The Law of Second Chances

17

Tony Severino was lost in that world between deep sleep and first waking-the world of light dreams. He and his old partner Joe Fogarty were rousting some lowlife in the South Bronx for information. He was in Narcotics at the time, and this particular lowlife sometimes-though not very often-had information to give or sell. They found him in a bar in the middle of the afternoon, the only customer in the place.

Joe Fogarty walked up to the man, put his arm around him, and cuffed his neck in a pseudo headlock. “How ya doin’, Benny?” he asked. “Got anything for us?” Benny looked at the two of them. Tony saw his face, his eyes. Reality penetrated through his dream state. He sat up in bed.

“That’s him! Benny-what the hell was his last name? Joe Fogarty will know.”

“What are you talking about? Who’s him?” his startled wife, Frances, exclaimed from her side of the bed.

“Our murderer-I just remembered where I’ve seen him before.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, honey. Just try to be a little quieter the next time you find a murderer in your dreams. Some of us are still sleeping.”

Tony ignored the remark as he pulled off the covers and stepped out of bed. He checked the clock. It was 6:10 in the morning. There was no need to call Nick; he’d see him soon enough. He decided to get dressed and head for the office, then call Joe Fogarty at eight to see if he remembered Benny’s last name.

Tony caught Joe Fogarty at his precinct before he headed out for the day.

“Joe, I’m going to fax you up an artist’s sketch of a perp we’re looking for. Call me right away and let me know if you recognize him.”

Joe called him back immediately. “That’s Benny Avrile. You remember him, don’t you? He was one of our snitches. He’s still one of mine, although I haven’t seen the skinny little bastard in a while. Benny has these brief periods when he tries to go straight. Unfortunately, nobody will hire the poor son-of-a-bitch.”

When Tony told Joe why they were looking for Benny, Joe didn’t believe it.

“Benny a murderer? C’mon. Is there something in the water down there in Manhattan? This guy is harmless. I don’t think he even knows how to shoot a gun. Don’t get me wrong. Benny’s a lot of things, but he’s not vicious or violent.”

“I’ll keep your thoughts in mind, Joe, in case we need a character witness for Benny. Right now we just need your help finding him.”

“What I wouldn’t do if I were you is show up here and start asking questions in the neighborhood. If word gets out that you’re looking for him, Benny will disappear. If we see him, we’ll nab him and I’ll give you a call.”

“Fine, Joe. Just remember he’s a priority. This case is in the paper every day and you know what that means.”

“Yeah, I know. The powers that be are crawling up your asshole. I’ll get the word out around here. We’ll get him, Tony.”

Benny was maintaining a low profile. At first, he had a tremendous desire to run, but he had no idea where to go, and gradually the urge to flee dissipated. He started to believe that somehow he had gotten away with it all.

Even though he had run into the Bitch from Hell, as he liked to call her, on his first venture out, that didn’t deter him from continuing to stop at Tillie’s now and then for an afternoon beer. There was always the possibility that she would show up again, especially since he had shortchanged her, but that was a risk Benny was willing to take. Shit, she knows where I live anyway, he thought. If she’s coming back, she’s coming back. Nothing I can do about it. The money’s almost gone anyway.

Benny didn’t talk to anybody at the bar except Tillie, and he never stayed for more than a couple of hours. Usually it was just the two of them, and they shot pool or smoked a joint in the back. Tillie was just starting to get used to Benny buying his own drinks. Now, wonder of all wonders, Benny was supplying the pot as well.

One week after Tony Severino’s call to the Bronx, on a quiet, pleasant afternoon when Benny and Tillie, high as kites, were playing eight ball at the pool table in the back of the bar, Joe Fogarty walked into Tillie’s. He went right up to Benny, put his arm around him, and cuffed his neck in a pseudo head-lock. Joe Fogarty had obviously not bought into the dangerous-desperado routine they were selling downtown.

“Benny, Benny, where’ve you been? You don’t call, you don’t write. Old Joe is starting to think you don’t like him.”

“I’ve been right here where I’ve always been, Joe. You can ask Tillie.”

Joe ignored Tillie for the moment. Benny was the star of the show today. “I’ve got bad news for you, Benny. I’ve got to take you in.”

“For what?”

“Never mind. You’re in big trouble though, so just keep your mouth shut until they give you a public defender. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Benny turned around and did what he was told. “I didn’t do anything, Joe.”

“Oh, you’ve done shit, Benny, but that’s not what I’m locking you up for. Like I said, just keep your mouth shut until you get a public defender. Don’t go pissing on people’s legs and making up stories, you understand me? Shut up until you get a lawyer.”

“All right, Joe.” Joe was a good guy. Benny almost wanted to tell him what happened, how it all went down, but he decided to take Joe’s advice and say nothing.

Joe checked Benny’s pockets after he locked the handcuffs in place and pulled out two tens and two joints. He threw the joints on the pool table. “You better hold these for him until he comes back, Tillie.” Then, taking Benny by the arm, he led him out of the bar and into his car.

Tony Severino put the phone down and spoke to Nick, who was on the other side of the desk, typing a report.

“They got him.”

“Good,” Nick replied. “Has he said anything?”

“Joe said he hasn’t talked. That surprises me, because Benny is a flapper.”

“Maybe we can get him to talk when we get him down here. Let’s go pick him up.”

They brought Benny back to Manhattan and put him in a cell on the second floor.

“Let’s just hold him for now,” Nick suggested. “Let him wonder what’s going on. In the meantime, we can finish our investigation. We’ll talk to him when we know what we need, if anything.”

Tony disagreed. “I think we should do it right away, Nick. If we get him to confess, we can short-circuit the rest of this investigation.”

“Think about it, Tony. If we put him through a lineup and tell him he’s been fingered already, isn’t he more likely to confess?”

“I guess you’re right,” Tony conceded, although he was irritated. He had located Benny and he knew he could wrap this case up if he got a shot at interrogating him.

With Benny in custody things started to move, although not as fast or as smoothly as Nick would have liked. They did two lineups, one each for Paul and David, who both identified Benny within seconds.

Angie came to the station to look at a few pictures. When she was unsuccessful in that regard, Nick took her to see Ralph Giglio to try and come up with a sketch of Lois Barton. However, she proved to be as bad in the description department as Philly Gertz: after describing Lois’s long black hair, she came up blank. Ralph prompted her for almost an hour but got nowhere. Nick suspected that Angie was holding back again. He knew he’d have to have another heart-to-heart with her, but not right away. He’d talk to Benny first. Maybe Benny would give him something that he could use to make Angie open up about Lois Barton.

Something else troubled him as well. Tony had contacted the credit card company, who told them there had been no charges on Angie’s credit card after it had been stolen. That didn’t make sense if Benny had actually stolen Angie’s credit card at the bar that night. A guy like Benny should have charged thousands of dollars by now. Yet there was nothing.

It was just like Dan Jenkins, the coroner, had said the night of the murder: it’s never open-and-shut.