The Heart of an Assassin (11 page)

Two of the individuals died as a result of
the return fire while the other two faced grand larceny, resisting
arrest, carrying a concealed weapon, and firing at police. With
each facing over twenty years to life in prison, one of the
suspects asked to speak to whoever was in charge, claiming he had
something to trade for a lighter sentence.

Captain Armando Chavez stood five foot seven
and weighed around one hundred seventy five pounds. He had eighteen
years experience as the captain of this precinct and, as a result,
had little patience for what he referred to as street garbage.
“Okay, asshole, you better have something good; or I am going to
make sure you never see the light of day for wasting my time. Do
you understand?” he asked the suspect.

“Man, why you got to be like that? I ain’t
hurt no one. You got no cause.” The suspect went on.

“Okay, we are done here,” the captain
responded as he got up to leave.

“Oh . . . okay, okay . . . I know who killed
the Black Aces,” the suspect blurted out.

“What? Who the fuck are the Black Aces? They
some gang or something, and why should I give a shit about them?”
the captain responded, looking at the other detective in the room
to see if anyone knew what he was talking about. All shrugged their
shoulders. No one knew what he was talking about.

“My . . . my name is Kenny Roberts. I used to
be known as Lefty, and I was a member of the Black Aces out of New
York,” he blurted out. He could see in their faces that no one knew
what he was talking about. “Some guy drove us to New Jersey in a
van, shot up the van, and then dumped us into the Hudson River,” he
went on. “I . . . I . . . was lucky. I managed not to get shot and
swim out . . . but . . . but . . . the other guys didn’t make
it.

“This fuckin’ guy . . . he set us up . . .
Told us he was sent by the Costellino family to save us from doing
time for shooting some bitch related to a cop. He . . . he killed
Blackie and then tried to kill us by shooting up the van,” Lefty
finished.

There was silence in the room as everyone
stared at Lefty with new interest.

June
13, 1984

Captain O’Malley sat frozen as Captain Chavez
recounted what he had been told by Lefty. It was a good fifteen
minutes before O’Malley was able to compose himself and start
barking orders to his men.

“I need two volunteers to go to Chicago and
bring back a big piece of garbage,” he shouted out. Next he called
Agent John Connolly, advising him about the incidents that happened
over twenty years ago involving the Costellino family. What Captain
O’Malley did not remember was that the woman who had been killed by
the drive by was the mother of Tyler Santiago. His attention was on
the fact that they were going to find some bodies off the shore of
New Jersey and perhaps solve the mystery of what happened to the
Black Aces.

Within the hour, after receiving a call from
Chicago, Connolly and O’Malley were sharing a ride to New Jersey.
They were met with scores of police officers and agents from the
bureau. There were already several divers in the water combing the
Hudson River close to where they suspected the van would be.

The divers moved cautiously through the murky
water as they went deeper and deeper. Moving slowly, they found
shoes, hubcaps, and other obstacles dumped over the years. All of a
sudden, one of the divers spotted something big in the water.
Pointing, he directed the other divers to the location. They all
swam toward what appeared to be a vehicle; it was the van. One of
the divers peered into a window, discovering the skeletal remains
of one unlucky punk. Ditto for the back of the van where the cargo
contained remnants of a death scene and just punishment for the
innocent life of a young mother. This was their tomb, he thought to
himself.

Attaching a buoy to the van with a line
attached to a balloon, they released the balloon, allowing it to
float to the surface, marking the van’s location. A crane was
brought in to hoist it ashore. Once on shore, they approached it
with caution as if the victims would jump out and gouge
everyone.

Upon opening the back of the van, several
officers puked at the smell and sight of the cadavers. The mangled
remains were protruding from the back of the van with outstretched
hands, pleading to be saved.

The site was sealed off as scores of curious
onlookers and forensic investigators from both the FBI and New
Jersey crime labs ascended the area. The initial report released a
few days later indicated that there were seventeen bodies in all.
There was a body in the front seat, which appeared to have a
gunshot to the head. Eight died due to drowning while the rest from
gunshot wounds. Except for the passenger in the front seat, the
rest were piled up against the back of the van.

Lefty had been brought to New York to be
questioned by both the FBI and the local police. During
questioning, O’Malley remembered that it was Tyler’s mom who had
been killed by the Black Aces. He wanted to rush to the phone and
call Tyler, but then realized that there was no way to contact him
at this time. It would not have been a good idea as it might
jeopardize the safety of his men and the success of the
mission.

Of interest was that the bullet extracted
from the passenger in the front seat was fired from the same gun
that killed the only witness to the drive-by shooting some twenty
years ago. Further, was that the witness known as Uncle Ted was
really Theodore Enzinola, and the gentleman killed at the scene,
known as Fat Man, turned out to be Joseph Bolano. Both were members
of an old crime syndicate from Chicago known as the Giovanna
family. Rumor was that there was a contract on both of these men
and that it had been carried out.

“So what the hell were these two doing in the
middle of Manhattan on that day? Did the Costellino family contract
the Black Aces to make a hit on them?” These questions tugged at
both Captain O’Malley and Agent Connolly.

Agent Connolly immediately ordered four of
his men to open up all the files on these cases and begin an
investigation on all ties to any of the crime families, past or
present, and any other information they could dig up.

May
29, 1984

Around 4:00 p.m. a call from Nick Costello
was received. The instructions were, as always, simple. “Go to your
bedroom, and under the nightstand on the left side of the bed, you
will find an envelope with instructions,” directed Nick and
immediately hung up.

Felicia almost immediately became upset. How
in the world did he get this into the house without our knowing?
The motherfucker scares me, she thought, clenching her
fists.“Fabio! Fabio, come here!” she shouted.

Fabio ran up the stairs, extracting his
shoulder gun, thinking his sister was in danger. “What! What’s the
matter?” he shouted back as he burst into her room.

“Look where that fuckin’ Nick Costello left
the envelope with the instructions!” she said, pointing to the
nightstand, which had now been moved, exposing the manila
envelope.

“So what? You are making too much of this,”
Fabio responded.

“Don’t you understand? He was in our house.
He placed the envelope under this nightstand! Doesn’t that bother
you?” she shouted back at him.

“I guess it does, but what do you want me to
do about it?” he fired back at her. “What can we do?”

“I guess there is nothing we can do. Not
now!” she answered. Felicia stared after Fabio as he exited the
room, then at the envelope. She bent down and retrieved the
envelope, then sat on the bed. The instructions gave locations on
where to leave the information. In this particular case, she would
have to actually put the judge’s name in full with the additional
information that he had gone undercover. They could not allow the
dirty judge to discover he had a conscience, one that the
Costellino family owned and intended to keep.

For over twenty years, Felicia was in
control. She had always been on top of any situation, seeing it
through to its solution. But Nick scared her. She didn’t own him,
and this scared her more than anything else.

She sat there and began to understand that
the price of keeping the family together would be to relinquish
control to someone she did not trust. Even the split-second control
could cost too much. She needed Nick, and this made her physically
ill.

Fabio stopped at the bottom of the stairs
after leaving Felicia’s room. He too was worried about Nick
Costello, worried that someday the assassin might come after them.
But he also knew that for now there wasn’t too much he could do.
When the time came, he would sit down with his sister and develop a
plan; to eliminate Nick Costello.

June
7, 1984

At 7:00 p.m., Tyler stopped by his apartment,
stuffed some clothes into a duffle bag, then drove to pick up Eric
in Queens. Eric said good-bye to his dog, Fudge, and gave his
sister a hug of love and reassurance. Fudge ran over to Tyler who
played with him for a bit. Tyler then kissed Lucille on the
forehead. She relaxed, knowing Tyler would always be at Eric’s
back. “You take care of him, Tyler,” shouted Lucille as they both
waved good-bye to her.

“You can count on it, little sister,”
responded Tyler.

Tyler now headed back into Manhattan by way
of the Triborough Bridge. Driving across 125th Street and turning
left on Claremont Avenue heading south, Tyler went two blocks past
his intended destination, turned right, and parked in a one-hour
standing zone. Both he and Eric then walked to the back entrance of
Riverside Church. As they entered the church, they found a few
people scattered about the pews. Tyler anointed himself with holy
water, making the sign of the cross, and sat in one of the last
pews. Eric, mimicking Tyler, did the same; however, he moved up to
the front of the pews and sat down. After a few minutes, Eric saw
the priest go into the confession box. Eric got up and went in.
“Father, please forgive me for I have sinned,” Eric said to the
partition between him and the priest.

“What sin have you committed, my son?”
responded the priest.

“I have taken the name of the Lord in vain,”
Eric said.

There was a short silence as the priest
hesitantly asked, “Why come to me with this sin?”

“I was told you are the forgiver of all
sins,” Eric replied. With that said, the priest advised Eric to
perform seven Hail Mary’s from the upstairs balcony. He stepped out
of the confessional box and walked up the aisle, kneeled and made
the sign of the cross as he left the inner entrance to the church.
Tyler watched him leave, looking around to see if anyone else was
watching him. Tyler got up and, kneeling at the other end of the
pew, made the sign of the cross before leaving through a side
entrance.

Eric walked up to the balcony area where
there were three people sitting; an elderly white man, a white
woman, and a black man. All three looked up at Eric as he
approached. Both the woman and the black man reached inside of
their jackets as Eric approached.

“Easy does it,” Eric said.

“Keep them holstered,” said Tyler as he
approached from the other side behind them.

“Jesus,” said Sam as he realized he was
caught off guard.

“No, Tyler Santiago is the name.”

“I’m Eric Thomas,” Eric said, putting out his
hand.

“I’m Samual Williams, and this is my partner,
Sheila Cooper,” Sam responded, shaking Eric’s hand.

Sam and Sheila had been babysitting the judge
now for almost three weeks, moving from safe house to safe house,
not staying more than a couple of days. Both had severed all
contact with friends and family, except for an occasional call to
John Connolly to get updates. They had virtually disappeared.

After all formalities were exchanged, Tyler
suggested they wait until he got the car and honked before bringing
the judge out. They all agreed.

Tyler went out the front of the church
heading south on Riverside Drive to where he parked his car. As he
walked down the street, he noticed a black Toyota parked across the
street, with the engine idling and two men in it. What the fuck is
going on, he thought to himself.

Not bringing any attention to himself, he
continued his walk. Reaching the other end of the street, he turned
right and, when he was out of sight, ran to his car.

“Shit, what the fuck do I do?” he said to
himself. Tyler pulled out, made a right at Riverside Drive, and
pulled up to the space behind the car with the two men in it.
Stepping quickly out of his car, he approached the driver whose
window was down. “Excuse me,” Tyler said.

“Uh, yeah,” the driver asked.

“Can you tell me where Claremont Avenue is?”
asked Tyler.

“Yeah, it’s about one block over,” responded
the driver.

The man in the driver’s seat looked about six
foot one with a bulky built, wearing a white shirt under a dark
suit with no tie. The passenger looked about five feet and some
inches, very thin built, wearing a black turtleneck sweater under a
black jacket.

The passenger had an overcoat sitting on his
lap with hands tucked under it. Tyler reached into his jacket and
pulled out his revolver and placed it against the driver’s temple.
“I want to see both your hands, right now,” he ordered. Both men
made their hands visible.

“Hey, man, what the fuck is this?” the driver
asked.

“Why are you parked here?” asked Tyler.

“We are waiting for our wives to come out of
the church. They are members of the choir,” the passenger said.

“Let me see your license and registration,”
Tyler ordered.