“Did you honestly think I’d leave?” She gave a small laugh. “That any of us would?”
I had hoped so. After all it was for their own safety.
She came toward me, her eyes scanning me for injuries. “What happened at Sal’s?”
I pulled my jacket over the bullet hole in my shirt. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I went for a walk.”
She looked at her watch with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a little late for a midnight stroll.”
“I needed to clear my head.”
“How bad is it?”
“Things could have gone better.” I turned away from her, tossing back the shot and chasing it with the bitter beer. “It wasn’t Sal.”
“What?!?”
“I said it wasn’t Sal. He didn’t kill Neil. Someone else did.”
“Who? Why?”
I wished I knew. “Mike Morrissey, maybe. I don’t know but I intend to find out.”
“So Sal’s still out to get you and so is this faceless killer who may or may not be a dead man? What are we going to do?” She gripped my shoulder, and I swung to face her. I wanted to lose myself in her arms, to forget the smell of Neil’s drying blood, and wash away the sound of Sal’s last gurgled breath. My bloodlust satisfied, I felt nothing but sadness and grief.
“Sal isn’t an issue any more,” I said, quietly.
“Oh, God, Ian. What have you done?”
I shrugged. Nothing that he hadn’t deserved.
“Burgess will lock you up and never let you free. Not only that, but Sal was connected. They’re not going to let you kill him and walk away.”
In the eyes of the mob, I would be a marked man. To the cops, I was a cold-blooded killer. I shrugged and took another drink of beer. I could live with that.
Chapter 56
The rest of the weekend passed in peace, or as peaceful as two days spent in and out of police interrogation rooms and dingy jail cells could be. An hour after my visit to Sal’s on Friday night, five cops burst into the bar, guns drawn. Frankie and I sat at the bar, her hand in mine when the room filled with blue.
“Let me see your hands,” a young kid fresh from the academy screamed, the gun in his hand pointed at my head. Guess I’m dangerous.
“Easy kid.” I raised my hands. “I’m unarmed.” Only because my guns, knife, and bulletproof vest rested in a safe underneath the floorboards at my feet. I had expected the cops sooner. Hell, it was maybe a five-minute drive. Two with lights and sirens.
Frankie pushed back her bar stool, glaring at the cops. I smiled and winked at her. She shook her head like I was a total moron.
The Kiddie Cop approached with a Taser. “I’m not a kid.” Zap. Fifty thousand volts raced through my body. I dropped to my knees, but managed to stay conscious. No easy feat. It felt like I’d stuck a fork in the toaster for twenty or so minutes. My teeth bit into my tongue and I tasted blood. Frankie ran toward me, screaming as my body bounced with electrical current. An older cop with a wide gut threw her to the floor before she reached me. He jammed his foot into her back, and twisted her arms to cuff her. “Looks like a two of one deal. Burgess will be happy,” he said, slapping the handcuffs around her wrists.
None to gently the Kiddie Cop ripped the Taser prongs from my skin. What would happen if I smashed his pug nose in? Looking around the room at the trigger happy NYPD I decided against it, but just barely.
One of the other cops leaned over me. “Detective Burgess would like to have a word with you.”
“Am I under arrest?” I slurred as my tongue uncurled.
“Of course not. What gave you that idea?” He clamped steel prison jewelry around my writs.
I laughed, it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “My mistake.”
The cops dragged me to my feet while two others held onto a sputtering mad Frankie. A part of me felt sorry for the cop holding her. She commented on his manhood, intelligence, and place in evolutional history with words so foul I nearly blushed, and I’d been a sailor.
“Shut up, bitch.” The cop backhanded her. The blow snapped her head back and a palm print surfaced on her pale skin. I saw red. Before he knew what hit him, my shoulder met his doughnut-expanded waistline. He gave a squeak before smashing onto the floor. My knee crushed his windpipe. Zap. Another fifty thousand volts rocked my world. This time the lights went out.
******
I awoke in the back of a police car, my arms and legs shackled. The cop car pulled from the curb as Frankie was escorted, none to gently, to a separate black and white. The buzz in my head slowly faded, leaving a slight ringing in my ears. Arriving at the cop shop felt like coming home, comfortable, but filled with people you don’t like.
My mind flashed back to my first arrest. Twelve years old. A wannabe tough guy busted for stealing Old man O’Malley’s 1975 Buick Regal. Why a Buick Regal? I couldn’t say, but Colin and I had it hotwired in less than five minutes and crashed it in two. The best two minutes of my short life.
The cops picked us up a few blocks away, my face bruised and bloody from smacking it against the dashboard. They’d brought us in, and I called Billy for help. A six-inch scar on my back from Billy’s leather belt constantly reminded me of that day.
That was one of many teenaged beatings and arrests. The day I turned eighteen I enlisted in the Navy at the insistence of my long-suffering probation officer. His ultimatum sounded something like: Join up or jail. When I arrived at boot camp I realized I’d fucked up.
But the Navy had given me something missing in my short life—discipline. Not the kind that came with a strap, but the type found when your ass was on the line, your only means of survival, your wits and guy fighting next to you.
The Kiddie Cop parked the car in front of the prisoner entrance. “Don’t try anything or I’ll juice you again.”
“Kid,” I said, “Take some advice. Find a new career. You’re not cut out for this crap.” Contorting my arms under my legs, I slipped my feet from the shackles, ending up with my hands cuffed in front of me and my legs free.
The kid stared at me, mouth open. He wasn’t going to last very long.
The older cop in the passenger seat shook his head sadly. “I told you to make sure the shackles were tight.”
“I…how did…,” Kiddie Cop sputtered.
The older cop opened the back door and not so gently helped me out. Taking the perp walk from the police car into the station, I reviewed my alibi. The one Frankie and I had devised while waiting for the cops to show. The cop pushed me onto a hard wood bench in the holding area. He looped a metal chain to my handcuffs and locked it in place. “Wait here,” he said, laughing at his own joke. Cops were a riot.
I kicked back, closing my eyes while I waited. Prison had taught me one thing: How to sleep anywhere at any time. A jostling of cops and chains roused me. I cracked an eyelid open, and grinned.
Two cops wrestled with Frankie, trying to chain her to the bench opposite me. Things did not go their way. A third cop came to help, and the chain locked in place a few minutes later, but not without a few bruises and lots of swearing. They stepped away, and she curled up on the bench in surrender. The cops walked away like big men, but we all knew better.
“You okay?”
“This isn’t exactly how I intended to spend the night.”
“Don’t worry. They can’t hold you for long.” On the other hand I might be in for the long haul. “If you get a chance call Colin. He has a lawyer friend who will get you out.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be all right.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Burgess came through the side door and stepped in front of me. “Mr. Wilde, how nice of you to join us.” He nodded to a cop standing a few feet away. The cop unlocked my chain. Burgess then motioned to Frankie. “Take Ms. Hurley to interrogation room 2. Book her for obstruction.” The cop nodded, dragging Frankie to her feet.
“Leave her alone, Burgess. It’s me you want.” I stoo
d, hands still cuffed in front of me.
“Nice try, but it’s not going to work this time. She’s going to pay for her own sins, and you will pay for yours.” He smiled and led me away. I caught Frankie’s eye and winked.
Chapter 57
“I’d like an attorney.” It wasn’t the first time I’d made the request. Nor was it the first time Burgess ignored me.
“Come on, Ian. Tell me what happened tonight.” Burgess paused, pressing the record button on the tape recorder in front of me. “Sal killed your friend, and you wanted revenge. I don’t blame you.” The good cop routine. What a joke. He’d never be a good cop, and even his bad cop needed work.
“Fuck off.” I leaned back on the steel chair and closed my eyes. We’d been at it for six hours straight. The same questions. The same answer: I want a fucking lawyer.
“What do you think Frankie’s doing right now? She’s singing like a fucking canary, and you’re gonna fry. Hell, after what you did for her, you’d think she’d be willing to do anything for you, but that ain’t the case.” He tapped a yellow pencil against his teeth. The sound grated on my last nerve, but not nearly as much as the stench of stale cigarette smoke and lead-based paint floating around the interrogation room.
“What do you mean, after what I did for her?” I cracked an eye open.
“It’s common knowledge that you took the rap for Chris’s death. Sal even knew it, but he was willing to bid his time. Guess he took too long, huh?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I served my time and I had nothing to do with Sal’s murder.” I closed my eyes again.
“So tell me about Sal. You went there tonight—”
“Nope. I was at the bar with Frankie all night.”
Burgess stood, throwing his chair against the wall. “Fine. Have it your way.” He ripped open the door. “I’m going to offer Frankie a deal, and when she takes it, you’ll never see the light of day again.”
“Good luck.” I laughed as he shut the door.
******
Twenty minutes later, two uniformed officers came into the room. “Let’s go,” one of the men said. I stood and they escorted me down the corridor and into a concrete jail cell. As soon as the metal door clanked shut I stretched out on the hard cot, and promptly fell asleep.
Sometime later, the steel door opened with a groan. Shit. What now? My mentally and physically exhausted body craved sleep. I opened my eyes, and saw Burgess grinning at me.
“What?” I growled.
“Get up.” He kicked the cot.
I stretched my arms. “One day karma is gonna fuck you up.”
“Looks like your day is already here. Let’s go. You have a visitor.”
I stood. He handcuffed me and then led me to another small, gray interrogation room at the end of a long corridor. Burgess pushed open the door, allowing me to enter. Another guard released my handcuffs long enough to recuff them to the table. Burgess nodded to the guard as he opened the door to leave. “If he gives you any trouble, shoot him. Hell, shoot them both.”
I shot my red-haired visitor a grin.
Mickey smiled and leaned back on his steel chair. “Ian, you okay?”
“Couldn’t be better. Why are you here?” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Sal’s dead, but you’re still in danger.”
Mickey’s lips curved into a frown. “Burgess didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Frankie taking the rap for Sal’s murder.”
I slammed my fist on the table. “WHAT?”
“Yeah, she called Colin last night. He called Jesse to come down.” Jesse was one of the best criminal attorneys in New York. Think Johnnie Cochran in a better suit. A few months ago he’d saved Colin from a murder charge.
My fingers dug into the wooden table. “What the fuck happened?”
“I’m not sure.” He shook his head. “Jesse called me at her request. Said Frankie confessed.”
“What the hell is she thinking?” I whispered in a harsh tone. “We had a plan for fuck sakes. She’d alibi me, and that would be it.”
“I think she’s trying to make up for Chris,” Mickey whispered back. “She couldn’t stand the thought of you being locked up again.”
“I won’t let her do this.”
Mickey smiled slightly. “Not sure you have a choice.”
“Oh, I have a choice.” I turned to the guard, rattling my handcuffs. “Get Burgess. Now.”
A few minutes later, Burgess stood in front of me, a shit-eating grin on his pudgy face. “Well?”
“I killed Sal.”
Burgess laughed. “Nice try.”
“I mean it. It was me.”
“Too late. Looks like she came through in the end, huh? Big confession to save your life.” He leaned in. “She’ll have a long time to regret that in the joint.”
“Bastard.” I jumped from the chair. The guard wrestled me back down using a long black baton. “You know it was me. Why the game?” I asked, red faced with anger.
Burgess glanced at his manicured nails. Fucking tool. He probably had his back waxed too. His next words sent a chill down my spine. “She’s a beautiful girl. Girl like that…well, you get the picture. Bad things can happen in the joint. She’ll need protection, and I might be willing to come to her rescue, for a price.”
I lost it and charged Burgess, crushing him against the concrete wall. Hands cuffed behind me, I used the crook of my neck and shoulder to choke him. Not a great move, but it got the point across. “If you lay one finger on her, I will destroy you,” I whispered in his ear a second before a police baton smashed into the back of my neck. The blow knocked me to my knees, but my gaze remained locked on the red-faced detective. If he touched Frankie, I would end him, consequences be damned.
Burgess rubbed his throat, coughing weakly. “Get him out of here,” he ordered the guard in a hoarse voice.
Chapter 58
The sky cried, warm, fat raindrops. The crew, or what was left of us, gathered around a muddy six-foot hole. Dressed in a suit that had seen better days, Andy bowed his head in prayer. Mickey cradled Beth in his arms. Drew stood on my right, arm in a sling and pupils larger than normal. I closed my eyes and let the rain wash down my face.
The simple pine casket reminded me of just how much I’d fucked up, as did Frankie’s absence. After Mickey bailed me out, I’d gone to see her, but she’d refused to speak to me. I caught a glimpse of her in a fading orange jumpsuit and shuddered. I had to find a way to fix this.
Mourners packed Neil’s graveside, people from Neil’s real life. Actors, dancers, and musicians. His safe life. The life where pistols shot blanks and blood consisted of corn syrupy, red food coloring, and washing machine detergent.
“Let us pray,” the priest intoned, and we bowed their heads. “A reading from Wisdom 1:12-14, Seek not death in the error…”
I tuned out the priest’s words. They held little comfort. Neil was dead. Reading scriptures wasn’t going to change that. The bottom of a bottle of aged Irish whiskey offered the only solace found today. I missed Neil. Missed his sense of humor. His strength. An ache burned below just below my heart at the thought of never seeing him again.
Goodbye, my friend.
Drew ran a hand through his dark hair, his face devoid of emotion, stone cold, like mine. Somewhere a killer waited, watching us mourn, and enjoying our pain. I held my body ridged, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my grief.
My eyes scanned the crowd, hoping to see Mike Morrissey among the grief-stricken. For a dead guy he sure as hell got around. My hate for him burned deep, festering like a boil just below the surface. He would pay for Neil’s death, one way, or another. If that meant taking down an innocent or two, so be it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized Roxanne Morrissey standing about ten yards away. She stood with her arms wrapped around her as if warding off whatever evil surrounded us. She stared at something just over my right shoulder, her face fil
led with terror. I captured her gaze, and she quickly glanced away.
I looked to my right. Drew. She was terrified of Drew. I could feel it. Taste it. Drew must have felt it too because he looked up quickly. I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged, mouthing the word ‘later.’ I nodded.
Neil’s mom, Mrs. Patrick, slowly rose to her feet. She was a slip of a woman, fragile and delicate in features, but, man, could she scream. Neil had called her the original drama queen. She spoke in a crisp, clear voice, “Neil loved two things. The stage and all of you here today…”
For another hour, between the dripping clouds and crackles of thunder, the funeral continued. Friends and relatives paid their last respects, and even Mickey said a few words. The last mourner filed past, and slowly the casket sunk beneath the earth. One by one, the grieving vanished, but I remained until the first clumps of dirt covered the casket.
Chapter 59
I threw back another shot of Jameson. The burn of whiskey warmed me for a few seconds before numbness set in again. Mickey poured another round. We sat around the poker table in the backroom of O’Malley’s, drinking away our grief. Whether it worked was debatable, but I felt better than I had two hours ago. Drew grinned. “Remember the time he convinced Sister Mary the statue of Jesus in the rectory was crying.”
“She spent days watching that thing.” Andy laughed. “I’ve never heard a nun swear like that…” For the last hour, we’d swapped stories of Neil’s life, but avoided the topic of his death. Eventually the stories ran out and silence reigned.
“So what now?” Drew rubbed his chin.
I shrugged. “We find Morrissey, and we get Frankie out of the slammer.”
“Those are givens. But what happens to the money? Do we split Neil’s share?”
Mickey and Andy winced. Leave it to Drew to boil everything down to cold hard cash. “Haven’t given it much thought.” I swallowed another shot, disgusted by the question. “Guess we split it?” I looked at Mickey and Andy for conformation. Both winced as they gave me a slow nod, as if the question left a bad taste in their mouths.
SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) Page 20