90 Church

by Dean Unkefer

  The next morning I couldn’t wait to ask Pike when Dewey was going to be indicted. Pike looked down and said quietly, “There’s been some kind of snafu; he’s not going to be indicted. They dropped his bail. It isn’t over yet, but he’s coming back to the Bureau.”

  I smiled, turned to walk out, and faced Flowers. He glared at me with his stingy, haggard, red eyes. That afternoon Blanker circulated a memo throughout the office. It simply said the arrest warrant of Agent Dwight Paris had been vacated and plans to present his case to the Grand Jury had been suspended indefinitely. Agent Paris was to be reinstated in the Bureau immediately.

  THE COVENANT

  There was an eerie calm in the office for the next few days that was finally broken when Dewey came back. The New York winter was over; spring was here as if nothing happened. He came in with his big grin, cracking jokes and collecting money from everyone for the weekend basketball game. I even began to think that Michael had finally beaten Flowers and that the reign of terror was finally over – until Blanker’s secretary handed me a note: Flowers conference Room B 2:00 p.m.

  Defiantly I walked into the conference room at 2:20. The transformation of Andy Flowers was amazing: his dirty black hair framed red, beady eyes, and the strange jerking mannerism of his head and hands had gotten even worse.

  There was no Justice Department lawyer. Instead there were two of his agents, who looked like dumb cops. One was fat, with his shirt buttons pulling, and body odor that reached me as I came in. The other looked like a hick, with a cheap plaid sport jacket, high-topped work shoes, and a toothpick at the corner of his mouth. The fat one grabbed me by the lapels and threw me against the wall. I hit with such force I bounced off and fell on the floor. Immediately, both of them lifted me up and shoved me into a chair. I couldn’t believe I was being assaulted in a government office. I slumped in the chair and gave everyone a big smile.

  There was a tape recorder in the middle of the table. Flowers reached over and gave it a little pat. “You’re Michael’s stooge. You think you can beat me and the United States of America? You don’t know right from wrong, but you’re loyal to your friends, aren’t you?”

  I used a line from Dewey and Michael: “Is there a point to all this?”

  Jerking his head from side to side, he said, “All this has been for you, all of it, just for you, we always wanted you first. You have a future with the Bureau and you will give me Dewey and Michael because they are incredibly evil, and you know it. We’ve been working all this time just for this meeting, this meeting, right now.” He smiled the biggest grin I had ever seen and placed his hands together on the table like he was praying.

  “You’re an asshole,” I said, “and this is bullshit. Who the fuck do you think you are?” The fat agent slapped me so hard I could feel blood coming down the side of my mouth. Flowers glared at me and said, “Who am I? I’ll tell you who I am. I represent a Federal Judge, Judge Carl Wineburg, who is leading this investigation.”

  I was not impressed. “Wineburg’s dirty; he got into office because he had union support, unions controlled by Turko and Aggi Angelici. Michael told you not to trust Wineburg. You didn’t listen.”

  “Those are legitimate organizations. You can’t smear a judge because his friends accept campaign contributions and endorsements,” he said calmly.

  “I saw him having lunch with Regina Medalley. I was there. You gave him Turko’s file so they could find Danny Cupp and kill him.”

  Flowers was embarrassed. “We’re looking into that, all of it, including the unions and how Agent Jerry Ramirez’s cover was blown. Judge Wineburg’s background is not important; it’s how he conducts the case that’s important.”

  Flowers continued as if nothing had happened. “We need to get on to other things, for this meeting. Del Ridley was your friend, wasn’t he? You even comforted his lovely wife in the dark until two in the morning, didn’t you? That was nice. Oh yes, we’ve been following you all the time. How do you think we know about your delivery of the diplomat’s five kilos of heroin to Michael’s girlfriend? You didn’t learn anything after meeting with Ridley; you didn’t really care about your friend, you just wanted to fuck his wife. So we tried to reach you with Elliot Goldstein to show you we mean business.”

  I was hot with anger, and could feel the blood on the side of my lip. “You son-of-a-bitch. You killed Elliott and Danny Cupp.”

  “Son, this is war. You have to make sacrifices to get things done. Generals sacrifice troops all the time to win the war. We did it to save you. Besides, Cupp was a killer.”

  His words were so horrible it almost made me laugh. “A killer? I thought you said background wasn’t important; it’s how he conducts the case. Wineburg’s background is not important, but Cupp’s is? Save me? I see how you save people.”

  Flowers rubbed his eyes, then said, “You’re going to end up like Agent Ridley or Elliot Goldstein, unless you play the game. Don’t you get it yet?” He gave me another smirk. “Now let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  “Fuck you.” I got up to leave, but the fat agent hit me even harder across the face and shoved me back in the chair.

  Flowers reached over and turned on the tape recorder. At first there was a rustling noise, a car door closing and talk which was too muffled to understand. Then a man said, “Please I need something to get through this, please”, then sobbing. It was Tony Degaglia’s voice and he was talking to me. I heard myself say, “Life’s not easy, we’ll stick together. Here, I’ve got some smack for you. Good stuff. It’ll hold you over.” Then Degaglia sobbed about being scared of Brimstone and I said, “I’ll tell Brimstone it was Heyman and not you, you’ll be off the hook. Trust me, Heyman will be dead in a week.”

  “Let’s see,” Flowers began. “You got heroin from an evidence locker, sold it to an informant and arranged to kill someone named Heyman. We will find Mr. Heyman; I bet he’s already dead. Dealing heroin and murder are serious charges, don’t you think?”

  I sat, cold as ice, staring into space, not able to speak or think. All three of them sat smirking at me. I was going to be charged with murder for arranging to get “Heyman” killed. Heyman, the lousy pimp who threw the Long Island dentist down the stairs with a broken arm when he came to save his junkie daughter.

  “Michael has embarrassed me and my men with his little tricks,” Flowers continued, “but now you’re going to work for me, you’re going to give me Michael and Dewey. Not just your word against theirs; we’ve already had enough of that and it doesn’t work. You’re going to get proof, real proof that cannot be disputed. When we find Mr. Heyman’s body, you’ll face at least twenty years, or even the electric chair. We’ve already got you on a drug charge and we’ll get you for the five kilos Dewey gift-wrapped at Saks, and you delivered to Michael’s so-called girlfriend.”

  All of them smirked even more. “Oh, one more thing,” he started in again, “we know you worked with Manasso to kill Fernando, the diplomat. Only three people knew when he was leaving for the airport: you, Ed Silkey and Group Leader Pike. Silkey and Pike are covered; that leaves you. You told Manasso when to kill Fernando. You killed two people and we’re just getting started – and to make it easy for you, all I want is Michael Giovanni and Dewey Paris. If you help me get them I promise you two things: Michael will not go to prison. He needs help. He’s a psychotic drunk who needs to be hospitalized. Only Dewey goes down, he was never a good agent, he’s just a killer. Secondly, I will end the investigation – go away. It will all end with Michael and Dewey, unless of course they turn on you. You see, I don’t care one way or the other. If they give you up first, that’s okay too. You’re going to work with us – or die in prison. If you don’t take this deal, Michael and Dewey will. We’ll let the word out. Every time you go in the street to make a buy, you’ll worry about staying alive. Your informants work for us now. Do the deal.”

  “What deal?” I said quietly.

  He handed me a folded paper from his suit pocket; it w
as an official Justice Department memo from Flowers to me. The subject read: Unconditional grant of immunity for cooperation and truthful testimony. There were about ten cc’s to the Justice Department staff and one to Blanker. The memo was very straightforward. The government would not prosecute, investigate, or assist any local, state, or international agency on any and all crimes that were committed by me as an agent from the date I joined the Bureau up until a month from today’s date – but I had to present evidence against Michael Giovanni and Dewey Paris, and testify in court against them. I began to think of all the things I had done. They would all be forgiven and I could do anything I wanted to do, anything at all in the next month, without ever being prosecuted. But I had no real evidence against Michael or Dewey, only my word against theirs. I began to sweat, and I could still feel the blood running down my face from being slapped.

  “We’re through here. I think you get the picture. We don’t want you; you’ve made too many good cases. You’re the best agent in the Bureau. We want Dewey and Michael. But if you can’t deliver them we’ll take you. We’ll be in touch. We’re all on the same side now.” Flowers got up and tried to put his arm around me. I moved away. He walked out of the room, followed by his two henchmen.

  Flowers didn’t have anything on Michael or Dewey yet, but he was relentless. Flowers was going to force me to work with him – or have me killed. I wasn’t as smart as Dewey or Michael. The Task Force had me and I didn’t know how to fight back. How many other people would die like Elliott because I wouldn’t help clean up the Bureau and save myself? I felt sick and dead inside. I had to get Michael and Dewey before they found out that I had turned into a rat or I’d be dead. I put the memo in my pocket and walked out. There, down the long hallway, standing in a corner was a dark figure almost hidden by the shadows. It was Michael.

  “They have nothing on me. Big nothing. You’ve beaten them,” I lied as Michael approached me. “Don’t worry, Michael, I’m standing up, they’re afraid of us.”

  Michael smiled, patted my cheek, then walked past me down the hall without saying a word.

  I went into the restroom to put cold water on my face and looked in the mirror. Michael had smeared my blood across my face. I went into a stall to vomit.

  HAPPY HOUR

  I normally got to the office at about 10:30 or 11:00 in the morning, which was typical for agents working late the night before. I was surprised to see Dewey huddling with a group of agents. Usually he’s in the library, meeting his research clerks.

  Pike, Dewey and Greenway were cuing up a tape recorder. They would never have included Dewey in anything unless they needed his translating skills. I knew Dewey spoke Russian and other languages as well.

  They played the tape; the foreign language was Sicilian. I couldn’t tell if it was from a wiretap or a bug in someone’s home or office. Dewey rolled his eyes. “It’s two meatball guineas bragging about how they got laid last night. One of them banged up his car and ran from the accident.”

  Pike started the machine again, but this time we all heard the name Turko.

  Dewey translated: “The two wops are talking about how Louis Turko got kicked in the ribs by a 90 Church agent when he got popped – broke his ribs, never healed right. Turko hurts when he breathes hard or lays on his side. They say Turko is really pissed. Hey, guys, I remember that bust; it was in Times Square. I did the buy. Johnny Greenway dragged his ass out of the car, Turko tried to pull a gun. Johnny drop-kicked him in the ribs.”

  Everyone nodded and the tape started again.

  The gibberish went on and on until we heard “Greenway” and an address on Rockaway Boulevard. After a few minutes Dewey turned it off and stared down at the floor.

  “They’re going to kill Johnny. They have his home address. Turko put a hit out for twenty thousand dollars to whoever does it first. These clowns don’t have the balls; they’re just passing the word around.”

  There was a serious silence. Blanker rubbed his forehead. “We can’t use this tape. NYPD sent it over from one of their illegal wires. They wanted us to know what we’re up against. Well, now we know. Carry on, boys, carry on.” Blanker left the room and Pike went back into his glass cubicle.

  Dewey looked at Greenway. “You’re gonna have to be careful, real careful. They know your address. They must have some kind of inside information. We’ve got to get ahead of them. The trouble is I don’t even know who these assholes are. Maybe I can get some more information from the cops.”

  Greenway was just staring into space. Finally he said, “They’re not going to help me. No one is going to help me. I’m going in there and talk to Flowers.”

  Dewey went back to the library and I started typing yesterday’s reports. About a half hour later Greenway came back and pulled Dewey and me into a private corner in the office.

  Greenway shook his head. “They’re not going to help me. Flowers said that if I could provide information on Michael, you or the others, he would consider setting up a team and some kind of protective net, but only if I work with him to investigate the office. I have until tomorrow to let him know if I have any information against you guys.”

  Dewey smiled in disgust. “So, unless you rat on us, they’re gonna let you die on the street. Don’t you just love this place?”

  Greenway thought for a few moments and answered, “Michael has got to help me with this. The only way that I can save my life is to go back to El Paso. Flowers and Blanker are refusing to give me a transfer back to Texas. They want me to stay in the streets and die – or rat on everybody. This isn’t right. Michael will help me.”

  “No, look at the last time Michael helped you in El Paso,” Dewey argued. It got you transferred to here, to this hell hole in New York. Don’t you remember the shit he pulled with all the memos and how many people got killed?”

  “Listen, Dewey, I got revenge for those sons-of-bitches that killed my partner. Nobody died unless they deserved to die. There wasn’t one innocent person killed. Michael will know what to do; he’ll help me.”

  Dewey said, “Michael has got enough troubles of his own. The way he helps does more harm than good. We’ve got to wait this out. Why don’t you move in with me for a while? Maybe this will all blow over in a few weeks or so.”

  Greenway seemed relieved. “Thanks, I appreciate this. I hope your wife won’t mind. I need to think about all this.”

  I left the office early that day and made my usual rounds of bars and dark alleys, trying to pull some information out of informants about Greenway, but no one knew anything.

  * * *

  Almost a week later I arrived in the office late in the afternoon, still nursing a hangover. Greenway was alone and had that same shell-shocked look, sitting at his desk. He seemed glad to see me. I asked him if there was anything new.

  “The cops weren’t even sure who was on the tape, but they did tell Dewey it was a bug in a social club in Little Italy, so it could have been anybody. No one knows how many people were told about the twenty-thousand-dollar offer.”

  I tried to do some paperwork, but it was hard to see Greenway sitting at his desk just staring into space. The cowboy agent with his string tie, six-shooter, pointed-toe cowboy boots and Western suit was scared to death.

  At about five o’clock, as I was getting ready to leave, Greenway said, “Would you have a drink with me? Why don’t we go down to the Bull and Bear?”

  The Bull and Bear was a small, cozy bar close to Wall Street. It was a popular place for stockbrokers who cheated on their wives. It was narrow and only held thirty or forty customers with a long bar and a few tables at the end. It had only one entrance from the street. Johnny and I sat at the end of the bar closest to the door. I tried to make light conversation, but he just stared into space and stirred his Jack Daniels with his finger.

  “Did you talk to Michael?” I asked.

  Greenway wouldn’t answer. He just looked at me and said, “Blanker and Flowers don’t care if I get killed in the street. All th
ey want is you and Michael and Dewey. I’m gonna die and I’m scared to death. All I want to do is go back to El Paso. That’s where I belong. They’d never find me there.”

  As I was trying to answer, I saw the bartender at the other end of the bar take a phone call, then put both hands to his face. He looked around, saw us, and almost ran the length of the bar. “Hey, you guys are federal agents, aren’t you?”

  Johnny cocked his cowboy hat and looked up at him. “Yeah, so what?”

  “Guys, you have to help me. I just got a phone call, they said there is a bomb hidden somewhere in the bar and it’s going to go off in forty-five minutes and I don’t know what to do.”

  Johnny came alive. He gave the bartender a big smile and said, “We’re federal agents, we know how to handle this, don’t worry about it.”

  Johnny took a swig of his whiskey and strolled over to the door. It was good to see his self-confidence return. Pushing his cowboy hat just a notch higher, he announced, “Folks, I need your attention here, quiet down. Please no more talking. I need your attention. This is very serious.”