Once Were Cops

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 me-self, 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 was okay, they’d some serious fucking to do with him.

Rodriguez was contemplating another jelly doughnut, those suckers were good but he was piling on the pounds and had to watch it. He looked at McCarthy, who, per usual, seemed on the verge of a coronary, the guy was always so... het up. He pushed the doughnut aside, got a match in his mouth, asked,

“Ray, ask you something?”

McCarthy was surprised, Rodriguez was Mr. Cool, hardly ever spoke, especially in interrogations, just leaned against the wall, chewing on a match, watching. McCarthy said,

“Sure.”

Rodriguez took his time, nothing was ever rushed with this guy, he asked,

“Why are you so stuck on this case, Kebar, the kid? I mean, we have a shitpile of backlog stuff yet you seem to think these are the only ones that matter, like it’s personal.”

McCarthy felt his temper flare but reined it in, said,

“It is fucking personal, this Kebar, he thinks he’s some kind of cowboy, and the kid, he’s got a mouth on him, I aim to shut it the fuck up.”

A sergeant looked in, said,

“Your boy is here.”

McCarthy said,

“Let’s bring him to the morgue first, you think?”

Rodriguez said,

“Youse de boss man.”

Always riled McCarthy when he went street.

Kebar was in full uniform, his expression neutral, asked,

“The fuck you want now, don’t you parasites ever do any real work?”

McCarthy smiled, said,

“We need you to view a John Doe.”

Kebar asked,

“I have a choice?”

McCarthy said,

“This way. We’ll even give you a ride.”

The morgue was cold with that antiseptic smell that made you want to gag, a stretcher was in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, McCarthy pulled it off in one sweep and Kebar pulled back.

A charred husk of what might have once been human was curled up on the stretcher. Kebar sneered,

“Crispy critter... how the fuck am I supposed to know who the hell it is?”

Rodriguez spoke, startling them, said,

“We’ve saved you the problem, his dental records identify him as an informant named Lonnie... your informant, we believe.”

Kebar was stunned but kept his face in gear, the world kept tilting out of focus, he said,

“You already know, why’d you bring me here?”

McCarthy got right in his face, said,

“See, here’s the thing, tough guy, ol’ Lonnie was last seen getting into your car, and hey, next time he shows, he’s French fries.”

Kebar snarled,

“Get outa my face and use your fucking head, would I waste my own informant?”

Rodriguez said,

“You might if he didn’t give you what you wanted, and we know you’re... upset, at... what happened to your sister.”

Kebar whirled on him, his fists in balls, and McCarthy said,

“I hear she fought like a wild thing when the perp was riding her.”

And he was flat on his back, a pile driver of a punch from Kebar, Rodriguez had his gun against Kebar’s neck, said,

“Back off... now.”

Kebar did, reluctantly, said,

“Pulling guns on your own, that where you guys have got to?”

He looked down at McCarthy, who was trying to sit up, spat in his face, said,

“You ever talk about my sister like that, I’ll fucking kill you.”

McCarthy got shakily to his feet, said,

“Assaulting an officer and making death threats, I could lock you up right now.”

Kebar sneered,

“So, go ahead.”

McCarthy shook his head, said,

“Give us Morronni, I’ll see you do only one to five.”

Kebar laughed.

“Fuck you.”

McCarthy said,

“Okay, mister, play hardball but you might consider you’re taking the Irish kid with you, now get the fuck out of here, start packing for the pen.”

Kebar turned without a word and left.

Rodriguez said,

“Your jaw is swelling, better get an ice pack.”

McCarthy rubbed his face, the pain was kicking in, and he said,

“The bastard is out of control, just where we want him.”

And he smiled, despite his swelling jaw, he thought his answer was good.

He liked that.

It was... cool.

I borrowed Nora’s car, a battered Pontiac and what a hoor to maneuver. I’d learned to drive on a stick shift and this automatic gig, though obviously easier, took some getting used to.

And...

New Yorkers, not the most patient bunch, you learn as you go. I’d taken to following Kebar, if he was taking down the guy who attacked Lucia, I wanted to be there, Jesus, I had to know what he knew... had to.

But screwing with McCarthy was part of it.

And Lucia... she was the true reason.

Word was she wasn’t coming back from the catatonia she’d retreated into and that made me so hot, being interrupted... how do they say... midmaneuver... just when I was in the zone, lost in the ice palace.

Four nights I followed him, trying to be real careful. He’d, as he’d taught me... ream me a new one if he caught me.

He’d drive to a dive on Eighth and then just sit, watching, I knew he was memorizing the players, the times they came and went, and getting a feel for the terrain.

He was going and soon, I could sense it.

And me... I knew Lucia had saved me from... like, you know... doing something to Nora.