life, and the streets of Manhattan his home.

  Eric called his sister, Lucille, and asked her to take Fudge, his chocolate lab, for a few weeks. “Are you out of your mind?” Lucille responded.

  “Come on, it’s only for a little while. I got a special assignment, and I can’t get out of it. Anyway your kids love Fudge,” Eric pleaded, knowing Lucille would relent. She always did.

  “Oh, okay . . . and you are right. The kids do love Fudge. But you owe me, big time,” said Lucille. “Eric, please be careful.”

  “I will, little sis, promise,” he responded.

  Having put their affairs in order, Tyler and Eric returned to O’Malley’s office. The captain wrote down the address and handed it over to them without saying a word, just in case someone was listening. “Don’t trust anyone,” O’Malley said. Both Tyler and Eric got up, staring at their captain and nodded.

  “Captain, I need a favor before disappearing.”

  “What is it, Tyler?” he asked.

  “The victim of this morning’s shooting. I promised to help out with the arrangements and funeral cost,” Tyler said.

  “No problem, Tyler, I’ll handle it and will advise the family accordingly. You can see them after you’re done,” the captain promised. “Tyler, we’ll get the punks who shot this kid. I promise.”

  “Thanks again, Captain,” Tyler responded.

  Missing in Action

  May 28, 1984 (Giordano Estate, New Jersey)

  Fabio Giordano met with his lieutenants on a weekly basis. During these meetings they discussed various topics, such as any significant changes that may be of interest to the family. One of the items brought up this week was the arrest of several soldiers on gambling charges.

  For this meeting, Felicia chose not to physically attend. Instead she decided she would only monitor it from her study via closed-circuit TV. This was one of many steps she had taken to distance herself from the day-to-day responsibilities of running the organization, giving Fabio more control.

  Fabio informed John De Luca that the family lawyer would be representing them, and that if things got really bad, they would arrange for the case to be brought before one of the judges they had on the payroll. “Well, as you know, Mr. Giordano, we are down to only one since Judge Livingston is on vacation,” De Luca replied.

  Fabio stared at John De Luca for only a second and went on, “Well, let’s see how things go. Make sure you keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded De Luca.

  After discussing several other items, the meeting was adjourned and Fabio quickly returned to Felicia’s study.“Felicia, has the judge ever taken time off without letting us know first? Is this normal?” he asked his sister.

  “Actually, I was wondering the same thing. I don’t recall it ever happening before,” she finished. Felicia was very proud of her brother. He was quick and did not take anything for granted. Without any hesitation, Fabio left the room and began to make some calls.

  Within an hour, Fabio was back in Felicia’s office. “Sis, I think we have a problem. In fact, I am sure we have a problem,” Fabio said. Felicia listened intently to what Fabio had to say.“It seems as if the judge went on vacation quite suddenly. Actually, no one knows where he went. Attempts to contact him via his beeper went unanswered. Lastly, they went on vacation before the youngest kid, who attends NYU, finished her semester.”

  “What about their son, the one who worked at a local hardware store?” asked Felicia.

  “I didn’t check on him since he didn’t live with the judge. But I’ll find out.” Fabio told her as he left her study.

  Felicia sat there quietly thinking the matter over, waiting for Fabio’s answer to her question. An hour and a half later, Fabio returned. “It seems as if the judge’s son quit his job suddenly and was gone. Something about having to go on vacation with his family is what his boss said,” Fabio told Felicia.

  The two discussed the matter in great length, trying to come up with a good reason why the judge would suddenly leave on vacation. They mulled over the possibility of a death in the family, which would explain the sudden departure. However, why wouldn’t they have advised anyone about it? Why doesn’t anyone know where they went? After all was said and done, the only possible conclusion was that the judge had been compromised and had gone underground, probably being protected somewhere by the FBI.

  “Fabio, get a hold of the rest of the lieutenants. We need to have an emergency meeting right away,” Felicia ordered.

  Within a few hours, all the lieutenants were assembled; eight men and two women. Their responsibilities included all aspects of overseeing the prostitution, gambling, extortion, investments, and real estate operations. These lieutenants were the best in their fields and were handsomely compensated for their expertise. Today they had more than seven hundred soldiers in their employ. In addition, the family was successful in infiltrating select government agencies forming liaisons with individuals who had a price. These contacts were well rewarded for keeping the family informed of any change
s or situations that might affect the well-being of their organization. Nothing was left to chance.

  Though Fabio headed the meeting, it was Felicia’s attendance that gave urgency to the matter. “It seems as if Judge Livingston has been compromised,” Fabio announced. “We have failed in every attempt to reach him. Our lawyer, Mike Angelino, was unable to provide us with any information on the whereabouts of the judge, though he feels there is nothing to worry about,” Fabio concluded.

  There was silence in the room as each took in what was being said. Felicia stared across the room at their faces as if she was trying to read their minds. After a few minutes, Adriana Romano, daughter of Erin Romano, spoke up. “Could our attorney also be compromised?” she asked.

  Both Fabio and Felicia smiled. “We think so,” Fabio said. Again silence. From their faces, Felicia could see that they all understood the gravity of the situation and what needed to be done.

  “We need to know where the judge is as soon as possible. Simple as that. I don’t fuckin’ care if you have to break arms and legs to get the information. Spare no expense. Am I making myself clear to all of you?” asked Fabio.

  Felicia stood up and walked to Fabio’s side. “No matter what you hear, even if you think it isn’t worth anything, let us know. We will decide if it’s important or not. Getting us this information is your top priority. Do we all understand?” Felicia asked as she met everyone’s eyes.

  “Yes. Yes, we understand,” was the overall response. With that said, the meeting was adjourned.

  “Leo, hold up,” Fabio said. “Leo, we need you to warn Mike Angelino. It is my understanding that there are accidents occurring in New York City traffic all the time. Please make sure that he is okay.”

  Leo nodded and understood. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Felicia sat down on one of the chairs closest to Fabio. “I need to make a call,” she said to him.