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Authors: Ira Berkowitz

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“Martine and Ennis's deaths barely made the newspapers. And the word's come down that we shouldn't be investigating their homicide too hard. So the lid is still on. Tight. The rich clients breathe a sigh of relief and find a new escort service. Everyone gets to walk away. Including me.”

“The way of the world. So, what have you got for me?”

Luce pointed to the pile of file folders.

“This represents all we know about Justin. You're welcome to go through them. Take all the time you need. But I figured I'd give you the short version.”

“OK.”

“We took a sample of Justin's DNA and sent it to the FBI, Interpol, and anywhere else they maintain a database.
We got a hit in Canada. Toronto. They maintain a DNA database of missing children.”

“God bless 'em.”

“Justin's real name is Dylan Salamore. He was snatched from a playground when he was three. Mother turned her back for a minute, and he was gone.”

I was clenching my fists so hard, my nails dug into the palms of my hand.

“Go on,” I said.

“From what we've been able to piece together from Hapner's computer—Troy Hapner is his real name—he took him to the States and began pimping him. Started with selling photos and videos of Justin—Dylan—on the Web and moved on to setting him up with a string of pedophiles all over the country.”

“A childhood any kid would want.”

“This went on for years, and then Justin began to age out. At roughly the same time, Hapner wrecked his car while delivering Dylan to some freak.”

“Justin said that his mother was killed in the accident. But I never saw any photos of her at the apartment, because there was no mom.”

“And Justin probably believed his mom was dead. He was young enough when Hapner took him that he could've brainwashed the kid into believing the story. Anyway, the accident left Hapner paralyzed from the waist down. Suddenly Hapner needed Justin. So he kept him around to do the heavy lifting.”

“But what he didn't count on,” I said, “was the kid becoming something of a genius, and getting into Troy's computer.”

“Bingo. Justin apparently tracked down the men who used him. We have the list. And I'm not giving it to you. Some of them are dead. Some left the country. And some are in prison. Justin did what he could with what he had.”

“And Nick showed him and DeeDee the warehouse, maybe even told them it wasn't getting much use. The perfect dumping ground.”

“It fit his needs, and he went with it. And that's about it.”

“And he was working his way back to Hapner.”

“One sicko at a time. And saving the worst for last.”

“What now?”

“We contacted his parents. His body was shipped to them today.”

“Wish you would have told me.”

“You said your good-byes, Jackson.”

Her eyes began to well up.

“He deserved a lot better than he got,” she said.

“Don't they all.”

45

“W
hat happens now, Dave?”

“You'll see,” he said.

Dave had invited me over to his house for a take-out dinner. Said there was something special he wanted to show me. After we ate, he led me outside.

It was just before midnight and we were on the patio. Except for the feeble light of a few stars, the sky was charcoal black. The wind blowing off the river drove the temperature down to near zero. But Dave was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

With a star map in one hand, he fiddled with the knobs of his new telescope with the other.

“This fucker set me back a couple of thousand dollars and I ain't seen anything worth a shit yet,” he said.

As usual we were talking crosswise. I wanted to
talk about Anthony, and he had the solar system on his mind.

“It's the ambient light from the city,” I said. “Makes it hard to peer into the cosmos.”

After some more fiddling and a couple of peeks through the eyepiece, he threw up his hands. “Fuck it! Let's go inside. I'm freezing.”

Once in the house, he headed for the bar and poured himself a glass of white wine.

“I'm off the hard stuff,” he said, noting the surprised look on my face. “Decided to get back in shape. Working out every day.”

“Any specific reason?”

“Sound body, sound mind,” he said. “Went through a bad spell. Not gonna happen again.”

“Can't wait to meet the new you.”

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I tell you I'm a new man and you think I'm full of shit.”

“And your son? Is he a new man?”

He took a sip of the wine. “Leave him out of this.”

“Hard to do, Dave.”

He set the glass down, walked over to the window, and looked up at the sky. I walked up next to him.

His attention was focused on a plane banking right on its final approach to LaGuardia.

“Newark's closer, but I always hop a plane bound for LaGuardia when I'm coming back from Florida,” he said. “And always sit on the right side.”

“Why's that?”

“The city. Looks like paradise.”

“Let's get back to your son. You said you were going to give the police the torch.”

“I did.”

“You gave Anthony up?”

“Get serious. Tommy Cisco is gonna take the fall. Worked a plea deal. Ten years, and out in five with good behavior.”

“What?”

“Remember when he flicked the cigarette at the homeless guy? Fucking Cisco has no heart, and it's gonna cost him. Besides, I never liked the little prick anyway.”

“Tell me you're kidding.”

“You know me well enough to know I don't joke about family. Cisco confessed, and Sal was the witness.”

“How did you get Cisco to agree to this?”

“Laid out his options.”

“And Sal?”

He smiled. “We go way back.”

“So much for scruples.”

He turned to me.

“What do you want from me, Jake?”

“Anthony.”

“He's his own man.”

“Not while you're around.”

He stared at me for a few seconds and then turned and looked back out the window.

“Y'know, I got the telescope so I could see a comet.”

“They're kind of rare,” I said.

“What I hear. But there's one coming our way. Lulin, it's called. And the guy who sold me the telescope said I should be able to see it now. Fucked if I can find it.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” I said.

“Why's that?”

There's an old legend that comets are harbingers of bad tidings. But I found that I didn't have it in me to mention it.

“Give you something to look forward to.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank Sal Loscuito—a good friend, and one of New York's Bravest—for helping me understand the truly horrific anatomy of a fire.

And once again, I am grateful to Julian Pavia and David Larabell for making this a better book than the one they first read.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

IRA BERKOWITZ
, a native New Yorker, is the author of the Jackson Steeg mysteries,
Old Flame
and
Family Matters
, and a two-time winner of the Washington Irving Literary Award.

Find Ira online at
iraberkowitz.com

Also by Ira Berkowitz

Dark streets. Darker secrets
.

Jackson Steeg isn't an NYPD homicide cop anymore, not since the bullet he took to the lung. But Steeg's retirement is looking anything but relaxing. After months of death threats, his ex-wife's new flame is beaten to death outside a chichi restaurant in the Meatpacking District. Meanwhile, Steeg's Hell's Kitchen roots prove impossible to escape when a ne'er-do-well childhood friend finds himself deep in debt to a vicious mobster. Now Steeg's got two factions of New York's nastiest characters aiming for his head. Worse, every thread keeps leading him exactly where he doesn't want to go: his own family.

Old Flame
A Jackson Steeg Novel

Available from Three Rivers Press wherever books are sold.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Ira Berkowitz

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Three Rivers Press, an imprint of the Crown
Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

Three Rivers Press and the Tugboat design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Berkowitz, Ira.
  Sinners' ball : a Jackson Steeg novel / Ira Berkowitz.—1st ed.
     p. cm.
  1. Ex-police officers—New York (State)—New York—Fiction. 2. Family
secrets—Fiction. 3. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. I. Title.
  PS3602.E7573S56 2009
  813′.6—dc22                                          2009 015453

eISBN: 978-0-307-46192-6

v3.0

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