Dog Tags

CHAPTER 40

PATIENCE WAS NEVER SOMETHING WILLIE MILLER EVER REALLY HAD PATIENCE FOR. It made sense, seeing as he had wasted seven years sitting in a prison for a murder he didn’t commit. He certainly wouldn’t want to waste more of his life waiting or sitting around. But the truth was that Willie was an impatient person long before he ever went to prison, and that trait simply continued afterward.

Yet Willie’s lack of patience was never quite as pronounced as in the days after he killed Ray Childress. He had told both Andy and Laurie that he wanted to be involved in the investigation, that he was anxious to help in any way he could.

They had both assured him that he would get his wish, but he felt they were just putting him off, and in the days since they hadn’t come to him with anything.

He didn’t want to keep bothering them, but he had this problem: Somebody had paid Ray Childress to hold a gun on Sondra, and that somebody was still walking around free. That was simply intolerable.

It was time to talk to Joseph Russo.

Joseph Russo had been convicted on a weapons charge just before Willie’s retrial, and their stay in prison had overlapped for almost three months. One day Russo was attacked by three other inmates in the prison yard, men who either didn’t know who Russo was or who were trying to make a name for themselves.

Russo was a top lieutenant in the Vincent Petrone crime family, which considered New Jersey its personal playground. But that didn’t help him that day in the prison yard, alone and facing three men with makeshift knives.

What helped him was Willie Miller. Russo and Willie weren’t friends, but they had conversed a few times and developed a prison form of respect. What Willie did not respect was what was about to happen to Russo. Three against one, especially when the three had weapons, was not the kind of competition that Willie would look favorably on. And it was certainly not the kind of thing he would look away from.

The whole thing took about forty seconds, and an hour after that Willie and Russo were back in their cells, and the three men were in the hospital. No action was subsequently taken against either Willie or Russo, mainly because the entire incident was captured by the prison surveillance cameras.

Russo was appropriately grateful, and vowed that if Willie ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask.

Now was the time to ask.

The problem was that Willie had no real idea how to do that. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Russo in years, though he had heard Russo had only spent eight months in prison. It wasn’t like he had his address or phone number, but it was going to take much more than that little glitch to stop him.

It was pretty well known that the Petrone family used the Riverside area of Paterson as their base of operations. It was a collection of unassuming streets and houses, rather old-fashioned, and completely free of crime. Kids played out front without parental supervision, secure in the knowledge that no one in their right mind would dare harm anyone in that neighborhood.

Willie went down there at six PM, a time when he figured a lot of people would be out and about. He parked in front of a diner and started walking. To everybody he saw he said the same thing: “Hey, my name is Willie Miller, and I’m looking for Joseph Russo. You know him?”

Every single person said they did not know Russo, so Willie smiled and said, “If you meet him, please tell him I’ll be at the diner, waiting to talk to him.” Most people in Willie’s situation would have been nervous, but Willie had been born with a defective anxiety gene.

After half an hour of spreading the word, Willie went back to the diner, ordered a burger and french fries, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait very long. Two men, one large and the other larger, came in and the diner immediately felt crowded. They walked over to Willie’s table, and the smaller of the two said, “Let’s go.”

Willie stuffed the last few french fries into his mouth and followed them. They walked down the street, and the smaller man dropped behind Willie, so that Willie was in the middle. Willie noticed kids in the street and on the porches staring at them, and he waved as if he were in a parade.

The unlikely threesome went three blocks, ending at a house that looked no more expensive or impressive than any of the others. The larger man went up the steps and opened the door without knocking, then signaled for Willie and the other man to follow.

Willie heard the sound of a television, which seemed to come from upstairs. He was led into a den, where Joseph Russo was shooting pool with another man. Willie was struck by how much weight Russo had gained since getting off prison food. Back then he was maybe 160 pounds, which looked appropriate for his five-foot-ten frame. Looking at him now, Willie figured him for more than two hundred.

Russo looked up, saw Willie, and broke into a broad grin. “My man,” he said, then put down the cue stick and walked over, wrapping Willie in a bear hug. “How ya doin’?”

“Still cool,” said Willie. “Stayin’ cool.”

Willie suddenly realized that they were alone; his two escorts and the other pool player had seemed to vanish in thin air. He wanted to get to the reason he was there right away, but Russo wanted to drink beer and reminisce about the old days, as if they had been fraternity brothers for four years rather than casually acquainted inmates for three months.

Russo only briefly referred to the attack that day in the prison yard, but did mention that the three men regretted what they did “until the day they died,” which was only two months later.

“So,” Russo finally said, “what can I do for you?”

“I killed a guy last week,” Willie said, but Russo showed no reaction at all. “His name was Ray Childress.”

“That was you?” Russo asked, and then laughed. “Childress was messing with you? I always knew he was an asshole. Man, I’ve been telling my people for years about how you could handle yourself.”

Willie was pleased that Russo knew Childress. “He held a gun on my wife and tried to steal my dog.”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah. I need to know why he did that, and who sent him, so I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You think I know?” Russo asked.

Willie shrugged. “I figured you could find out. Especially if Petrone is involved.”

Russo reacted quickly to the mention of his boss. “This had nothing to do with Mr. Petrone,” he said, then softened and laughed. “He don’t even like dogs.”

Russo stood up, hand extended to shake, a signal that the meeting was over. “Let me see what I can find out, okay? I’ll call you.”

“Thanks, man.” He handed Russo a business card, which he’d had made when he and Andy started the Tara Foundation.

Russo looked at it. “Dog rescue? What the hell is it with this dog stuff? You and that lawyer friend of yours.”

The reference to Andy was a sign that Russo had checked Willie out, which surprised him. “You should get one,” Willie said. “A dog will never bullshit you.”

Russo smiled. “Nobody bullshits me.”