Hose Monkey (25 page)

“Sir,” the cop said in a less than friendly tone. “You’ll have to move your vehicle and—”

“I’m the one who called this in.”

“Yeah, right. What are you, another fucking reporter?”

In spite of his desperation and near panic, Joe did not want to risk flashing his illegal shield now unless he absolutely had to. Back in the city, they have short memories. They’d have already moved on. No one was going to hunt him down for using questionable tactics in an emergency. But a prick like Detective Hoskins would shove that shield up his ass before having him thrown in lockup. On the other hand, Serpe didn’t have time to debate.

“Is Detective Hoskins on the scene?”

“Who?”

Serpe had had enough. He bolted between the two blue and whites and took off in a wild sprint. He could hear the two cops behind him, but did not look back to see. He had already done enough looking back in his lifetime.

“Freeze, motherfucker!” one cop, the one he’d spoken to, ordered.

“Stop now! Right now!” the other cop screamed.

But Joe would not stop, could not stop. His legs moved involuntarily. He did not see the road ahead of him, the whirling cherry tops, or strobes. All he could see was Marla, her slight body covered in blood, her intense brown eyes staring up at him, silently asking why me.

He was getting close now. There were blue and whites everywhere, unmarked cars, an ambulance, a crime scene van. Cops huddled in small groups, some drinking coffee. Joe’s heart was pounding, his throat dry. He strained to breathe, the stitch in his side ripping him apart.

“Stop him!” one of the cops called out from behind him. “Get him down!”

But cops are not that much different than anyone else. In groups they are slower to react: looking, hesitating, waiting for the next guy to do something. Mostly, they looked confused. Some stirred, a few going for the sidearms. None committed to going after Serpe.

His legs wobbly, he fell across the crime scene tape like a runner at the finish of a marathon. Now the cops moved. His hands were cuffed behind his back.

“Hoskins! Kramer!” Serpe cried out, unable to hold down the desperation another second. “Hoskins! Kramer! I need to speak to either Detective Hoskins or Detective Kramer!”

Skilled hands moved along his body, patting him down, checking for concealed weapons, identification, etc. At least Joe had had the presence of mind to tuck Healy’s Glock under the front seat of his rental before getting out to talk to the cop on the Belt Parkway. He knew the sight of his shield would be enough to get that guy’s attention. That it did. Within five minutes the Suffolk County PD had been notified and Joe had a cherry top, siren blowing escort to the Nassau county line.

“Holy shit, Dom,” the uniform who frisked him said. “This guy’s an NYPD detective. You better see if there’s a Detective Hoskins or Kramer on scene.”

They pulled Serpe up to his feet and let him lean against one of the blue and whites, but didn’t uncuff him. That would be the detectives’ call. They got the glory, let them have the headaches. Joe was well acquainted with the attitude.

“Well, look who the fuck it is, Kramer,” Hoskins said too loudly as he and his partner strolled over to Serpe. “We told you to keep your nose outta our shit, didn’t we?”

“This isn’t your shit, Hoskins. This has got nothing to do with gangs.”

“Tell it to someone who give a rat’s ass, Serpe. How do you have the balls to carry that shield with you, you piece of shit?”

“Is anyone hurt?” Joe pleaded, ignoring Hoskins. “Not hurt, just dead.”

Serpe nearly vomited. His legs so weak he needed the car to hold him up.

“Should we uncuff him?” the uniform asked, wanting to get back to his coffee.

“Fuck him!” Hoskins said, walking away. “Maybe the cuffs’ll teach the asshole a lesson.”

“Let him loose,” Kramer said.

“Here.” The uniform handed Serpe back his shield, wallet, and cell phone.

“Come on, Kramer, is Marla Stein all right?”

“We’ve got one dead, a male Caucasian named Bergman.”

“Ken Bergman, the group home manager,” Joe said, giddy with relief.

“That’s him. We’ve got blood around by the back door and a missing woman. She’s a resident, twenty years of age, Caucasian with Down’s Syn—”

“Donna. Fuck, no!” The giddiness was gone. “But you haven’t found her?”

“No, but there’s a blood trail, stops by the sump. You know this woman?” Kramer asked.

“She was Cain Cohen’s girlfriend. She might be a key witness in clearing all this shit up. That’s why they came after her.”

Kramer looked at Joe sideways. “What shit? Who’s they? You stay put, Serpe. I’ll be back in one minute. Officer, keep an eye on him.”

Joe could feel the familiar buzz of his cell phone against his thigh.

“Joe?” It was Marla.

“Thank Christ, you’re all—”

“Serpe?” an unfamiliar voice replaced Marla’s.

“Put her back—”

“You shut your fucking mouth and listen before I cut her throat. You want then I should put her back on the phone? You have caused me so much trouble, I would enjoy to cut her throat.” He was a Russian, whoever he was.

“I’m listening.”

“Walk out of there, get back in your car, and start driving east on the expressway. I will call you en route. And Mr. Serpe …”

“Yeah, what?”

“Listen for the car horn.” In the background, Joe heard three quick blasts from a car horn. “You heard?”

“I heard,” said Joe.

“You are being closely watched, so if we even see you breathe on one of those cops, I will fuck your girlfriend in the ass and slice her tits off while I’m doing it. Understand?”

Joe could hear Marla crying. He felt like ripping the Russian’s eyes out.

“Okay,” he said, snapping the phone closed and sliding it into his pocket. Serpe began to ease away from the blue and white. “Where
you
going?” the uniform asked.

“Cut myself when they cuffed me. I’m going over to the ambulance to get it looked at. Kramer can find me over there.”

“Go ahead.”

No one bothered Joe until he approached his car. Then the cop who had originally tried to stop him apologized.

“You just shoulda shown me your shield, man. Sorry.”

“Forget it. I fucked up,” Joe said.

As he drove away, he hoped Donna wasn’t injured too badly, and that the Russians didn’t have her too. Serpe was pretty sure she’d be safe if she headed to where he thought she might go. He was much less sure about Marla’s safety. He knew the Russians had her.

The entrance to the L.I.E. was only a few blocks away and though he kept checking his mirrors, Joe could not tell how he was being followed. He thought about sliding his hand over to the center console, opening his cell phone, dialing 911, and talking loudly enough so the operator would be able to hear him. But even if he had been disposed to gamble away Marla’s life, he wouldn’t get the opportunity.

Something cold, metallic, inanimate pressed against Serpe’s neck. Though he knew instantaneously it was the muzzle of a gun, he could not stop his body from reacting. He lost control of the car, skidding off Hawkins Avenue and into the empty parking lot of Players Auto Body. He had to stand on his brake pedal to avoid smashing into the shop’s garage doors.

“Y’all always did drive like shit, Joey,” said the voice from the backseat.

Serpe didn’t need to see Dixie’s brutish face in his rearview mirror to know it was him. Dixie was the only person on the planet who called him Joey. When Joe did look in the mirror, there was Dixie smiling that cruel crooked-tooth smile of his.

“Now get back on Hawkins and onto the L.I.E.,” Dixie said, disappearing from the mirror and sitting back directly behind Joe. “You run pretty good for an old fuck. Man, them two cops was huffing and puffing the whole way after y’all. Made it easy for me to cozy on up back here.”

Joe didn’t say a word, the adrenaline still distorting his senses. He struggled to settle himself and pulled back onto Hawkins. A block later he turned right, then onto the L.I.E. Service Road, then quickly onto the entrance ramp. The second he pulled into the far right lane off the entrance ramp, a large SUV appeared in Serpe’s rearview mirror. As it did, Joe’s cell buzzed against the plastic of the center console.

“That’ll be Pavel,” Dixie said. “Go on, pick it up.”

“Dixie is keeping you good company, yes?”

“Wonderful.”

“You see me in your mirror?” Pavel asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to pull around you. I will call you again in one moment.”

Joe waited for the SUV to pull around. As the vehicle swung out and moved along side Serpe’s rental, Joe wasn’t surprised to see it was a black Lincoln Navigator. He was surprised, however, when the big Lincoln did not pull past him. The Navigator’s rear passenger window slid down. Joe could see Marla and the knife at her throat. She was covered in blood, her lips puffed, and her eyes swollen shut. A hand held her by the hair and shoved her head and shoulders out of the Lincoln. She screamed, panicked she would be thrown out of the moving car. Then, just as quickly, she was yanked back into the Lincoln and the window rolled up. The Navigator accelerated, falling in line in front of him.

Joe was crazed. They had beaten her, maybe to get her to tell them where Donna was, maybe they just for fun. Serpe tried not to think about what else they might have done to her.

“Don’t try anything stupid, Joey. Pavel just likes to have his little bit of fun.”

Serpe’s cell phone buzzed.

“You fucking touch her again and I’ll—”

“Shut your mouth,” Pavel said. “That was to remind you to follow instructions. Now hand the cell phone to Dixie and follow closely our vehicle. I wouldn’t want to have to filet your girlfriend’s cunt and feed it to her.”

Joe tossed the phone into the backseat. “He wants to speak to you.”

Serpe thought about the Glock under his seat. He’d always been a very good shot. If he could get to it, Dixie was a dead man; one shot, two at most. He figured it would take him four shots minimum to blow out the Navigator’s rear tires. At sixty plus miles per hour the thing was sure to roll over. Marla might have a chance. But the Russians were likely to see the muzzle flash when he put a pill into Dixie and were certain to see him stick the gun out his window when he went for their tires. Marla’s throat would be slit before he could get a shot off. He did nothing but follow—follow and pray.

“Uh huh,” he heard Dixie say before he snapped the phone shut, rolled down his window, and tossed the phone out.

After a few miles in silence, Joe decided if he was going to die, he was going to do it with some answers. Dixie was always a big mouth. For once Joe hoped it would serve some purpose.

“Where we going?” he asked casually enough.

“The Borofskys are building some kinda gym out east someplace,” he said, pronouncing Borofsky like BOWrofsky. “That’s all I know.”

“You killed Cain, didn’t you, Dixie?”

“Why don’t y’all shut your mouth, Joey, and watch the road?”

“C’mon, Dixie, I’m driving to my own execution here. Who am I gonna tell?”

“Yeah, I guess I did him, though he was alive when I shoved his scrawny ass into the International’s tank. I figured it’d be months till anyone even looked in there. I mean, god damn, we ain’t used that truck in six months. How was I s’posed ta know the tugboat had a leak and Frank would put you on the International? That was bad luck there.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though. Y’all would have been proud of your boy. Little retard put up some fight till I snapped his skinny-assed neck. Pavel taught me how do that, snap folks necks. It’s kinda fun, hearin’ that snap. Pavel, he was in the Russian Army in one of them special forces type units. I never met no one who likes hurting people as much as Pavel.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“We caught him in the yard that night spying on us when we was doing truck transfers. I s’pose y’all figured out that’s what this is all about.”

“Yeah, I figured it out.”

“The tard said he wasn’t spying or nothing and that he had just frightened off some guy from spray painting up Frank’s trucks, but we didn’t believe him. Retards are born liars.”

“Fuck!” Joe slammed his palms against the steering wheel. “Now I get it. The Reyes kid was still in the yard when you killed Cain. He was a witness.”

“Well yeah, after he saw what we done to the tard, he ran. Stupid little wetback, all he had to do was sit tight until we was done off-loading. We wouldn’t a known he was there at all.”

“Unlike your buddy Pavel, most people don’t get hard-ons when they witness someone being beaten to death. Running probably seemed like a good idea to him at the time.”

“We had that fucking spic cornered too, but that boy climbed the fence like a monkey. We looked for him, but once he hit Union Avenue he disappeared in the dark like a cockroach. You know how them people are. Too bad for him he went and dropped the letters from his mama or we never woulda found him. Stupid ass had five hundred bucks in cash folded into them letters. Pavel told me Reyes begged for those letters to be buried with him when he stabbed him. You know what Pavel told the kid?”

“What?”

“Old Pavel told him he used the letters to wipe his ass.” Dixie laughed nervously.

The car fell into silence once again. It occurred to Joe that Dixie had no idea he was just as likely to be killed tonight as anyone. He was as much a loose end as Scanlon or the blond prostitute. Then again, clear thinking had never been Dixie’s strong suit.

“Y’all know this is Frank’s fault, right?” Dixie broke the silence. “If he had just sold Steve the damned business the way Max and Alexi wanted, shoot, none of this would have happened. The tard, Reyes, them whores. You should have seen Frank’s face when he found out I been working for Steve and the Rooskies. He looked hurt like when a girl finds out her man been stepping out on her. But we taught him a lesson good.”

“Toussant?”

“The big frog nigger cried like a baby when we had Frank do him,” Dixie chuckled. “Yeah, well, y’all kinda helped us with that.”

“You followed me and my friend into Brooklyn that night?”