“Yeah, well, the world is full of whispers and innuendo,” I said. “I don’t usually concern myself with that stuff and you never struck me as the kind of guy who paid them much mind.”
“There’s a chance some of our old friends maybe can get hurt by this shit getting dredged up again.”
“Then maybe you wanna tell me about those rumors, Larry.”
“The word on the wind back then was that some of our guys were on D Rex’s pad. You remember what the Soul Patch was like. No one could touch Mayweather in the day. He was like Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. And we were clowns in blue, the Sheriff of Nottingham and his deputies, with our thumbs stuck up our asses. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I can do the math. Maybe some of
“It’s one of the things I always respected you for, Moe. You were quick on the uptake. Shit never had to be explained to you.”
“Did anybody ever look into these rumors?” I wondered.
“Of course. Those were the Buddy Boy days, the time of the Knapp Commission. They looked into every fucking thing. If some
“I was around, Larry, remember? I was the one who knew Serpico a little.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Frank fucking Serpico, the only honest cop in all New York City. Fuck him! I think the guy was half a fag myself.”
“Pity I don’t have his number anymore. We could call and ask.”
“Doesn’t matter. Serpico really is a harmless piece of shit. He hurt whoever he was gonna hurt a long time ago. Only time people even remember him is when that bullshit movie is on cable. D Rex is something else. I don’t want him reaching out of the grave to hurt anyone.”
“You really are worried, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that, Moe?”
“You’re talking too much. You’re making speeches.” I stood straight up, took my foot off the railing, grabbed Larry by the sleeve, and made him face me. “So, how much were you cut in for?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, McDonald. You forget, I know you. I know who you are and I know what you are. I think sometimes maybe that’s why you trust me, because I know. So please don’t insult me.”
“I’m not gonna make excuses to you, Moe. A lot of us earned a little on the side from D Rex. You worked the street. You know we weren’t gonna make a fucking dent. It was big business even back then.”
“I thought you weren’t gonna make excuses.”
“You’re right, but I think you might be surprised to find out just whose pockets D Rex’s money found its way into.”
“Right now we’re talking about your pockets, Larry, and being on a drug dealer’s pad wouldn’t look good on your resume for beatification.”
“I’m no saint!” He jerked his sleeve out of my grasp.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t aspire to the job.”
A broad, sad smile briefly forced its way onto Larry’s face. “You
“Yeah, maybe, but what I don’t know is what I’m doing here.”
“I wanna hire you.”
“To do what?”
“To save my career and the reps of the guys we served with.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even-”
“No. The answer’s no, Larry. This is a dirty business.”
“What, you’re quoting
“The answer’s still no.”
Killed me to say it. I think if he had asked me to do almost any other job, I would have jumped at it. I was desperate to escape the boredom of the stores and to occupy my mind with something other than the growing distance between Katy and me.
He turned to the beach again, reached into his pocket much as he had the day before, and slapped something down atop the rail ledge. Although his hand obscured my view, I felt confident it wasn’t a cassette tape. Pretty sure it was metallic, as it had made a pinging sound when he hit it against the rail. And I was also pretty sure I knew what it was. He lifted his hand and proved me right. A gold and blue enamel detective’s shield glistened in the afternoon sun.
“Do this for me and it’s yours. Detective first: no physical, no range qualifying, no questions asked.”
Larry McDonald and I had done this dance once before. Six years earlier, in 1983, with Larry’s help, I’d discovered what had happened to Moira Heaton. Moira, an intern for an up-and-coming politician, had been missing since Thanksgiving Eve 1981. Though there was no physical or circumstantial evidence linking the politician to her disappearance, he had been tried and convicted in the press, his once promising career placed in limbo. After we found out the truth about Moira Heaton and the politician was cleared of any wrongdoing, Larry got his big bump to deputy chief. A few years ago, he got chief of detectives.
All of us involved with that case made out. Politicians and their wealthy backers can be a generous bunch. But a few weeks later, when I began feeling uneasy about the facts of the Heaton case and started nosing around, Larry Mac called out of the blue to offer me the one thing I yearned for: a gold shield. I took it. It was both the perfect distraction and the ultimate bribe. And if it hadn’t been for a stupid fender bender with an out-of-state car, I’d still have that gold shield in my pocket.
Later, when the original facts unraveled and Larry stood to lose his shiny new promotion, I questioned him about his motives in offering me the shield. He claimed it wasn’t his idea, that he had no idea I’d reopened the investigation. I chose to believe him, because with Larry, faith was always a choice. I knew he trusted me. I’d earned it, but like I said before, trusting Larry was transitory and involved the equation of self-interest.
“You can get me a shield?” I asked. “Even now, even at my age? You can get all that shit waived?”
“You’d be amazed.”
“Sorry, Larry, no. I guess I don’t want the shield that bad anymore.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he scooped the shield up and placed it back in his pocket.
“That’s a pity, Moe.”
“Why’s that?”
“Dirt’s a funny thing, pal. It rubs off all over the place, on lots of people too.”
“You’re getting cryptic again.”
“Maybe so. Let me tell you a story about my late Uncle Finn. Uncle Finn lived with the guineas near Arthur Avenue up in the Bronx, and he loved to sit out on his stoop at night, having a beer or three, watching the world pass by. One night there was a helluva car crash in the gutter out in front of Finn’s house. A bumper flew off one of the cars right up onto Uncle Finn’s stoop. Nearly decapitated him.”
“Is there a moral to this story?”
“I’m getting to it.”
My sense of humor was at low ebb. “Get to it!”
“In this world, the greatest injustices are done to the innocent. No?”
“You’re threatening me now, Larry? That’s what we’ve come to?”
“It’s not what we’ve come to. It’s where we’ve always been.”
“I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”
“Yes, you did. Don’t act so surprised. We’ve both used each other over the years,” he said, lighting up another cigarette.
“I never threatened you.”
“That’s because you never had to. People who eat three squares a day don’t pick through the garbage, but take those three meals away for a week or two and. .”
I shook my head at him. “Jesus, and I thought boredom was rotting
