Outrage

24

Ahmed Kadyrov watched the three women leave the apartment from across Watson Avenue, where he waited for five minutes more to make sure they weren’t coming back before entering the building. At first he’d been disappointed that Lydia Cassino wasn’t going to be home with her husband. But the more he thought about it as he climbed the stairs to the third floor, the more he realized it would be easier to take care of them one at a time. He had no doubt that the woman was as potentially violent as her husband, and they were even more dangerous when together.

Kadyrov knew he was taking a big risk. Cassino had ratted him out to that detective he’d stabbed last night, and if the drug dealer had heard about the murder, he might be more on guard. But the other detective, Graziani, had told him that Cassino had evidence that could get him sent to prison for life, maybe even executed. He had to do something.

That damn blue shirt I gave him, Kadyrov thought with disgust.

He’d decided Graziani’s plan was worth the risk. Just show up like he didn’t know about Cassino’s betrayal. He thought Cassino would see it as an opportunity to get more information out of him and make an even better deal with the authorities.

Which is exactly what Cassino decided when he answered the knock at his door, looked out the peephole, and saw Kadyrov standing in the hallway. The drug dealer felt a momentary surge of apprehension, but the weight of the big. 357 in his hand made him feel better, and he smiled. If he could get Kadyrov to admit that he killed that detective, the Cassinos would have a free pass for life. The police would look the other way when it came to a guy who caught a cop killer.

Cassino stepped back and unlocked the door. “Ahmed, long time no see, brother,” he said. “Come on in.”

The unusually congenial greeting told Kadyrov everything he needed to know: the drug dealer was looking for more leverage for his legal problems. He smiled back. “Yeah, man, long time,” he said. He held up a small red backpack. “I scored a bunch of good shit and need someone to help me move it.”

Cassino’s small-businessman’s radar suddenly perked up. Here was a fine opportunity; he’d agree to help Kadyrov and then steal it when he turned the fool over to the cops. “I’m your man,” he said. “How much?”

“Two ounces,” Kadyrov said, patting the small green backpack he carried in his hand.

Surprised, Cassino asked, “Where’d you get it?”

Kadyrov grinned. Cassino’s greed was leading him into the trap. “I ‘borrowed’ it from some punk in Brooklyn who wasn’t too careful about locking his doors,” he said.

Cassino chuckled. “Can’t be too careful,” he said, turning to lead the way into the apartment. “A lot of criminals out there.” He laid the revolver on the kitchen counter and shuffled toward his easy chair and the shotgun lying against its arm.

Kadyrov waited a moment and then reached into the backpack for his switchblade. He moved swiftly behind his victim and without hesitation stuck the blade into Cassino’s back at kidney level.

The pain was so intense that Cassino couldn’t even call out at first but clawed at the air in front of him. He gasped as his attacker withdrew the blade and plunged it in again and again. With every ounce of determination he had left, he turned and, stretching out his long arms, wrapped his fingers around Kadyrov’s throat. “I’ll kill you,” he snarled, his eyes full of rage and agony.

Kadyrov was surprised by the man’s strength and fought the urge to panic as he was being choked. In fear, he drove the knife deep into the left side of Cassino’s potbelly and slashed sideways, the razor-sharp blade opening the man’s gut. The grip on his neck loosened, and Cassino looked down as though surprised to see the blood soaking his overalls and then sank to his knees.

“Thought you could rat me out and get away with it, you son of a bitch,” Kadyrov said as he backed away triumphantly.

“I ain’t no rat,” Cassino snarled weakly. “Where’d you hear that shit?”

Kadyrov grinned. “A little birdie told me. A birdie with a gold shield.” He leaned closer and said, “I can do anything I want. And when your old lady gets back, I’m going to rape the shit out of her, if I can stomach touching that ugly bitch. Then I’m going to cut her up real slow.”

Cassino cried out as he lunged forward, but Kadyrov easily sidestepped the attack and laughed as the drug dealer fell to the ground and lay on his side groaning. “Here’s the deal, old man,” the killer said. “Tell me where the blue shirt is and I’ll make it quick for your bitch.”

“Don’t know… any damn blue shirt,” Cassino gasped.

Kadyrov kicked Cassino, who could only grunt at the pain. “Sure you do,” he said, “the shirt I took from the apartment where I killed them two bitches in Manhattan, same way I’m gonna do to that sooka wife of yours.”

“Oh yeah, that shirt,” Cassino spat, “fuck you, it ain’t here. Gave it to a junkie.”

Kadyrov kicked Cassino again. “I know you told that cop Brock about it,” he hissed as the older man groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. “Now, where the fuck is it? Tell me or I’ll take it out on your wife.” But Vinnie Cassino didn’t answer. He was dead.

In a rage, Kadyrov searched the apartment looking for the blue shirt. When he couldn’t find it, he grabbed the. 357 from the counter and stationed himself next to the window, waiting for Lydia Cassino to return.

As promised, Lydia Cassino did not spend a great deal of time visiting her “elderly mom” in Yonkers. In fact, she was only in the dilapidated wood-frame house for five minutes before she emerged and climbed back in Marlene’s truck. “Let’s go, honey,” she announced. “Got to get back to my man.”

On the way to Yonkers, Marlene had tried to appeal to Lydia as a woman, describing the outrages perpetrated on Olivia Yancy and Beth Jenkins. “I can’t promise what kind of deal can be worked out for your testimony and the shirt,” she said.

But before she could go on, Lydia interrupted. “Save your breath, sweetie,” she said. “I feel bad for what happened to them gals, I really do. I know who killed them and he’s a real scumbag; I’d like to shoot him in the balls myself and watch him bleed out. But I need my man with me, not rotting away in prison. And to be honest, I want that reward money so we can get out of that rat hole on Watson Avenue; it’s getting so a decent woman can’t go out on the sidewalks by herself anymore.”

The two women didn’t discuss the case anymore on the drive back into Manhattan. When Marlene let Lydia off in front of the building, the older woman leaned back in the window. “Get us that deal, sweetie,” she said. “Then we’ll all have what we want.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Marlene replied. She watched the woman go into the building. She then called her husband and told him about the Cassinos.

“Do you think they’d be willing to come downtown to talk to me about it?” Butch asked.

“I can ask,” she said. “I’m still here, so I can drive them and you can get them a cab back.”

Hanging up, Marlene got out of the truck and made her way through the sidewalk lurkers and was about to enter the building when she heard a scream from above. The screaming stopped immediately but she recognized Lydia’s voice and rushed in and up the stairs.

Reaching the Cassinos’ apartment door, Marlene banged on it and shouted, “Police! Open up!” She stepped aside just in time to avoid the bullet that passed through the door, blasting a hole the size of a half-dollar in the wood.

“The building is surrounded! Put the weapon down and come out with your hands up!” she shouted, and crouched down in case the shooter started blasting at the wall.

There was the sound of something crashing in the apartment. Then silence, followed by the sound of a window sliding open. She realized what that meant-the fire escape-and started to get up to give chase but hesitated. The Cassinos might need medical attention.

Marlene lined up across the hall and then flung herself into the door as hard as she could. She was gratified to hear the sound of wood splintering but the door remained in place. Backing up and then running forward, she battered the door again. This time it gave around the molding, and on the third attempt it crashed inward and she tumbled forward into the semidark apartment.

Freezing in place, it took her a moment to realize that there were two bodies on the ground in front of her. As her eyes adjusted she recognized Vinnie Cassino, who was lying on a dark wet stain that she guessed was blood.

Too late, she thought. Then she spotted Lydia Cassino, who groaned and tried to push herself up from the floor. She peered at her husband and cried out. “Baby! Oh, what’s he done to you!” Lydia clawed at her husband’s body and rolled him over.

Marlene moved and Lydia’s head jerked up. Her face was a mask of rage and fear as she started to scramble for her husband’s chair and the shotgun leaning against it.

Realizing the woman might just start blasting, Marlene vaulted to her feet and across the room in time to wrest the gun from Lydia’s hands and toss it aside. She then slapped the woman hard. “Lydia, it’s Marlene,” she said. “What happened? Did you see who did this?”

The woman’s eyes cleared as she recognized Marlene. “I didn’t see him,” she cried. “I came in and saw Vinnie…” Lydia looked at the lifeless body of her husband and an anguished sob escaped her lips. But the anger returned immediately. “I screamed and went to check on Vinnie and the son of a bitch hit me from behind. But I know who the murdering piece of shit was… Ahmed Kadyrov… the guy you’re looking for.” Lydia looked over at the window. “He go that way?”

“Yeah,” Marlene answered as she dialed 911 on her phone. “A man’s been stabbed,” she then said into the phone, and gave the address. “Perpetrator: white male…” She looked at Lydia, who nodded and added, “Skinny. Dark hair. Not six feet,” which Marlene repeated before continuing. “Last seen leaving the building from the fire escape.”

As Marlene spoke, Lydia went over to the window and looked out. “Long gone,” she said, picking up the shotgun and walking to the door.

“Where are you going?” Marlene asked, hanging up with the 911 operator.

“To look for the man who killed my man,” Lydia said. Her face was grim in spite of the tears that leaked from her eyes. But then the facade cracked and she sobbed as she dropped the gun and covered her face. “Oh, Vinnie, what am I gonna do without you, baby?”

Marlene went over and wrapped her arms around the other woman. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “You know there’s only one way to get the guy who did this. Vinnie deserves it, and so do Olivia Yancy and Beth Jenkins.”

Lydia broke the embrace and stepped back. She was breathing heavily and started to shake her head, but then she nodded as her shoulders sagged. “Come on, we need to go,” she said. “The medics will take care of my Vinnie ’til I get back. But if we’re here when the police show up, they might find some things and toss my ass in jail.”

“Where are we going?” Marlene asked.

Lydia wiped her nose with the back of her hand and half-grinned despite her tears. “Why, to see my elderly mom in Yonkers, of course.”

They started to leave the apartment but suddenly Lydia returned to her husband’s body. She leaned over and removed something from the top pocket of his overalls. She then pressed her fingers to her lips and his head. “Mama’s gonna take care of this for you, baby,” she said. “Then I’ll see you on the other side.”