“Cops found cans of red and black spray paint and a faint black spray on the tank itself. It was there under the snow, I guess,” Healy said. “The Saints’ colors are red and black and their symbol is a black dagger surrounded by a blood-dripping red halo. I think you can see where I’m headed with this.”
“You don’t have to draw me a map. Cain tried to stop them from fucking up the trucks and got killed for his troubles. It’s just the kinda shit he would pull, too. Fuck!” Joe slammed his fist into his thigh. “He got real attached to things, like this dumb shirt I had made up for him. I could just imagine what he’d do if he found someone screwing with the trucks.”
“The Lobos and the Saints are like rival tigers pissing on trees in the jungle. Marking territory is part of their initiation rites. Rumor has it that another part is-”
“-killing a rival member. But-”
“That’s right. Whoever was in your oil yard that night didn’t do either job right. This Reyes kid, the cops think the Saints killed him because he fucked up, brought dishonor on them.”
“Where did you get all this shit, Healy? I’m thinking it didn’t all come from Newsday.”
“My little brother George works in the Suffolk County D.A.’s office. He hears things.”
“Hoskins and Kramer part of this task force?” Joe asked.
“Bingo. That’s why they’re on the case even though they didn’t catch it. The minute word got back about the spray paint and the paint on the truck, the case was theirs. So you see, going after this Toussant guy isn’t worth it.”
“I never really thought he did it,” Serpe confessed. “But you can’t tell me he didn’t hit the kid. Trouble was brewing between them for weeks. Besides, whatever went on between Cain and Toussant started the whole chain of events. I can feel it in my guts. I’m going after him whether you come or not.”
“Look, Serpe, I’m not saying the guy’s not a total piece a shit, but-”
“But what? You think it’s too thin, right? It’s not worth the risk. You fucking I.A. guys kill me. You have any idea how many times me and Ralphy risked our necks for nothing, to go after some little pissant dealer who wasn’t half the-”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Healy put up his palms. “The last time I looked, there wasn’t a cop of any kind in this room. We’re just two private citizens here and that’s all we are. There’s a lot of mutts and skells out there on the street, a lot of them worse than this scumbag Toussant.”
“You think so, huh? You wanna ask Corral Lofton?”
After Joe recounted what Marla had told him, Bob Healy didn’t need any more convincing. But after he agreed to help, Healy did say one thing to Serpe that stuck with him and probably always would.
“You know, Hoskins was right about one thing. We are both fucked for life. And we can’t buy our souls back with good deeds.”
About twenty-four hours had passed since that conversation. Now they rode a long way in silence, Healy occasionally interrupting the quiet to reassure Mr. French. “Just keep calm and nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s the Suffolk Police you have to worry about.”
As he steered the car through the setting darkness, Serpe noticed his right hand had swelled considerably. He flexed it with no small measure of difficulty. Only in the movies, he thought, could you smack a man square on the jaw with your bare knuckles and suffer no damage yourself. But that was the thing about movies, wasn’t it? There weren’t any consequences, not really. In make-believe, there never are. Trying to shake some of the pain and stiffness out of his puffy fingers, Joe understood there would be consequences to what he was planning to do.
“We’re almost there,” he said, half-turning to the backseat. Then he refocused, trying to find the turnoff for the unmarked road.
Getting Toussant out of the car was no mean feat. They literally had to drag him out, but neither Serpe nor Healy could fault him for resisting. Most people don’t suffer their impending executions gladly. Once they’d gotten far enough into the woods, Joe removed the sock from Mr. French’s mouth. He screamed. “M’aidez. Somebody ‘elp me.”
Serpe was amused at the irony in that. “Scream your head off, asshole. Unless the local deer figure out how to dial 911, you’re fucked.”
Next, Toussant did the second most logical thing after screaming; he ran. At least he tried to, but Healy slammed his right leg across the back of Toussant’s knees. The Haitian’s legs went rubbery. First he teetered back, then pitched forward. The two ex-cops let him lay face down in the frozen compost of fallen leaves, bark, and squirrel droppings for a minute before propping him up into a squatting position.
His first two options gone by the boards, Toussant went to his third; a combination of begging and bargaining. Between pleas for his life to be spared, promises of an impending religious rebirth and feeble claims of innocence, Toussant rolled over on his cousin for dealing Ecstasy and coke out of his club.
“Just shut up and listen,” Healy barked.
Serpe took over, kneeling close to the big man, whispering in his right ear. “I wanna know exactly what happened that Saturday morning, minute by minute. I wanna know what you did to Cain, when you last saw him. The first time I think you’re lying to us, I’m gonna nod to my partner over there and he’s gonna press that gun right up to the back of your head. Its muzzle will be so close that when he pulls the trigger, it’ll light your fuckin’ hair on fire. Luckily, you’ll be too dead to give a shit.”
Toussant didn’t hesitate. As he had admitted back in Brooklyn, he said he had hit Cain, but claimed that the kid had taken the first swing. Pressed for a reason why, Toussant confessed to goading Cain into it.
“I call ‘im names. I tease de monkey boy about ‘is big cop friend and ‘is boss. I say it stink in ‘is room.”
Joe Serpe had no trouble believing Cain would have had a go at Toussant after that. But even with the kid’s surprising strength, he’d be no match for a man like Toussant.
“Firs’ ‘e punch me across the face, then the eye. I ‘ave to defend myself. You would defend yourself, no?”
Healy and Serpe let that question hang in the air like the smell of rotting undergrowth. That made Mr. French nervous. He started talking. Whining. Complaining about how hard his life was.
“These retards, you think it is a joy to work with them? They are terrible, dirty and stupid.”
If he was trying to win his captors over with his charm, he was doing a poor job of it.
“So why do you work at these homes if you hate the residents so much?” Healy was curious.
“Women.” Toussant blurted out before he could stop himself.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” Serpe backhanded Toussant with his good hand, sending him sprawling. Joe wanted to grab the gun out of Healy’s hand and do the world a favor. There was evil in the universe, enough of it so that removing Toussant would go unnoticed. Joe wasn’t interested in whether Mr. French was born a violent pig or if he developed into one.
“Take it easy, Serpe,” Healy warned, seeing the brewing storm in Joe’s eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
Joe took a deep breath. “Okay, Toussant, what happened after you hit the kid?”
“‘e was difficult to control at first, but I learn ‘ow to ‘andle such people. The monkey boy is crying, threatening me you will kill me.”
A broad smile crossed Serpe’s face. “Yeah, and then…”
“I keep ‘im restrained until ‘e calm down a little. I say for ‘im to forget it if ‘e knows what is good. Then I leave the room and I never see ‘im after that.”
“And what time was that?” Healy asked.
“Please, I beg that you don’t kill me. I ‘ave many children. I-”
“What time, shithead?” Serpe screamed.
“I don’t remember, early. Seven-thirty maybe. I don’t know.”
Silence again dominated the night.
Healy and Serpe propped Toussant up once more. The big man was now beyond begging. He body trembled in their hands. Reluctantly, Healy handed the 9mm to Serpe. If ever there was a test of trust between two men, this was it. The sight of the gun changing hands was too much for Toussant. Vomit spewed from mouth in a steady stream and, his hands still cuffed behind him, he fell forward right into his own puke.
Healy straddled Toussant to remove the cuffs, but the Haitian’s panic got the better of both of them. He squirmed and bucked, knocking Healy off him. Serpe pressed his boot down on Toussant’s neck. That seemed to take all the fight out of him. Healy took off the cuffs. They both stepped away from Toussant.
“Okay, shithead, start running,” Joe said.
