Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1)

by Rafael Hines

  “Ba bum bum bada, ba bum bum bada,” Felix sang as he drummed on the steering wheel.

  “How about the baseball and barbeques on the East River? Man I used to love those Sunday afternoons.”

  “That we still do. Remember the basketball games at Tompkins Square?”

  “Those were wars.”

  “The run is garbage now. All one on five bullshit,” Felix said.

  “What about the viejo who sharpened knives?” John asked. The old traveling knife sharpener worked a foot pedal to turn his large wheel shaped stone that gave knives a razor’s edge for a dollar.

  “I can still hear that grinding sound.”

  “There’d be twenty or thirty dudes on line waiting to get their blades shined right there in the street.”

  “Sure was,” Felix said.

  “Hide and seek in the abandoned buildings!”

  “Running round in the dark with hundred pound rats and fifty pound junkies. Why would I wanna to forget that?”

  “Then we’d all go up to fight on the roof and Auntie would have to cut the tar out of our hair.”

  “Everyone would snap on us ‘cause we were walking round with holes in our heads!” Felix said, laughing.

  “Man, we used to beat the shit out of each other.”

  “Those were some good times, primo.”

  “The best,” John said.

  They were still reminiscing when Felix pulled up in front of Castillo’s restaurant on Rivington Street to get a quick bite. John’s mouth was watering when they walked in and inhaled the rich aroma of simmering beans and pork slow cooked with garlic and cilantro. The owner sent over rounds of beer and platters of food on the house, turning a snack into an hour-long meal that ended with John and Felix holding their bellies in satisfaction. They looked at each other and shrugged, both knowing without saying a word that their aunts had cooked a feast and they were going to have to eat again shortly.

  When they left Castillo’s Felix threw him the car keys. “She yours,” Felix said. “And don’t bother sayin’ no. She’s signed, sealed, and legal, all in your name.”

  After a long pause John smiled. “Gracias Felix, she’s a real beauty.”

  “I was gonna put shoes on her. Make her even sexier with some chrome rims, but Tio said you wouldn’t like the flash. I did upgrade the sound system and added a radar detector in case you ever wanna put your foot on the gas.”

  “I don’t know what to say, man. I can’t thank you enough.”

  That was true. John could never thank his cousin Felix for what he’d done for him and the new SUV had nothing to do with it.

  More brothers than cousins, they grew up doing everything together, and were once inseparable. That all ended on John’s eighteenth birthday after a long night of drinking and dancing when they were confronted by five big guys in the West Village.

  It should have just been drunken teenagers having a fight, but things quickly got out of hand. After a few punches were thrown by each side one of the attackers snuck up behind Felix and smashed a bottle over his head. John rushed in to protect his stunned and bleeding cousin. He braced himself with feet spread apart for good balance, left foot forward, chin down, elbows tucked, and fists close together just like his father, and then later, his uncles had taught him. When the first kid came in range swinging wildly, John ducked the punches, faked with an overhand left and connected with a vicious right handed upper cut, pushing up with his legs. It was a knockout blow that literally had the dude out on his feet, swaying back and forth. Unconscious and tumbling backwards, he seemed to be falling in slow motion until his head smacked the fire hydrant on the curb. The impact was like a giant egg cracking. Everyone knew it was bad. Fight over. The guy’s friends went to help him and John and Felix took off running.

  They almost made it past Avenue A, to Tompkins Square Park and into the safe zone of their home base when the cops caught up to them. They were both running flat out with John slightly ahead when Felix tripped and fell over a crack in the sidewalk. John stopped and turned back, but Felix waved him on.

  “Go! Go tell Tio.”

  From across the street John watched the police swarm on Felix. They formed a circle and hit him with their night sticks. One of the officers asked Felix if he liked killing college kids while he struck him again and again. That’s when John knew things were way past serious. The boy he hit was dead and cops were mercilessly beating his handcuffed cousin in the street.

  The next day the papers were all over it. The boy who died was a Yale student and a rugby player from England and the story told by the New York press portrayed Felix as a vicious armed robber. They said he attacked the Ivy Leaguers without provocation and described how he pistol whipped the victim when he didn’t hand over his wallet fast enough. “Yale Honor Student Beaten to Death by Mugger,” was just one of the many headlines.

  There was never any mention of an accomplice and Felix of course never said a word about John. In fact Felix never said anything at all, refusing to give a statement. His uncle was a powerful man who got him the best lawyers money could buy, but New York had so much racial tension at the time and the case received so much national attention that prison was inevitable.

  John was with Felix, their uncle, and Felix’s parents when they got the bad news.

  “Felix, they offered a deal,” his lawyer said.

  “How much time?” Felix was still swollen, bruised and battered. Even though he spoke softly the big split in his bottom lip opened up and began bleeding from asking the simple three word question.

  “Ten years, but you’ll be out in less than half that,” the lawyer stated, handing over a handkerchief that Felix used to gingerly dab at the blood running down his chin.

  “You don’t have to take the deal, but the DA will come after the family if you don’t,” Gonzalo said. “It’s the press. If they weren’t college kids and the case wasn’t in the news we could make this go away, but they’re all over us on this. Still, the decision is yours Felix. It’s up to you if you want a trial.”

  “No Tio. I’d lose anyway, and the family has to be kept out of this. I’ll do the years,” Felix said.

  “Wait a minute! Just wait a fuckin’ minute here! He’s innocent!” John shouted. “We all know I did it. Go tell the DA and let me take the deal.”

  “Felix has already been convicted in the papers and identified by three of the four witnesses. Unfortunately, he’s going to prison whether or not you turn yourself in. If you want to keep him company that’s your choice, but we don’t recommend it,” said the lead counsel.

  “No Johnny, I don’t want you with me,” Felix said.

  “Felix, we can protect each other… We can… You’re innocent God damn it! I can’t let you do time for something I did.”

  “Like the man said, I’m getting jacked regardless. It’s okay primo, I’m good with it. Go home Johnny. Just go home. Tio, make the deal.”

  And so it was. Felix served four and half years in Elmira, a maximum security prison known as “The Hill” in upstate New York.

  They had never really talked about it, but in his heart John knew that Felix had done those years for him and he’d never forgiven himself for letting his cousin, his brother, take the fall alone. The day Felix was processed and sent upstate to start serving out his sentence John walked into the Army recruiting station in Times Square and signed up.

  It pained them both that things were never the same after that fateful night. John was overseas when Felix was released from prison and they had seen each other only a few times during his infrequent visits home. They still loved each other deeply, yet neither knew how to say what needed to be said, and now there was a distance and an awkward tension between them that neither wanted to be there.

  As John drove them north on Essex Street Felix pulled out a big bottle of Hennessy, cracked it and raised it up.

  “Here’s to you primo, welcome home.” He took a deep pull and passed it over.

  Stopped
at a red light, John looked over. He grabbed the bottle and took a long drink himself before handing it back.

  “I wish I had been here for your homecoming.” He paused and went on. “We’ve never really talked about what happened. How you took all those years for something I did. I feel ashamed… I feel like a coward and I owe you a debt I can’t ever repay.”

  Felix looked at him unblinking for a moment, thinking deep before he said anything.

  “America’s most decorated soldier feels like a coward? Come on, man.” Then in a softer voice he continued. “Look cuz, the only thing that would’ve happened is that you would’ve been stacking’ time with me, and that would’ve been bad. Real bad. You being the pretty boy that you are, I would’ve spent all my time protecting your sorry ass and the family honor. Make sure they didn’t change your name to Juanita.”

  They both laughed and Felix went on.

  “Listen J, we’re brothers, and I know you would’ve done the same for me. They say misery loves company and prison’s a miserable place to be, but believe me when I say it, there was never, ever, even a single day I wished you were there with me. That’s the truth, man.”

  Felix took another sip.

  “Besides, I got to spend those years with uncle Nestor, and he’s got his own army in there.”

  “Isn’t he getting out soon?” John asked.

  “Between us, I hope he never gets out. He’s our uncle, but the streets just ain’t ready for that man.”

  “He’s been inside for almost thirty years. That’s a lot of time. People change.”

  “Not uncle Nes. He went away for one body, but he’s killed more than twenty dudes since he’s been in.”

  “Come on.”

  “For real. He did at least five on his own, and ordered dozens more. Nes points his finger at someone and they’re just gone, man. He’s a real scary dude J.”

  “Alright, we can talk about uncle Nes later. Right now there’s something I’ve gotta say.”

  “You don’t have to. We’re good, bro.”

  “Cat, I know your cool with it, but I’m not. I still feel like shit, and I’m so sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” John said staring straight ahead, his eyes tearing up. Then he turned to look directly at his cousin.

  “I love you, Felix.”

  Felix smiled and said, “Don’t guilt yourself over that night. I’m happy in my life and you’re a fuckin’ war hero. We’re two bad-ass homies from LES. LES for life baby, and don’t you forget it! Oh yeah, and I love you too… John!”

  The last line was followed by a swift punch to John’s right arm that left him numb. The fact that the light had changed and John had pressed the gas a little too hard as a reaction to the unexpected blow started the chain of unfortunate events. The traffic ahead came to a sudden halt halfway through the intersection, and John’s lightning quick reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop the Range Rover from slamming into the rear bumper of the car in front of them. The impact jarred the open bottle out of Felix’s hand and spilled cognac over both of them.

  When the two undercover police officers exited the dark blue Chevy Caprice they had just rammed both cousins knew they were in trouble, or at least John was since he was the one driving. They had sucked down the beers at Castillo’s and even though they had each taken only a few swigs of the hard stuff they both reeked of booze from the spill.

  The lead officer was an ex-Marine and was sympathetic when he looked at John’s uniform. His partner wasn’t. His partner had been driving the unmarked police car without wearing his seat belt and the collision slammed his face into the steering wheel. He was pissed off and bleeding from a deep cut on his forehead. Screaming and cursing, he ordered the cousins out of the car.

  There was no doubt about the outcome and right away Felix started mouthing off to the cops.

  “Hey jerkoff, you see those medals on his chest? Today’s his first day back from the war, man.”

  “That’s great news, ‘cause the boys in city jail will make him feel right at home.”

  “Bitch-ass motherfucker!”

  “What’re you doing, Cat?” John asked while they were both being frisked.

  “You think I’m showing up at your party without you and telling Tio that you’re locked up?...That I couldn’t even get you home from the airport? You’re outta your fuckin’ mind,” Felix replied. “I’d rather go to jail than face that,” he added.

  Turning to the officer he said, “Write me up for disorderly or resisting. I’m going with him.”

  “Sorry pal, not gonna happen,” the officer said.

  “Look, write it up!” Felix shouted.

  Then in a low, sinister voice that made the cop involuntarily take a step back he added, “Don’t make me smack the shit out of you, cause believe me I will. Save yourself the embarrassment. Either let us go or we go together. You understand?”

  And that was that. They were getting locked up for a few hours if not for the night and they were going to miss the party. Far worse was that they would soon face their uncle.

  Chapter 4

  El Gato Negro

  Formerly known as “Happy” because of his bright smile and easy-going nature, the desk sergeant at the 9th Precinct had been a football star at his Long Island high school who married his childhood sweetheart. Happy now wore a permanent scowl on his face and had the hard sad eyes of a cop who’s experienced way too much pain and suffering to ever feel love or joy again. He was six-two and heavy, on his way to getting heavier, but stood ramrod straight and spent each shift trying to suck in his gut.

  “You clowns know who you just brought in?” he asked the two plain-clothed officers that had arrested John and Felix.

  “Didn’t see warrants on either of ‘em,” said the lead officer.

  “The Green Beret? He someone famous?” the other cop asked.

  “Yeah he is. You saw his chest. He’s a God damn war hero, and you bring him in cuffed like a fuckin’ perp?”

  “If it was just the DUI we’d of given him a pass, but we’ve got a busted car, and I may need a stitch or two in my head.”

  “One whole stitch?”

  “Look, Sarge, we wanted to let ‘em go, but we just couldn’t figure how to do it without jamming ourselves up.”

  “Shit!” the sergeant shouted, slamming his fist down on the desk. “This is bad. Real bad. You really don’t know who he is? Who they are?”

  “Okay, we give. Who are they?”

  “You heard of El Gato Negro?”

  “Yeah, that gangster, Gonzalo Valdez. So?”

  “Those are his nephews.”

  “Serious? They don’t even look alike.”

  “They’re not just his nephews, they’re his adopted sons.”

  “No shit. I hear Valdez is big time.”

  “And then some. He’s the biggest this neighborhood and probably this city has ever seen.”

  “That’s a bold statement, Sarge.”

  “Yeah, well I stand by it. The guy’s run a multimillion-dollar crime syndicate for forty years, and he’s never spent a day in jail. All I know is he’s the worst kind a gangster there is.”

  “What kind’s that?”

  “Smart, ruthless, and low key. None of that Gotti flash that gets your name in the papers.”

  “Sounds like you admire the guy.”

  “Admire him? No, but I have a healthy respect for the man and I learned the hard way not to fuck with him.”

  “How’s that?”

  Happy looked away and thought back to his days as a narcotics detective in the Major Case Squad. Ten years with commendations up the ass, and he took down some heavy hitters before he set his sights on Gonzalo. Decided that it was his mission in life to take him and the whole Valdez family down.

  He started from the bottom up, busting low level players, and trying to flip them to get to the big fish. Problem was he couldn’t get anyone to roll. Guys wouldn’t even say the man’s name when they were facing twenty-five inside with
no parole.

  People were terrified, and Happy heard some wild stories about a house of horrors in a Valdez private prison. He dismissed those rumors as urban legend, but one thing was clear, Valdez severely punished traitors, and generously rewarded loyalty. Anyone who got busted, even at the street level, had the best lawyers fighting for him, and if he had to do the time, his family got taken care of—with houses, cars, cash for the wife and kids—grannies, too.

  The same “never give up” mantra that had made him a star on the football field had Happy more determined than ever to bust Gonzalo. Working off the clock, sleeping in his car, going through trash, and squeezing every source he had for info, he finally caught a break when he popped a mid-level Valdez dealer carrying ten keys of coke. Desperate for anything that would get him close to the boss, he temporarily cut the dealer loose after he shared that Gonzalo was taking the Amtrak down to DC for a big meeting the next day. Happy tagged Valdez at Penn Station, followed him down there, and took a bunch of pictures of him meeting with some suit in a fancy restaurant.

  Happy couldn’t wait to get back to NYC, develop the photos, and ID the suit. He pictured himself showing them to the Chief of D’s, getting a few atta boys, and then building a real case against Valdez. None of that ever happened. He was sitting in a DC cab, daydreaming about being a hero when he got boxed in by two SUV’s. He was abducted at gunpoint in broad daylight by Delta Force operators with aviator shades and ear pieces.

  Driven to an abandoned warehouse, they held him naked and cuffed to a table for two days. In between beatings he found out the suit Gonzalo met with was a top CIA spook. They were on their way to the land fill when someone called and ended it. The operators were actually pissed off that they couldn’t kill him, and one of them told Happy it’d be better for everyone if he spent some time investigating worms from underground. Before they let him go they told him to keep his mouth shut or they’d finish the job—said he was messing with the wrong people and to consider this his once and final warning.

  When he got back he was booted out of narcotics, and barely managed to keep his job after being suspended for a month with no explanation. The icing on the cake was getting permanently assigned to the front desk at the 9th Precinct right in the heart of Valdez country, but the nut shot was a gift box delivered to his house by messenger. It was all wrapped and ribboned up, and Happy and the wife opened it together. Top layer was chocolates and truffles, the bottom had his Valdez snitch’s chopped off hands holding a picture of himself in cuffs with Happy walking him into One Police Plaza. The wife left him that day, and he’d been sitting at his desk and staying out of Gonzalo’s business ever since.