Once Were Cops (8 page)

said, sometimes it got away from me, and I’d

begun buying comics, books, videos, getting a

whole care package together, make it look like I

was … concerned, I couldn’t believe she had

lived, and too, I wanted another look at her.

The guy asked, “Got a minute?” For these vets, you

betcha. He said, “Let’s take it over here.”

We went to an office that was crammed with files,

looked like they’d never been opened, he indicated

my coffee, said, “That will rot your guts.” I put it

down on the table, said, “You don’t use it?” He

laughed, went, “Gallons of it.”

He took out a pack of Luckies, a battered Zippo,

fired up, coughed, said, “No smoking here, I’m

hoping they’ll pension me off.”

He offered the pack and I said, “Don’t smoke.”

He gave a tiny smile, said, “Stick around, you

will.”

I waited for whatever it was on his mind and he

finally said, “You and Kebar, you were doing

pretty good out there.” I said, “Just lucky I think.”

Shook his head, said,

“Luck has fuck all to do with it, you get a

partnership, they sometimes jell and make us all

look good.” I asked, “You’re telling me I should go

back with him?” He crushed the butt on the floor,

said,

“Kid, my days of telling anyone anything are long

gone, but I figure you know about his sister?”

I said I did and how much I liked her. He took a

deep breath, then told me what had happened to

her. I acted out the whole grief/shock/horror gig,

asked, “How is she doing?” He said, “In a

catatonic state.” I asked, “What are you suggesting

I do?” He headed for the door, said, “Look out for

your partner.”

I went to the car pool but they said he hadn’t come

in, had called in sick … again.

I went back inside, found the grizzled cop, got

Kebar’s address and headed out there, he lived in

Queens and it took me two hours to find his place.

An old apartment building, six buzzers with no

names, I rang them all and finally heard his tired

voice go, “Whatever the fuck you’re selling, I’m

not buying.” I said, “K, it’s Shea, can I talk to

you?”

A pause, then he pressed the buzzer. His apartment

was on the third floor and the door was open.

The place was small, one sitting room, tiny

bedroom, miniature bathroom, he was sitting on a

worn sofa, dressed in a torn NYPD sweatshirt and

old jeans, cleaning a gun, using oil to shine the

barrel, he didn’t look up, asked,

“What’s on your mind?”

I said,

“I just heard about Lucia, I’m so sorry, and … if I

can help?” He put the gun down, said, “I got it

under control.” Dismissing me. I asked, “But some

backup wouldn’t hurt, right?” He let out a long

weary breath, said,

“Go away, kid, this gig is a no-brainer, it’s a

career killer, so take off, go become supercop.” I

tried further. “K, I want to help.” He finally looked

at me, asked, “What is it you don’t understand

about fuck off?”

I took off, stood outside for a few moments, then

understood what it was I had to do. Back at the

station house, the sergeant said, “The goon squad

is waiting on you.” Fucking Internal Affairs. I said,

“Again?” He gave a rueful grin, said, “Hang tough

and don’t forget, you can have a union rep with

you.”

They used the interrogation room this time.

McCarthy was wearing a fifty-dollar suit, and even

at that he was robbed, I suppose it was meant to

say, This proves I’m not on the take.

Mainly it proved he had shite taste.

The black guy was leaning against the wall,

chewing on a stick, that bemused smile going, took

me a minute, then I remembered … Rodriguez.

McCarthy indicated the seat on the other side of the

table, the perp’s one, and then sat opposite me,

asked, “How’re they hangin’, kid?” I considered

this, said, “In a sling, I’d say, if you get your way.”

He laughed, was going to be the good old boy

today, said,

“I like you, kid, you have spirit and I’d hate to see

you go down.”

I waited and he riffled through some papers, then:

“Morronni, Kebar’s paymaster, he has a sidekick,

named Gino, seems somebody did a number on

him.”

I hadn’t anything to say to this, so didn’t.

He shrugged, said, “We’re not the bad guys here,

kid, you take down a piece of shit, gets our vote,

we can cut you a bit of slack.”

Pause.

“However, you refuse to cooperate, this could be

turned into a vigilante cop gig and that’s not good,

not good at all.”

I made a show of looking at my watch, asked,

“Is there a point to this and are you ever going to

get to it?”

Another laugh, less jollity this time, he said,

“A scumbag named Fernandez did a real number

on your partner’s sister and we know Kebar is

going to take the fuck down, we want you to tell us

when.” I asked, “That’s all?” He was surprised,

went, “You’ll do it?”

ŤC,,, ” ‘Sure

He looked at the black guy, who nodded, and then:

“Don’t even think about screwing with us, got

that?” I said, “Loud and clear.” McCarthy sat back,

said,

“I’m a little skeptical at your change of attitude,

what’s the reason?”

I sighed, loudly, said,

“Kebar is finished, I realize that now, I don’t want

to go down with him.”

He decided to push a bit more.

“And if we want you to wear a wire, get Kebar

talking about the money, how are you on that?” My

turn to smile, said, “I’m always wired.” McCarthy

handed me his card, said,

“Call either of those numbers, let us know where

and when he goes after Fernandez.”

“Yes, sir.”

He said I could go, his whole expression saying he

didn’t believe a word of what I’d said.

As I headed out, he added,

“Your fellow cops, they’re not going to like you

giving up your partner.”

I let that hover for a moment, then said,

“Shit happens.” The black guy followed me out

into the corridor, said,

“IA isn’t the bad guys, think of us as the

housekeeping department.” I gave him the look,

said, “Back in Ireland we call them something less

flattering.” He gave me an odd look, then said in a

quiet tone,

“You and me, maybe we could have a talk

sometime, I think we might be on the same page.”

I let that sit, then said,

“You’re Internal Affairs, out to screw cops.”

He maneuvered the stick in his mouth to the other

side, said,

“Oh, I think, you know, you and I might be more

alike than you want to admit.”

I was curious, asked,

“In what way?”

He had been leaning against the wall, moved

languidly off it, said,

“Lots of shit coming down the pike, gonna be a lot

of casualties, and you and me, be nice if we came

out on top.”

I stared at him, asked, “A rat cop, you’re offering

to have … as you Yanks say, my back?”

His cell shrilled and he began to move off, said,

“Two-way street bro, time to see which way you

want to go on it.” Some guys regard a date as

rather wonderful. Me … I don’t see date … I see

prey.

— Shea, in his journal

P”!

Sliyk.

ELEVEN

I CALLED NORA THAT EVENING AND WE

WENT TO THE MOVies and dinner. After, we

were back on line, and she said,

“I missed you.”

I was delighted, in a world getting uglier by the

minute, she was the only light I could see. In bed

later, she said, “What’s eating at you?” I said,

“They want me to give up my partner, sell him

out.” She digested that, asked, “You have a

choice?” “Nope.” Then: “So will you sell him

out?” “Like fuck.” She said, “I could fall in love

with you.” Wasn’t as scary as I would have

thought, in fact, I liked it. A lot.

We were spending so much time with each other,

Nora began hinting about us maybe living together.

I had to think about that. I’d never been in love in

me life, had no idea what it was, but with Nora, I

felt, when I was with her, better than who I really

was and enjoyed things I never thought I’d enjoy,

watching her eat, her laugh, ah Jesus, she had a

great laugh, one of those reach-from-the-very-

bottom-of-the-soul ones and didn’t care how she

looked when she was doing it.

I managed to keep that swan … and Lucia …

compartmentalized … great term that, I learned it

from Dr. Phil … me … meant you could, you

know, do stuff… and carry on … regardless.

Her eyes all scrunched up, her face in spasms of

delight, I could have watched that all the day long.

And she had an edge, I don’t think I could ever

have fallen for someone who was just… nice.

I don’t do nice.

She could flay the skin off your back with her

tongue and didn’t allow me to bullshit or try me

usual shenanigans.

A Friday night, we’d had a particularly great night,

good food, great pub on West Forty-ninth Street,

and just reveling in each other’s company.

I took off me Claddagh band and offered it to her.

Her eyes were lit up like Christmas, she took it in

her hand, stared at it, asked,

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

She put it on, the heart turned inwards, means

you’re spoken for and we both knew the

significance of that.

She put her hands to her neck, unclasped a chain

holding a Miraculous Medal.

And believe me, it doesn’t get any more Mick than

that.

I protested, “You don’t have to give me something

in return.”

Got the look and she asked,

“Did I say I felt I had to give you something, did

you hear me say that?”

No.

Like I said, a mouth on her, she put the chain

around my neck, said,

” ‘Twas blessed by the pope.”

When I’m confused, which is rarely, I get flip,

protect meself, and nearly said,

“The pope of Greenwich Village?” Thank Christ I

didn’t. With a grave expression she said,

“Our Lady will keep you safe out there on the

streets.” I hoped the Lady was paying attention.

Much as I loved Nora’s neck, and Jesus, I did,

somewhere in me, I thought… no … not her, she

might be me salvation.

She wasn’t.

LONNIE WAS HURTING, BAD.

Morronni’s crew had picked him up outside his

favorite OTB, bundled him into a car, and taken

him to a warehouse in the Bronx.

He was tied to a chair and Morronni was sitting

opposite, a smile on his face. Dressed in an

Armani suit, polished Italian brogues, and a deep

blue silk tie, he looked like he belonged anywhere

but this rat-infested place.

Two of his crew were standing behind Lonnie.

Morronni said,

“We heard you took a little ride with Kebar and

it’s no secret that you supply information to the

cops. Hey, I’m not criticizing you, Lon, we all

have to survive.”

He snapped his fingers and one of the crew brought

over a glass of red wine, and he took a delicate

sip, made a gurgle of appreciation, continued,

“But when you fink on me, my boys, then it’s …

personal, you get my drift.”

Sweat was rolling in waves down Lonnie’s body,

getting in his eyes, blinding him, and Morronni

asked,

“Fuck, I’m forgetting my manners, would you like

some vino? … In vino Veritas, or so my priest

used to say.”

Lonnie croaked that he would, even his voice was

shaking, and Morronni threw the wine in his face,

said,

“There you go, enjoy, it’s a ‘79 vintage, a

particularly good year, smell that bouquet?”

Morronni clicked his fingers again and was handed

a blowtorch, said,

“I can never quite get the hang of these things, so

bear with me if I screw it up a bit.”

He turned it on. Whoosh.

A jet of flame shot into Lonnie’s hair, it burned for

a moment, then one of the guys doused him with a

bucket of cold water. Morronni said,

“Jesus, sorry, man, I was aiming for your face.”

Lonnie screamed, said,

“Tell me what you want, anything, I’ll tell you

whatever you need!”

Morronni was concentrating on the torch, as if he

was really interested in the mechanics of the thing,

said,

“Course you will, what did the cop want?”

Lonnie spilled the lot, the whole deal. When he

was done, Morronni leaned over, tapped his

shoulder, said,

“You did good.”

Then he abruptly stood up, got a can of gas, poured

it all over Lonnie, got the torch, said,

“Lemme try this one more time, you okay with

that?”

As they left, one of the crew sneaked a look at the

burning figure in the chair, engulfed in flame.

Morronni said,

“He’s only warming up.”

MCCARTHY AND HIS PARTNER,

RODRIGUEZ, WERE HAVING coffee as they

waited for Kebar to show. They’d summoned him

and he was late, fucking with them already, but that