Known Devil Page 5
Nothing. Not a sound. I hoped they hadn’t managed to nail him after all.
“Calabrese!” I yelled again. “It’s Markowski. Detective Sergeant Stanley Markowski. Do you recognize my voice?”
Far too many seconds passed – maybe three – before somebody from across the street came back with, “Maybe I do. What do you want?”
“The three vampires who were shooting at you are dead. You got one, and I nailed the other two.” I hadn’t killed the third vampire, but this was no time for complicated explanations.
“Say that’s true,” the voice from behind the Connie yelled. “What do you want – flowers?”
Snide bastard. “Conversation. The face-to-face kind.”
No response.
“Calabrese, I’m gonna stand up now. Then I’m gonna cross the street toward you, my hands empty and in the air. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t shoot me, especially since I just saved your life!”
Another few seconds of silence gave way to, “OK, but be quick about it! I don’t got a lot of time!”
That was for damn sure. Not only was the sky getting brighter by the second, but I could finally hear sirens in the distance. Sounded like SWAT was on the way, but too fucking late to do any good.
I stood up, sidled between two parked cars, and walked slowly across the street, hands in the air. I won’t say that my gut didn’t tighten some as I walked slowly toward an armed criminal who had probably killed more people in his time than I’ve had meals. It was in Calabrese’s best interest not to shoot me, and I was pretty sure he knew it, too. But still, my gut was tight as I crossed that street, and it stayed that way until I saw Calabrese stand up slowly and put his gun away.
He’d been fifty-two when the cancer had driven him to choose the world of the bloodsucking undead, and now he’d look that age forever – or until somebody put a silver bullet in his brain or a wooden stake through his heart. He had salt-and-pepper hair, wide-set brown eyes, and a thin mustache in the middle of a face that was no harder than your average concrete wall.
When I was within twenty feet or so, he said, “What?”
That was the Mafia version of a cordial greeting.
“I wanna talk. Not now – tonight. Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.”
“Talk about what?” He wasn’t stupid – dumb guys didn’t get to be where he was – but I guess suspicion was second nature to him.
“You know what,” I said. “Everything that’s been going on, and what you’re planning to do about it.”
“And I should tell you all that shit, because…”
“Because I just saved your ass, that’s why.”
“Yeah? And you’d have been in such a big hurry to save my ass, like you put it, if I didn’t have information you wanted?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re alive, aren’t you? Or, at least, still among the undead. And if I hadn’t come along, you probably wouldn’t be.”
He stared at me with eyes that had probably looked dead even before he became a vampire. After a second or two he said, “Yeah, OK. Maybe.”
He glanced toward the horizon and immediately turned away, since the first rays of sunlight were just becoming visible.
“Look,” he said, “I gotta get the fuck outta here – now.”
“I know,” I said. Like a lot of vampires with money, Calabrese had a car with ultra-dark tinted windows, including the windshield. He could probably drive the Connie even in broad daylight – for a while, anyway.
“Tonight,” I said. “Name a place and a time. If you’re not gonna be there, have somebody waiting who’ll take me to where you are.”
He seemed to like that idea. “Alright – Ricardo’s, around 10.”
“Fine with me,” I said. Ricardo’s was one of the best Italian restaurants in town. I hadn’t known that the Vampfather owned it, but I can’t say I was surprised. And he must have owned it – no way was he going to meet me someplace he didn’t control.
Calabrese hurried over to the other side of the Connie, stepping over the body of his driver in the process. He yanked open the door and said, over his shoulder, “See ya.” Then he surprised me a little by adding, “And thanks.”
Then he slid behind the wheel, slammed the door, and started the engine. I stepped back a few paces to give him room, but even so he only missed me by a few feet as the Connie pulled away from the curb, tires screeching, and took off down the street.
The sirens were very close now. I looked around, counting the corpses. The vampire gang had gunned down Calabrese’s driver, who lay at my feet. Calabrese himself could take credit, if that’s the word, for another of the stiffs. A third guy was mine, and the last one came courtesy of – who? My guardian angel? In grade school, the nuns used to tell us that everybody had a guardian angel, but none of them ever mentioned that mine might be packing heat.
The black SWAT van was up the street and heading my way fast, siren screaming and lights flashing like a meth junkie’s nightmare. I stepped into the middle of the street and started waving my arm back and forth to flag them down. It was almost time to start the long process of explaining what had happened here. Some of it would even be the truth.
I had the feeling that I wasn’t going to get home for quite a while. I was right, too.
The story that I concocted was pretty good, if I say so, myself. At least, it was good enough to convince Dooley, the SWAT team commander, along with Captain Fisk, my boss Lieutenant McGuire, and a couple of clowns from Internal Affairs.
In my version of events, I’d followed Captain Fisk’s orders to the letter – or tried to. I’d gone back to the gun battle with the intention of observing and reporting, nothing more. But then one of the vampires had spotted me, despite my best efforts to be discreet. He’d loosed off some shots in my direction, and I’d had no choice but to defend myself by returning fire.
One of the other attackers had been dispatched by whoever had taken cover behind the big car across the street – a Cadillac, I thought it was, or maybe an Oldsmobile. No, I hadn’t been able to get a look at the license number or the shooter, who had taken off while I was trying to avoid being shot by the third vampire. That individual had been shot by person or persons unknown. Then the sun came up, SWAT arrived, and order was restored to the universe.
I got pretty good at answering the questions that always followed my little tale – maybe because I got so much practice in the six hours that followed.
How did the vampire you shot manage to spot you, since you were observing from cover?
Hard to say, for sure. But in order to see what was going on – as I’d been ordered to do – I had to expose myself, at least a little. And don’t forget that vampires have damn good night vision. They also hear pretty well, too – maybe he caught the sound from the night-vision binoculars when I turned the device on.
Why is it you can’t tell us anything about the driver of the car, who left just before SWAT arrived?
He was using the car for cover, don’t forget. And I wasn’t at a good angle to see him when he popped for a second or two in order to get a shot off at his attackers. And by the time he left the shelter of the car’s body to get behind the wheel, I was too busy trying to get a fix on the third attacker before he got a fix on me.
So, you killed one of the vampires in self-defense, and you saw the mysterious shooter behind the big car drop another one of them. That leaves two dead vampires unaccounted for.
One of them was down before I got there. He was laying on the street, near the big car. My guess is he was killed in the ambush set up by the three other shooters – an ambush that was also supposed to get the guy who was firing from behind the car when I got there.
OK, that’s one. What about the other vampire?
I have no idea. I know who didn’t kill him – me or the shooter behind the car. Beyond that, I’ve got no clue.
He was shot in the back. Are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with that?
The vampire you admit that you killed – you say he shot at you first. Where did the slugs go that he fired at you?
Beats me – they whistled past my head and headed off down the street. They could be anywhere up to two blocks away, I guess – unless they lodged in some car that the owner already drove away.
And that’s how it went, over and over, for six goddamn hours.
“So, why’d you lie?” Christine asked me.
“The answer to that depends on which particular lie you’re talking about.”
We sat at the kitchen table, each of us having our own version of breakfast. I’d had all of three hours of restless sleep, and had to go to work soon. Fuck it – that’s why God gave us coffee.
“I mean, I get the story about you shooting that fangster because he opened up on you first,” she said. “If you told them that you’d just up and shot the guy, you’d get fired.”
“At least,” I said.
“But how come you didn’t tell them that what’s-his-name, the Mafia guy–”
“Calabrese.”
“Yeah, him. Why didn’t you just explain that there was an ambush set up, and Calabrese was the target? They killed his driver, he shot back, and then you came along and intervened – in self-defense, of course. Then, once the gunfight was over, he drove off before you could stop him.”
“That last part’s not what happened,” I said. “I already told you that I deliberately let him go.”
“That’s right, sorry. I’m starting to get what you said really happened confused with the cover story. But why didn’t you tell them about Calabrese?”
“Because they’d arrest him, that’s why.”
“How come?” she asked. “He was the victim, right? The other guys attacked him.”
“That hasn’t been established in a court of law. He killed a guy – and it isn’t self-defense until the DA, or a judge and jury, say that it is. The guys in Organized Crime would love the chance to bust a guy like Calabrese, even if the charges didn’t stick in the long run. They’d do it just for the nuisance value.”
Christine picked up her mug and took another swig of her breakfast blood. “OK, so they arrest him – that’s his problem, not yours.”
“But if that happens, I lose my leverage,” I said. “Right now, he thinks he owes me for saving his life, which he does – sort of. I think I can use that gratitude and get him to open up about this gang war. But if I save his life and then get him arrested, Calabrese would probably figure those two things cancel each other out. I’d never get a word out of him.”
“What do you figure he knows?”
“If he knows anything at all about what’s going on, that’s more than I do. And, besides, if I don’t rat him out to my fellow officers, that gives me even more leverage.”
She looked at me, frowning. “How come?”
“Because I can always go back and change my story. And if I tell the truth and give them Calabrese’s name, he will get arrested.”
“But if you did that – went to the other cops and said, ‘Look, fellas, I’m real sorry, but I lied about that gunfight. Here’s what really happened,’ you’d be in serious shit with the Department. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m betting that Calabrese won’t take the chance.”
She swirled the remaining liquid in her mug and studied the little whirlpool that resulted. “This cop stuff gets pretty complicated sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’s nothing that a master detective like your old man can’t handle.”
“I hope you’re right, Daddy. I really do.”
Even though dead tired, I came in to work half an hour early. I wanted to talk to Karl and McGuire – separately – before things got busy.
Karl’s usually early, too – and tonight was no exception.
As quickly as I could without leaving anything out, I told him what had happened since he’d seen me last. When I was done, he sat there rubbing his chin.
“You took a big chance,” he said. “Not telling them that Calabrese was involved, I mean. That could come back to bite you on the ass big-time.”
“It’s worth the risk, if it’ll move us forward on this case. Shit, all we’ve got right now is a big, fat pile of nothing.”
“It’s just a case, Stan,” he said. “How many do we handle a year – two hundred? Three hundred? It’s not worth risking your job over.”
“It’s not just any case, dammit! This new bunch that’s trying to move in on Calabrese has started a fucking war. Who knows when it’s gonna end, or how?”
“What the fuck does it matter, really – they’re all fangsters.”
I just looked at him.
“Far as I’m concerned,” he said, “we oughta just let ’em kill each other. If I could, I’d FedEx each side a case of silver slugs, just to help move things along.”
I wondered how Karl would feel if it were human criminals fighting it out in the streets. Sometimes I think he tries a little too hard to prove that he’s more cop than vampire. But I have the good sense to keep that thought to myself.
What I said instead was, “See if you still feel that way when a stray shot from one of those silver bullets kills a five year-old kid.”
Karl broke eye contact with me then, but he didn’t say anything.
“And it’s not like it doesn’t matter which side wins,” I said. “This new bunch – whether they’re from Philly or East Buttfuck, New Jersey – they don’t give a damn about what happens to Scranton. Far as they’re concerned, it’s ‘Fuck the city, fuck the cops, and fuck the citizens.’”
Karl gave me half a smile. “Maybe ‘fuck the cops’ especially.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Sure, Calabrese is a scumbag, but he’s invested in the welfare of this town. His business interests, both legit and criminal, are here. He’s got family all over town, too.”
“Is that ‘family’ with a small ‘f’ or a capital one?” he asked me.
“Both,” I said. “He was born here, you know, which means he’s got relatives everyplace – not to mention what the guidos call ‘brothers in blood’. Can you see him doing this kind of cowboy bullshit?”
“He is doing it,” Karl said mildly.
“Only in self-defense.”
The smile I got from Karl this time was full-bore, fangs and all. “Sounds like you’re his biggest fan.”
“No fucking way,” I said. “I just know the difference between a mean dog and a mad one.”
“Nice turn of phrase,” he said. “You come up with that one yourself?”
“I probably heard it on TV someplace.” After a couple of seconds, I asked him, “So, are you coming with me to Ricardo’s tonight or what?”
“Shit, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Then I went back to McGuire’s office. He had a sour expression on his face, as if his ulcer was acting up again and the Tagamet wasn’t helping. Not a good sign.
“Boss,” I said, “I got involved in some shit last night on the way home. I thought you oughta know about it.”
“Have a seat,” he said. “I already heard a couple of things about that today, through the rumor mill. I was waiting for you to come on shift so I could get all the details.”
I shifted in the hard wooden chair, even though I’d just sat down. “Maybe I should tell you what I told Captain Fisk, Internal Affairs, and everybody else.”
The lines in his face deepened, and I had a feeling it wasn’t the ulcer bothering him. He nodded slowly and said, “OK, we’ll start with that.”
So I ran through the mixture of truth, half-truth, and lies that I’d gotten so good at telling over the last twelve hours.
When I was done, McGuire stared at me for a couple of seconds. Then he said, “You look like shit. Want some
coffee?”
Even if I wasn’t dead tired, I wouldn’t have turned down a cup of the boss’s java. He makes it from these Jamaican Blue Mountain beans that he grinds at home, and a cup of it is enough to restore your faith in a benevolent God.
As I was taking my first sip, McGuire said, “So, that’s the version you gave to Captain Fisk and everybody else. Now – what really happened?”
I drank some more coffee before answering him. “It might be better,” I said, “if you could honestly tell a review board that you never knew the answer to that question.”
He sat back, using a thumb and forefinger to massage the bridge of his nose. McGuire keeps a fancy-looking Howard Miller table clock on his desk. Even though it’s electronic, the thing still makes a soft ticking sound – you can hear it on those rare occasions when the place is quiet. I counted twenty-two of those ticks before he said, “Fuck it, I’ve lied to review boards before – and, no, you don’t get to ask me about that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, even though I was curious as hell.
“I can’t do my job, part of which involves keeping my detectives out of trouble, without knowing what’s going on,” he said. “So, off the record, then – what happened last night?”
“OK,” I said. “I was driving home from work when I heard the sound of shots from a few streets over…”
I told him all of it, right up to the arrival of the SWAT team on the scene. He asked questions along the way, and I answered them truthfully. I might withhold information from McGuire occasionally, but I won’t lie to him – he deserves better than that. He might be a tough boss, but he’s saved my ass more than once when he could’ve saved himself a lot of trouble by hanging me out to dry.
When I’d finished, McGuire said, “Is that what you were talking to your partner about so intently when you first came in?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Karl thinks I’m being stupid for withholding information from the brass.”
McGuire shook his head. “Stupid, no. Crazy – maybe.”
“Nice to see a diversity of opinion,” I said.