Old Flame (10 page)

CHAPTER

24

T
he next morning, I was in Queens, far and away the most bewildering of boroughs to navigate.

S&G Construction had its offices in the shadow of Shea Stadium, on a cobblestoned street that looked like chop-shop row. Every business except for S&G was involved in midnight auto parts, where the sum of the parts was worth more than the whole.

A couple of guys dripping with bling loitered out front. One tall and wiry with long, dirty hair pulled back in a ponytail. And the other, short and chunky with the beginnings of a beard, and tiny gold hoops lining his ear. Just your average, everyday morons.

I walked between them and reached for the doorknob. A hand grabbed my shoulder. It was Ponytail.

“Where you going?” he said.

This was going to be fun. “Move your fucking hand.”

His grip tightened.

I grabbed his arm, spun him around, and drove his face into the door. Before the guy with the earrings took his shot, I kicked him in the balls. On his way down, I popped him on the side of the head. As I examined my handiwork, two thoughts crossed my mind. The first was that the older I got, the less patience I had. The other was, my docs were right. I needed more exercise. I felt better than I had in a long time. I opened the door and walked in.

A morbidly obese man sat behind a dented black metal desk smoking a cigar. He wore a striped shirt that fit him like an awning, and on his pinkie was a star sapphire as big as a pigeon’s egg.

He nodded approvingly. “Nice job,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He pointed to a video monitor. “I got it all on tape. I could run you a copy if you like.”

I shook my head. “Nah,” I said, “it’s stored in my book of memories.”

The two morons burst in, and the fat man said something in a language I couldn’t identify. Whatever he said did the trick. The morons did an about-face. The guy with the earrings still hadn’t straightened up. Ponytail didn’t look so hot either.

“Those two are my nephews. Their mothers are going to be very upset.”

“I guess they were never taught manners.”

“They think they’re tough guys. You know how it is with the young.”

“What language was that?”

“Albanian. Told them they were assholes. They’ll learn.”

“I’m looking for Arben Genti.”

“You’ve found him.”

“Got a minute?”

“After that performance, I’ve got as long as you need.”

“My name is Steeg, and I’d like to talk to you about Tony Ferris.”

“What about him?”

“Do you know him?”

“We do business with the city, so, yeah, I know him.”

“Ferris was murdered a few weeks ago.”

“Too bad.”

“You don’t seem overly concerned.”

“I didn’t know him that well. Why are you here?”

“I’m investigating his murder.”

He held the cigar daintily between his thumb and forefinger, took a drag, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.

“So, you’re a cop.”

I didn’t bother to correct him.

“What was your relationship with Ferris?”

“We didn’t have a relationship. He was a prick.”

“Threw you a lot of business over the years, though.”

“Threw me shit,” Genti said. “I bid on those jobs like everyone else. Won some, lost some.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“And what’s that?”

“Not a lot of business went your way lately. Why do you think that is?”

“Why don’t you ask him? Oh, I forgot. He’s dead. Too bad.”

Arben Genti was quite the charmer.

He mashed the cigar into an ashtray. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Could be.”

“Get the fuck out of my office,” he said.

I parked myself on his desk. “All in good time,” I said. “Tell me about your business.”

He lit another cigar. Blew another smoke ring. I guess he saw I was in for the long haul. “You know what it is to be a day laborer?”

“Nope.”

“You should try it sometime. Good for the soul. Not much else. You’re either too cold, too hot, or too wet. Even when they’re callused, your hands bleed, and your back hurts all the time. And you take shit from people you wouldn’t let in your kitchen. And one fine day when your back finally gives out and you can’t bring it anymore, your family starves.”

“Doesn’t sound like a day at the beach.”

“Did that for years. Until I wised up. Now I’m a contractor, and I hire guys who work in the pit like I used to.”

“And you would do anything to keep from going back.”

He smiled. “Wouldn’t you?”

“You mentioned that Ferris was a prick. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Not without a lawyer.”

“Was he on your payroll?”

“That would be against the law.”

“And you’re a law-abiding citizen.”

“That’s why I came to the land of the free and the home of the brave. Nation of laws, not men. I learned that at night school. You gotta know shit like that before you become a citizen.”

“One of the huddled homeless masses yearning to breathe free.”

“Whatever. What’s your name again?”

It’s good to know that I still make an impression.

“Steeg.”

“Right. Steeg. If I’ve been greasing Ferris’s palm, why would he pull business from me?”

“Maybe his price went up and you decided enough was enough.”

“Or maybe,” he said, “Ferris found a higher bidder. Lots of maybes, but the question is, why kill him? He’d only be replaced by another guy with his hand out.”

“You’re from Albania, right?”

“Right. Small village outside of Tirana.”

“If I’m not mistaken, didn’t you folks invent the vendetta? If somebody stole someone else’s goat three hundred years ago, his descendants would be on your hit list.”

“Where do your people come from?”

“Ireland and Germany.”

He laughed so hard his jowls shook like bowls of gelatin. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

He had me there.

CHAPTER

25

I
called Luce from the Main Street subway station.

“Luce, it’s Steeg. Where are you?”

She sounded preoccupied. “I’ve got something of a situation here. What do you need?”

“Some peace of mind.”

“Fresh out. I’m on Thirty-fourth, in front of Macy’s, watching a naked guy with two Tasers sticking out of his body, paying them no mind and pirouetting around like Nureyev.”

“Sounds like overkill.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ve seen guys the size of panel trucks go down after one barb stuck in their backs. This skinny little guy just won’t quit.”

“How long are you going to be there?”

“Depends on how much electricity he can take. Maybe a half hour. Why?”

“I’d like to buy you lunch.”

“At a real restaurant, or are we talking the usual hot dog stand?”

“A place with tables.”

“You’re on. Where should I meet you?”

I gave her the address.

“Did you say 150th and Third? That’s up in the Bronx.”

“I figured we’d look up Banas, the waiter at Été, while we’re at it.”

“You never disappoint,” she said.

Banas lived above a cut-rate clothing store —the kind where most of the inventory is displayed on racks out front — and at eye level with the Third Avenue El. The El effectively killed whatever possibilities the neighborhood may once have had.

“Welcome to
El
Barrio,” Luce said.

“No one should have to live right on the damn El,” I said.

“Yeah, but look on the bright side. Every time the trains rumble by, he’s treated to a new art show.”

“That’s why I love working with you. You always see the positive.”

“Do you have a plan?” Luce said.

“Never without one. I thought we’d go up to his apartment and knock on the door.”

“And then we’ll have lunch? I worked up a hell of an appetite chasing Nureyev through the streets.”

“As soon as we finish with Mr. Banas.”

We walked up the stairs and I knocked on the only apartment door on the landing.

“Your plan is working like a charm, Jackson.”

“What did I tell you?”

“Trouble is no one’s answering. Let me try.”

Luce knocked, with the same result.

“I think we need another plan,” she said.

“Point well taken. Remember a couple of years ago the department worked that sting on guys who skipped their child-support payments?”

“Sure. Rented a room in a hotel and sent them a letter saying they won flat screens. Hundreds of the greedy little bastards showed up. Won’t feed their families, but promise ’em a TV in their Christmas stocking, and they’re Johnny on the spot.”

“We’re going to run a variation of that with Banas. Send him a letter, all official-like, and tell him I’m opening a new restaurant and that Stuart has recommended him for a job. I’ll enclose my card and wait for him to call.”

“That’s all you got?”

“Pretty much. Either that or, perish the thought, keep coming up to the Bronx.”

“Since you put it that way, it works for me. Are we about ready for the lunch part yet?”

We stopped at a small Mexican restaurant a few blocks away. We found a table, and I reached for the menu while Luce eyed the place suspiciously.

“Once again, you’ve outdone yourself, Jackson. This place is a shithole.”

“But there are tables.”

She pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser and vigorously scrubbed the tabletop.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that they’d need to be hosed down.”

I put the menu down. “I think I’ll have two burritos stuffed with chorizo and cheese,” I said. “What are you having?”

“A salad. Nothing else looks safe.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

A waiter came by and took our order.

“Where were you when you called this morning? I heard a lot of noise in the background.”

“Queens. Went to visit another possible suspect in the Ferris murder.”

“My, you are a busy little bee.”

“Guy named Arben Genti. He’s a contractor, does a lot of city work for the Minority Opportunities Bureau.”

“Ferris’s outfit.”

“Yeah.”

“Why him?”

“For a while, Ferris threw him a lot of work, and then the spigot got turned off.”

“How did you learn this?”

I decided not to tell her about the redoubtable Kenny Apple. Some things are better left unsaid.

“I hear things. Anyway, Ferris’s boss, one Louis Torricelli, said he was getting threatening phone calls from a guy with an accent. Scared the living shit out of him. When Genti’s name cropped up . . .”

“You figured he wasn’t a WASP and made an intuitive leap and decided to check it out.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Is Genti a possible?”

“Not sure. For some reason, Ferris screwed him. He has the accent. Albanian. And I have a strong feeling that Ferris was on his pad, but I just don’t make him for this. Half the guys who handle city money are playing fuckaround with our tax dollar, but I don’t think he’d kill someone over something like this.”

“It’s certainly enough to bring him in and persuade a friendly judge to subpoena his records.”

“I know, but I’d rather let it simmer for a while.”

“While it’s simmering, he could be on a plane back to Albania.”

“Nah! He likes it here too much. I think Banas could be the key. And until he shows up, I think we wait.”

“What if he never makes an appearance?”

“Then we go to Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Sweat Noonan.”

“I hate to play devil’s advocate, but what if Banas doesn’t show and Noonan has a sudden memory lapse?”

“Then we go to Plan C.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Not a one. But something will turn up. Always does.”

CHAPTER

26

A
fter lunch, Luce had to get back to work, and I headed to Été. As much as I wanted to wait for Banas to make an appearance, the idea of sweating Noonan, if only for the sheer sport of it, filled me with joy.

When I arrived, everyone was going about their jobs with a little bit of a bounce in their step. Imagine my surprise when Stuart told me Noonan was dead.

“A friend discovered the body,” he said. “He went to Richard’s apartment and found him in bed. Shot in the back of the head.”

Noonan? I didn’t see it coming. Maybe Luce was right, and I was a Jonah. Or, more likely, there was something I was missing. It was high time for the Universe to kick in.

“When did he find him?”

“This morning. Look, I’ve got to get back to work. With Richard, uh, gone, it’s my show now.”

“I need a favor. Noonan said he would get me the charge slips for the night Ferris was killed. Would you follow up on that?”

“Absolutely. Let me check with the accountants.”

“Appreciate it. One last question. Have the cops stopped by to see you, you know, about Noonan?”

“The same detective who’s investigating Mr. Ferris’s death.”

I called Pete Toal. Said he was winding something up and would meet me at the Lowell Fountain in Bryant Park in an hour. I was there in half an hour.

When I was a kid, the New York Public Library, at the eastern border of the park, was my go-to place when the world was too much for Dominic and he needed someone to take it out on. Back then, Bryant Park was a free-fire zone filled with addicts, pushers, and assorted bad guys. The combination of an iron fence and tall hedges hid what was going on in the park. Now low-growing shrubs replaced the hedges, the lowlifes were gone, and the park was back to being a park. It even had a carousel. But that cheery thought didn’t lighten my mood. I found an empty bench near the fountain.

The longer I waited, the more I needed a drink. The dryness started at the back of my throat and spread to my tongue. The thirst was a symptom, not a cause. My old friends, the snakes, screamed to be watered.

At three on the dot Toal entered the park from Sixth Avenue. Swede was with him. I walked the few feet to the fountain and waited.

He saw me and waved. When he was in striking distance, I hit him in the mouth. He went down as if he had been poleaxed. The jolt of the punch traveled up my arm. Swede was too stunned to move.

“Wha—?”

I stood over him.

“Get up and you’re going down again, you lying sack of shit.” I pointed a warning finger at Swede. “This isn’t your business, so stay out of it.”

Swede put his hands up and backed off.

“What kind of a game are you playing, Toal?”

His teeth were bloody and his bottom lip began to swell. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, saw the blood, and dabbed some more.

“Are you fucking crazy, Steeg? You just hit a cop!”

“Arrest me, and let your boss, Braddock, sort it out.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

A guy in a three-piece suit carrying a briefcase stopped to watch. Swede told him to beat it. He did.

“Allow me to explain. Either you’re a bad cop playing out his string — a theory I prefer to go with—or something is going on that truly stinks. From the moment you caught the case, you’ve lied, or at the very least, left things out. Didn’t cover the basics, and it troubles me. You were once a better cop than that. The other thing is, bodies seem to fall and witnesses disappear when you’re around. How do you explain that?”

Toal slowly got to his feet.

“I’m gonna talk to you at eye level,” he said. “If that’s a problem, take your best shot.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m conducting this investigation the best way I know how. If it doesn’t meet your exacting standards, I don’t give a shit. I don’t owe you a fucking thing, much less an explanation. You can play cop all you want, but it’s over for you, dickhead. It’s been a while since you’ve been on the job, and with your health and all, maybe you’re not thinking straight, so I’m gonna cut you some slack. But from now on, if you so much as fucking look at me wrong, I’m going to kill you. Do we understand each other?”

I noticed Swede watching with real interest.

“Nice speech,” I said.

“I meant every word of it.”

“I’m sure you did. So let me leave you with this thought. If I find that you’re somehow involved in this — whatever
this
is — I’m not going to cut you any slack. You’re on your own.”