Chasers (39 page)

17

Natalie sat back and watched as Boomer poured out three glasses of chilled champagne and handed one each to her and Dead-Eye. She smiled, nodded her thanks, and raised her thin glass toward the two Apaches. “To a job perfectly executed,” she said.

Boomer sat back and stared across at Natalie, dressed in a black Karl Lagerfeld dress that was slit at the thigh, her rich dark hair falling over her shoulders, her olive eyes bright and alert.

He would never sit across from a more beautiful woman.

“Yes, it was,” Boomer said. “But I have to spread credit to where it needs to be put, and that’s square on your well-turned-out lap.”

“I helped,” Natalie said, holding the smile, her eyes moving from Boomer to Dead-Eye. “But you were the ones who pulled it off. None of it would have worked without your team being in the middle of it all.”

“You did more than plan, Natalie,” Boomer said. “You played us and we walked right into your game, chess pieces on your big board.”

“There was a time,” Dead-Eye said, “when we might have smelled it out. Maybe seen the moves sooner, not been as blind to your actions as we were.”

They were sitting at the back of a small dining room in a quiet Italian restaurant on the tail end of West Forty-sixth Street. It was an hour past the lunchtime rush, and they were the only diners in the place, most of the waiters heading off to a well-earned break. “Get to your point,” Natalie said, the smile gone now, the eyes hard, the Lady Who Lunched quickly replaced by the born-and-bred mob boss. “I came here to celebrate, or thought I did. I didn’t come to be lectured or listen to any insane blather.”

“I have to hand it to you,” Boomer said, his voice tinged with a sad resignation. “You had me going for most of it. Maybe because I wasn’t expecting it, or more like I just didn’t want to see it.”

Natalie finished her glass of champagne, rested the glass on top of the table, leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and smiled over at Boomer. “Where did I botch it?” she asked.

“I caught a glimpse of a piece of art hanging in a corner of Angel’s room,” Boomer said. “It was the same high-end work that we took out of Talbot’s brownstone, included in that big batch that was supposed to have been fenced halfway around the world. Yet, miracle of miracles, it somehow found its way into Angel’s little cave and that was when it all fell into place.”

“You sell it or just hand it over as a gift?” Dead-Eye asked.

“I never give,” Natalie said in a voice as harsh as they had ever heard it.

“No, I guess you don’t,” Boomer said. “And you usually don’t make mistakes. At least not ones big enough that even two beat-up cops like us could catch.”

“I don’t see where you have much to complain about,” Natalie said. “You wanted to bring down Angel and do damage to his operation, and that you certainly accomplished. Adding the G-Men to the mix was merely sweet icing to a very delicious cake.”

“That may all be true,” Boomer said, “but we were used, plain and simple, and that sort of shit doesn’t sit well with us.”

“You needed help and I offered to supply it,” Natalie said. “You made use of my skill set as much as I made use of yours.”

“You could have taken Angel and his crew down on your own,” Dead-Eye said. “Same holds for the G-Men. You didn’t need to bring us into it.”

“It was important to me and to my business interests that both groups think we were partners until the very end,” Natalie said. “I couldn’t very well do that if we were at each other’s throats in the middle of a gang war. So that’s where you came into my picture, and I colored you into my plans.”

“And the only reason we stepped into your picture was because of a restaurant shooting,” Boomer said, his words hard and measured. “A shooting that killed my niece. A shooting that wasn’t the accident it was so carefully made to look like. Feel free to step in and stop me if you think I’m taking this in the wrong direction.”

“It put you in play,” Natalie said. “While Angel and eventually the G-Men focused their limited attention on a small band of rogue cops, I not only was able to make my moves under their very gaze but they would even on occasion turn to me for advice. Talk about having your cake.”

“So the only collateral damage to come out of that restaurant was the sap in the booth,” Dead-Eye said.

“It’s not as if Angel ever needed an excuse to rid himself of potential enemies,” she said. “But the only real target in that restaurant, as far as I was concerned, was the waitress.”

The room swirled slightly, the bile rising in his throat. For the first time in his life, Boomer felt overwhelmed by the horror of a crime. His right hand instinctively moved toward his holster, fingers eager to grip the hard end of a gun. He felt duped and foolish, a washed-up cop taken in by beauty and a beast all rolled into one. “What made you so certain that I would go after them?” he choked out.

“The same that tells me that as much as you want to kill me right now, you won’t,” Natalie said. “And you never could. I made it my business to get to know you. I studied you. You were my exam and, if I may grade my own results, I passed with flying colors.”

“You did more than pass,” Boomer said, struggling against the odd sensation of heaviness that was overcoming him. “You won it all. And I lost. I’m walking away as empty as I came in.”

Natalie nodded. “And where does that leave us now?” she asked.

“Back where we were before all this started,” Boomer said. “You on one side, me on the other. Only this time I won’t be putting together a team to come after you. The field is all yours.”

“A wise move by a wise man,” Natalie said.

“But we
will
stiff you with the tab for the champagne,” Dead-Eye said. “And don’t be a short arm when it comes to the tip, either.”

Boomer slid his chair back and stood, his eyes never moving off Natalie’s face. “If luck holds for both of us, we won’t ever see each other again,” he said. “Not in this life, at any rate.”

Boomer turned and walked toward the side exit of the empty restaurant. He reached for the door handle and turned it. He stopped and lowered his head when he heard the three muted gunshots, three bullets firing in rapid succession. He listened for the gasp and the low moan that quickly followed and waited for the thud of a body falling facedown against the hard surface of a thick mahogany table. He opened his eyes, swung the door away from his face, and stepped outside into the light of the warm afternoon air.

18

Boomer and Dead-Eye sat in the front seat of a parked sedan, facing the Hudson River on the edge of Pier 72, their backs to the southbound lanes of the West Side Highway. A four-story cruise ship was moored to the dock, water gently lapping against the sides of its mammoth hull, its passengers free for the day to explore the streets of the city beyond.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one,” Boomer said.

“It had to be somebody,” Dead-Eye said. “So why not me? She had to stand for what she did to Angela, and there was only one way for that to happen.”

“But I could never have done it,” Boomer said. “I could never have pulled the trigger on her. Even after what I knew she did, I still could never have brought myself to the point of raising my gun and pulling that trigger. And that’s the first time I could ever say that about anyone.”

“That’s because you were in love with her,” Dead-Eye said. “You denied it, but we both knew it was true. And love clouds your judgment as much as it does your vision. I didn’t go in with that particular monkey on my back. Not that it was all that easy for me to do—don’t get me wrong on that count. Just that it was
easier.
”

“She wasn’t surprised by it, was she?” Boomer asked.

“Not so you would see it on her face,” Dead-Eye said. “She was smart enough to know I wasn’t hanging back to get in a quick hug and a kiss. And she grew up in this rodeo, so she had to have a sense of what was going to happen.”

“You think she knew it coming in?” Boomer asked. “That one of us was going to take her out?”

“I think she knew coming in that we were wise to her,” Dead-Eye said. “And that you were there to tell her so and I was there to put her down.”

“But still she came in,” Boomer said. “On her own, empty. No bodyguards anywhere in sight.”

“She came to see you, Boomer,” Dead-Eye said. “That was the only reason she agreed to the meet. She wanted to see you one last time.”

“What are you getting at?” Boomer asked.

“Give it some thought,” Dead-Eye said. “A woman that smart, able to run an outfit that big and cold enough to waste an innocent kid just to get you and me back into the game so she can take down two bands of dealers without them catching a whiff, is going to be dumb enough to walk into a restaurant setup that could be put together with scratch paper and Crayolas?”

“You’re saying she came in there knowing it was going to end up a hit?” Boomer asked. “Am I reading you right?”

“Finally, the dust is starting to clear,” Dead-Eye said.

“Why would somebody that smart do something that stupid?” Boomer said.

“Same reason a cop like you couldn’t draw down on a gangster like her,” Dead-Eye said. “She fell in love, too.”

Boomer put his head back and closed his eyes, the sound of the traffic behind him a blend of white noise. “I was crazy enough to think there might be a way for it to work,” he said. “Until I knew she was behind it all, I was looking for a happy ending.”

“Don’t start getting sobby on yourself,” Dead-Eye said. “You’re not the only cop to get caught up with someone from the dark side. We all skirt the line at one time or another, and you can’t cast blame on us for doing it. Three-quarters of couples out there met their lady or their husband on some job or other. People who work in banks marry bankers. Doctors tend to screw nurses, like that. We look to stay within our world, and in that case our options are fairly confined. On the high end, if we’re really lucky—a lawyer maybe, an ADA we worked a case with, or, God forbid, one of those Legal Aid Set ’Em Loose Betty types. Otherwise, a partner or a cop you know from the job. And then, on rare occasions, somebody we should be chasing for reasons other than love.”

“Who was it for you?” Boomer asked. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

“There are no secrets in foxholes and squad cars,” Dead-Eye said. “It was a while back, wasn’t even married yet. I was in uniform, and let’s just say she wasn’t. At any rate, I’m banging heads pretty heavy with her crew, even going on the hunt during my off time. I mean, I’m in fifth gear, looking to take them all down and get my ass booted up to plainclothes.”

“That was the old Action Jackson crew, am I right?” Boomer asked. “They treated the edge of the Queens-Nassau border like they were left the deed to the land.”

“That’s them,” Dead-Eye said. “Gail was one of the runners in that crew. And, just like you at first, I took one look and fell flat on my face. I was so hooked that I might as well have been jabbing a needle into my arm. It was as close as I ever got to forgetting who I really was—that’s how much love I carried for that lady.”

“What changed it back?” Boomer asked.

“I saw a kid on the street one morning,” Dead-Eye said. “Right after I had done an all-night stakeout. I was heading toward a deli to grab some coffee when I spotted him faceup in a filthy alley. He couldn’t have been more than seven, weighed as if he were two years younger, track marks like a fucking Metro-North Westchester route up and down his arms. He was stone-cold dead, and I remember thinking at the time that was probably the luckiest thing that could have happened to him. And in that same moment I realized I could never make a life with someone who moved the shit out onto the streets that put this kid into an early grave. It doesn’t take much, Boomer. Most times nothing more than a cold, hard slap of reality.”

“How did it end out?” Boomer asked.

“The same as it does for most in that chosen line of work,” Dead-Eye said. “She caught a few slugs from someone who wanted to move a lot faster than she did. The last time I saw her, she had her eyes closed and her hands folded, lying faceup in an open coffin. But let me tell you, even with all that shit I think about Gail every once in a while. About what could have been between us. And the answer to your next question is no.”

“You read minds now, too?” Boomer said. “Or is that a talent you’ve been keeping on the down and low from me?”

“Yours is the only mind I can read, because it’s so much like mine,” Dead-Eye said. “But no, I could not have been the one to put Gail down. I didn’t want to be with her and I wanted to put her out of business, but I couldn’t do it with a gun in my hand.”

“You know the guy who did?” Boomer asked.

“It was one of her own that put her down,” Dead-Eye said. “Some delusional dealer accused her of taking too much skim from his daily profits. He waited until she nodded off and then strangled her while she was asleep.”

Boomer lifted his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked over at Dead-Eye. “You fall in love with a drug dealer,” he said, “and I drop head over toe for some Russian mob queen. I guess it doesn’t really say much for either one of us.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dead-Eye said. “It shouts out everything you need to know about us. It sums us up all the way to the letter
t
and tells you the kind of men we both truly are.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Boomer asked.

“Face up to it, old friend,” Dead-Eye said. “The two of us, you and me, we’re nothing more than a wasted pair of fucking romantics. Hard-core heartbreakers.”