by Dean Unkefer
The young, hip crowd at first ignored him, but he persisted. “Quiet down now. Can I have your attention? I don’t want anyone to panic, but I must tell you that we have received a phone call that there is an explosive device, a bomb, that is set to detonate in this bar within the next half hour.” There was a soft clamor of women grabbing their purses and guys grabbing their coats. Johnny continued, “Folks, be calm, be calm. As I said, there’s a bomb that’s going to go off in a half hour. We want to handle this properly.” He paused, then said firmly, “No one leaves until we find the bomb.”
The disbelief went in waves from one end of the bar to the other. Finally one brave customer broke the growing hysteria. “You can’t be serious. This is a joke, right? If there’s a bomb we all have to leave immediately.”
Johnny was more self-assured and confident than I had ever seen him. “We’re going to do this a little different. No one leaves until we find the bomb. Is that clear?”
Customers begin to advance toward Johnny at the door. He pulled his chrome-plated Western six-shooter from his cross-draw holster and waved it at the frightened faces. “Folks, don’t panic, start looking. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, start looking now.”
He cocked the hammer and pointed it directly into the forehead of the spokesman. Everyone froze. Then people began tearing up the bar, looking under their tables, on shelves, anywhere, in a frightened fury of desperation.
Down the bar I saw the bartender on the phone again. One of the men tried to buy Johnny off. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you just let us through the door. You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
Johnny would not take the bribe and stood steadfast in front of the only exit.
I actually took another sip of my vodka. With all of the insanity that I had seen over the years, somehow this seemed almost normal. It never even occurred to me to stop Johnny from perpetrating this insanity. I sat there drinking my vodka and waiting for the building to blow up. I watched as people began to cry as they desperately searched.
Finally there was an explosion – an explosion of at least five cops crashing through the door and knocking Johnny flat on his face. They cuffed him and dragged him out within seconds.
People scurried through the door like scared rats running out of a drain pipe. Within minutes I was alone. I finished my drink, left a dollar on the bar, and walked out the door through the barricade and the flashing red lights.
It was only a block to the subway so I was home in less than an hour. The madness of this event and the fate of Agent Johnny Greenway numbed my mind.
The next morning I walked in the office and heard shouting coming from down the hall. It was Blanker’s voice: “I don’t give a fuck who you are, we are the Federal Government of the United States of America. You’re not going to tell me what to do. Only the President of the United States of America has authority here and I don’t see him.”
I saw three men in rumpled suits and wrinkled raincoats walk out of Blanker’s office in disgust, shaking their heads. They had to be police brass. I couldn’t resist. I found Blanker’s secretary and pulled her into the corner. “Dottie, what was that all about?”
“Well, everybody knows what happened last night with Greenway. That was really dumb. The police are very pissed off. They want George Blanker to fire Greenway and the police want to charge him with a whole list of charges – menacing people with a firearm, mayhem, impeding a police investigation. They have a long list.”
“Well, what’s Blanker going to do?” I asked.
“Everyone knows how Blanker feels about jurisdiction. He told them in no uncertain terms that they don’t have any authority over us. We are the United States of America and have jurisdiction. They can’t tell us what to do. If we did what they wanted there would be chaos and confusion. They can’t tell George to fire Johnny.”
“So what’s the bottom line? Who’s gonna win here?”
“Well, Blanker compromised; he’s transferring Johnny Greenway back to El Paso immediately. He’s on a flight out of here this afternoon.”
Blanker’s solution turned me into a raving, laughing maniac just like Dewey. I was able to blurt out, “Sweet Jesus, of course that’s the only solution. These locals can’t tell us what to do. Greenway needs to be punished, and punished immediately! He needs to be sent to El Paso, Texas!”
Dottie didn’t see the humor, which made me laugh even more. Finally I staggered down the hall to find Dewey. As expected he was meeting with his clerks in the corner of the library. Business as usual.
“Dewey, do you think this thing with Johnny is another one of Michael’s stunts? Was that bartender one of Michael’s informants?”
Dewey was indignant. “Why would anyone think that? Everyone knows that Michael is just a hopeless, useless drunk. How could he be involved in something like that? I mean, he wasn’t even there. Just ask Blanker, he has control over everything. Although something has to be done about Turko, he is getting out of hand.”
SOUL MATES
It was comical that the Task Force was looking for “Mr. Heyman’s” body. I wondered how long it would take for Flowers to figure out that “Heyman” was my own private nickname for a Harlem whorehouse master now very dead. Once they figured that out, I would be charged with murder. I felt stupid and alone. I should have never tried to lie to Michael about Flowers. But I was scared, very scared, more than I had ever been in my life, more than when I faced the Medalley family. Michael would never betray me because of our dark secret, but Dewey was different; he owed me nothing.
I had no one to talk to. Without my coke and vodka I would have killed myself. If I didn’t rat on Michael and Dewey, Andy would send me to prison. If I tried to rat on them, they’d know and I would be dead. So I did something very strange. I went to the evidence locker and took a kilo of pure heroin from the Manasso file. It would all be destroyed soon anyway, since we had no defendants and Manasso was dead. I had to save myself and needed to know how. Making a case against Michael and Dewey would not be easy. I needed proof.
I put the heroin in a shoebox and took it to the only person left in the world who would help me. I went to the Showboat bar in the Village to see Sally. It was late afternoon, so the bar was empty.
Sally – the ex-CIA agent, the fat homosexual who had been destroyed by his own parties and who Michael had said “knew everything or could find it out” – was at his usual place, leaning against the bar. He wore red shoes, bright blue pants, and a green sport coat with a black silk shirt.
I put the shoebox on the bar as Sally came over to greet me. I could smell his perfume as he hugged me and tried to stick his tongue in my ear. I pushed him away.
“I want some information and I need it now,” I said as we both sat down.
“Why you’ve come to the right place, dear boy.” He looked at the shoebox, then, picking it up, he said, “It’s too light for money, it only weighs about two-point-two pounds, or, in metric, one kilo. Oh, you are a sweet boy. Is it any good?”
“None better, never been cut.”
Sally smiled. “Then I shall earn it. Let’s get started.”
“Is Flowers serious about indicting me?”
“Oh dear, oh dear, I shall never earn the sweet powder with such dumb questions like that. Everyone knows you’re going down for killing that pimp you call Heyman. I can’t take your pretty present with dumb questions like that; take your lovely box and go.”
“Wait a minute. I want to know about Michael and Dewey.”
Sally looked away from me and said, “Michael is on a mission, the hardest mission of his miserable life. And Dewey, you don’t want to know anything about Dewey – if you like staying alive.”
I was angry. “There’s a kilo of pure heroin in the box. Start with Dewey.”
Sally looked around to see if anyone was watching or listening. With a flick of his finger two drinks arrived, a vodka for me and brandy for him. Then he started. “Did you know Dewey speaks Russ
ian and Vietnamese? He learned them at Annapolis. He looks like a little boy, doesn’t he? After he graduated they sent him to Vietnam on a big ship. The ship’s captain was given thirty rangers to do a special mission. They were to go into Cambodia and steal documents from a Russian Commander who was training and supplying weapons to the Viet Cong. We knew the Russians were involved and lying to us, but we couldn’t prove it. When the rangers got ready to go, their translator got sick. Dewey volunteered to take his place. Thirty men parachuted into the Viet Cong jungle – six came out with Dewey. It was a real bloodbath, but they accomplished their mission. Dewey had over thirty confirmed kills. He presented the ship’s captain with a package of Russian orders. It literally changed the course of the war. We knew for sure what the Russians were doing and who was working with them. They couldn’t continue to tell the world that they were not involved. That night the Russian Commander radioed Moscow, told them what had happened and asked that the KGB send people to the United States to kill the wife and children of the American commando who looked like a teenager. The Russian said he could identify him. It was amateurism, unprofessional; you don’t do things like that. By then Dewey’s captain had their codes and intercepted the whole transmission. Anyway, Dewey took his six soul mates back into the jungle and personally shot the Russian. Boy, I’ll bet he was surprised to see Dewey again.
“The Captain sent two gunships into Cambodia to get them out – one to shoot the hell out of the camp, while the other got Dewey and his men out.
“Dewey Paris deserved the Congressional Medal of Honor three times over, but they were afraid to give it to him. The publicity would be his death warrant. So they sealed his file and hid him away in another government agency until things could cool off. Dewey is varsity team, he is top management. They’re grooming him for big things. But of course he has to stay out of trouble in the meantime. They need Dewey, for Christ’s sake; don’t you know there’s a war going on?”
“How do you all know this?” I asked.
“Dear boy, I have just been paid twice for the same information.” And he pulled the box closer to him.
“What do you mean twice? Who paid you first?”
He smiled. “Why Michael, of course! You can’t fool Michael. Michael didn’t buy Dewey’s dumb teenager routine for a second. Michael was down here to see me the first day Dewey started at the Bureau, any fool can see Dewey’s special – any fool except Flowers, Blanker and Pike. All you have to do is look at his gun, for Christ’s sake. How hard is that? He’s so cute, don’t you think, with that little boy look of his? His big gun. I just love it.”
“How did you get Dewey’s file for Michael?” I asked.
Sally started laughing. “Get his file? You agents are all alike. Why would I read a government file? More than half of what you people put in them is a lie. And then you take all your bundles of lies and put red stamps on them and lock them up. How very, very silly. Young Lieutenant Dewey Paris sailed out on the Saratoga. Twelve hundred sailors aboard that ship knew what happened to Dewey in the jungle. Dewey in the jungle, Dewey in the … anyway, I had one of my girls call the Navy and tell them she was helping Castlemann with the next reunion and got a list of sailors; it was easy after that.”
“Who is Castlemann?” I asked.
“Maurice Castlemann, Captain Castlemann then, Dewey’s captain. Maurice got a big promotion because of Dewey; he’s not riding around on ships anymore, he’s national security, counterintelligence now. He’s a big shot now. Do you know he speaks as many languages as Dewey?”
Sally started laughing again. “Flowers thought it would be easy to start with Dewey, but he got a tiger by the tail, a tiger that’s going to eat him for lunch, and that, dear boy, is Michael’s mission.”
“What’s Michael’s mission? What are you talking about?”
“Dear, dear, sweet boy, haven’t you been listening?” Sally stared into his drink. “How have you stayed alive? Michael has to be protecting you. Everybody, and I mean everybody, knows Dewey is a stone-cold killer, with his sweet little face. Michael’s mission is to save Flowers.”
I was shocked. “Save Flowers? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Sally put his pudgy polished fingers on my lips to quiet me, then kissed them for a proxy kiss. “How have you survived? Dewey will kill anything or anyone who threatens him, or his career. There’s no question about it. If Flowers continues to fuck with Dewey, Flowers is going to die. Michael is trying to save Flowers’ life by fucking with his investigations. Michael is a professional; you don’t kill other agents, so he’s been trying to stop Dewey from killing that stupid bureaucrat since the day he started the investigation. Although, quite frankly, I don’t know a single person, besides Michael, that wouldn’t enjoy seeing Dewey’s smiling face shooting Andy Flowers to death with his big black gun.”
Sally was enjoying himself. He ordered us both another drink and continued, “Now I’m going to earn the shoebox. You must understand that Michael is pure, absolutely a pure professional; he only thinks about winning the war against drugs. Everyone else has side agendas, stupid rules, friendships, their careers, finding right and wrong – so they can’t understand Michael. They are just too weak to follow him. Michael is a beautiful creature, absolutely pure, absolutely pure of thought. He’d do anything to stop drug dealers. That’s what the government really wants. Fuck all this bullshit about right and wrong. You don’t have time for all that shit when you’re in a war. You need someone as pure and determined as Michael if you want to win.”
“Yeah, but what about Flowers?” I asked.
“Oh dear, do you think someone like Flowers, who is stuck in the middle of truth and justice, could bring down Dewey and Michael? No, they need someone like you who doesn’t care about such silly things. Besides, you made all the cases. Didn’t you? You got all the glory.”
He patted me on the back. “You’re number-one agent now, aren’t you?” He laughed. “But now you have to rat on Dewey and Michael. I wouldn’t want Dewey mad at me, dear no! I hope Dewey doesn’t know you’re here. I just put in a new carpet. Whoever jumps first will save himself at the expense of the others. Michael will give you up. He can’t stand the thought of being in prison and away from his precious booze. He’s trying to save everyone; he’ll give you up to do that. He always makes the smart move. Everyone knows that.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “Michael will stand up for me. He owes me. He owes me big time. He’ll never forget what he owes me. I know things. I saved his life. I can count on Michael forever.”
Sally started to laugh. “You’re such a fool and everyone knows it. Dear boy, dear boy. What are you talking about? You shot Michael’s lover. He wants to see you dead. Just like Louis Turko, Michael will get you.”
My mind was reeling but snapped back into focus. “Louis Turko, why Turko?”
“You don’t understand anything. You’re just a drunk, a cokehead and a fool. You killed Michael’s first lover. Then Turko killed Danny Cupp, his second lover. Michael doesn’t have anyone left. Michael will get Turko and he’ll get you.”
I remembered what Michael had said during the weird sex acts at Gramercy Park, “perversion is more fun when it’s forced on you.” I remembered the handsome young face in the morgue photo of the man I shot. I remembered the way Michael held him, trying to save his life as blood poured from his chest. The boy was holding Michael’s gun. Then I remembered how upset Michael was when Cupp was killed. It was all true. I had to hold onto the bar to keep from falling down.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TURNING THE TABLES
BLOOD MONEY
Daisy and Mark had been living in Chicago with my in-laws for about six months now. Mark had even started school there. I missed them both so much that I hated to stay at my apartment because it reminded me of them, but I couldn’t stay at Cookie’s. She was too dumb and made me feel even worse, if that was possible. Nevertheless, I went home and found an answering-machine message fr
om Daisy. She said she was worried about me and missed me very much. She had found a gig, playing saxophone at a small club on Rush Street. She was sending me an ad for the club. In the stack of unopened mail was a newspaper clipping of a music critic telling how good the act was. There was a picture of a tall blonde wearing a beret with her legs spread wide open, playing the sax in front of a band; it was captioned Daisy Blue. I sat on the living-room floor and cried.
* * *
The next day I returned to the office and tried to act normal. Incredibly, even when the Bureau was completely shut down by Flowers’ Task Force, Michael announced he had a huge case. The news surprised me as well as everyone else.
From a series of police wiretaps Michael had learned there would be a major transfer of drugs from France to Louis Turko. Everyone was excited. Now Michael was going to get revenge. Even Flowers was excited and supportive. It looked like the Bureau was finally going to work together. The deal was ten kilos of pure heroin for $250,000. It became a joint operation between Customs and the NYPD, all under Michael’s supervision. Surveillance and wiretaps were established for the Frenchman, aka “The Frog” or “Leonard.”
The hotel where Leonard was staying already had wiretaps and we were able to bug the restaurant where he made arrangements with Louis Turko. The transfer was surprisingly simple. It was to be done out in the open, in a small park on the East Side of Manhattan. The advantage of the park was that Leonard and Turko, who would be carrying the mob’s drug money, would do the exchange in the open. They could see if they were being double-crossed or if anyone was conducting surveillance on them. Leonard was to leave his suitcase of heroin on a park bench, travel across the park, and pick up a paper bag of money to be left in a trash can by Turko, who would enter the park from another entrance at the same time.
Everything went according to plan. 90 Church agents and the NYPD met a block away, preparing to surround the park and watch all exits, but then an hour before the exchange was scheduled, Flowers showed up with his Task Force of twelve agents. He gave Blanker a memo from the Justice Department stating that his Task Force was to take charge of the case immediately. Michael and Dewey began arguing with Flowers in the street. Finally Flowers had to tell his agents to put Michael and Dewey in the back seat of a government car under guard more than a block away from the park until the case was over. Then Flowers dismissed the police and stationed his Task Force agents at every exit, with movie cameras to film everyone coming and going.