Brooklyn Noir

by Tim McLoughlin

  “Nah, we thought like this to begin with,” DeGraw said, peeing on and on. “Some of us, if we don’t put on a uniform, we end up doing exactly what the skells do.”

  “You sayin’ I have a criminal mentality?”

  “We look at these buildings and containers and we see what the criminals see. God help me, Lou, but if we’re not wearin’ these uni’s, you and me are in there even before Wild Willy’s guys, taking shit outa here and fencin’ it. I do believe that’s true.”

  “I sold fireworks when I was a kid,” Mintz said. “Made myself fat green while the other guys got pinched. Guess I got a talent for puttin’ the other guy ’tween me and danger.”

  “Criminal mentality,” DeGraw said. “I boosted cars, sold nickel bags. Then we lied on the police interview, another dishonesty. Face it, pal. Takes one to know one.”

  “Guess that’s true, with, uh …” Mintz said, “with that other stuff you do.”

  DeGraw almost came back at Mintz for making mention of his outside activities. As far as DeGraw knew, Mintz was the only one on the force who was aware that he sold illegal guns, and DeGraw had made it understood that the touchy subject was to be off limits. DeGraw kept it all fairly well hidden, but unnecessary talk could put him in jeopardy. Still, DeGraw thought better of scolding Mintz, because it would have required him to talk about it.

  They let go the last drops of pee in silence, shook themselves, and zipped up.

  “… ’Cuz we’re two friggin’ corrupt sons a bitches …” Mintz muttered as they made their usual way out toward Ferris and Wolcott, checking doors and alleys as they went. “… And remember, whatever I learned about crime I learned from you, Frank. So if all that’s in our bones, why do we play it straight? Why don’t we go, you know, like they say in the movies, to the dark side?”

  “Don’t know about you,” DeGraw said, “but I don’t wanna get too fat on the ill-gotten gains, ’cuz ya never know when that feast’ll be over, and then yer fucked. Keepin’ it more or less clean, maybe I don’t eat so good but at least I eat in peace.”

  Then DeGraw stopped short. In the dim diffuse light, the hand on the sidewalk at the head of the alley didn’t look real. The yellow skin with black splotches looked like painted latex, but the ragged end of the wrist gave it away; it trailed strands of sinew and a small ooze of blood. Accepting the possibility that the hand was real, DeGraw waved Mintz over and started to go queasy.

  Mintz didn’t say a word, his mouth agape at the sight of the hand.

  “Who’s goin’ in?” DeGraw whispered, using his chin to point down the alley.

  Mintz put a hand to his belly and backed away a step, stammering, “But, but I … I can’t … I … I …”

  DeGraw signaled for Mintz to stand watch as he turned and gazed into the alley’s murk. They both drew their 9mm Glock handguns, dangled them at their sides, clicked off the safeties.

  Stepping into the alley, DeGraw slid a big Maglite from his belt and clicked it on. He still couldn’t glimpse the length of the alley. Not much more than a small mountain of stacked garbage was to be seen from the sidewalk, so he moved to it, peeked around it, and crept forward, all while Mintz stayed put.

  When Mintz said, “Careful,” DeGraw jumped because he thought Mintz was warning of an attacker. He lost his grip on the flashlight and it clattered to the ground. Stifling his impulse to go back and pummel Mintz, DeGraw stooped to retrieve the Maglite. Light rays glinting off something ten feet hence caught his eye. Then the bulb blew out and the alley fell into blackness again.

  Rather than retreat, DeGraw went to where he’d seen the red flash, stooped, and opened his eyes as wide as he could. He noticed wetness on the cement. Squatting, DeGraw could smell the distinct odor of blood. Then he made out objects in the center of the blood puddle. Setting his feet close to it, he hunched over and went down to one knee, feeling blood soak into his pants. Squinting until he knew what he was looking at, he saw a scrotum, and about a foot away from that, a severed penis.

  Mintz, agonizing, broke the silence again, “Whatcha got?”

  “Fuckin’ set of balls and a mutilated thingy,” DeGraw said with more calm than his heart commanded.

  “Friggin’ Christ,” Mintz moaned. “Are you shittin’ me?”

  There’s an extremely unhappy man in Brooklyn tonight, DeGraw thought as he stood, found the wall with his shoulder, and crept further down the alley, gun out front. He knew he was walking through more blood, soon coming to a severed human arm without a hand, and eventually to a torso that was missing the sex organs, one arm, and its head. He noticed that the head had been propped on a barrel against the opposite wall, eyes open like it was viewing the scene.

  His heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, DeGraw wanted to run. But he filled his lungs to the brim and exhaled out loud, forcing himself to do his job, make observations. The victim seemed to be a male Caucasian, late twenties/early thirties, minus the aforementioned body parts.

  DeGraw lit a cigarette and then held the lighter in front of the victim’s vaguely familiar face. It was bloody, mouth twisted in what had to be either the victim’s final agony or some kind of sick last laugh.

  Holding the lighter up, he could see nobody else in the alley, which ended at a solid wall. He scanned up the sides of both buildings and could see no one on a rooftop, so he turned back to the sidewalk, away from the victim and toward Mintz.

  Emerging from the alley, gun holstered, DeGraw remained silent because he wanted to make Mintz ask, just to bust nuts a little bit.

  “Well?” Mintz said.

  “Well what?”

  “What’d you find? … Jesus Christ, Frank.”

  “Call it in. Rest of the guy’s down there, in pieces.”

  As Mintz pulled his radio, DeGraw walked over to a puddle, patting at his pockets. “Gimme some gloves, Louie.” DeGraw took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it away. Then he slipped on the surgical gloves Mintz handed him, lifted a soggy wallet, and flipped it open. Mintz held his Maglite on it, peering over DeGraw’s shoulder.

  As if DeGraw needed another shock right at that moment, he saw the driver’s license photo of a man he was now sure he recognized.

  “Hold that call,” DeGraw said, and then looked over at Mintz. “Know who we got here? None other than William Montemarano.”

  “Wild Willy?” Mintz said. “And they left him here? … Why, Frank?”

  “’Cuz we put him outa business for good, I guess,” DeGraw said. “Aw, fuck, and I never knew before this second, but this guy’s the scumbag who goes out with my ex.”

  “Wait, Sandra? How the hell’s Sandy go out with a Mafioso like Wild Willy?”

  “I don’t think she knew he was the same guy. I sure didn’t To me, he’s just Bill-some-Italian-guy, Bill the guy who owned a tow truck company. We never ran into him down here anyway, just his crew, so I didn’t know what he looked like. Did you?”

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Mintz said. “She serious about this guy?”

  “Fuck,” DeGraw said, face going dark as the full extent of the situation dawned on him. “Whole time together, I never laid a hand on my wife she didn’t want me to …”

  “What?” Mintz said, not quite following the train of thought.

  “You know, I just spanked her and stuff like that, but …”

  “Frank, I don’t wanna know about … Why you talkin’ about yer sex life?”

  “Was just a game,” DeGraw said. “Never, and I mean never did I raise my hand to Sandy in anger.”

  “Fine. But what’s that gotta do with Wild Willy in pieces in the alley here?”

  “Once, Lou, one time only, I hit Sandy. Big argument, she was slammin’ me with a telephone ’cuz I wouldn’t let her make a call to this mutt, this new boyfriend.”

  “Who turns out to be Wild Willy, but okay, what does you hittin’ Sandy …?”

  “I wasn’t even outa the house yet and she’s whorin’ herself with this guy. I’m givin�
�� her shit about it, and she’s really pummelin’ me in the chest. Which is fine, but then she clips me in the face and I just react, on reflex. I cuff her one on the chin and she goes down in a heap like I’d really hauled off, which, you know, I absolutely did not do.”

  “Okay, got it, stormy freakin’ romance,” Mintz said. “But …”

  “I shouldna had those beers at lunch.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mintz said. “Yer makin’ turns here …”

  “I just had four frickin’ beers, dunce, and six before we started the shift.”

  “So what, there’s nobody around,” Mintz said. “Yer not makin’ sense.”

  “If we call this in, they’ll around. They find out I know the victim, they’re gonna sit me down for questions, and I don’t want no beer on my breath, okay?”

  “All right, but we gotta call this in,” Mintz said. “We’ll get ya some mints when we go back. And yer not drunk anyway, so what da fuck ’er ya talkin’ about?”

  “Listen,” DeGraw said, grabbing Mintz by the arms. “One time I was violent with my wife over the guy, and another time … I threatened this guy’s life.” Mintz’s jaw went slack again as DeGraw continued, pointing each word, “He was smackin’ her around, so I threatened him in front of half my friggin’ neighborhood in Gravesend. They all heard me threaten to cut Wild Willy’s balls off if he hit Sandy again in front of the baby.”

  “Whoa,” Mintz said, breathing heavier. “When did this happen?”

  “Couple weeks ago, Labor Day. I stopped in to see the baby. So I’m inside, and everybody’s outside drinkin’, and then he and she start to argue over something, I don’t know what, and things fly outa hand. So I go out, and he’s manhandlin’ her, and all of a sudden I’m handin’ the kid off and steppin’ in. Big friggin’ scene, right in the street.”

  “And you don’t tell me this weeks ago?”

  “Fuck you,” DeGraw said. “You gossip way too much.”

  “And I just heard twelve too many details for one night, so shut the fuck up.”

  DeGraw poked a finger at Mintz’s chest. “You and me, we gotta get on the same page here, or this thing’s gonna get nasty.”

  “Oh, it’s already nasty,” Mintz said, half-laughing with a hysterical little whoop. DeGraw recognized it as Mintz’s nervous habit when he felt he was in over his head.

  “I need ya, Lou. I ain’t sittin’ in a cell for somethin’ I had nuttina do with.”

  “Hold on, just hold on and tell me something,” Mintz said, mustering his courage, taking a breath and squaring himself in front of DeGraw. “Did you ice this guy? … No, no, no, don’t tell me, please don’t tell me, I don’t want to know …”

  “You fuckin’ hump,” DeGraw said, grabbing his hat from his head and swiping a meaty paw across his face and through his hair. “I mean, you really think …”

  “It’s a proper question,” Mintz said, trying to beat back another whoop. “And if you can’t handle it comin’ from me, how you gonna do when they sit you down?”

  DeGraw let his body go slack. He needed Mintz to be as cool as possible, for moral support at the very least, and maybe more than that. “Awright, listen, Mintzy. Everybody knows the world’s a little better now that this guy stopped breathin’. Cripes, I’d like to be able to say that I did do this guy. But it just so happens that I did no ice this muthuh. And now my footprints are down there in his friggin’ blood okay?”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Oh shit is right,” DeGraw said. “What am I gonna do with all this?”

  “Wow, I don’t know, Frank. What do ya think?”

  “Look, my footprints are down there. You think maybe you could walk down there too and put your footprints all over? Then we could maybe say you were the one who went down and not me, I stayed out here.”

  “Geez,” Mintz said, trying not to hyperventilate. “You want me to say I’m the one who found him?”

  “Now that I think about it,” DeGraw said, “there might be a lot of footprints down there, how you gonna step into all the ones that are mine?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And second, I already got his blood on my shoes, in my pants, and who knows where else. When somebody tells a detective how I threatened Willy on Labor Day, I’m an instant suspect. And when they test this uniform for Willy’s blood, I am screwed.”

  “But I can still vouch for ya, Frank,” Mintz said. “We were together all night.”

  “Which makes you a secondary suspect.”

  “Well, then fuck it, the only thing I can do is read you your rights,” Mintz said, whooping as he removed handcuffs from their belt holster. “You are under arrest.”

  “Just cut it out, all right?” DeGraw said as Mintz laughed. “You know, I hate it when you enjoy my predicaments.”

  “Somebody’s gotta lighten this mood, Frank, ’cuz lemme tell ya, this mood sucks.”

  DeGraw leaned back on the wall and eyed the bloody hand on the sidewalk, taking out cigarettes. He put one in his mouth, gave Mintz one, then lit them both.

  “Awright, face it, yer screwed anyway,” Mintz said, fighting for control. “They gonna find out what you said to Wild Willy on Labor Day, so ya gotta figure goin’ in they’re gonna take a good hard look at you, at least as a formality. Holy shit, yer fucked.”

  “Do me a favor and stop laughin’, ya prick.”

  “Just nerves, Frank. You know I get this way. Don’t be mad at me.”

  “It makes me frickin’ nuts, so stop it, okay? What am I gonna do here?”

  “What do you mean, do?” Mintz said. “We gotta call this in.”

  “I don’t know, is that true?”

  Mintz contemplated his meaning for a second. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute …”

  DeGraw said, “Where are we?”

  Mintz didn’t understand the question. “Red Hook.”

  “Red Hook waterfront,” DeGraw said, like he was leading an idiot. “And what are those? Those things right over there, and all over here?”

  “Metal drums.”

  “Some rusted, with holes in ’em. And over there we got cinderblocks.”

  “Oh no,” Mintz said. “Oh God, no, no, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “But, but, but, but …”

  “But give me one reason.”

  “How ’bout it’s against the LAW goddamnit!” Mintz said.

  “We are cops,” DeGraw replied. “We’re on the right side of the law, my friend.”

  “But you’re not guilty,” Mintz whined. “What would you be coverin’ up for?”

  “Bear with me,” DeGraw said. “It’s clear this blood is fresh, and we’ve been together all night. So if I get jammed up for this, you do too, right? So, since you got a stake here, I say the freakin’ Mafia dumps so many bodies out there in the Buttermilk you can practically walk across to Governor’s Island—and don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. So let’s just pick up the pieces of Wild Willy, stuff ’em all in a barrel with cinderblocks, walk it out to the pier head there—and finish the frickin’ job.”

  “Jesus,” Mintz said, gulping air and whooping again. DeGraw was speaking in earnest, but kept his tone even.

  “What would be left to find? Blood? It’s gonna rain the rest of the night and tomorrow too. Guaranteed there’s no blood to notice between these two warehouses when the sun comes up. Then it’s a missing-person case at most and chances are it never goes beyond that.”

  “Interesting theory,” Mintz said. “You willin’ to stake your career on that?”

  “I’m willin’ to stake my freedom on that, and nobody would hate jail more than me, Louie. And we might as well face another fact while we’re at it—this thing ain’t no coincidence It’s aimed right at me.”

  “Oh sure, like the world revolves around you,” Mintz said. “How ya figure?”

  “The wallet. They wanted this guy found and identified.” Mintz began to pace back and forth while DeGraw held up the warehouse with hi
s back and thought out loud. “I think chances are excellent that somebody, maybe some twisted individual right in Gravesend, who maybe witnessed me threaten this guy with murder and mutilation …”

  “Not necessarily in that order,” Mintz said.

  “And maybe that sick individual has one huge case of the hots for Sandy, which could be the key here …”

  “She is pretty hot, if you don’t mind me sayin’, Frank.”

  DeGraw went on, “And maybe he got in his mind that if he conks this Willy guy on the head, cuts him up and puts him exactly where he knew I’d be tonight, he can run with the opportunity I myself inadvertently provided on friggin’ Labor Day.”

  “Wait, you’re sayin’ all this happens because the guy wants a shot at Sandy?”

  “Smart move, ain’t it? With means, motive, and opportunity, the heat is right on me. I could go away for a long time off this or maybe even end up on Death Row.”

  “I apologize for puttin’ it this way,” Mintz said, “but you yourself said many times in the past coupla years that a guy ain’t gotta murder nobody to get in Sandy’s pants. You call that woman a slut all the time. So who better than you would know that all it takes is a coupla seven-and-sevens and you’re in like Flynn.”

  “I divorced her, didn’t I? How do you know she drinks seven-and-sevens?”

  “You told me once, a long time ago. Anyway, so okay, so who needs to commit a murder and pin it on you to get a piece of yer ex-wife?”

  New emotions began creasing DeGraw’s face. “’Tween you an’ me—my son don’t even look like me. I hate to say it. It kills me. But I can’t shake this feeling.”

  “Stop it, stop it right now,” Mintz said. “The kid looks just like you and that’s that. If not exactly, then close enough. So put it all right outa yer head.”

  DeGraw reined in his feelings and pushed on, “All right, I’ll give you another motive, Louie. We been doin’ too good a job around here, breakin’ up Wild Willy’s gravy train. Face it, they might even like Wild Willy, but if his corpse means they can get back to the way they were haulin’ hot shit outa here, Willy is dead. Or maybe they’re pissed off for some unrelated reason and want Willy out of the picture. So off of that alone, partner, maybe some enterprising mob wanna-be sees a chance to take Willy out and pin it on the very cops screwed things up on the waterfront, so he takes a shot.”