Read Online GUNNER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 5) by Lawrence de Maria - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lawrence de Maria
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ordered mugs of Lionshead Lager and cheeseburgers.
“You are looking particularly dapper, today, Mac.”
A big man, with big appetites and a waist to prove it, Mac had a full head of reddish gray hair, with long sideburns and a thick mustache that served mainly as a crumb catcher. He usually sported a mismatched jacket and trouser combination that was set off with a mismatched shirt and tie. It was his way of rebelling against Mike Sullivan’s edict that all his investigators wear a jacket and tie. But today he had on a brown suit, tan shirt and light blue tie. And the suit almost fit.
“I’m taking Irene to dinner in Manhattan after work,” he said. “It’s our anniversary.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “Lunch is on me.”
“Lunch was always on you. What’s up?”
I pointed at his book.
“I’m at a bit of a crossroads myself, Mac. I need some help.”
“Stop the presses!”
Our beers came. We clinked glasses and drank. Mac licked his lips in appreciation.
“This might call for another,” he said. “Lay it on me.”
“Technically, if I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I won’t be withholding evidence, since you’re a cop. But then I don’t want you to tell anyone.”
“You want me to withhold the evidence? That’s fucking beautiful.”
“You’re a cop. You can withhold evidence if divulging it would compromise an ongoing investigation. It happens all the time. I did it myself when I was a cop.”
“You still do it.”
“That’s what Vernon Maples said. Suggested I could use that fact on my business card.”
“Smart guy. Who is he?”
“In a minute. What I’m saying is that I can’t go to the cops with what I know, but I want one cop, that’s you, to know what I’m doing, in case I get my tit in a wringer.”
He took a large swig of his beer.
“You’re afraid we’ll fuck it up before you get a chance to fuck it up. That about it?”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Mac and I went back a long way. He’s always felt indebted to me ever since I testified that the child molester and baby killer who fell from a high-rise balcony had been trying to escape from the both of us. I didn’t know what happened in the apartment, since I arrived moments later, and only heard the pervert scream on the way down. Plus the thud on the pavement, of course. More recently, we were also both parties to a cover up that saved the reputation of Mike Sullivan’s wife when she died. Both Mac and Mike have shown their gratitude in a number of ways, despite my best efforts to tell them they didn’t owe me anything. When you abuse people’s trust, you don’t have any. So I tried not to. And Mac knew it.
“OK. I’m listening.”
“Vernon Maples.”
“That name again.”
“He was in my house last night.”
“And?”
“He copped to killing John Panetta.”
Our cheeseburgers arrived. For the first time since I’d known him, Cormac Levine ignored his food.
CHAPTER 8 - UNION RULES
“I can’t sit on this forever, even for you, bubula.”
Mac had recovered sufficiently to finish his burger, and half of mine. But having heard my story, he wasn’t happy.
“I know. And I don’t want you to sit on it, personally. I need you to find out everything you can about Panetta from your end. But keep it under the radar. Then we can compare notes. He obviously did something to warrant a $20,000 contract on his life. I bet the cops who caught the case concentrated more on trying to find the killer than on Panetta’s background. To them it was a random act of violence. They didn’t have to dig up anything on an old war hero. But now we know it wasn’t random.”
“You think someone local ordered the hit?”
“I don’t know. Maples is from out of town, although that doesn’t prove anything. Panetta only moved here recently. He traveled a lot. Maybe someone tracked him down. But my gut tells me there was a reason he decided to move here.”
“Maybe he got
“You are looking particularly dapper, today, Mac.”
A big man, with big appetites and a waist to prove it, Mac had a full head of reddish gray hair, with long sideburns and a thick mustache that served mainly as a crumb catcher. He usually sported a mismatched jacket and trouser combination that was set off with a mismatched shirt and tie. It was his way of rebelling against Mike Sullivan’s edict that all his investigators wear a jacket and tie. But today he had on a brown suit, tan shirt and light blue tie. And the suit almost fit.
“I’m taking Irene to dinner in Manhattan after work,” he said. “It’s our anniversary.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “Lunch is on me.”
“Lunch was always on you. What’s up?”
I pointed at his book.
“I’m at a bit of a crossroads myself, Mac. I need some help.”
“Stop the presses!”
Our beers came. We clinked glasses and drank. Mac licked his lips in appreciation.
“This might call for another,” he said. “Lay it on me.”
“Technically, if I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I won’t be withholding evidence, since you’re a cop. But then I don’t want you to tell anyone.”
“You want me to withhold the evidence? That’s fucking beautiful.”
“You’re a cop. You can withhold evidence if divulging it would compromise an ongoing investigation. It happens all the time. I did it myself when I was a cop.”
“You still do it.”
“That’s what Vernon Maples said. Suggested I could use that fact on my business card.”
“Smart guy. Who is he?”
“In a minute. What I’m saying is that I can’t go to the cops with what I know, but I want one cop, that’s you, to know what I’m doing, in case I get my tit in a wringer.”
He took a large swig of his beer.
“You’re afraid we’ll fuck it up before you get a chance to fuck it up. That about it?”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Mac and I went back a long way. He’s always felt indebted to me ever since I testified that the child molester and baby killer who fell from a high-rise balcony had been trying to escape from the both of us. I didn’t know what happened in the apartment, since I arrived moments later, and only heard the pervert scream on the way down. Plus the thud on the pavement, of course. More recently, we were also both parties to a cover up that saved the reputation of Mike Sullivan’s wife when she died. Both Mac and Mike have shown their gratitude in a number of ways, despite my best efforts to tell them they didn’t owe me anything. When you abuse people’s trust, you don’t have any. So I tried not to. And Mac knew it.
“OK. I’m listening.”
“Vernon Maples.”
“That name again.”
“He was in my house last night.”
“And?”
“He copped to killing John Panetta.”
Our cheeseburgers arrived. For the first time since I’d known him, Cormac Levine ignored his food.
CHAPTER 8 - UNION RULES
“I can’t sit on this forever, even for you, bubula.”
Mac had recovered sufficiently to finish his burger, and half of mine. But having heard my story, he wasn’t happy.
“I know. And I don’t want you to sit on it, personally. I need you to find out everything you can about Panetta from your end. But keep it under the radar. Then we can compare notes. He obviously did something to warrant a $20,000 contract on his life. I bet the cops who caught the case concentrated more on trying to find the killer than on Panetta’s background. To them it was a random act of violence. They didn’t have to dig up anything on an old war hero. But now we know it wasn’t random.”
“You think someone local ordered the hit?”
“I don’t know. Maples is from out of town, although that doesn’t prove anything. Panetta only moved here recently. He traveled a lot. Maybe someone tracked him down. But my gut tells me there was a reason he decided to move here.”
“Maybe he got
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