Chasers (16 page)

1

Rev. Jim bounced the ball with his right hand, body coiled, eyes focused on those of the young man with the bulky arms by his side, both soaked with an early-morning sweat. He pushed the ball to his left and burst past the young man, head down, dashing toward the basket less than twenty feet away. Rev. Jim stopped short, knees bent, and got a good arc on the ball. The chain rattled and the rock fell to the concrete.

“That’s game, Ty,” Rev. Jim said, turning to the young man behind him sitting on the ground, arms folded around bended knees. “Unless you have a few points I forgot to add to your score.”

“No, you took it, you keep it,” Ty said with a slow shake. “And I’ll live with it. But you know next time we play I will own your ass.”

“How did you come up with a two-and-two that led you to that?” Rev. Jim asked, reaching down for the ball. “Given that you have
never
beaten me and we’ve been going at it for three years now.”

“I got all your moves down now,” Ty said. “And you’re way too old to dig up any fresh ones, that’s for one. And I’m due for a win—it’s all just a matter of me catching some of the luck that’s been floating your way.”

“Sounds like you got it all worked out,” Rev. Jim said, tossing Ty the ball and walking toward him, his eyes now on the two men standing under the shadows of the net. “So much so that it might all work for the best if I don’t even bother to show for next week’s game.”

“Forfeit falls under a win for me,” Ty said, smiling as he stood up. “But I’ll make that your call. Don’t want a guilt ticket floating my way down the road if that happens.”

“I got a week to decide,” Rev. Jim said, turning away from Ty and walking toward the two men. “But toss this in. If you nail that chemistry test coming up, I might lean toward spotting you a few points.”

“How much of a spot we talking?” Ty asked.

“That depends,” Rev. Jim said, “on how high of a grade you can take down.”

“You shittin’ me?” Ty asked. “I’ll dunk down a straight and solid A if I can get some free points tossed that way.”

“That’s the plan,” Rev. Jim said.

Rev. Jim waited until Ty walked out of the basketball court, taking a quick glance at the bumper-to-bumper traffic locking both sides of the FDR Drive. He then turned and faced the two men, both leaning against the steel basketball pole. “I never figured either one of you to turn into park lurkers,” he said, giving each a warm smile. “At least not for a few more years, anyway.”

“Beats hustling lowballers out of pocket change,” Dead-Eye said. “That’s scraping hard ground, little friend.”

“You move pretty well out there,” Boomer said. “If I had known, I’d have set up an Apaches basketball team years ago. Try to cash in on that corner jump shot.”

“And what special skill would you and Dead-Eye bring to the table for our team?” Rev. Jim said with a wink.

“You know me, Rev.,” Dead-Eye said. “I’m a shooter. I’ll have that end covered like a bearskin blanket.”

“I can whistle,” Boomer said. “I guess that should be more than enough to make me the coach.”

“We’ll never pull it off,” Rev. Jim said after a moment of thought. “We’d be picked off as ringers in no time flat. I hope you came with a Plan B along with your dollar and a dream.”

“We did,” Boomer said. “Only this one has more bullets than baskets. And it’s not even close to being a five-on-five.”

“And the chances of us coming out of it with a win are less than zero,” Dead-Eye said. “But in the event you die the city of New York will spring for the funeral and the flag.”

“I knew there would be a perk hidden in there somewhere,” Rev. Jim said. “Your plans always come with the best perks.”

“The temperature on this one, Jim, is a few clicks higher than our last job,” Boomer said. “I’m not going to pour sugar on it. You come in with us, I don’t know if you’ll come out. I don’t know if any of us will.”

“You really suck at recruiting,” Rev. Jim said. “You need to work on that win-one-for-the-Boomer talk. Ease up on the negative vibes, my friend.”

“We could use your help,” Boomer said, his voice gone suddenly soft. “But if I were standing in your place I’d take my ball and head as far away from the two of us as your legs can take you. Because coming in with us won’t lead anywhere good.”

“Me and Boomer figured we’d lay it out for you and then give you some think time,” Dead-Eye said. “But there’s no other way to spell it. This one has a one-way feel.”

“There’s no need to either lay it out or give me time to decide,” Rev. Jim said, looking from one ex-cop to the other. “I’ll get up to speed soon enough—that end has never been much of a problem for me. And as far as me giving a thumbs-up or -down to joining your team, I decided on that about the time I first spotted you standing under the basket.”

“From what I hear, you carved a decent slice for yourself out here,” Boomer said. “Make some decent money, do work that matters, and help kids in your free time. That plus your pension should keep you ahead of your mortgage and grocery money.”

“To be truthful, we gave a lot more thought whether we should reach out to you than you did on signing on,” Dead-Eye said. “Okay with you if I ask why?”

“Boomer’s right,” Rev. Jim said. “I landed a decent job and have more than a fair share of pocket money. And every now and then I make a reach-out and turn a kid around and get him off the side roads and back onto the main highway.”

“Don’t sound all that bad to these ears,” Dead-Eye said. “It’s not a buy-and-bust and a flurry of bullets blowing both ways, but it’s better than doing a nine-to-five in a branch bank wearing a blue uniform and a fake badge and praying that some loser with a mask and a shotgun slams his way through the front door and brings a little juice to your day.”

“What are you looking for?” Boomer asked.

“Same thing you two are,” Rev. Jim said. “I want a chance to matter again. I want to make a difference, and not just to one kid or a small handful. Don’t read me wrong. That’s all well and good, but there’s too much shit out there and it’s too easy to get, and that Father Flanagan routine can only take you so far. I’m drifting. We all are. And maybe what it is you got planned will scare ten years of shit out of me, minute I get wind of what it is. But, even if it does, it might help bring the drift to an end and give me a chance to feel alive. None of us like to say it, but God knows we all think about it. It would have been easier to be dead than to have survived the wounds we did. Once you’re dead, it’s over with, gone and buried. Walking out of the hospital, that’s the day the real shit begins.”

The three stood under the warm morning sun, heads bowed in silence, the noise of the traffic swelling behind them. “Remind me again, Boom,” Dead-Eye said. “Why did we think of asking Rev. Jim back on our team?”

“We were looking for somebody to cheer us up,” Boomer said, looking up at Jim and giving him a slow nod.

“There had to be more to it than that,” Dead-Eye said, squeezing out a smile. “As I recall, this sucker’s as funny as a funeral party.”

“We were looking for a great cop, too,” Boomer said, turning and doing a slow walk out of the playground. “Remember?”

2

The small church was empty. The old woman in the black dress knelt in front of the main altar, blessed herself, and released a string of dark rosary beads from between a set of vein-riddled fingers. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, her thin, frail lips shaping the words of a whispered prayer. Around her, the slow and easy glow of the votive candles slid across the silent glares of saints and angels. She leaned her arms against the creaky wood railing separating the altar from the nave and began her slow journey down the beads of the rosary. Outside, the sun was in the early stages of its descent, bringing to an end an otherwise warm and peaceful spring day.

Angel slid in silently beside the old woman, bowed his head, and then lifted his gaze up toward the main altar. “Do you hold all your meetings in a church?” he asked. “Or am I simply a special case?”

“It’s where I feel most at home,” the old woman said. “I would think that would be true for you as well.”

“There was a time, yes,” Angel said with a slow, appreciative nod. “But that was many years ago. I’m not the same man I was then.”

“The man hasn’t changed,” the old woman said. “Only the choice of profession.”

“Perhaps, Theresa,” Angel said. “It would be best for us to have such a discussion in a place with much better lighting. But for now it might be a sound idea to work toward the business at hand, which boils down to a simple transfer: my drugs, your money. Are you prepared to move forward?”

“You would be pleasantly surprised to know what a cure our proposed transaction can be for my tired old body,” Theresa said in a firm voice, her eyes on the rosary beads resting on her fingers. “And, at the very least, I anticipate feeling two decades younger the closer we get to finalizing all the details.”

“There isn’t much left to do,” Angel said. “You will transfer the money to the accounts stipulated in the last meeting between our attorneys—five million total, American dollars, low denominations, no bills newer than four years. And I, in turn, will transfer over to you one hundred kilos of cocaine and have them distributed as per your agreed-upon specifications.”

“And I have your guarantee that the street value of the cocaine will be in the neighborhood of fifteen to twenty million,” Theresa said, slowly turning her gaze from her hands and up to Angel. “And, I assure you, you will be held to that guarantee. Not one dollar less.”

“Ease up on the threats, old woman,” Angel said, standing and gazing down at Theresa. “I’m not in the mood. How much you earn from the drugs you buy from me is totally dependent on the skill levels of the crews you have in place. If they can slice it and dance on it enough times and sell large quantities in silk markets at high tide, then you will hit your target goal. If they can’t, you won’t. Either way, it’s not something that will ever pop up on my radar. I will be long gone from your rearview once the total numbers are in.”

“There was a time I would have had you beheaded for speaking to me in such a tone,” Theresa said.

“And there was a time I would have heard your confession and sent you home with a blessing,” Angel said. “But both our universe and our places in it have changed. So my offer stands firm. Five million in cash in return for one hundred kilos of my finest. Take it or toss it—your choice, so long as you make it this very second with the knowledge that once rejected it will never be brought back to your table. At least not at the same bargain price.”

Theresa folded her dark rosary beads and dropped them into the pocket of her widow’s dress. She slowly lifted herself off her knees and turned to face Angel. “The cash will be in place before end of business tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll alert my runners to be on guard for a large and valuable shipment. And if this all moves as smooth as it no doubt should, I look forward to seeing you in church on a fairly regular basis.”

Angel nodded and smiled. “With pleasure,” he said. “I would even hear your confession if you liked.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Theresa said, turning to walk down the aisle, her thick shoes echoing off the marble floor. “But, as you yourself so clearly stated, our two universes have shifted. I will come to you only for the purpose of conducting business. I will find a priest if I feel a need to confess any sins I might have committed.”

“Do you confess them all?” Angel asked. “Or simply the convenient ones?”

Theresa stopped and turned. “I confess the ones I feel most require the Lord’s forgiveness,” she said in a voice laced with anger. “As well as the ones for which I feel the greatest remorse.”

“Does that include the recent death of your husband?” Angel asked. He took several steps closer to Theresa, hands by his sides, at ease inside this place.

“My Alberto died of a rare blood disorder,” Theresa said, her right hand clutching the curled edge of a brown pew. “The only remorse I feel is in no longer having him at my side.”

“If that is indeed the case and he died as you say, you have my sympathy,” Angel said with a sarcastic smirk. “I should learn not to give much weight to the street gossip that has become so much a part of our business.”

“That would be wise,” Theresa said with a stern nod of her head. “It would prevent you from saying anything foolish and may even save your life.”

“Or prevent me from taking one,” Angel said.

Theresa stared at the ex-priest and nodded. “I have lived a long life in a trade not known to embrace experience,” she said. “And that is neither idle gossip nor talk. Nor is it luck. It is simple fact.”

“There’s always a reason buried behind such a fact,” Angel said. “What is yours?”

“I make sure the first bullet fired is always from the end of my gun,” Theresa said.