“They show you ID?” Kelley said.
“They didn’t show me shit, they didn’t say shit-except to threaten me.”
“What did they look like?”
“Blue blazers, gray pants, one guy looked Middle Eastern, the other was young and blond.”
“Middle Eastern?”
“Yeah, but no accent.”
“Duff, the car, the outfits-they sound like FBI. I’d do what they say.”
“Can you find out anything about who they are, Kel?”
“No-the FBI doesn’t answer to us.”
“Then what the hell do I do? I’m not sitting back while something happens to this kid. And what if these guys are planning something? Then, what do I do?”
“Call the FBI anonymously and tell them about the explosives,” Kelley said.
“What will that do?”
“In this day and age, a lot. They will follow up.”
That made some sense. I didn’t know where the Crown Vic was from or what they were up to. Maybe they were on to the Gabbibbs and I was in the way. If the Crown Vic boys were from the FBI, then the FBI should know what I knew. And if those guys weren’t from the FBI, who the hell were they?
I wasn’t letting go of going after Shony, though. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next, but I was going to do something. This had gotten way too personal, and it wasn’t time for me to let it go-not a chance.
I asked Kelley for the number for the appropriate FBI contact. He fished a small piece of paper out of his wallet and pointed to it. I borrowed Rocco’s cell phone and went outside. I called and spoke quickly to some clerical type and then I hung up.
There, I had done something a responsible levelheaded citizen would do.
I came back inside AJ’s and got a fresh Schlitz.
“Did you call?” Kelley said.
“Yeah.”
“Did you tell them everything?”
“Yeah, then I hung up without giving my name.”
“See, being a responsible citizen isn’t so hard.”
“Shut up and drink.” I bought Kelley a round and asked AJ for a sidecar of bourbon. I wanted desperately to chill out before the vein in my temple exploded all over the bar.
With the Yankees game over, it was time for the eleven o’clock news. The bar got quiet as the talking head anchor told us about the nation’s alert level going to orange. This was the type of fuel that the Fearsome Foursome thrived on.
“They’re goin’ to botulize the reservoirs,” Rocco said. “Bushel full of bad mushrooms in the water system and we’ll be shittin’ our pants for months.”
“Thanks for the visual,” Jerry Number One said.
“I did some bad mushrooms once,” Jerry Number Two said. “I didn’t shit my pants, but I did hallucinate.”
“What did you see?” TC asked.
“Spiro Agnew and Golda Meir having sex,” Jerry said.
I ordered another Schlitz and watched the rest of the local news. The Foursome just wouldn’t let go.
“They could hit the bridges with explosives,” Rocco continued. “I heard something on the news about how they could infect all the hookers with a small ox.”
“Geezus, Rocco,” TC said. “You got to get the Miracle-Ear serviced. That’s small pox, jackass.”
“Or they could blow up a dirt bomb in Times Square.” Rocco was on a roll. “We might not get hurt, but all that dirt would be a pain in the ass and fuck up the economy.”
“Unless you were a dry cleaner,” Jerry Number Two said, sipping his Cosmo.
“Actually, that dirty bomb shit is pretty scary,” TC said.
“You’re right,” Jerry Number Two said. “A pretty simple way to cause not only a shitload of damage, but also mass panic.”
“With dirt and gravel?” said Rocco.
“No, Rock. A dirty bomb is regular explosives with radioactive material put in it,” Jerry said. “When the explosives go ‘bang,’ the radioactive material gets spread all around.”
The conversation suddenly drew my attention.
“Jerry-where do you get radioactive material?” I asked.
“Lots of places. It’s in construction materials, some gauges, and in medical stuff.”
“What kind of medical stuff?” I asked.
“Again, gauges, measuring material, and the stuff you treat some cancers with,” Jerry said.
I froze. My stomach did a flip and I could feel the hair on my neck stand up.
“Rocco, give me your phone,” I said.
“What am I tonight-Rocco Ma Bell?”
“Just give me the fuckin’ phone, huh?”
I ripped it out of his hand and called Rudy. It was almost midnight and he’d just done a double shift. It couldn’t be helped.
“What?” a groggy Rudy answered.
“Meet me at the medical center in ten minutes,” I said.
“Fuck you, Duffy,” Rudy said. “I just got out of there.”
“I don’t have time to explain. Be there in ten minutes.”
I hung up before he could answer.
32
Rudy kept me waiting and pacing in the emergency waiting room. When he came I pounced on him.
“We’ve got to go check on Eli and Mikey,” I said, grabbing Rudy by the arm and hustling him to the elevator.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “You mind telling me what the hell this is all about?” Rudy said.
“You remember telling me how well Eli and Mikey were handling the radioactive treatment?”
“Yeah-Duff, that’s good news.”
“It’s good and bad news. It’s good news because they probably don’t have cancer in the first place and bad news because they’re being used as pawns. I’ll bet you anything that they’re not getting any of that radioactive stuff at all,” I said.
Rudy just stared at me. I woke him up and he was exhausted and he wasn’t processing my rapid-fire information yet.
“But Duffy-why?”
“Let’s just go check,” I said.
We walked out of the sixth-floor elevator and down the hall. Rudy had woken up and had some urgency in his step. We didn’t speak all the way down the hall.
“Wait here,” Rudy said, heading into Mikey’s room. He came out in less than thirty seconds and walked right past me and went into Eli’s room. He wasn’t there as long.
“All right, Duff you’re right.” Rudy was all business now. “You mind telling what the fuck is going on?”
“Gabbibb is building a dirty bomb and he’s taking the radioactive shit from here.”
“What the hell makes you think that?”
“Look, one of his cousins has a store in Staten Island. Clogger delivers stuff there, and he says the Gabbibbs aren’t even Indian-they’re Pakistani.”
“So-”
