covering the both of them. “Kenny,” she stroked his hair. “Don’t worry, everything will be all right. It’ll be okay.”
He died with a crooked smile on his face that Marla would never quite understand.
“Come on, bitch!”
A huge hand grabbed her by the hair and fairly lifted her out from beneath Bergman’s lifeless torso.
Serpe could see the road flares ahead and that deathly sick feeling returned as he approached the two Suffolk County blue and whites blocking Union Avenue. A bored looking cop tried waving him away, but it would take considerably more than a wave to make him leave. Joe put his car in park and popped out the driver’s side door. If you ever want to get a cop’s attention, challenge his authority.
“Sir,” the cop said in a less than friendly tone. “You’ll have to move your vehicle and-”
“I’m the one who called this in.”
“Yeah, right. What are you, another fucking reporter?”
In spite of his desperation and near panic, Joe did not want to risk flashing his illegal shield now unless he absolutely had to. Back in the city, they have short memories. They’d have already moved on. No one was going to hunt him down for using questionable tactics in an emergency. But a prick like Detective Hoskins would shove that shield up his ass before having him thrown in lockup. On the other hand, Serpe didn’t have time to debate.
“Is Detective Hoskins on the scene?”
“Who?”
Serpe had had enough. He bolted between the two blue and whites and took off in a wild sprint. He could hear the two cops behind him, but did not look back to see. He had already done enough looking back in his lifetime.
“Freeze, motherfucker!” one cop, the one he’d spoken to, ordered.
“Stop now! Right now!” the other cop screamed.
But Joe would not stop, could not stop. His legs moved involuntarily. He did not see the road ahead of him, the whirling cherry tops, or strobes. All he could see was Marla, her slight body covered in blood, her intense brown eyes staring up at him, silently asking why me.
He was getting close now. There were blue and whites everywhere, unmarked cars, an ambulance, a crime scene van. Cops huddled in small groups, some drinking coffee. Joe’s heart was pounding, his throat dry. He strained to breathe, the stitch in his side ripping him apart.
“Stop him!” one of the cops called out from behind him. “Get him down!”
But cops are not that much different than anyone else. In groups they are slower to react: looking, hesitating, waiting for the next guy to do something. Mostly, they looked confused. Some stirred, a few going for the sidearms. None committed to going after Serpe.
His legs wobbly, he fell across the crime scene tape like a runner at the finish of a marathon. Now the cops moved. His hands were cuffed behind his back.
“Hoskins! Kramer!” Serpe cried out, unable to hold down the desperation another second. “Hoskins! Kramer! I need to speak to either Detective Hoskins or Detective Kramer!”
Skilled hands moved along his body, patting him down, checking for concealed weapons, identification, etc. At least Joe had had the presence of mind to tuck Healy’s Glock under the front seat of his rental before getting out to talk to the cop on the Belt Parkway. He knew the sight of his shield would be enough to get that guy’s attention. That it did. Within five minutes the Suffolk County PD had been notified and Joe had a cherry top, siren blowing escort to the Nassau county line.
“Holy shit, Dom,” the uniform who frisked him said. “This guy’s an NYPD detective. You better see if there’s a Detective Hoskins or Kramer on scene.”
They pulled Serpe up to his feet and let him lean against one of the blue and whites, but didn’t uncuff him. That would be the detectives’ call. They got the glory, let them have the headaches. Joe was well acquainted with the attitude.
“Well, look who the fuck it is, Kramer,” Hoskins said too loudly as he and his partner strolled over to Serpe. “We told you to keep your nose outta our shit, didn’t we?”
“This isn’t your shit, Hoskins. This has got nothing to do with gangs.”
“Tell it to someone who give a rat’s ass, Serpe. How do you have the balls to carry that shield with you, you piece of shit?”
“Is anyone hurt?” Joe pleaded, ignoring Hoskins. “Not hurt, just dead.”
Serpe nearly vomited. His legs so weak he needed the car to hold him up.
“Should we uncuff him?” the uniform asked, wanting to get back to his coffee.
“Fuck him!” Hoskins said, walking away. “Maybe the cuffs’ll teach the asshole a lesson.”
“Let him loose,” Kramer said.
“Here.” The uniform handed Serpe back his shield, wallet, and cell phone.
“Come on, Kramer, is Marla Stein all right?”
“We’ve got one dead, a male Caucasian named Bergman.”
“Ken Bergman, the group home manager,” Joe said, giddy with relief.
“That’s him. We’ve got blood around by the back door and a missing woman. She’s a resident, twenty years of age, Caucasian with Down’s Syn-”
“Donna. Fuck, no!” The giddiness was gone. “But you haven’t found her?”
“No, but there’s a blood trail, stops by the sump. You know this woman?” Kramer asked.
“She was Cain Cohen’s girlfriend. She might be a key witness in clearing all this shit up. That’s why they came after her.”
Kramer looked at Joe sideways. “What shit? Who’s they? You stay put, Serpe. I’ll be back in one minute. Officer, keep an eye on him.”
Joe could feel the familiar buzz of his cell phone against his thigh.
“Joe?” It was Marla.
“Thank Christ, you’re all-”
“Serpe?” an unfamiliar voice replaced Marla’s.
“Put her back-”
“You shut your fucking mouth and listen before I cut her throat. You want then I should put her back on the phone? You have caused me so much trouble, I would enjoy to cut her throat.” He was a Russian, whoever he was.
“I’m listening.”
“Walk out of there, get back in your car, and start driving east on the expressway. I will call you en route. And Mr. Serpe…”
“Yeah, what?”
“Listen for the car horn.” In the background, Joe heard three quick blasts from a car horn. “You heard?”
“I heard,” said Joe.
“You are being closely watched, so if we even see you breathe on one of those cops, I will fuck your girlfriend in the ass and slice her tits off while I’m doing it. Understand?”
Joe could hear Marla crying. He felt like ripping the Russian’s eyes out.
“Okay,” he said, snapping the phone closed and sliding it into his pocket. Serpe began to ease away from the blue and white. “Where you going?” the uniform asked.
“Cut myself when they cuffed me. I’m going over to the ambulance to get it looked at. Kramer can find me over there.”
“Go ahead.”
No one bothered Joe until he approached his car. Then the cop who had originally tried to stop him apologized.
“You just shoulda shown me your shield, man. Sorry.”
“Forget it. I fucked up,” Joe said.
As he drove away, he hoped Donna wasn’t injured too badly, and that the Russians didn’t have her too. Serpe was pretty sure she’d be safe if she headed to where he thought she might go. He was much less sure about Marla’s safety. He knew the Russians had her.
The entrance to the L.I.E. was only a few blocks away and though he kept checking his mirrors, Joe could not
