When the Sacred Ginmill Closes

Chapter 17

Bobby couldn't get over it. He seemed almost hurt by Billie's ingenuity. "Why didn't you say something?" he demanded. "I could have been writing down numbers the same time, we could have covered more of them."

Keegan shrugged. "I figured I'd keep it to myself," he said. "So that when they ran past all these cars and caught a bus onJerome Avenue I wouldn't look like an asshole."

" Jerome Avenue 's in theBronx," somebody said. Billie said he knew whereJerome Avenue was, that he had an uncle used to live onJerome Avenue. I asked if the pair had been wearing their disguises when they emerged from the driveway.

"I don't know," Bobby said. "What were they supposed to look like? They had little masks on." He made twin circles of his thumbs and forefingers, held them to his face in imitation of the masks.

"Were they wearing beards?"

"Of course they were wearing beards. What do you think, they stopped to shave?"

"The beards werefake," Skip said.

"Oh."

"They have the wigs on, too?One dark and one light?"

"I guess. I didn't know they were wigs. I- there wasn't a hell of a lot of light, Arthur. Streetlamps here and there, but they came out that driveway and ran to their car, and they didn't exactly pause and hold a press conference, pose for the photographers."

I said, "We'd better get out of here."

"Why's that? I like standing around in the middle ofBrooklyn, it reminds me of hanging out on the corner when I was a boy. You're thinking cops?"

"Well, there were gunshots. No point being conspicuous."

"Makes sense."

We walked over toKasabian's car, got in, and circled the block again. We caught a red light, and I gaveKasabian directions back toManhattan. We had the books in hand, we'd paid the ransom, and we were all alive to tell or not tell the tale. Besides that, we had Keegan's drunken resourcefulness to celebrate. All of this changed our mood for the better, and I was now able to provide clear directions back to the city andKasabian, for his part, was able to absorb them.

As we neared the church, we saw a handful of people in front of it, men in undershirts, teenagers, all of them standing around as if waiting for someone. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the undulating siren of a blue-and-white.

I wanted to tellKasabian to drive us all home, that we could come back tomorrow for Skip's car. But it was parked next to a hydrant, it would stand out. He pulled up- he may not have put the crowd and the siren together- and Skip and I got out. One of the men across the street, balding and beer-gutted,was looking us over.

I called out, asked him what was up. He wanted to know if I was from the precinct. I shook my head.

"Somebody busted into the church," he said."Kids, probably. We got the exits covered, the cops coming."

"Kids," I said heavily, and he laughed.

"I think I was more nervous just now than I was in the church basement," Skip said, after we'd driven a few blocks. "I'm standing with a laundry bag over my shoulder like I just committed a burglary and you've got a forty-five in your belt. I figured we're in great shape if they see the gun."

"I forgot it was there."

"And we just got out of a car full of drunks.Another point in our favor."

"Keegan was the only one who was drunk."

"And he was the brilliant one. Figure that out, will you? Speaking of drinking-"

I got the scotch from the glove compartment and uncapped it for him. He took a long pull, handed it to me. We passed it back and forth until it was gone, and Skip said, "Fuck Brooklyn," and tossed it out the window. I'd have been just as happy if he hadn't- we had booze on our breath, an unlicensed gun in our possession, and no good way to account for our presence- but I kept it to myself.

"They were pretty professional," Skip said."The disguises, everything.Why did he shoot the light out?"

"To slow us down."

"I thought he was going to shoot me for a minute there. Matt?"

"What?"

"How come you didn't shoot him?"

"When he was aiming at you? I might have, if I sensed he was about to shoot. I had him covered. As it stood, if I shot him he would shoot you."

"I mean after that.After he shot the light out. You still had him covered. You were aiming at him when he went out the door."

I took a moment to answer. I said, "You decided to pay the ransom to keep the books away from the IRS. What do you think happens if you're tagged to a shooting in a church inBensonhurst?"

"Jesus, I wasn't thinking."

"And shooting him wouldn't have recovered the money, anyway. It was already out the back door with the other one."

"I know. I really wasn't thinking. The thing is,Imighta shot him. Not because it was the right thing to do, but in the heat of the moment."

"Well," I said. "You never know what you'll do in the heat of the moment."

THE next light we caught, I got out my notebook and began sketching. Skip asked me what I was drawing.

"Ears," I said.

"How's that?"

"Something an instructor told us when I was at thePoliceAcademy. The shapes of people's ears are very distinctive and it's something that's rarely disguised or changed by plastic surgery. There wasn't a hell of a lot to see of these two. I want to make sketches of their ears before I forget."

"You remember what their ears looked like?"

"Well, I made a point of remembering."

"Oh, that makes a difference." He drew on his cigarette. "I couldn't swear they had ears. Didn't the wigs cover them? I guess not, or you wouldn't be drawing pictures. You can't check their ears in some file, can you? Like fingerprints?"

"I just want to have a way to recognize them," I said. "I think I might know their voices, if they were using their real ones tonight, and I think they probably were. As far as their height, one was around five-nine or -ten and the other was either a little shorter or it looked that way because he was standing farther back." I shook my head at my notebook. "I don't know which set of ears went with which of them. I should have done this right away. That kind of memory fades on you fast."

"You think it matters, Matt?"

"What their ears look like?" I considered. "Probably not," I granted. "At least ninety percent of what you do in an investigation doesn't lead anywhere. Make that ninety-five percent- the people you talk to, the things you take time to check. But if you do enough things, the one thing that does work is in there."

"You miss it?"

"Being a cop? Not often."

"I can see where a person would miss it," he said. "Anyway, I didn't mean just ears. I mean is there a point to the whole thing? They did us a dirty and they got away with it. You think the license plate will lead anywhere?"

"No. I think they were smart enough to use a stolen car."

"That's what I think, too. I didn't want to say anything because I wanted to feel good back there, and I didn't want to piss on Billie's parade, but the trouble they took, disguises, sending us all around the barn before we got to the right place, I don't think they'regonna get tripped up by a license number."

"Sometimes it happens."

"I guess. Maybe we're better off if they stole a car."

"How do you figure that?"

"Maybe they'll get picked up in it, some sharp-eyed patrolman who looked at the hot-car list. Is that what they call it?"

"The hot-car sheet.It takes a while for a car to get on it, though."

"Maybe they planned in advance. Stole the car a week ago, took it in for a tune-up. What else could they get charged with? Desecrating a church?"

"Oh, Jesus," I said.

"What's the matter?"

"That church."

"What about it?"

"Stop the car, Skip."

"Huh?"

"Stop the car a minute, all right?"

"You serious?"He looked at me. "You're serious," he said, and pulled over to the curb.

I closed my eyes, tried to bring things into focus. "The church," I said. "What kind of church was it, did you happen to notice?"

"They all look the same to me. It was, I don't know, brick, stone. What the hell's the difference?"

"I mean was it Protestant or Catholic or what?"

"How would I know which it was?"

"There was one of those signs out in front. A glass case with white letters on a black background, tells you when the services are and what the sermon's going to be about."

"It's always about the same thing. Figure out all the things you like to do and don't do 'em."

I could close my eyes and see the damn thing but I couldn't bring the letters into focus. "You didn't notice?"

"I had things on my mind, Matt. What fucking difference does it make?"

"Was it Catholic?"

"I don't know. You got something for or against Catholic? The nuns hit you with a ruler when you were a kid? 'Impure thoughts, wham, take that, you little bastard.' Yougonna be a while, Matt?" I had my eyes closed, wrestling with memory, and I didn't answer him. "Because there's a liquor store across the street, and much as I hate to spend money inBrooklyn, I think I'mgonna.All right?"

"Sure."

"You can pretendit's altar wine," he said.

HE returned with a pint of Teacher's in a brown bag. He cracked the seal and uncapped the bottle without removing it from the bag, took a drink and gave it to me. I held on to it for a moment,then drank.

"We can go now," I said.

"Go where?"

"Home.Back toManhattan."

"We don't have to go back, make a novena or something?"

"The church was some kind of Lutheran."

"And that means we can go toManhattan."

"Right."

He started the engine, pulled out from the curb. He reached out a hand and I gave him the bottle and he drank and handed it back to me.

He said, "I don't mean to pry, Detective Scudder, but-"

"But what was all that about?"

"Yeah."

"I feel silly mentioning it," I said. "It's somethingTillary told me a few days ago. I don't even know if it was true, but it was supposed to be a church inBensonhurst."

"A Catholic one."

"It would have to be," I said, and I told him the story Tommy had told me, of the two kids who'd burglarized a Mafia capo's mother's church, and what had supposedly been done to them in return.

Skip said, "Really? It really happened?"

"I don't know. Neither does Tommy. Stories get around."

"Hung on meat hooks and fucking skinned alive-"

"It might appeal toTutto. They call him Dom the Butcher. I think he's got interests in the wholesale meat industry."

"Jesus. If that was his church-"

"His mother's church."

"Whatever. Yougonna hang on to that bottle until the glass melts?"

"Sorry."

"If that was his church, or his mother's church, or whatever it was-"

"I wouldn't want him to know we were there tonight while it got shot up. Not that it's the same as burglarizing the premises, but he still might take it personally. Who knows how he'd react?"

"Jesus."

"But it was definitely a Protestant church and his mother would go to a Catholic one. Even if it was Catholic,there's probably four or five Catholic churches inBensonhurst. Maybe more, I don't know."

"Someday we'll have to count 'em." He drew on his cigarette, coughed,tossed it out the window. "Why would anybody do something like that?"

"You mean-"

"I mean hang two kids up and fucking skin 'em,that's what I mean. Why would somebody do that, two kids that all they did was stole some shit from a church?"

"I don't know," I said. "I know whyTutto probably thought he was doing it."

"Why?"

"To teach them a lesson."

He thought about this. "Well, I bet it worked," he said. "I bet those little fuckers never rob another church."