The Killing Room

FORTY-SEVEN

The Egg’s Nest was a cop bar in the northeast, located on Roosevelt Boulevard and Revere Street. The crowd was sparse, mostly married cops and state troopers with their girlfriends, eyes flicking to the front door every time it opened.

Byrne took a high-top at the back, ordered a double Bushmills straight. He thought about what brought him to this place, and what he was about to do.

At ten o’clock Vincent Balzano walked in wearing a leather jacket, black T-shirt, jeans, motorcycle boots. He shared a few pleasantries and laughs with the cops at the bar. Vincent then leaned in and gave his order to the barmaid, made his way back.

‘Thanks for coming, Vince.’

‘Any time, brother.’

The waitress brought Vincent’s beer, and a second Bushmills for Byrne. The two men clinked glasses.

‘Slainte,’ Byrne said.

‘Better days,’ Vincent said. He sipped from his beer, put it down, interlaced his fingers. ‘How can I help?’

Byrne glanced around at the other patrons. They were mostly cops, but even so he had to be careful with what he had to say. ‘You know a dealer named DeRon Wilson?’

‘Know him? We’ve been trying to bury that motherfucker for five years.’

‘You heard about my little problem on the news?’

‘I did.’

Byrne told him the specifics, including the detail that it was Wilson he had braced.

‘I had no idea it was him,’ Vincent said. ‘Sorry to hear you’re jammed up over that piece of shit.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What do you need?’

Byrne lowered his voice. ‘I need to find him.’

Vincent Balzano was a veteran detective, not only of the streets, but specifically North Philadelphia. If you were a narcotics cop, there were few places in the country tougher to work.

‘I’m not going to ask you why, but I need to know what I’m calling in,’ Vincent said.

‘I understand.’

Byrne told Vincent about Gabriel Hightower. He showed him the picture on his cell phone.

Vincent took a few seconds to rein back his anger. He drained his beer. ‘I know all of his KAs, but I don’t think they’re going to give him up,’ he said. ‘He’s got a few stash houses, though. Let me make a call.’

Vincent took his cell from his jeans, stepped out of the bar. Five minutes later he was back. He didn’t sit down. ‘Nobody’s saying where DeRon is holed up, but I reached out to a detective in North. He said he thinks DeRon has been staying with his girlfriend. He’s got triplets with her.’

‘Jesus. There’s three more of him?’

Vincent laughed. ‘I think they’re girls. Word is this girlfriend lives in Juniata Park, but nobody knows exactly where. The good news is that DeRon’s brother Carter is going to make a drop tonight.’

‘Do we know where?’

‘I’m waiting on that text right now.’

‘And this Carter is going to give his brother up?’

‘Carter likes to pose, but he’s no hardass,’ Vincent said. ‘If we find him, I’ll turn him.’

Byrne downed his shot, looked over both shoulders. Even though there was no one in earshot, he still lowered his voice. ‘You might need to go off the reservation here, Vince.’

‘How far off?’

‘Like, maybe, Cleveland.’

Vincent’s phone buzzed. He checked the text, zipped his jacket, grabbed his car keys, and said, ‘I’ve always liked Cleveland this time of year. Let’s do this thing.’