Outfoxed: An Andy Carpenter Mystery (22 page)

“Thank you, Fred,” I say. What I don’t say is that I couldn’t have scripted a better answer.

“Hello Andy, haven’t heard from you in a while,” Cindy Spodek says when I answer the phone. “I’ve been busy fighting for truth and justice. How are you, Cindy?”

“Good, thanks.”

“Laurie’s not home,” I say.

“I was calling you.”

“You were calling me?” I ask. The way it works is that I call Cindy when I need a favor from the FBI, and she calls me never. That’s the way things are; she is upsetting the world order. Chaos is sure to follow.

“I was. It’s about Dominic Petrone.”

My instincts say that this time she needs me for something. Whereas she always tries to accommodate me if at all possible, I’m not generally inclined to be helpful, unless it benefits my client.

“Dominic Petrone? I have nothing but good things to say about him. He’s Tara’s godfather.”

“Are you going to be a pain in the ass?”

“Do you have to ask? What’s up, Cindy?”

“The word is that you are getting somewhere. Maybe we can help.”

“Where did you get that word?” I ask.

“Not important. Is it accurate?”

“I’m getting somewhere on Petrone; I know what he’s been doing. What I haven’t done is link any of it to my case.”

“Talk to me about what you’ve got on Petrone,” she says.

An idea has been forming in my brain since I realized I was in a position of some power in this conversation. It’s slow developing, because my brain is not used to being in that power position.

“And in return?” I ask, though I know where I’m going.

“Andy, were you absent the day they taught patriotism in grammar school? Your country would be a better place if we put Dominic Petrone away.”

“From the mountains, to the prairies…”

“What do you want, Andy?”

“Two things. Number one, why are you so anxious to get Petrone? I sensed it last time we talked; you said you wanted him badly.”

“He’s a criminal,” she says.

“That’s what you said last time. But he’s been a criminal since you were playing with blocks. What’s changed?”

“He’s expanding his empire, and somehow taking over other territories. He’s gotten much bigger, and we want to know how he’s doing it.”

“Good, because I know how. Number two, I want immunity for a prospective witness.”

“Who?”

“Tony Costa.” Last time I talked to Cindy, she got me in to see Costa, who was being temporarily held after the shooting death of his boss, Angelo Mazzi.

“What is he going to say?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“He’s going to confirm what Petrone is doing, and help me tie it into my case. Or he won’t say a word, and he’ll tell me to get lost.”

“When we grant immunity, we try to have a little more to go on than that.”

“Okay, I’ll get it for you. And then we’ll trade.”

Tony Costa works out of a bar on Fordham Road in the Bronx. The back room of the place is where Angelo Mazzi used to conduct his business daily, reigning over the dominant crime family in the Bronx.

Now Costa is in charge of that family, but according to Cindy it is a shell of its former self; Petrone has co-opted many of the rank and file and taken over much of Mazzi’s former business ventures in the Bronx.

The last time I talked to Costa I got nothing out of him, a rare occasion when the Andy Carpenter charm failed to persuade. But he made it clear that he wants to get Petrone, and suggested I come back when I had something real to make that happen. So here I am.

I’m more than a little nervous about coming here, even with Marcus by my side. Costa doesn’t know that I’m coming; I’m not even sure that he’ll see me. Part of me is hoping that he won’t.

We park in front of a fire hydrant near the bar. It’s the only spot available, and while I’m risking a ticket, the good news is that getting one would mean a cop is nearby.

Marcus and I get out and walk into the bar. It’s the kind of place that has only “regular” customers, and is not welcoming to others. I would doubt that Fordham University students out on a date are popping in here for a drink. Marcus and I being far from “regular,” all eyes turn to us as we walk in.

It’s nine o’clock at night, and there are maybe ten people in the place. Behind the bar to the left is a door, and I am guessing that Costa is behind that door. That’s because three scary-looking guys are in front of it. Mazzi was taken by surprise the night he was killed; Costa is not planning to let the same thing happen to him.

Marcus and I walk up to the three men. I am petrified; Marcus not so much. “I’d like to talk to Tony Costa.”

“Who the hell are you?”

It’s not the most welcoming of responses, but I overlook it. “Andy Carpenter. Tell Tony I’m here.”

“Tony don’t see no little pricks. Get lost.”

I’ve got a feeling he was referring to me, rather than Marcus. I’m tempted to follow his advice and get lost, but I figure I’ll take one more shot at it. “No.”

The guy moves toward me but never quite gets there. Marcus leans forward and meets him with a right uppercut that just about lifts him off the ground. Gravity wins, however, and he winds up on his back, first hitting his head on the door.

I’m expecting the other two guys to jump into the fray, and then I see that Marcus has brandished a gun in his left hand, causing them to freeze. It’s amazing that his right and left hands can work in tandem like that; Marcus would make a great juggler. Of course, if his only skill was juggling, I would be the one lying on the floor.

He indicates with a head nod that I should go into the office. I nudge the fallen guy slightly with my foot so that I can open the door, and I go in, leaving Marcus to watch the three guys, two of whom are conscious.

It’s a shaky plan, because for all I know Costa has three other guys with bazookas with him. Mercifully, he doesn’t; he’s alone, at a desk. He seems to have just stood up, probably because he heard the sound of his guy hitting the ground. There’s a look of some alarm on his face, and he actually seems relieved to see me. That’s because he no doubt views me as harmless.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he asks. “I told them nobody gets through.”

“Sometimes an irresistible force meets a movable object,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”

“Again?”

“You told me to come back when I had something real. Something to get Petrone.”

“Why would I want to get Petrone?” he asks.

“Because he’s killed your boss and taken over your operation. Because you’re sitting in a room under guard, scared about who might walk through that door. Because you were once a big shot, and now you’re nobody.”

“I should put a bullet through your head.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I say. “I’d prefer you help me finish off Petrone.”

He thinks about this for a few moments, and then says, “Talk to me.”

So I do. I tell him about Starlight, and how Petrone had gotten Gerry Wright to sign on with him to create a new business model for criminal activity. “He’s taking over from the Angelo Mazzis of the world. Mazzi must have resisted, and you know how that wound up. You are obviously also resisting, which is why you’re holed up in this room, with three goons out there protecting you. But believe me, if I could get in, Petrone can get in.”

“How much of this can you prove?”

“I can prove all of it, but I can’t tie it into Petrone. That’s why I need you.”

“To do what?”

“Tell what you know. Under oath, to a jury.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“What’s wrong with it? You don’t want to squeal on Petrone? You think that violates some ethic you’re clinging to? The guy has moved in on you, and will move further. You take him down, or he will eventually take you down.”

“I’d rather that than go to prison.”

“I can get you immunity,” I say, and I can see he’s interested.

“How?”

“I have connections to the FBI, and they want Petrone as much as you do.”

“I can’t get you to Petrone,” he says. “The meeting we had was with Joseph Russo.”

“That’s close enough.”

The next two minutes are excruciating. Costa literally walks all around the room, not saying a word, for the entire time. Then, “You get me the immunity, and I’m in.”

“Then you’re in,” I say. “I’ll get back to you with the details. But give me your phone number. I’d rather not have to get by your bouncers again.”

“How did you do that?”

“Come see for yourself.”

We open the door, and see that the two conscious goons are sitting back to back on the legs of the unconscious one, though he seems to be coming to. Marcus just stands there watching them, as is pretty much everyone else in the bar.

“Jesus Christ,” Costa says.

“No. Marcus.”

I call Cindy and tell her the great news. She’s not quite as euphoric as I am. “We want Petrone, not Joseph Russo.”

“Let’s look at the big picture here, shall we? He’s Petrone’s number two; you nail him and he’ll flip as well. If not, he’s a nice catch, considering you’re giving up nothing.”

“We’re giving up immunity.”

“Big deal. Costa is nothing; he wasn’t even on your radar. You’re promising not to prosecute someone you had no intention of prosecuting.” Cindy is getting on my nerves; I’m handing her a major victory, and she’s acting put upon.

“I’ll talk to my people, but the best I’ll be able to get is use.”

She is talking about use immunity, which is not full. It simply promises that nothing Costa says in his testimony will be used to prosecute him. That’s not to say he can’t be prosecuted if independent evidence is developed, it just means his testimony can’t be used against him.

I would think that should be sufficient, but I don’t tell Cindy that. “I’ll try to sell it” is what I say.

“You’d better sell hard, because that’s all I can get. If I can get that.”

“Well, you better get it quick, because it’s almost time to present the defense case.”

As I’m getting off the phone, Laurie comes into the house. “Where have you been?” I ask.

“Renewing old friendships.”

“Boyfriends?” I ask, instantly moving into pathetic mode.

“No. Coworkers,” she says, obviously meaning her former colleagues on the force. “I’ve been asking about blackmail situations that have come up in the last few months, and there are two that fit. Neither was aware of who was blackmailing them, but they paid for a while, and then shut off the tap.”

“What happened?”

“The things that they were being blackmailed for were broadcast online. One was stealing money from a company, and the other was having an affair.”

“How did they pay?” I ask.

“They wired money. When the cops tried to trace where it went, they wound up in a cybermaze and got nowhere.”

“Sounds like our guys.”

“There’s one other thing. A guy named Lenny Butler was murdered last month; it seemed like a mob hit. He was apparently distributing drugs.”

“So?”

“So the drug guys can’t figure out where he was getting the goods,” she says. “They think he was selling for more than he paid, and turning a profit. But he did not seem to have connections to get the stuff in the first place.”

All of these stories seem to fit our scenario, and I would think that at least some certainly do.

“But we still can’t tie it to Petrone,” she says.

“Maybe we can,” I say, and tell her about the situation with Tony Costa and Cindy. “She’ll get it done,” Laurie says.

“The tough part will be getting Hatchet to buy it.”

Pete Stanton is going to be Trell’s wrap-up witness. It makes sense, because he’s in a position to testify to all aspects of the case. And Trell knows that Pete is an excellent witness: authoritative, believable, and hard to rattle.

Trell takes him through his credentials first, documenting Pete’s impressive and swift rise from street patrolman to captain. Pete has also won a substantial number of commendations and positive citations, and Trell does not leave a single accolade unmentioned.

Finally, I object. “Your Honor, unless we’re going to hear that Captain Stanton has also won a Golden Globe and Grammy, can we wrap this up? Despite his performance in this case, the defense is perfectly willing to stipulate that he is ordinarily a fine police officer.”

Hatchet overrules my objection, but does tell Trell to move it along, and the Stanton Hit Parade ends shortly thereafter.

“What was your first involvement with this case?” Trell finally asks.

“A 911 call was received about a probable homicide. I got the assignment, and immediately went to the scene.”

“What happened when you got there?”

“Patrol officers had gotten there before me. Once I arrived, I was approached by Ms. Sarah Maurer, who had made the 911 call. She confirmed that she had looked in the open door and seen what looked like a large amount of blood. I entered the house and found the bodies of Gerald Wright and Denise Atkins. I called in forensics and the coroner, as well as backup units. The house was searched for any perpetrators who might still be on the scene, but none were found.”

“Did Ms. Maurer tell you anything else?”

“Later, when I interviewed her, she told me that she saw Brian Atkins leaving the scene, and that he told her to call the police. She said that she was positive about the identification, since she knew Mr. Atkins quite well. I called in this information, and learned that Mr. Atkins had escaped from prison earlier that day.”

“What did you do then?”

“I called Mr. Carpenter and asked him to come to the scene, since I knew that he was Mr. Atkins’s attorney. I recommended strongly to him that if he were in contact with Mr. Atkins, he should tell him to turn himself in.”

“What did Mr. Carpenter say in response?”

“I don’t remember the exact words, but it was clear that he wasn’t interested in taking legal advice from me.”

“What happened then?”

“A full-blown alert was put out. The next morning, I decided to follow Mr. Carpenter, as he and Mr. Willie Miller set off in Mr. Miller’s car. I had two black and whites follow behind me at a distance.”