He’d been attacked, right there on the street, in his own neighborhood. But he was alive, at least, and seemingly awake. Unless it was a painful dream. His head thrummed for sure but thankfully, from some haze inside his brain, he remembered hearing there was no concussion. A trip to the ER at Roosevelt Hospital and a cat scan had confirmed what his mother always said: he had a hard head. Jimmy, of course, hadn’t wanted to go. He trusted doctors about as much as he trusted cops. Ironically, it was a cop who insisted he get checked out, and even though it was hard to say no to Frisano, Jimmy put up a mild fight. It was his uncle who ganged up on him and left him no choice. Once there, the doctors seemed much more interested in the amount of booze he had consumed, less on the growing bump on the back of his head. They’d finally released him into Frisano’s care, and at five in the morning, Frisano and Jimmy had returned to his office, just upstairs from the scene of the crime, outside a now-closed Paddy’s Pub.
A few hours of sleep had done little to alleviate his symptom. Aspirin ineffective.
“Well, look who’s come around, won’t you?”
He recognized his uncle’s lilting brogue.
“Paddy?”
“Yes, lad, I’m here. Good to have you back. Gave us a scare.”
“Us?” he asked, his brain foggy. “Where am I?”
“You’re upstairs from the pub, in your office.”
This was a second voice, deeper, filled with authority. He knew that voice well enough, he’d heard it in the throes of passion. Hope swelled inside him, the first feeling that maybe he wasn’t as bad off as he felt. Or maybe he was still living inside his dream. Because last he knew, Frisano had stood him up, leaving his last text hanging high and dry. Wait, no, Frisano had taken him to the ER. He tried to reconstruct last night’s timeline, and it all went foggy on him.
“Frank, that you?”
“Yeah. Take it easy. You thirsty? I bet you are. Here, drink this water.”
Jimmy tried to sit up, his head aching as he did so. Still, he persevered, his mouth finding the lip of the glass. He drank down the precious liquid, its taste metallic, the temperature cold. It made his eyes fly open, and that’s when he looked up at the handsome face of the man known as Captain Francis X. Frisano. He looked like he’d been working long hours, his eyes bloodshot, his face sprouting dark whiskers. Jimmy, even in his fuzzy haze, felt a spread of desire for the furry cop staring down at him.
“What time is it?”
“Just after nine a.m., July 3rd. Do you know who the mayor is?”
“Yeah, some buffoon who won’t see a second term.”
Frisano laughed. “Yeah, Paddy, he’ll be fine. If you want, I can take it from here.”
“You sure, Captain? I mean, surely you have a precinct to run?”
“It’s a holiday weekend. Let the inmates rule for a bit. We’ll get them.”
Paddy leaned over, said, “Speaking of, I’m sure I’ll have some early birds wanting to take advantage of the long weekend. Guess I’ll go and open up. You take care, Jimmy. Call down if you need anything.”
“I will, thanks Uncle Paddy. Sorry…”
“Oh, don’t you be sorry. Guy who put you this way, that’s something else.”
His uncle opened the door and retreated back downstairs, his footsteps growing faint as he left the building. They were left alone, Jimmy wondering why his uncle would leave him in the hands of, to him, a stranger and a cop. Just what had the two men talked about while he’d been asleep? Hey, Paddy, your nephew is really good in bed and I’m crazy about him. Jimmy decided his rattled brain was affecting his thoughts. He didn’t want to laugh. It would hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
“So, want to fill in the gaps? Like what happened, why, and how you figure into this.”
Frisano sat down on the sofa cushion, his body resting against Jimmy’s. “Long and short of it, someone grabbed you from behind, and from what a couple of witnesses on the street said, he conked you on the back of the head with something and then threw you to the ground, hard. Before anyone could react, the guy was racing down the street. He disappeared down some alley. No one really went chasing after him. They were more concerned with you. Someone was about to call 911 when I was walking up Ninth. As you can see, I’m in uniform. They all happily left, leaving you in the capable care of the NYPD.”
Jimmy tried to sit up, felt a rush of pain at the back of his head. He reached back, feeling a knot. “Well, that explains the golf ball back there,” he said, rubbing it softly. It was tender and not what you would call small. “I don’t remember anything, really. Last thing I know, I was tired of waiting for you and gave up, walking out of Paddy’s.”
“Stumbling sounds more like it. Paddy said you knocked back a few.”
“I’m fine, Frank.”
“Maybe you should be looked at again. Memory loss is a sign of concussion. Maybe the doctors missed something. You do remember going to Roosevelt, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s foggy. Like I’m in a dream. But I’m not going back. I’ve been through far worse and survived.”
“Tough guy, eh?”
Jimmy attempted a smile. “You know it,” he said with a come-hither look.
“Uh, none of that now. You’re in no condition.”
His eyes narrowing, Jimmy said, “Did they get a description? Was it Assan?”
Frisano shook his head. “Don’t think so. White guy, dressed in black, big frame. Hulking was how one of the women described him. But she was tinier than a doll, so go figure. That’s as good as I got.”
“That narrows the field, huh?”
“Got any clues?”
“Well, let’s see, I’m a private investigator, I tend to piss people off. Sometimes they get mad and retaliate.”
“Maybe you should change your approach.”
“You gotta rattle a few cages if you want the beast to strike, you know?”
“Except you’re the one who ended up getting bit. So, no one comes to mind?”
“Only case I’m working right now is Rocky Martino’s. Everyone thinks he’s guilty, but if so, then why did someone go after me? I must have pressed someone’s button. But right now, my mind is too jumbled to think. What about you, any news on Assan’s location? Is that why you were late meeting me at Paddy’s?”
“We had a few leads, none turned up anything. He’s gone underground.”
“What about Alicia House? Did Director Nichols provide anything helpful?”
“Oh, I was warned away from that place. My superiors were not happy with me.”
“That’s Eaton McDonald calling in favors.”
“So, your case has crossed paths with mine. Do you think there’s a link?”
“Just Alicia House. All of the ex-cons—Duvan, Rocky, Assan—passed through its doors. But I don’t see how they relate. Hell, we don’t even know the motives behind the crimes. Why is Assan killing deli owners? Why was Duvan shot? Neither make sense, and we don’t appear to be any closer to learning the truth. With Assan, at least you know who you’re looking for. Once you nab him, the whole case will fall into place. I can’t say the same for Rocky. I’m still convinced he’s innocent, but I don’t have a viable suspect.”
“What about Duvan’s past? You said he killed a woman.”
“I’ve spoken to the victim’s father—that’s Eaton McDonald. He’s done nothing but help Duvan since he confessed to the killing. Though he was less than friendly yesterday, after I was summoned to his office to explain what I was doing at Alicia House. Later, he sent me to talk to his almost-son-in-law, this guy Greg Anderson. I found him waiting tables at the Dress-Up Club. He doesn’t have the look of a killer.”
“The Dress-Up Club?”
“Guess he had an epiphany after Alicia’s death.”
“So you’ve got to change the direction of the case?”
“I don’t know. Just got to think it through, and I’m in no condition to do that now.”
Frisano leaned in, running a hand a
cross Jimmy’s arm. He smiled down at him, his gaze consuming. Jimmy wished he had the energy to kiss him and take him in his arms. To feel his warm body next to him, even if it was just safety, comfort. Jimmy doubted he could muster the same heat they’d sparked the other day. At least, not right now. The fact that Frisano was dressed in his uniform served as a reminder of the forbidden nature of their relationship. Sensing the shift in Jimmy’s jumbled thoughts, Frisano stood up from the sofa, smoothing down the wrinkles on his slacks.
“Guess I should leave you to sleep. Maybe we can, you know, meet later. Pick up where we left off the other day.”
“Okay, sure. I’d like that.” Jimmy paused, hating how he felt. “A lot.”
“Me, too. But now I’ve got to get back to the precinct anyway. See if there’s anything new on Assan.”
Jimmy reached up, his hand grabbed at Frisano’s forearm. “Promise me you’ll find him.”
“Jim, even if we do, there’s no guarantee he’s going to have the answers you want.”
“Guess we won’t know that until I get the chance to talk to him. Frank, I’ve waited fourteen years for the chance to uncover the secret of my father’s murder. I’ve only ever told one other person my theory. Ralphie Henderson, my father’s former partner. He’s retired...”
“Yeah, I know Ralphie. We talked about him.”
“NYPD knows its past. But you say his name like you don’t trust him.”
He brushed that off. “What did you tell Ralphie?”
Jimmy was confused, and this time it wasn’t from his addled brains. An uneasy edge had crept into Frisano’s voice, the detective within the police captain revealing itself. It’s not what he was saying, it’s what he wasn’t. And what did it have to do with Ralphie? Jimmy tended to keep an idealized version of Ralphie locked inside himself, as though he was still the same protector Jimmy had depended upon as a teenager. Partner, friend, always available. Frisano seemed to know a different Ralphie. And hadn’t Ralphie warned Jimmy off Frisano? What consumed Frisano’s ambition was ridding the NYPD of rampant corruption. The idea that these two men could be on opposing sides sent a chill of realization through Jimmy, an uncomfortable feeling even within the air conditioning that cooled the room.
“Jim, you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking…it’s not easy this morning. What was I saying?”
“You were going to tell me about Ralphie. About something you told him.”
“Frank, do you ever get a feeling about a case, and you can’t shake it until you prove it.”
“It’s called trusting your instincts, yeah.”
“My father wasn’t just murdered,” Jimmy said.
Frisano’s face grew dark, like shadows had invaded. “I’m not sure what you mean. Joey was killed at a deli, not far from here. It was random, from what I’ve read. He was off duty, just going for breakfast. He interrupted a crime in progress, the assailant shot him. He went down. End of story.” He paused, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t meant to speak so about it so bluntly. You were there, you know what happened.”
“See, that’s the thing, Frank. It wasn’t random. My father was targeted.”
“You mean…”
“Officer Joey McSwain was executed. And now that it’s possible Rashad Assan might be the guilty party, and that leads directly to one place.”
Frisano nodded, even as his arms circled his body for warmth, perhaps protection.
“The NYPD.”
“Now you know why it’s so important I speak with Assan. Himself once NYPD.”
Frisano suddenly leaned down and planted a kiss on Jimmy’s lips. It tasted sweet, and it tasted of promise. He smiled at him, said he’d talk to him later. Jimmy promised to get some rest, and then Frisano headed to the exit. He turned back, a warning in his voice.
“Jim, don’t do anything stupid. Assan shot at you, someone else attacked you. I was right; you have a target on your back. Maybe I’ll see you later tonight. Until then, stay safe and stay home.”
Jimmy nodded. “You know me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
§ § §
The day before the Fourth of July, Jimmy McSwain realized that being independent was cursed. He should have heeded Frisano’s words and let his brain heal itself. But he’d made a promise that he would concentrate on Rocky’s case, and he wasn’t doing either of them any good by lazily sleeping the day away on the sofa. With Paddy busy at the pub and Frisano hard on the hunt for Assan and his family safely tucked away in the country, there was no one around to question Jimmy’s lack of self-preservation.
Which is just another way of saying Jimmy didn’t stay put for long.
The rattle of the subway, the clack of wheels against the tracks, did little to alleviate the pain pounding in his brain, but he’d knocked back several aspirin and had to hope for the best. Still, he couldn’t wait to get off the #3 train, and soon enough, it rattled into the Clark Street station in Brooklyn and he followed the Friday noon-time crowd to the elevator and rose upward to ground level. He emerged into bright sunshine, the rain of the previous day having been washed away. Thankfully, it had taken the humidity with it, leaving the air breathable. It all made Jimmy feel instantly better.
A few blocks walked, and he had found his destination. Montague Street, a familiar strip.
Eamonn’s Pub was quiet as they geared up for the holiday, with just a few people sitting at the bar, two couples occupying tables on the side. Ralphie Henderson sat in his usual place, at his usual time. It was almost like he hadn’t moved from this spot since last week, when Jimmy last visited him. As though Ralphie Henderson was only an extension of Jimmy’s past, existing only in Jimmy’s world, on Jimmy’s time, conjured only when Jimmy sought his advice. He even opened with the same line, not even bothering to look askance.
“Still like boys?”
Jimmy couldn’t help but smile. “Even more so.”
“That is something I do not need to hear.”
Now Jimmy laughed. “Serves you right for being nosy.” The sound of his own voice rattled inside his head, and he reminded himself not to push it. That bump might have gone down a bit, the headache hadn’t. So much for the effectiveness of non-brand name aspirin. Ralphie tossed off a look that asked if Jimmy was all right.
“Let me buy you a beer. You still like beer, right?”
“Even less so,” Jimmy admitted. It was the last thing he needed after the indulgence of last night. But he accepted. To do otherwise would be rude.
“Hmmph. Hair of the dog is good for you,” Ralphie added.
“I get nothing past you.”
The Smithwicks appeared. Jimmy’s gut churned, but he lifted the glass anyway. Ralphie did too, and they clinked.
“Happy almost fourth, Ralphie.”
“So it is. Tomorrow. Seems it was just St. Patrick’s Day.”
“Life happens. Even when you’re doing the same thing every day.”
“You talking about me, or you? Me, I earned it. How about you, thought you’d be at the lake. Went there once with Joey. The fireworks were impressive. His mother-in-law, less so.”
“Ma’s up there with Meagan. Her mother Hester remains…formidable. I brought them up, but business brought me back.”
“Seems to rule you, Jimmy. Summer is here, and a holiday, man needs to relax.”
“I’ve got a client sitting inside Rikers who’s innocent. He’s not going on any picnic this weekend. That means neither am I.”
“Your friend who also likes boys.”
“If I didn’t know better, Ralphie, I’d say you were curious.”
He held the glass at his mouth, not drinking. “My ship has sailed on that one, girl-wise.”
“They have medicine for that.”
“How’s that aspirin working for you, Jimmy?”
Damn, Ralphie was good. Jimmy just took a long pull of beer, feeling the alcohol rush through his bloodstream. He reminded himself to nurse it
, no need to resume what he’d started last night. Besides, Frisano had mentioned coming back tonight. It had taken all of their will not to give in to the heat they’d unleashed between them. His responsibility and Jimmy’s recovery took precedence today, unlike earlier in the week. Jimmy wanted to be fully recovered if he had any chance to replicate the heights he and Frisano had reached that afternoon at the Parsonage Motel. An image of a naked Frisano atop him flashed in his mind, and only Ralphie’s clearing of his throat brought Jimmy back.
“Sorry. My mind isn’t fully working.’
“Something happen?”
“More like someone happened.”
Jimmy told him what happened. He left out some details, Frisano among them.
“Okay, no concussion. Just a big bump. Who did it?”
“Wish I knew.”
“It’ll come to you,” he said, sipping at his beer. “So, you came for a reason.”
“Rashad Assan,” Jimmy said.
“As I suspected, once I saw the news.”
“My father knew him. Which means you did.”
“That a fact.”
“It’s not supposition, Ralphie. Spill.”
“He was a kid, barely out of the academy. He was driven, never happy. Sound familiar? Even after he’d collared whoever, he wished he could go back in time and prevent the crimes from ever happening. No matter what praise his superiors heaped on him, it didn’t sink in. Cops don’t exist to keep crimes from occurring. They can’t. Duty begins after the fact, awful as that sounds. Assan was assigned to Midtown South, just another officer in blue patrolling the streets of Manhattan. He was good at his job, though, if memory serves…”
“There’s nothing wrong with your memory, Ralphie.”
“He was a bit overzealous.”
“Meaning he was the heavy? Did he beat suspects?”
“He hated petty criminals. Robberies, that kind of shit.”
“And yet, he’s suspected of robbing several delis, to the point of killing owners.”
“He snapped; it happens with cops all the time. They live life between law and crime, one of them usually claims them. Assan, he fell victim to his own prejudices. He paid the ultimate price by going to prison. That was a long time ago. But clearly, prison didn’t change him. In fact, if he is indeed behind the deli murders, then he went the other direction—and he fooled a lot of people in the process. Parole board, counselors, you name it. Assan was a shrewd cop. He could have been a leader.” Ralphie finished his beer, asked for another and waited for it to be served before he spoke again. “Jimmy, I know you see a link between Assan’s release and his possible association with Joey’s death. But I got to tell you, I don’t see it. He hadn’t turned yet, not then. He was just a cop, just like me, just like your father.”
Crime Wave Page 17