The Heart of an Assassin (9 page)

“Tyler,” he remarked, “we need to go on. Your
mother will always be in your heart, and you must never dishonor
her memory by taking out any revenge, or seeking to hurt others for
what has happened.” Tyler watched his uncle as tears ran down his
eyes. Tyler realized in that instant that this man was hurting as
much as he was, and that he too lost someone dear to him. They
forgave each other and moved on. From that day forward, they never
spoke of it again.

Tyler was far wiser because of this man. He
became the son his uncle never had. He excelled in school and
became a straight A student, continuing to excel all the way
through high school and then later on in the police academy.

He remembered when he graduated from high
school, both his aunt and uncle took him out to a nice dinner. Over
the years, they became very close; their love was very strong. When
his uncle kidded him about finally earning his keep, Tyler smiled
back and stated, “C’mon can’t you take care of me for a few years
more?”

“What you mean, boy?” his uncle barked at
him.

“Well, how am I going to enroll in the police
academy if I don’t have someone to take care of me?” Tyler
responded.

His uncle stared at his nephew, tears
swelling up in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he asked.

“I have been accepted and will attend the
police academy. Just call me rookie!” Then he smiled.

His uncle could not contain himself and
started to cry. Then gathering some composure, he rose from his
chair, excused himself, and walked to the men’s room. His aunt,
with tears in her eyes, placed a warm hand on her nephew’s cheek.
“Oh, Tyler, are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom,” he said.

When George returned, Tyler commented, “Dad,
you’re making a spectacle of yourself!”

His uncle sat back down and looked up at him.
“I hope you are not doing this for me. You know I don’t want you to
do something you may later regret. You know,” his uncle went on,
“we are very proud of you, and we don’t want you to waste your life
walking the beat and putting your life on the line.”

“Dad, I don’t plan to walk the beat. I plan
to be the best damn detective you ever saw. My goal is to be your
boss so I can fire your butt,” Tyler responded.

They both stared at each other and started to
laugh out loud. His aunt quickly shushed them, ordering them to
behave. They both stared at each other. Their love was
unquestionable, and Tyler called him dad.

“Hey, Tyler, snap out of it,” his partner,
Eric, shouted.

Tyler was now a detective with the
Twenty-Fifth Precinct out of upper Manhattan. Though Eric and Tyler
had been partners for over a year, Eric knew very little about
him.

“What’s going on?” Eric asked.

“Uh, nothing,” responded Tyler.

They had been called to investigate a
shooting on 120th and St. Nicholas. The neighborhood had not
changed as much as Tyler thought it would. Crime had gone up, but
for some reason, this area remained almost untouched by the
increase. This was the first time they were called to his old
neighborhood since his assignment to this precinct.

There were several police cars already on the
scene cornering off the area. Tyler walked over while Eric was
getting the details from the first officer on the scene. A young
black man was face down in a pool of blood. It appeared he had been
gunned down as he ran from his assailant; there were two gunshot
wounds in his back. A bag of groceries lay scattered on the ground
just ahead of the victim.

Tyler examined the position of the body and
the surrounding area. The victim was not wearing colors (scarf,
belt, or jacket), which would indicate whether or not he belonged
to a local gang.

Eric joined Tyler after a while. “Vic’s name
is Jimmy Johnson Junior, lives over at 222 St. Nicholas. Someone
said they think the Spades, a local gang, did the shooting. But
they aren’t sure,” Eric said.

Tyler stared at Eric for a few seconds. “Did
you say Jimmy Johnson Junior?” Tyler asked.

“Uh . . . Yes. Why? You know him?” asked
Eric.

“Maybe.” Tyler, who had been squatting over
the body, got up and started for 222 St. Nicholas, followed by
Eric.

As he stood in front of the building, the
memory of his painful past resurfaced. They used to hang out on
this stoop. He, Charlie, Jimmy, Davie, and a few other friends
whose names he no longer remembered.

He walked up the stairs and rang the Johnson
bell to gain entry into the building. “Hello, who’s there?” someone
asked though the intercom.

“Ma’am, it’s the police. I’d like to talk to
you,” Tyler said. The bell on the door rang, and they were let
in.

While Tyler and Eric climbed the two stories
to apartment 2A, Tyler felt a sickening feeling inside. He had been
here before, a long time ago. The door was opened, and they stepped
into a neat apartment.

Mrs. Johnson was sitting in the living room
to their left, and they approached her. “Ma’am, I am Detective
Santiago and this is Detective Thomas. Do you have a son named
Jimmy Johnson?” Tyler asked.

“Yes, is something wrong?” she inquired.

Tyler approached Mrs. Johnson and sat in a
chair beside her.“I am so sorry, ma’am, but your son was shot and
killed,” Eric said.

There was silence. Mrs. Johnson sat there
staring at them, then said, “My son died over ten years ago, young
man. That was my grandson,” she responded. “Why, he was a good boy,
never got into trouble, was doing real good in school. Why?”

Tyler looked at her and knew what she was
going through. He knelt down facing her. “I am so sorry,” he
said.

She looked into his eyes, staring, and then
reached out for him. “Oh my God, Tyler, it’s you. Oh my God, I know
how hard this is for you,” she said. They both embraced each other
and remained that way for a few minutes.

Eric did not know what was going on, but
stepped out into the hallway. Leave it alone, he thought to
himself.

When he heard Tyler begin to question Mrs.
Johnson, he went in and found him still kneeling in front of her;
the tears in his eyes had dried up. Eric did not interfere. He
simply waited until Tyler was through with the questioning.

When Tyler got up, he grasped her hands and
gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You are in my prayers,” he said to
her.

“And you in mine,” she responded. Tyler and
Eric took their leave.

A few minutes later, they were walking toward
their car. Tyler informed the paramedics, who were now loading the
body into their ambulance, to advise the coroner that he would be
helping with the arrangements on behalf of the family and gave them
his card.

“Give me the keys,” Tyler told Eric with an
outstretched hand, indicating that he toss him the keys. Eric
complied and jumped into the passenger’s side, just in time before
Tyler gunned it. The car peeled out, heading uptown toward 127th
and St. Nicholas; Spades territory.

Eric sat quietly in the car, wishing he could
say something to defuse the situation. But he had seen Tyler before
in this state. There was no talking to him. Just got to make sure
nothing goes wrong, Eric thought to himself.

A few seconds later, they were cruising up
St. Nicholas. Then Tyler saw what he was looking for. On a park
bench, up against a stone wall running alongside St. Nicholas Park,
he saw a group of black teenagers. All were wearing a black scarf,
some with spades tattooed on their arms.

Tyler pulled over and stepped calmly out of
the car. With Eric behind him, they approached the six teenagers at
the bench. Three of the teenagers stood up and came forward as
Tyler and Eric approached.

Tyler pulled out his revolver and aimed it at
the head of one of the approaching teenagers. They all froze. Tyler
continued to walk forward, past the three that stood up to greet
them. In the meantime, Eric pulled his weapon out, and though he
kept it in check, he meant to use it if any of these punks tried
anything.

Sitting on the bench was Lamont Spaling,
leader of the Black Spades. “What you want, man?” asked Lamont of
Tyler.

“I want you, you asshole,” Tyler responded
while bringing the gun barrel up to his face.

“Hey, you crazy, man,” Lamont said
alarmingly. “What, why you say that, man?” Lamont asked, obviously
shaken.

“Cause you killed my friend’s kid over on
120th,” Tyler responded.

“Man, I don’t know what you are talking
about. That wasn’t us. I swear, man,” Lamont cried out.

“Well, I am going to find out who did it, and
if I hear you, or any one of your whores here were in on it, I am
coming for you,” Tyler finished.

Tyler stepped back slowly, then turned his
back on them and walked away. Eric followed, walking backward with
his weapon still out, cautiously watching to see if any one of them
made any sudden moves.

As they drove back to the precinct, Eric
asked Tyler if he was all right; if there was anything he needed to
talk about. Tyler told Eric it was something from the past and that
he would rather not talk about it right now. Eric nodded and they
drove silently the rest of the way.

June
6, 1984 (New York City)

When Eric and Tyler returned to their
precinct, they were advised that Captain O’Malley wanted to see
them.

Captain John O’Malley had been at this
precinct for more than twenty-two years and had known Tyler’s uncle
well. Tyler’s uncle died in a gun shooting a few years before Tyler
had transferred to Manhattan. At the time, O’Malley had promised
himself that if Tyler ever managed to transfer over to his
precinct, he would watch over him, and he’d been true to his
word.

“Eric and Tyler reporting as requested, oh
great leader,” Eric announced.

“Cut the bullshit, Eric!” commanded
O’Malley.

“Uh . . . sorry, sir,” responded Eric.

Tyler smiled and grabbed a seat in front of
O’Malley’s desk. Eric followed suit and sat without any more
comments.

“Got a job for you, right up your alley. We
got an official, turned stoolie, who needs protection from the mob.
We’re looking for volunteers to keep an eye on him around the
clock. We took a vote while you two were out, and it was unanimous
that you take on the assignment,” O’Malley announced.

“But, Captain, we got ourselves an assignment
already. That kid that was gunned down was probably an innocent
bystander,” Tyler responded. “Also, sir, I knew his father and know
the family. I owe it to them.”

The captain stared at Tyler and then over to
Eric. He knew it was a mistake to have sent him over there, to his
old neighborhood; it must have been hard for him.

“It’s for that reason I am taking you off
this case; too personal,” O’Malley said. “Sorry, Tyler, but I
really need you guys on this one. Rumor is that a professional hit
man has been hired to take this guy out. It is believed that he is
already in town. I am giving you full authorization to do what is
necessary to keep this guy alive. I don’t care if you take him home
with you, or if you move to another state, just as long as you have
him in the Manhattan courthouse at eight o’clock, Monday morning,
the sixth of August, to testify against the Giordano family.”

“Why us?” asked Eric. “Why not the feds?”

“’Cause they believe there is an informant in
the FBI, which they haven’t been able to flush out, with ties to
the Giordano family. Your assignment is sitting somewhere safe, for
now, and we need you to pick him up and disappear for a few weeks.
Simple as that,” O’Malley concluded.

“Where exactly is he?” asked Eric.

“Before I tell you where your assignment is,
I need you two to let your loved ones know that you’ll be out of
touch for several weeks. Be back here tomorrow morning bright and
early,” responded O’Malley.

Tyler had no one to call. His aunt now lived
in a nursing home. He would check in on her every once in a while;
things weren’t the same after Uncle George was killed in a street
shootout. Tyler was there when it happened, just like he was there
when his mother was gunned down. This time, though, the killer did
not get away. Tyler was by his uncle’s side in an alley, with his
head in Tyler’s arms. As his uncle said his last words, Tyler heard
click, click.

It was the assailant in the darkness, lying
between a garbage bin and a tenement wall. He was aiming a pistol
at Tyler, pulling the trigger; it was empty. Tyler had reached for
his uncle’s gun and, with uncontrollable rage, fired two shots into
the assailant, and then replaced the gun in his uncle’s hand.

Tyler again felt the emptiness and loss of
love. He held his uncle’s lifeless body with tears streaming down
his face. They fell silently, caressing the only father he ever
knew. He felt no remorse for the life he took. He would leave it in
the alley to be absorbed by hell.

A quick investigation proved that Officer
George Santiago died in the line of duty, killing his assailant
before taking his last breath. His uncle was awarded for heroism
and died a hero. Shortly after that, Tyler passed his detective
test and was reassigned to the Manhattan precinct.

The loss of his uncle had changed him. He now
approached his job with fearless intent and defiance. He could be
challenged, but never intimidated. His job was now his life, and
the streets of Manhattan his home.

Eric called his sister, Lucille, and asked
her to take Fudge, his chocolate lab, for a few weeks. “Are you out
of your mind?” Lucille responded.

“Come on, it’s only for a little while. I got
a special assignment, and I can’t get out of it. Anyway your kids
love Fudge,” Eric pleaded, knowing Lucille would relent. She always
did.

“Oh, okay . . . and you are right. The kids
do love Fudge. But you owe me, big time,” said Lucille. “Eric,
please be careful.”