what had happened to
her. I acted out the whole grief/shock/horror gig,
asked, “How is she doing?” He said, “In a
catatonic state.” I asked, “What are you suggesting
I do?” He headed for the door, said, “Look out for
your partner.”
I went to the car pool but they said he hadn’t come
in, had called in sick … again.
I went back inside, found the grizzled cop, got
Kebar’s address and headed out there, he lived in
Queens and it took me two hours to find his place.
An old apartment building, six buzzers with no
names, I rang them all and finally heard his tired
voice go, “Whatever the fuck you’re selling, I’m
not buying.” I said, “K, it’s Shea, can I talk to
you?”
A pause, then he pressed the buzzer. His apartment
was on the third floor and the door was open.
The place was small, one sitting room, tiny
bedroom, miniature bathroom, he was sitting on a
worn sofa, dressed in a torn NYPD sweatshirt and
old jeans, cleaning a gun, using oil to shine the
barrel, he didn’t look up, asked,
“What’s on your mind?”
I said,
“I just heard about Lucia, I’m so sorry, and … if I
can help?” He put the gun down, said, “I got it
under control.” Dismissing me. I asked, “But some
backup wouldn’t hurt, right?” He let out a long
weary breath, said,
“Go away, kid, this gig is a no-brainer, it’s a
career killer, so take off, go become supercop.” I
tried further. “K, I want to help.” He finally looked
at me, asked, “What is it you don’t understand
about fuck off?”
I took off, stood outside for a few moments, then
understood what it was I had to do. Back at the
station house, the sergeant said, “The goon squad
is waiting on you.” Fucking Internal Affairs. I said,
“Again?” He gave a rueful grin, said, “Hang tough
and don’t forget, you can have a union rep with
you.”
They used the interrogation room this time.
McCarthy was wearing a fifty-dollar suit, and even
at that he was robbed, I suppose it was meant to
say, This proves I’m not on the take.
Mainly it proved he had shite taste.
The black guy was leaning against the wall,
chewing on a stick, that bemused smile going, took
me a minute, then I remembered … Rodriguez.
McCarthy indicated the seat on the other side of the
table, the perp’s one, and then sat opposite me,
asked, “How’re they hangin’, kid?” I considered
this, said, “In a sling, I’d say, if you get your way.”
He laughed, was going to be the good old boy
today, said,
“I like you, kid, you have spirit and I’d hate to see
you go down.”
I waited and he riffled through some papers, then:
“Morronni, Kebar’s paymaster, he has a sidekick,
named Gino, seems somebody did a number on
him.”
I hadn’t anything to say to this, so didn’t.
He shrugged, said, “We’re not the bad guys here,
kid, you take down a piece of shit, gets our vote,
we can cut you a bit of slack.”
Pause.
“However, you refuse to cooperate, this could be
turned into a vigilante cop gig and that’s not good,
not good at all.”
I made a show of looking at my watch, asked,
“Is there a point to this and are you ever going to
get to it?”
Another laugh, less jollity this time, he said,
“A scumbag named Fernandez did a real number
on your partner’s sister and we know Kebar is
going to take the fuck down, we want you to tell us
when.” I asked, “That’s all?” He was surprised,
went, “You’ll do it?”
ŤC,,, ” ‘Sure
He looked at the black guy, who nodded, and then:
“Don’t even think about screwing with us, got
that?” I said, “Loud and clear.” McCarthy sat back,
said,
“I’m a little skeptical at your change of attitude,
what’s the reason?”
I sighed, loudly, said,
“Kebar is finished, I realize that now, I don’t want
to go down with him.”
He decided to push a bit more.
“And if we want you to wear a wire, get Kebar
talking about the money,
her. I acted out the whole grief/shock/horror gig,
asked, “How is she doing?” He said, “In a
catatonic state.” I asked, “What are you suggesting
I do?” He headed for the door, said, “Look out for
your partner.”
I went to the car pool but they said he hadn’t come
in, had called in sick … again.
I went back inside, found the grizzled cop, got
Kebar’s address and headed out there, he lived in
Queens and it took me two hours to find his place.
An old apartment building, six buzzers with no
names, I rang them all and finally heard his tired
voice go, “Whatever the fuck you’re selling, I’m
not buying.” I said, “K, it’s Shea, can I talk to
you?”
A pause, then he pressed the buzzer. His apartment
was on the third floor and the door was open.
The place was small, one sitting room, tiny
bedroom, miniature bathroom, he was sitting on a
worn sofa, dressed in a torn NYPD sweatshirt and
old jeans, cleaning a gun, using oil to shine the
barrel, he didn’t look up, asked,
“What’s on your mind?”
I said,
“I just heard about Lucia, I’m so sorry, and … if I
can help?” He put the gun down, said, “I got it
under control.” Dismissing me. I asked, “But some
backup wouldn’t hurt, right?” He let out a long
weary breath, said,
“Go away, kid, this gig is a no-brainer, it’s a
career killer, so take off, go become supercop.” I
tried further. “K, I want to help.” He finally looked
at me, asked, “What is it you don’t understand
about fuck off?”
I took off, stood outside for a few moments, then
understood what it was I had to do. Back at the
station house, the sergeant said, “The goon squad
is waiting on you.” Fucking Internal Affairs. I said,
“Again?” He gave a rueful grin, said, “Hang tough
and don’t forget, you can have a union rep with
you.”
They used the interrogation room this time.
McCarthy was wearing a fifty-dollar suit, and even
at that he was robbed, I suppose it was meant to
say, This proves I’m not on the take.
Mainly it proved he had shite taste.
The black guy was leaning against the wall,
chewing on a stick, that bemused smile going, took
me a minute, then I remembered … Rodriguez.
McCarthy indicated the seat on the other side of the
table, the perp’s one, and then sat opposite me,
asked, “How’re they hangin’, kid?” I considered
this, said, “In a sling, I’d say, if you get your way.”
He laughed, was going to be the good old boy
today, said,
“I like you, kid, you have spirit and I’d hate to see
you go down.”
I waited and he riffled through some papers, then:
“Morronni, Kebar’s paymaster, he has a sidekick,
named Gino, seems somebody did a number on
him.”
I hadn’t anything to say to this, so didn’t.
He shrugged, said, “We’re not the bad guys here,
kid, you take down a piece of shit, gets our vote,
we can cut you a bit of slack.”
Pause.
“However, you refuse to cooperate, this could be
turned into a vigilante cop gig and that’s not good,
not good at all.”
I made a show of looking at my watch, asked,
“Is there a point to this and are you ever going to
get to it?”
Another laugh, less jollity this time, he said,
“A scumbag named Fernandez did a real number
on your partner’s sister and we know Kebar is
going to take the fuck down, we want you to tell us
when.” I asked, “That’s all?” He was surprised,
went, “You’ll do it?”
ŤC,,, ” ‘Sure
He looked at the black guy, who nodded, and then:
“Don’t even think about screwing with us, got
that?” I said, “Loud and clear.” McCarthy sat back,
said,
“I’m a little skeptical at your change of attitude,
what’s the reason?”
I sighed, loudly, said,
“Kebar is finished, I realize that now, I don’t want
to go down with him.”
He decided to push a bit more.
“And if we want you to wear a wire, get Kebar
talking about the money,
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