Read Online Keeplock by Stephen Solomita - Free Book Online Page B

somethin’ is the where and when and how of Conte’s move. If you can’t get to him, you’re goin’ upstate. On the other hand, you don’t have to wear a wire and you don’t have to testify. There was a cop killed about twelve years ago, cop named Bower. The killer was never caught, but we got reason to think your pal was involved. In the old days, Conte would’ve just disappeared, but now we do it different. Now we’ll settle for puttin’ Conte back in the joint. He’s forty-five and he still owes seven years to the state. If we add on a few felonies and he’s sentenced as a multiple offender, he’ll come out in a box. You know how to get in touch with him?”
    “I got his phone number in my wallet.”
    “You wanna call him?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Take the cuffs off, Rico.”
    Condon sat back in his chair and watched his partner fumble with the keys. I resisted the urge to rub my wrists and ankles, going to my wallet instead. Rico snatched the list out of my hand and examined it closely. I don’t know what he thought he was looking at, because the names and numbers were coded, but he handed it back to me a few seconds later.
    “Rico’s gonna stay here with you,” Condon announced, “and I’m goin’ into the social worker’s office. Listen on the extension. I don’t think I gotta tell you what to say.”
    “You don’t.” Two minutes later I was punching out the phone number. Eddie answered on the third ring.
    “Yeh?”
    “Eddie?”
    “Yeh.”
    “It’s Pete. Pete Frangello.”
    His tone changed immediately. “Cuz, you’re out. Son of a bitch. Where ya stayin’?”
    “In a shelter, Eddie. Over in Hell’s Kitchen.”
    “Not for long, cuz. Not for long. I got big fuckin’ plans, cuz, and you are the last piece of the puzzle. I mean if you ain’t decided to go straight.” He laughed at the utter stupidity of the idea.
    “Straight’s not part of my agenda. Never was.”
    “Agenda. That’s funny. Ya learned to talk real good in that school. Too bad you’re a fuckin’ criminal.”
    “Yeah? Well, whatta ya gonna do?”
    “You’re gonna do what you do best. But, look, talkin’ on the phone ain’t the smart thing to do. We gotta have a face-to-face. When could we meet?”
    “It has to be soon, Eddie. The board ordered Intense Supervision. I gotta be back here by ten.”
    “No problem, cuz. There’s a restaurant on Ninth Avenue and 27th Street. Mario’s. You still like spaghetti?”
    “With pepperonis,” I answered. Pepperoni was the only meat we could buy in the Cortlandt commissary.
    Eddie laughed appreciatively. “No pepperonis in Mario’s sauce. But the shrimps are fantastic. I’ll see ya in an hour, right?”
    “One hour, Eddie.”
    Condon waddled back into the room a minute later, obviously pleased with the conversation. “You did good, Pete. Real good. Here, take this.” He offered his card and I accepted it. There were two phone numbers on it. “I want you to call me every night at ten-thirty. Use the second number, not the precinct number. You could do it from a pay phone, but you might wanna tell Conte you have to be back here by ten o’clock. Tell him your P.O. won’t cut you any slack. I already squared it with McDonald so you can use his office to make the call. And I’m gonna have a conversation with your parole office, so if you gotta snort a little coke, you’re not gonna get busted for dirty urine. Basically, you don’t gotta worry about makin’ your P.O. happy. You’re workin’ for us .”

EIGHT
    I T’S NOT MUCH OF a walk from the Paradise Hotel to Mario’s Restaurant on 27th Street. Unless you’ve just had your ass kicked by a sadistic cop. I wasn’t angry anymore. It was all in the line of duty for both of us, just a piece of the dance known as “cops and robbers.” Most of the bruises wouldn’t hurt until the next day, but I did have this very sharp pain on the right side of my lower ribs. Being as I didn’t want to limp into my appointment