The Defense: A Novel

by Steve Cavanagh

  “Why can’t I take three million now?”

  “You just can’t. I have to take care of something. You know I’ve never let you down.”

  He considered this. As a good businessman, he liked risk. I thought he secretly wanted some kind of war with the Russians. He wanted a chance to rip into them. Mario’s murder wasn’t enough because nobody gave a shit. Now he had an incentive.

  “So can I count on you, Jimmy? There’s no con here. This is my daughter. I’m putting her life in your hands,” I said.

  A long minute passed with Jimmy’s eyes on me.

  “I believe you, Eddie,” he said. “The way I look at it, we’re family, you and me. We grew up hitting the same people. That makes Amy family, too.”

  I let the doormen take the bags to the back of the room.

  “So what do you want us to do?” he said.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down, breaking in between two bagmen. I fished in my coat, heard a murmur, turned, and saw that the guns were back on me again, but only momentarily. Jimmy waved them away. Slowly, I removed Gregor’s wallet from my pocket.

  “I need you to find Amy and get her safe. There’s another team holding her. This is Gregor’s wallet,” I said, laying it on the table.

  “Inside is his driver’s license and last-known address. I doubt if she’s there, but it’s a start. Before I came here, we picked up the cash from a warehouse in Sheepshead Bay. There were two guys there. If you sweat them for the address, they might give it up. But they have to be taken without giving them a chance to alert Volchek or Arturas. The only other thing I have is the cell number that Volchek called. Amy mentioned a girl, Elanya. I don’t know if it was her cell, but I have that number.”

  As soon as I said this, I looked closely at Jimmy. He hadn’t disappointed me. He looked straight at Albie, a fleeting glance but a glance nonetheless. Albie was the guy who had contacts in the unions, the man who could get access to anything.

  I continued. “I think you can trace the property through the phone or through this guy Gregor.”

  “You said it was a cell number. You don’t know what kind of phone it is?” asked Albie.

  “No. Arturas has an iPhone. Volchek has a little black phone with a good camera on it and a big screen. That’s all I know. Can you trace an address with a number?”

  “If it’s registered, then sure. But it’s likely these phones were bought on the black market. That means there’s no paper. On the other hand, if they’re new phones, then there might be a way of tracing them.”

  “They looked pretty new. I don’t know if Elanya’s is similar.”

  “If the phone was manufactured after 2005, then it has a GPS tracker built-in. Every new phone manufactured in America has that chip. Something to do with 9/11. We won’t be able to find an address, or listen to their calls, but we can track the GPS chip. I’ve got a guy that can do that. I’ll call him,” said Albie.

  “Okay. Get working on that number. All you guys start calling your people. We need to find out where this little girl’s being stashed. I’ve got a couple of guys in Brooklyn that can get to the Bay pretty quick. Frankie, give our pals a call,” said Jimmy.

  I gave Frankie the warehouse address.

  A pleasant waitress brought hot coffee, and I gratefully accepted a cup. She had long dark hair and wide, engaging eyes. One of Jimmy’s many girls. Jimmy brought his cup to his lips and stopped as if something had just occurred to him.

  “What time did you speak to Amy yesterday?” said Jimmy.

  “The afternoon. Maybe around four or five o’clock. Why?”

  He brought the cup closer and halted again, the steam close enough to warm his face.

  “What if they’re moving her?”

  He was right. There was no guarantee that she wasn’t being dragged around half a dozen safe houses. But I thought it unlikely. Hauling a ten-year-old girl around with them would make them stand out even more. They might have been thinking it was best to stay in one place.

  “I doubt it. They probably want to lie low and stay put. If we’re going to hit them, it might be an idea to spread our bets, hit the likely locations simultaneously. If we can track the GPS chip in the phone, then I’d say that’s where Amy is being held,” I said.

  Jimmy seemed satisfied.

  “Don’t forget Tony,” I said. “He has to go back on everything he said to the cops. Otherwise the Russians will think they didn’t buy anything with their four million, and I’ll probably get killed.”

  “Mickey, get Tony G down here,” said Jimmy.

  Jimmy’s face softened and I thought of the tough little kid I’d first met in the gym. His gaze seemed to drift through me, catch my recollections, and ride on them, beyond the smoke from his cigarette, to happy days tearing up the neighborhood together and wild celebrations for every four-dollar hustle we got away with.

  He smiled and then stopped and frowned as if it was somehow inappropriate.

  “I heard what happened to you last year. I’m sorry,” he said.

  It took me by surprise. I didn’t think he knew.

  “That must have been tough, bub,” he said.

  “It was. It is. I dream of her sometimes, when I sleep at all. I think maybe she’s telling me that she forgives me. Maybe that’s what I want to believe.”

  Jimmy, despite his professional activities, also managed to be a father with a big heart.

  “What do you know about the Bratva?” I asked.

  “Not that much. They came here at the start of the nineties, after the Soviet Union collapsed. Lots of them did. Volchek and his crew were probably the best of the bunch, considering they’ve survived this long. Somebody told me they were ex-military. They did pretty good at the beginning, selling AKs to the gangs; then they got into drugs, hookers, people trafficking, and the usual. When the cartels moved in, they cut off a lot of the Russians’ supply chains. They just bought ’em up. You can’t compete with the kind of dough the cartel throws around. From what I hear, they’re under a lot of pressure from their competitors. They’re holding on to what they have by the skin of their teeth.”

  “Some of their competition appeared in court yesterday. Volchek said they were there to watch him go down.”

  “Probably. Most organizations work with the cartels because they don’t have the numbers to fight them. Volchek has held out this long, but that can’t last. Sooner or later they’ll try to put his lights out. Maybe they think if he gets sent up the river they can make their move.”

  A lot of that made sense to me. There certainly was an air of desperation about Volchek and Arturas.

  “How long do we have?” asked Jimmy.

  “Forty-nine minutes. We need to move.”

  “Anthony, call Wong’s and tell them we need two Ninjas ready to go in five. And call the Lizard; tell him to get into Manhattan and keep moving until we get him a location.”

  Anthony, a tall, good-looking kid in his twenties and a nephew of Jimmy’s, started making calls. I couldn’t help but notice the look of distaste on Frankie’s face when Jimmy mentioned the Lizard.

  “Who the hell is the Lizard?” I said.

  “He’s a friend. My guys will need to travel light if they’re going to make it in time. The Lizard is all the backup we ever need,” said Jimmy.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I waited for Tony G to appear and marveled at how the occupants of Jimmy’s restaurant took on a busy, military type of industry. Dealers and junkies who would know where the Bratva might have a stash house were called and questioned. Everyone around the table held a phone in their hand, shouting, dialing, on hold. Waitresses cleared away the breakfast items, and soon the tablecloth was covered in little scraps of paper, pens, and cigarette ash. Albie worked the telephone number. He had a union contact who was employed by the telephone company. He waited for his pal to answer his call.

  One of Jimmy’s men put on a set of latex gloves and held the money under a UV light. I saw some of the notes I’
d marked show bright, purple patches. Whatever cash was not contaminated would be separated. It would be foolish not to.

  Pretty soon the breakfast party started to get results.

  “My guy says they run meatpacking out on the harbor.”

  “I got a stash house in Queens.”

  “We got two of their dealers; they don’t know shit, no addresses, just car work.”

  “I got two whorehouses, a crack house, and a sandwich place.”

  “Get your best three locations, guys. Decide on the best shot you got. You’ve got five minutes. Come and see me when you’ve decided. Anthony and Frankie are hitting the phone address no matter what. You guys gotta go pick and hit. If you strike out, you hit again until we run out of addresses. If you find her, dead or alive, you call me,” said Jimmy; then he stopped. He realized what he had said.

  That crushing pressure of panic, guilt, and fear fell on my chest again. For a second it knocked the air clean out of me.

  He turned and said, “Sorry, bub. Force of habit. Usually the people I have to track down end up as corpses. She’s alive. I’m sure.”

  * * *

  Albie got through to his man in the phone company, and his right hand began to move swiftly across the page, the pen making large bold sweeps as he wrote down an address.

  “We got it,” said Albie.

  Jimmy read the address.

  “That’s six blocks from the courthouse. Call the Lizard and tell him to meet Anthony and Frankie there,” said Jimmy.

  “And me. I’m going, too,” I said.

  “No, Eddie, you’re not. Look, I know you can handle yourself, but you’re not a shooter,” said Jimmy.

  “Call Wong’s. Tell him you need three Ninjas. I’m going with them. I need to see my daughter.”

  Jimmy sighed, shook his head, and told Anthony to make the call to Wong’s.

  At that moment, a man wearing a shiny gray suit walked in. His black hair stood up as if he had a full can of hair spray bolstering each strand. I remembered Tony G, the man I now knew to be Tony Geraldo, the man I hoped would answer a lot of my questions. I looked at Tony’s shoes, and while they were highly polished, they looked soft and wide and extremely comfortable: a bagman.

  “Tony, you remember Eddie, right?” said Jimmy.

  “Sure, Eddie Fly, the hustler, the lawyer, the shit-bird that used to cream your ass at stickball when yous was kids,” said Tony as he jabbed jokingly at Jimmy’s ribs.

  “How you doin’, Eddie?” said Tony, sitting opposite me.

  “Not so good. I don’t have much time, Tony. Tell me why Olek Volchek wasted your cousin Mario.”

  “You don’t mess around. Okay, it’s like this. Mario was an embarrassment. He was stupid and he got pinched a couple of times when he was a teenager, but what can I do? He’s family. So I took him under my wing. He worked for me on the construction angles because I thought even Mario couldn’t mess that up. Guess what? He made a shit pile out of it. He leaned too heavy on a straight guy and the feds pinched him, but at least he kept his mouth shut. He did a nickel in Rikers and got out a couple years ago. After the shit he pulled I told him he was out of the business. Guess what? He got even more stupid.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He got too ambitious. He did a photography class in Rikers. Seems he got pretty good at it. When he came out, he carried a camera everywhere. Now, I didn’t know what he’d done at first. Me and him and a few guys were in the Sirocco one night. Mario goes to the bar. Next thing you know, Volchek’s people are all up in his face until they spotted me, and then they backed down. Next day Mario was dead.”

  “That’s what it says in your statement, Tony, but you didn’t mention the photography part. What started the fight with Volchek?”

  Tony wiped his mouth and looked at Jimmy, who nodded back at him.

  I thought Tony needed a little push, so I laid out my theory. “I’ve seen the crime-scene photographs. There’s a broken photo frame on the floor and what looks like burned photos in the sink. I’m guessing Mario took a photograph that Volchek didn’t want taken, and Mario tried to sell it back to Volchek. If he was as stupid as you say, he could do that.”

  “Yeah, he was that stupid.”

  “So why didn’t you tell this to the cops?” I asked.

  “Mario got killed trying to sell those photos. I didn’t want anyone to know that I got a copy.”

  “You have a copy?”

  “Sure. I wanted a set of those photos in case we were going to war with the commies. Might be good leverage.”

  “Why does Volchek want those photographs so bad? What did Mario see?”

  “I’ve seen ’em and I can’t tell. I don’t know why he wanted ’em.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I got ’em stashed at home. By the way, I hear I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut today; trouble is, I can’t. I’ve got to give the same evidence that’s in my statement, see, and there’s no amount of money can persuade me otherwise.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “Eddie, you have to move if you’re gonna make it in time,” said Jimmy.

  I held up my hand. “Give me a second. There’s no point unless your man here is going to play ball.”

  Tony leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. He wasn’t going to say another word. I guessed correctly at the reason for his silence.

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You got busted and the DA offered you a deal, right? Guys like you don’t testify for the cops. I knew there had to be a reason why you agreed to be a witness. Tell me—how much coke did they bust you with?”

  The lights from the chandeliers seemed to soak into Tony’s suit. He rocked back and forth in his chair.

  “Not much, half a kilo. If I don’t cooperate and give evidence like a good citizen, I go down. I got no choice.”

  I hadn’t foreseen this. Four million dollars didn’t matter to Tony G. You can’t be rich in prison, and even if I’d brought double that amount, it wouldn’t have changed his mind. I thought about his situation and came up with a solution. I took some paper and wrote down a few lines before flipping the page around and pushing it under the aura of Tony’s suit.

  “You say that in court whenever you’re asked a question and you’ll be fine. Your plea bargain deal is normally a standard agreement. I know it by heart. Say this and only this and you can’t be prosecuted.”

  Tony read over the lines.

  “This all I gotta say?”

  “That’s all. I give you my word this will work.”

  Jimmy’s hand appeared on Tony’s shoulder.

  “Do it, Tony. I’ll see you get a good split from the cash Eddie brought in. And if it all goes wrong, I’ll take care of your family. But it won’t. If Eddie says something will work—that’s it. It’ll work. Eddie’s like my brother; his word is my word.”

  Tony nodded and got up. “Okay, Eddie, but if it don’t work, I’ll kill you. You know that, right?”

  I stood and shook hands with Tony. “If that happens, you’ll have to get in line. Look, I need to see the photos. Something else is going down, and I can’t figure it out. The photos might help.”

  “They’re at home. It’s an hour-and-a-half drive each way.”

  “I need them, but I don’t have time to wait. You’ll need to bring them to court later.”

  “How am I going to give ’em to you, then?”

  “You a religious man, Tony? I’m not. Why don’t you give me some religion?”

  Tony got the message.

  Jimmy looked confused. “Hang on a second. If we get Amy out in time, you don’t have to go back to court, Eddie.”

  My shoulders dropped. If I got Amy out, I would make that call then.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I followed Anthony and Frankie to the back of the restaurant and through the swinging doors to the kitchen. The kitchen looked big enough to serve a restaurant twice the size of Jimmy’s. A long, central stainless-steel
work surface separated the pass from the four industrial-sized stoves. I’d met Anthony before, when he was just a kid sitting on his mother’s knee. If Jimmy trusted him on a job like this, then the kid must have been talented. Anthony opened the door to the walk-in freezer and I followed him and Frankie inside. Our breath came in long white gasps of frosted air. Frankie began moving boxes of packaged meat from the far right-hand corner and soon revealed a secret door. We found ourselves in a small storeroom. The shelves on either side of the room were filled to the ceiling with guns of all sizes, bags of coke, and bundles of cash wrapped in cellophane.

  Anthony and Frankie lifted a long steel bar each. The bars had a hook at one end. They placed the hooks into recessed holes on either side of an iron sewer cover that sat in the middle of the room. With effort, they lifted the cover to reveal a steel ladder leading into the sewer.

  “You got to be kidding me,” I said.

  “It’s the only way to travel,” said Frankie, lifting a flashlight from the shelf.

  Anthony lifted a bag from the floor, handed me a flashlight, and together we climbed into the dark, stinking tunnel, which was unexpectedly dry. I hit the flashlight, but the beam penetrated only about fifty feet into the gloom.

  We turned left, then right at two crossroads, and then, after a minute of following the tunnel straight, Anthony stopped at another steel ladder on the wall. Frankie climbed up and knocked on the cover. Within seconds, the tunnel became flooded with light from above as an Asian man removed the cover and offered Frankie a hand up.

  We stood in another storeroom of another kitchen. From the Chinese characters printed on the boxes, and the smell of garlic, ginger, and lemongrass, I guessed we were in an Asian restaurant. The man who had helped us from the sewer gestured that we should follow him, and we walked through a narrow corridor to a loading bay and an alley beyond. In the loading bay were the three Ninjas Jimmy had asked for: three black, Kawasaki Ninja 650 motorcycles with riders revving the engines. We were each given a helmet, and I watched Anthony climb onto the back of the first bike.