Sinner's Ball (12 page)

I
returned the car to the rental company, bid the GPS a fond and heartfelt good-bye, and walked back to my apartment.

A black Mercedes sat out front.

Dave, all bundled up in a black cashmere overcoat, sat in the backseat. Anthony sat next to him. Tommy Cisco was behind the wheel. Dave lowered the window and motioned for me to join him.

A special ending to a special day.

“Cisco, take a hike,” Dave said. “Anthony, let your uncle sit next to me. Get in the front.”

Cisco got out, lit up a smoke, and stationed himself next to the hood. Anthony moved into Cisco's spot, and when the musical chairs was done, I slid in beside my brother.

An old homeless guy, a black man with skin the color of deeply tanned leather, moved slowly past our car. He walked with a pronounced limp and used a broken table leg for support. At his feet he had four bulging suitcases lashed with rope. He lifted one, limped a few feet, set it down, and returned for another, which he placed next to the first suitcase. When they were all together, he repeated the process.

He had our attention.

As he passed, Cisco flicked his cigarette in his direction. It exploded against the suitcase in a shower of sparks. With a smirk on his face, Cisco fist-pumped a triumphant
Yes!

Tommy Cisco and I were about to go for round two. I opened the door, but Dave pulled me back.

“All in good time,” he said. “Right now I've got more important things to get out of the way.”

“Like what?”

“I've got this problem, Jake,” Dave said.

“Besides the indictment?”

“I've been kicking around the question of who I can trust.”

“And where do you come out?”

“You met with Franny.”

“You know that, how?”

“I know everything that happens in this city.”

“She had a drink. I didn't. We talked.”

“You didn't tell me.”

“She asked me not to.”

“Not surprised. But it doesn't wash.”

“That I gave Franny my word?”

Dave's stump stroked the pebbled surface of his cheek.

He was pissed, and I didn't give a damn.

“That sometimes you have a problem differentiating between blood and an outsider,” he said.

“Anthony,” I said. “Your father and I need some privacy.”

Anthony swung his door open. Dave stopped him.

“Stay right where you are, kid,” Dave said. “I want you to hear this.”

“Don't do this, Dave.”

“It's gonna be OK. Consider it part of my son's continuing education. Now, where were we?”

“Something about Franny being an outsider. And here I am thinking she's your wife.”

“But not blood.”

Anthony's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

“She's the mother of your children.”

“But not my blood,” he said.

“You really need to see a shrink.”

“This isn't about me, Jake. It's about who I can and can't trust. You're the one in the spotlight.”

I grabbed the door handle.

“See ya,” I said.

He reached over, and his hand clamped down on mine and held it.

“What'd you two talk about?” he said.

“Cabbages and kings.”

His smile was cold.

“You never change, do you?”

“What you see is what you get. But you know that.”

“She gonna go through with it?”

“The divorce?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll tell you this much, Dave. You're not number one on her People I Worry About list. Anthony occupies the top spot now.”

Anthony's hands began to tremble.

“My son is
my
problem.”

“No, Anthony's your joint problem. Whatever he's doing for you goes against who he is. And when he blows, you're not gonna be happy with the results.”

Dave released his grip on my hand.

“Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic here?”

“If you're looking for a reason why your marriage is in the dumper, you found it.”

“Anything else, Dr. Laura?”

I opened the door.

“I'm done,” I said.

“Not quite yet. Like I said, nothing escapes my attention.”

“You're being cryptic again.”

“Then let's try direct. I hear you've made some people very angry.”

“That's what your pet councilman Terry said.”

My brother seemed surprised.

“You talked to him?” he said.

“In the interests of saving your sorry ass. But your old buddy wasn't very helpful.”

“What did he say?”

“He'd rather throw you under the bus than the people I've pissed off.”

“Fucking Terry,” he mumbled. “His time'll come.”

“Can you put any names to these people?”

He shook his head.

“Then I guess I'll have to,” I said.

“You're dealing with a different kind of
dangerous
than you're used to, Jake.”

“In what way?”

“They're public figures. Men with reputations to protect. And with you poking around in their business and threatening to expose their dirty little secrets, they'll get desperate.”

“Tough shit.”

“You still don't get it. To keep out of the newspapers they'll come at you in ways you didn't think possible.”

“Then I'll have to deal with it. Some kid in Bed-Stuy gets busted for dealing a little weed and he goes straight to the slam. These jokers are up to far worse and expect to skate. Screw'em!”

Dave flashed me a crooked grin. “And I'm supposed to be the hardhead.”

I left Dave and Anthony and went up to my apartment. It was as cold and dark as a cave. Figuring that a little sunlight wouldn't hurt, I walked over to the living room window and drew open the blinds.

I
n less than ten minutes hordes of black-uniformed, body-armored SWAT types had arrived at my apartment, strung yards of yellow tape, and declared it a crime scene.

Lieutenant Finbar Reagan, a hulking, but surprisingly agile Irishman with whom I had had a nodding acquaintance, ran the show.

“So let me get this straight, Steeg,” he said. “You walk into your apartment, go straight to the window, and pow!”

“Not quite. I walked over to the window, opened the blinds, and
then
pow! Slug crashed through the window, and I hit the deck.”

“If I were you, I'd set up a shrine to your landlord.”

“Why's that?”

“Had the foresight to install a window gate. Deflected
the bullet. Slug wound up in your wall. One of my guys is digging it out.”

A uniform walked up to Reagan.

“Check this out, Finn,” he said. “We were on our way to the roof of the building across the street when we heard some yelling coming from a fourth-floor apartment. We go in and find this elderly couple tied up in the bedroom. She's gagged, but her husband managed to work his gag loose and is shouting to beat the band.”

“Has to be the Gargiullos,” I said. “Vito and Amelia. He's in his eighties. Guy was a baker. Arms as big around as my thighs. They okay?”

“Think so. Paramedics are looking at them. Anyway, they're bringing groceries in and two guys do a push-in. Tie the old folks up. Tell 'em they're not gonna hurt 'em, and stash 'em in the bedroom. Hang around for three, four hours, and then split.”

Reagan moved to the window.

“Show me the apartment,” he said.

“Right across the way,” I said. “On the same floor as mine.”

“That explains the hole in your wall.”

He walked over to the tech digging out the slug.

I trailed right behind.

“Got it yet?” Reagan said.

“Just about.”

The tech pulled a tool that looked like a forceps out of his bag, stuck it in the hole, came out with the round, and dropped it in the palm of Reagan's outstretched hand.

“Shit!” Reagan said. “I've seen this little beauty before.”

“You can identify it?”

“It's deformed, but I think so. Brings me back to my youth.”

“How so?”

“This little guy is a NATO sniper round. State of the art. The shooter probably used a scope.”

“I'm impressed, Finn. I really am. I can't tell the difference between a BB and a brick. How come you know this stuff?”

“Six years as a Marine sniper,” he said. “Any idea why anyone would go to this trouble and expense to punch your ticket?”

“Not a clue.”

“Steeg, what's going on? Why're all these cops dressed like Space Troopers here?”

DeeDee stood in the doorway with her arms wrapped tightly around her body.

“I guess I really annoyed someone, kiddo.”

“The cop downstairs said there was a shooting a couple of floors up,” she said. “So I run upstairs, and it's you.”

I walked over and put my arm around her shoulders. She was trembling.

“Yeah, but as you can plainly see, he missed. Nothing to worry about.”

She put her fingers on my cheek.

“Really? Then why is blood streaming down your face?”

I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and swiped it across my cheek. It came back red.

“Came through the window,” I said. “Must have been some flying glass.”

“Other than that you're good, right?”

“As gold.”

She turned to Reagan.

“And what the hell are you fat asses doing about it?” she said, her voice rising. “You've got cops all over the building knocking on doors, when it's obvious even to a kid like me that the guy who did this is still out there. Fucking
unbelievable!
You people couldn't catch rain with a bucket!”

Reagan looked down at DeeDee as if he were regarding a pesky Lilliputian.

“You've got some mouth on you, little girl,” he said.

“That seems to be the consensus,” I agreed, hugging DeeDee tighter.

“But the kid's right. The guy's still out there, Steeg.”

“He had a scope,” I said. “It could have been a warning.”

Reagan shrugged. “Could be. Sure you want to chance it?”

“Can you think of an alternative?”

“Yeah. Stop holding out on me.”

After Reagan left, I went into the bathroom to get a Band-Aid. The cut on my cheek was small but deep. I rinsed it with cold water. Dried it. And stuck the Band-Aid on. When I came out, DeeDee was sitting on the sofa crying.

I sat down next to her, slung my arm over her shoulder, and pulled her close.

“It's over. I'm fine. So why're you crying?”

“All this time, I've taken you for granted.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're the reason I'm me. The thought of anything happening to you is just …”

“Let's get out of here,” I said.

A
rmand Federov was the last vic on my list.

By all accounts, he was the reincarnation of Mother Teresa. Caring neighbor. Dedicated teacher. Parents and students loved him. Spent his spare time tutoring shelter kids, and never asked for a penny. Took them to ball games. Slipped their families money when they were short. Served Thanksgiving meals to the homeless at a local Lutheran church. The pastor was Federov's biggest fan of all. Claimed Federov did God's work, and the world was worse off for his loss.

On the debit side of the ledger, Federov, like the others, was a fringe guy. No friends. No romantic entanglements. Just his work to keep him warm on cold winter nights.

But he didn't quite fit the profile.

Truth be told, I would have been surprised if he had. I learned long ago that most investigations don't fit into
neat little boxes. But if you kept at them long enough, chances were all would be revealed. That belief was the only thing cops had to hold on to. And it kept the good ones from eating their guns.

By the time I was done with Federov, it was only noon. My rental car had a GPS, and I was in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn. An extraordinary confluence of events that brought Justin Hapner to mind. And Bensonhurst was close by.

I spotted a parking spot that some guy had spent hours digging his car out of. Better yet, it was right across the street from Justin's apartment house.

I got out of the car and my cell phone rang.

“Steeg, it's Luce. Where are you?”

I told her.

“What's up?” I said.

“There's been another one. Just came over the wire.”

I
parked in the shadow of the Wonder Wheel, on Surf and West Twelfth, and walked a short block to the crime scene. Overhead, serious-looking clouds were blowing in off the Atlantic, turning it white with chop.

Detective Esteban “Cholo” Somoza stood just outside the yellow tape, directing the action. A few joggers, a sprinkling of truants, and a clutch of red-cheeked babushkas and their equally red-cheeked men stood on the boardwalk watching him do his thing.

Cholo was a big man who favored black ink tattoos,
custom choppers, and people who didn't bullshit him. We'd always got along just fine.

“Hey, Cholo. How goes it?”

“Look what the tide washed up,” he said. “What in hell are you doing here, Steeg?”

“Luce said you might have something I want to see.”

“She's one of the good guys. Always liked her. Follow me, and be careful where you walk. The techs are just about finished, but…”

“I know the drill. It's still your crime scene.”

“My own little piece of hell,” he said. “I hear you're off the sauce.”

I nodded. “Used to be my little piece of hell.”

“Was it tough?”

“Like pulling a glass-studded rope through my brain.”

Cholo put his arm on my shoulder and kept his voice low.