“We need to come up with something,” Dan said as we sat brooding.
“Wow! Why didn’t I think of that? Good idea. We should come up with something. Any idea what exactly it is that we should come up with,” I asked.
“Just saying.”
Dan and I are of two different opinions. He thinks it is two different shooters because of the ammunition and the fact the in the first incident the victims were just shot but not killed. In the second one, the difference in the MO was enough to convince him.
I was still holding to the belief that we were looking for just one person. Yes, the ammunition was different but so what? Yes, the first jerks lived but they were his first targets. Maybe he is developing a taste for the power it gives him.
The real bottom line is that it didn’t matter. Opinion one or two, take your pick, we still had to catch him and stop him.
***
“Dan, Bartoni, we are going to have to get some results or I’ll have to do something different,” McGregor told us.
“Do something different? Boss, it isn’t like we have been sitting on our butts. All we have been doing is running down leads and talking to people who change their story every time they tell it. What the hell else can we do,” I said, starting to get worked up.
“Put a sock in it Bartoni. You know as well as anyone how it goes. The press is all over this and that means the Mayor is all over this, who in turn is on the Commissioner. Of course that means he is on me and you already know who is at the bottom of the pile. Don’t act like this is a big shock.”
“It doesn’t make it right,” I said sullenly.
“Right? Who said anything about right? I didn’t say anything, did you Dan? Of course not. We aren’t talking about right, we are talking about getting results.”
“Fine. So what do you want us to do differently?” I asked.
“Bartoni, you’re the lead detective. That is your job. Go detect or this is going to turn into one of two things, a task force or us calling in the Feds to help us.”
“Oh give me a break,” I said disgustedly.
“Here is a little incentive. If it comes to a task force, I just may put Farmington and LeRoy on it.”
“You are an evil man Captain McGregor,” I said.
I knew he was just yanking my chain. Farmington and LeRoy couldn’t detect their way out of a wet paper bag with a map and GPS system. They were both morons and he knew I couldn’t stand either one of them. I guess it was his way of motivating us.
“Was he serious?” Dan asked when we got back to our desk.
“Maybe about the task force or the FBI but not about Farmington and LeRoy. That was just a dig.”
“Scared the crap out of me,” Dan replied.
“Then we had better come up with something.”
***
“Hey buddy, how would you like to go to the Fair tonight?”
“Really? Could we?”
“You bet. Mom said we could even eat there.”
“Wow. You mean hot dogs, cotton candy, and stuff like that?” he asked his dad.
“You bet.”
“That is so cool,” the kid said
It was a beautiful summer night, not too hot and the sky was clear. They went to the demolition derby, rode the rides and ate junk food. It was a real treat especially since mom was totally against that kind of food. She still cooked dinner every night. It had been a magical evening for a twelve year old boy.
His mom had even let him have an Elephant Ear as they were leaving.
“That was so cool. I love the Tilt-a-Whirl. Man that thing is great,” the young boy said, talking a mile a minute.
“What about the roller-coaster?”
“Yeah, that was my favorite too.”
“How many favorites do you have?” his mom asked.
“All of them.”
The mom and dad just laughed. Typical kid. They were walking back to the car when three men stepped out from behind a car.
“Easy,” the dad said, holding his hand out to stop the boy and his wife.
“How about handing over you billfold and purse,” the big guy in the middle said.
“Look, we don’t have much money. We just spent it all at the Fair. All we have are a few dollars. You are welcome to that.”
“You better hope you have more than that,” the bigger man said taking a step forward.
“I’m telling you. We don’t have much left. It cost a heck of a lot to go to the Fair,” the dad reasoned.
“Hand them over,” the guy demanded.
“Jim,” the mother said, holding our her purse for him to take.
He reached in his back pocket and took out his billfold and held it and her purse out. The big guy grabbed them out of his hand and went through Jim’s billfold first. All he found was a ten and three ones. He tossed the billfold on the ground and started going through the mom’s purse. He found seven dollars and some change.
“What the…”
“Look, I said we didn’t have much. We spend just about everything we brought with us. It was our boys first time at the Fair.”
“That ain’t good enough Buster Brown,” the guy said, grabbing Jim by the front of his shirt.
Jim pulled loose, ripping his shirt and the big man hit him in the face. The others jumped in and started shoving him and hitting his. Jim went to his knees and one of them kicked him in the back. The mother was screaming for help and one of the men backhanded her across the face knocking her to the ground. He kicked her in the ribs and in the stomach.
The young boy tried to jump on one of the men but was sent crashing into a car. He got up and tried to run into the man kicking his mother. He collided with the man and the guy grabbed him by the shirt and threw him down on the ground and kicked him in the face. It was the last thing he remembered until he woke up in the hospital.
***
“How are you feeling young man?” the doctor asked.
“Sore. I hurt all over,” the boy said.
“I’m sure you do. That was quite a beating you took. The good news is that you will mend as good as new in a few weeks,” the doctor told him.
“Where are my mom and dad?” the boy asked.
“They are still being tended to. We will have someone come talk to you and let you know everything a little later. Now I need for you to rest.”
“But I want to see my mom and dad.”
“That’s not possible just now. Maybe a little later. For now just sleep,” the doctor said, adjusting his medicine drip.
Within seconds he was fast asleep.
“We are going to need Child Services and the Chaplin here when he wakes up. I understand mother’s sister is on the way from Michigan,” the doctor said to the nurse.
“Yes, and the father’s brother as well.”
“At least he will have someplace to go instead of into the system,” she replied, “If they will take him.”
“There is that,” the doctor agreed.
CHAPTER TEN
“I wonder what makes someone just start taking the law into their own hands,” Dan said while we were at lunch.
By ‘lunch’ I mean standing on the street corner freezing my butt off so he would have a stupid hot dog from the vender down the street. He has this thing about hot dogs. He thinks one vendor’s dogs are better than another so we always end up going to the exact same place when he needs his fix. To me, they all pretty much taste the same.
“Maybe he got fed up with what he read in the papers or saw on television. Look at the last bunch of gang members that were shot. They had been getting away with crap for years. They all had rap sheets a mile long and nothing really ever happened to them. We can catch them but it is up to the courts to put them away. If they don’t do their job it is a reflection on us. People hold us responsible. Do you know how many really bad judges get to stay in office?”
“No but I have the feeling you are about to tell me,” Dan quipped.
“Darn right. M
ost of them. People elect them into office but they aren’t considered important enough for voters to really look into their records so they get elected over and over,” I told him.
He just rolled his eyes but it is true. Seldom do voters take the time to follow how judges are performing and whether their court room is a revolving door for criminals or if they put them away? The way for people to get criminals off the streets is to have better judges presiding over the courts. Yeah, like that’s going to happen anytime soon.
We finished lunch, if you could call it that, and headed back to the station. The temperature had continued to fall just a little bit every day for the past week and there was talk of snow this weekend. That’s just peachy since I loooove the snow so much. My little low slung Austin Healey isn’t too fond of it either. In fact, I was thinking about buying a beater to drive when the weather got bad.
The last thing I needed was for the Healey to start rusting because of all the salt they put down on the streets during the winter. Since I only have a one car garage, it would have to be parked outside and that can be a pain when we have ice storms. Still, it would be better than letting the Healey rust.
***
Chi Fong had come to this country from Vietnam when the Americans abandoned the South Vietnamese. He had worked with the CIA for five years gathering intelligence for them and was one of the fortunate ones to be able to flee before the fall of South Vietnam in 1975.
He arrived in this country with a few merger possessions and a little money that he had saved. He worked in a small convenience store for many years before the owner’s ill health forced him to sell it. Chi used all of his savings to buy the establishment.
For the past three years he had been modestly successful. In the last few months, however, a bunch of thugs were forcing him to pay a protection fee for his store. Each month the amount increased and finally he was at a point that he could no longer afford to pay what they demanded. The group, called the Tri-Cong, were systematically causing businesses to leave the area. Chi hung on but had decided he would no longer pay for their protection.
When five Tri-Cong walked in the store, he knew he was going to have a confrontation. He had purchased a .38 Colt revolver but knew that it was not nearly enough fire power to match the weapons they carried. Still, he was not going to just give up everything he had worked so long for.
“Collection time old man,” Ky Yang said, walking up to the front counter while the others hung back just a little.
“I have no money to give you. You have taken all I have.”
“You listen to me old man. This is not a negotiation. You owe us for protection and you must pay or it will go very badly for you.”
“I cannot give you what I don’t have. You are forcing me out of business just like you have done so many others. If you continue your ways who will be left?”
“That is not your concern. Song, show him what happens when people do not pay,” Ky ordered.
Song, reached over and pulled a rack of drinks over, causing them to topple to the floor, breaking many of the bottles. He tipped a display of chips and snacks over and stomped on the bags.
“You see old man. Bad things happen when you are not properly protected. If you do not pay, I cannot properly protect you from the consequences.”
The door chimes rang as a man walked into the store and looked around.
“Beat it, we are closed,” Ky said.
“Closed? It doesn’t say closed on the door,” the man replied.
Ky turned and faced the man and said, “You need to leave now. We are doing business and the place is closed.”
“It doesn’t look closed. It looks like you and your friends are just causing trouble for Mr. Fong. He is a friend of mine and I don’t like people that cause him problems.”
“Song,” he said, nodding toward the interloper.
Song started to raise a baseball bat but the man pulled a revolver from behind his back and shot Song in the head. Just as quickly he shot the remaining three and stood facing the stunned Ky.
“Why do you think you can bully people? What gives you the right to intimidate honest people? Do you think you are tough? You think because you have a bunch of punks running around with you it gives you the right to mistreat others? Let me give you a little update. The so called Tri-Cong are out of business. Seems that the place caught on fire and somehow the fire exit got blocked. From what I understand no one got out alive,” he said.
“Look man, I don’t want no trouble. Just let me go and I won’t bother anyone again,” Ky pleaded.
“The thing is, I just can’t trust you. You have already wiped out half the stores in this area. Sorry bro, but it is over,” he said and pulled the trigger shooting him in the stomach.
“Yeah, I know that’s painful but maybe while you are dying you can think about some of the decisions you made,” the man said and walked out of the store.
Mr. Fong had taken his time in calling in 911. He wanted to make sure the last Tri-Cong died before he reported it.
***
“Bartoni, Roberts, 65th Street shooting. Five down. Part of a gang calling themselves the Tri-Cong. Some guy walks in while they are shaking down the owner and blows them all away. Get over there,” Captain McGregor said.
“Five this time. He sure isn’t afraid to take them on. Either he is becoming more bold or he has it all planned,” I replied.
Traffic was snarled due to a fender bender and all the associated rubber-neckers. It took us forty-five minutes to drive the five and a half miles. Several patrol cars were already there and the usual tape had already gone up.
“Hey Bartoni. If you don’t catch this guy soon we are all going to be out of a job. We will run out of bad guys,” one of the officers kidded.
I assured him that we would never run out of bad guys and that our jobs were perfectly safe. Once I got inside I wasn’t so sure. Sorenson was already on the scene and was looking at one of the bodies.
“Looks dead,” I said coming up behind him.
“Really? Well then I guess my job is done. Let me know if you need anything else,” he said standing up.
“Do you know you creak when you stand? You sound like walnuts cracking. You need to change the oil in your joints,” I replied.
“I may creak a little but at least I get my job done. You have what? Like nine dead people on your list now and the last I heard, not even a clue as to who the shooter might be.”
“Now that is just mean spirited,’ I said.
“The truth often is. Why don’t you do something to make my job a little easier? I’ve got a morgue full of dead people and no one is even claiming the bodies.”
“None of the parents of the victims?”
“Not a single one wants to claim them. “No wonder we have so many gangs. The parents don’t give a crap about the kids so they drift until they link up with others like them. It’s easy to see how it can happen,” I replied.
“Yeah, but they don’t have to be asses about it. I mean they could do some good instead of beating up old people, stealing, and selling protection to poor business owners,” doc said.
“I don’t think I’ll hold my breath waiting for that to happen.”
“Good. I don’t need another dead body,” he said and went back to examining the bodies.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Mr. Fong, I’m Detective Bartoni and this is my partner, Detective Roberts. We need you to tell us what happened here today,” I said.
“These men came in to demand protection money. I told them I could no longer afford to pay them. They started breaking my things and then a man came in and told them to stop bothering me. One of the gang members started to pull his gun but the other man shot him first and then shot the others. He saved my life,” Mr. Fong said.
“Did you know him?” Dan asked.
“I have never seen him before,” Fong replied.
“Never? He never came in before?” Dan insisted.
“
It was the first time. I know almost every customer. I have never seen him in my store. He was not from around here.”
“What did he look like?”
“I am not so sure. It happened so fast. I was ducking down behind the counter. It was over in seconds.”
“But you had to see him standing there,” Dan said.
“Yes. But only for a second. I think he was a Caucasian. I can’t be sure.”
“How tall?” Dan asked.
“Not as tall as you. Taller than her,” he said indicating me.
“Mr. Fong. I know you think he saved your life but he shot five people. We can’t have someone running around taking the law in their own hands,” I said.
“What did the police do to help me? I have called them many times and complained. They did nothing. They would have killed me or burned my place down. The police, they are a joke. They do nothing but take reports. Does anyone ever follow up? It will tell you. No. I have been paying for this ‘protection’ for over two years and you have done nothing about it. Do not look to me for help.”
Now here is the dilemma. On the one hand he is right. The law often ties our hands when something like this is taking place. The problem of not enough manpower comes into play as well. And while all of that is true, it does nothing for the hapless victim. He was the one having to deal with it every month. Suddenly he finds someone willing to help him so there is little chance he is going to help the police catch the guy. I totally understood this but on the other hand, we still had a job to do and turning a blind eye was simply not an option.
We spent another wasted hour trying to get Mr. Fong to help in some way but he was determined to be of no help to us. It was both understandable and frustrating at the same time.
“This guy is getting on my nerves,” Dan said when we got back to the car.
I was just starting to answer when my phone rang.
“You need to get over to 62nd Street. It seems a house fire took place.”
“And?” I asked.
“And that just happens to be the hangout of the Tri-Cong.”
Victim's Advocate: Angie Bartoni Case Flie # 12 (Angie Bartoni Case Files) Page 5