by Dean Unkefer
I wiped my running nose and struggled to be coherent. “Me, I am, Dewey’s going to kill me. Elliott’s dead.”
“I thought Dewey was your friend. Who’s Elliott?”
I staggered in and grabbed the back of the couch for balance. “I have evidence against Dewey and Michael. I saw Dewey’s teenage son with the drug money. I have absolute proof. All the killings are going to stop. I’m not going to get the blame for killing a lousy pimp!”
She shook her head. “Elliott was a pimp? Dewey’s son is a drug dealer?”
I staggered over to a chair. “No. Heyman! Heyman is the pimp, but his name is not really Heyman, I just call him that. Flowers killed Elliott!”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to follow here, I really am.”
Now the liquor was starting to take hold of me. “Sooozeee got me on tape, setting up Heyman to get killed; it’s all over.”
“Who’s Suzy? She’s got you on tape? You should tell Flowers that he needs to get with Michael and Dewey to straighten things out down there before it gets any worse, and tell Dewey he needs to have a good long talk with his son.”
I couldn’t take any more, “Stop it! Stop it! Dewey and Michael are killers. I’m not going to jail; I’m going to be loyal to my country, just like I always said, truth, justice and the American way.”
“So now you’ve become a patriot?”
“You don’t understand. I’m turning Michael and Dewey over to Flowers. I have a case on them. They took the drug money. They’re going to jail.”
She patted my head. “I understand you’re in a war, a terrible serious war. People do things in war.”
“Flowers is saving me because I never took any money.”
“Flowers, the one that killed Elliott? Right?”
“Yes, but I, I, I –”
She cut me off. “Okay then, now all of this is really just about who took drug money from the mob? Right? Good, because I can’t follow who killed who and no one seems to care. It’s all about the money, just like everywhere else. I’m going to make you some coffee.” She smiled a sympathetic smile and disappeared into the kitchen. Insanity was now taking control. I grabbed my little pouch and dumped some coke on the coffee table. As I was snorting up a line she came back into the room.
“A man, whom I hate worse than all the gates of hell, is he who says one thing, while another lies in his heart hidden well.”
I tried to get it back together. “Shakespeare?”
“Homer, it was Homer. You talk to me of war and friendship and loyalty, death, and oh yeah, saving America from drugs, how your friends are killers and incidentally so is the government, and incidentally so is you.”
I felt stupid and pitiful. Her anger was just getting started.
“All this madness and guilt. Then you sit there and snort a line of coke in our apartment! I loved you and your ridiculous suits more than anything or anyone else in my life. I’ve put up with your drinking and your lies for the past four years because I believed in you, your stupid, childish Superman theme, truth, justice and the American way. I stuck by you because I knew you would get through it and rise to the top. But I was wrong, you betray people, that’s what you do every night in the street. Well, now you’ve betrayed me and your son.”
She broke down in sobs, then gained control. “I’m not good enough for you, so how good do your friends have to be before you’re loyal to them? Saving your life in the street or being your wife doesn’t cut it, does it? Get out! I can’t stand you. I can’t stand myself.”
Daisy managed to continue, “Now just because you didn’t take money, you think you’re better than Michael and Dewey and me. Well, you’re nothing more than a sanctimonious asshole.”
She fought to keep going, “And now your guilt is driving you crazy? Because in the end you’re just a fucking hypocrite trying to save your own ass, and I’m just a fool who can’t stop loving you.” She pushed me in the chest and screamed, “Get out, Get out.” Then she collapsed on the floor, covering her eyes, crying, “Please dear God, leave, please go. I can’t look at you, go, go.”
I left to go to the only place I had left to go to – Cookie’s apartment to listen to her endless, mindless chatter.
FOND GOOD-BYES
The next day I was in the office early, about 10:00 and hung over. I knew I had to fight back somehow. I thought about Tony Degaglia. I wondered how he was living in a water-filled basement. Maybe I could get him to change his story; after all, he called me his best friend, whatever that was worth.
I headed for the Bronx. There was a rescue unit parked on the street in front of the building Tony was hiding in. Cops were gathered around the entrance to the basement door. I looked down the short flight of steps and could see that – after a night of rain – the water was much higher than it had been. I asked the cops why they were there. One said, “Somebody in the basement was screaming all night long, bothering the neighbors. The screams wouldn’t stop, so finally we had to send a unit in. They’re in there now.”
Two firemen came out of the building, wearing waders and dragging something wet in a white sheet. When they came to the top of the steps at street level, they stopped. The cop asked the fireman what he’d found. The fireman looked at the sheet, which was spotting red, and said, “He was on a platform in the basement with about four feet of water all around him. I guess the water got a little too high last night. There’s a walkway but it was under water, and a broken light. He must have been too stoned to get out. Somebody, no doubt, gave him a bunch of dope, just enough to disorient him, slow him down so the rats could get him. His drug dealer probably wanted him dead. Anyway, the rats joined him on the higher ground. They ate him. He was too doped up to stop them.” The fireman looked at me. “Do you know him?”
He pulled back the sheet so I could see. At first I couldn’t recognize Tony. There were small bite marks all over the body, part of his face was down to the bone on one side. I began to shake. The fireman looked at me and said, “Believe it or not, when we found him, he was still breathing, but he’s gone now. Well, do you know him?”
I shook my head no.
A PLAN
I went to Cookie’s apartment to snort coke and drink, and I tried not to think about what I had been through. I realized I didn’t care anymore. Tony Degaglia, DeWitt, Elliott, not even Daisy or my son. The load was too heavy, I couldn’t handle it.
Cookie came home in the afternoon to talk about her nails for half an hour. Then she started whining that she wanted to be part of the undercover operations and that I should take her along when I made my next case so she “could help.” She was like a ten-year-old child and it made my depression even worse. My hands were shaking so bad that I had to hold them to my side. I hadn’t eaten or showered in days.
Finally I took a nap, waking up at about eleven-thirty at night. Cookie had probably fallen asleep while talking to herself about her haircut. I showered, got dressed and drove uptown to a bar called Harry’s Back East. It was always lively and I wanted to call for messages. The bar was filled with people my age, laughing and talking. There was a pay phone on the wall and I called the office.
I had an urgent message. It was from Dottie, with her home number. I woke her up and asked what she wanted. She said, “They came and took your file today.” That meant an indictment was coming. “I overheard George say the Grand Jury is in secret session. There’s a lot more; Blanker thinks Michael Giovanni is going to testify against you and end the investigation. It’s a shame. You’re the best agent in the office. Look at all the cases you’ve made. You even saved Michael’s life. I’m sorry to tell you this but I thought you should know.”
I hung up and leaned on the wall, still holding the phone to my ear. All of a sudden a tall muscular guy with a military crew cut grabbed my shirt and said, “Enough is enough. Give me the phone, you little faggot.” He was obviously drunk. He shook me, tearing my shirt. “Give me the phone. You’ve had it long enough. Give me the phone!
You dirty little faggot.”
All I could later remember was a long, green flash of lightning striking me over and over. When it stopped, I could smell plaster dust. I looked down on the floor and saw the man lying there with a gash on the side of his head, blood streaming down his face. Next to him was the pay phone and part of the plasterboard from the wall. I looked around the bar. There was a strange silence, and no one looked at me. I looked at the bouncers; they turned their heads. I stepped over the guy lying on the floor and walked out the door. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I knew I was now dangerously out of control. I had ripped the phone off the wall and hit a man in the head with it … and I felt good about it.
I walked the streets and thought about the immunity deal. I thought about Caldwell and the Weary brothers. I tried not to remember how Jerry had died.
I walked back to Cookie’s and woke her up. “Cookie,” I said, “tomorrow is a special day. I would like you to help me with a case.”
She rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” I gave her a big smile. “It’s a very special undercover case and very dangerous. I need your help. Get on the phone and book two tickets to Atlanta for the day after tomorrow, leave the return open. “
She jumped up and down on the bed like a child. “My God, my God, this is great, this is great! Thank you! This is something I’ve always dreamed of! I can’t believe it. Tell me about the case.”
I hugged her and said, “We’re going to Atlanta to settle an old score with two hillbillies and a crooked lawyer. You’re gonna have a lot of fun.”
The idea of bringing a nitwit girl into a hillbilly killing spree made me laugh inside. I was raging out of control and I loved it.
WHAT WOULD JESUS DO?
The next morning I had a line of coke and two Bloody Marys for breakfast, then put on a shiny new blue mohair suit and a red shirt with matching red boots. Cookie kept telling me what a great agent I was and that someday when all the secrecy was over, I would be famous – and besides, I looked great. I couldn’t tell her that I was going to rat on all of my friends for immunity so I wouldn’t go to jail for killing a rotten pimp and giving a few bags of heroin to a strung-out friend. Her little mind couldn’t possibly grasp what I was facing.
I kissed her good-bye and went to the office. It was still too early for anyone to be there. As I walked through the empty halls I saw some things laid out on a table in a small conference room. There was a photograph of Jerry Ramirez, a small piece of polished wood, a brass plate with his name on it and his gun, a blue Walther PPK, exactly like mine. They were getting ready to make his memorial plaque with his picture and gun mounted on it, just like all the others that hung on the wall outside Blanker’s office.
After a few moments of sadness I pulled out my gun and laid it down next to his. Then I picked up Jerry’s gun, put it in my holster and walked out. Jerry’s gun would do the work in Atlanta.
I reviewed the file on the two Weary brothers and looked at the photo of the gas station and bar where Jerry died.
It wasn’t long before Ted Pike came lumbering through the office and plopped down in his chair inside his glass cubicle. At first he only nodded, then he waved me in and closed the door. He looked straight through me. “George and Andy and I have been talking about you. You’re a good agent. Andy Flowers knows that, but you’ve got to see what’s at stake here. We can’t let people like Dewey and Michael run the government, can we?”
“Why not?” I questioned.
His face grew red. “Why? Because they’re wrong. That’s why. You see how religious Blanker is. He begins every day with a little prayer to help us. We’re the United States Government of America. There’s got to be a due process. Do you understand? A due process.”
I was quick with my answer. “Ted, there is a due process. There’s a due process in the street. You and the others just don’t see it.”
“That’s lawlessness,” Pike shouted back. “Andy Flowers is giving you a chance. You could be somebody. He’s giving you a chance to forget about the past and to join the team. Are you going to be part of the team or not? To tell you the truth I don’t think you have much of a choice.” Pike was right.
“OK, I’ll give it some thought and meet with Andy again and straighten things out.” I knew that I had to give up Dewey and Michael. I needed the immunity deal for what I was going to do in Atlanta anyway. So everything was really very clear. I told Pike I would not be in tomorrow. I didn’t tell him I was going to Atlanta. Jerry’s death would be avenged and I had to do it.
I decided to go back to Cookie’s apartment and rest up for the trip tomorrow. At first I thought she wasn’t home until I walked into the bedroom. She was kneeling at the edge of the bed, praying. Her body was taut and focused into her clasped hands as she looked up at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if she didn’t hear me come in or was doing this just for my benefit.
“Please, Jesus, help me tomorrow to bring justice and love and God’s word to the sinners in Atlanta and help us to be brave.” She stopped and stared at me. “I know you think this is silly but it’s not. Someday I want you to find Jesus Christ and follow his ways. If you just listened to him, things will become clear and you will be happy. Don’t you see?” She pointed to a picture frame on the dresser. In the frame was an inscription that read What would Jesus do? She tried to give me a hug. “You see, it’s simple; just ask yourself what would Jesus do?”
I stared at the words in the frame then gave her one of those Dewey giggles, “You’re right, I need inspiration. I need a new direction. My ways are wrong.” I looked at the words in the picture frame again, but now I saw something else; What would Michael do? How stupid I’ve been! I could never kill anyone.
“Cookie, I have to go back to the office. We’re not going to Atlanta. You’ve inspired me, thank you, Jesus, there’s gonna be a change of plans. Let’s go out somewhere tonight, maybe French.”
By mid-afternoon I was back in the office and I was ready to talk to Andy Flowers. He was alone in his office. Andy still had that strange look, a fixed stare and was licking his lips like a lizard. I got right to the point.
“I understand that you have cut an immunity deal with Caldwell, the lawyer in the Manasso case.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Steve Doll told me. He also told me some other things that might be helpful to you.”
Flowers rubbed his chin. “Yeah, like what?”
“Like the Weary brothers. They are killers and rapists and drug dealers.” I pulled out a few papers from Steven’s file. “Here they are. They’re bad guys. I think you should amend the immunity deal with Caldwell so he gets big-time credit if he makes a case on the Weary brothers.”
Flowers studied the papers and then nodded. “Okay, fair enough. He gets a deal if he makes the Weary brothers. I will write it up today.” Then he said something creepy, “You know I like you, I believe in you. I’m going to look after you.”
I answered, “Andy, I’m still thinking about our deal and I’m almost there; just give me some time.”
He rocked back in his chair. “Remember, we stand for justice here, we stand for justice here.”
On the way back to my desk I saw Dottie, Blanker’s secretary, and walked over to her.
“Dottie, I just got through meeting with Flowers. He wants you to do another immunity deal for Caldwell, that asshole lawyer in Atlanta. Would you type it up for him?”
She nodded.
Several hours later I went back to see Dottie. “Honey, you know I’m working with Andy on the Atlanta case. Can I have a copy of the Caldwell immunity memo that you did on the Weary brothers for my file?”
“Sure.” She passed me a copy and I returned to my desk. Just as I expected, Flowers was going to give Caldwell complete immunity if he made a case on the notorious hillbilly Weary brothers. I searched through the files for the address, and then typed an envelope: The Weary brothers, RFD 942, Rome, Georgia.
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br /> I folded in the immunity paper, licked the envelope and dropped it in the mailbox on the way out to have dinner with Cookie.
I waited a few days, then called the Atlanta office. I told them that we believed that the Weary brothers were dangerous and were going to kill Caldwell, one of our federal informants. They should also alert the local police.
It took about a week for things to come together. The Weary brothers murdered Caldwell a day after they received my letter. The agents in the Atlanta office and the local police killed both of the brothers as they resisted arrest in the investigation of the death of Caldwell.
Cookie missed her big case, but she did take credit for inspiring me on a new way of thinking. What would Michael do?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A CAREER MOVE
FORGIVENESS
It’s not true that cocaine ruins your sex life, just the opposite. I began with playful little slaps to Cookie’s beautiful ass. Then I started tying her up, giving pain with her pleasure a little more each time. There was going to be a whole new dimension to our relationship.
I was feeling pretty good about myself, as I got ready to go to the office. Cookie was still huddled in the corner of the bedroom, silent and naked, like a frightened white mouse that was living with a cobra; although I wondered if she was afraid of me or of herself. She definitely wanted pain in her life. I would shop for a nice, wide, black belt, a belt she could respect. I would teach her not to talk so much.
It was early so the office was almost deserted. I passed the little conference room where they had laid out all the things for Jerry’s memorial plaque. I pulled Jerry’s gun from my holster and switched it with mine. It was a good idea if there was an investigation; ballistics would have shown that Jerry’s gun, not mine, was used. Michael’s way was much better. I didn’t have to shoot anyone. All the guilty were dead and I was innocent. That’s all that mattered. Besides I saved the cost of an airline ticket. I truly understood how things worked.