faster than Jeffrey Wigand.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
Somewhere, sometime, I’d always wanted to say that. I felt I pulled it off rather well. O’Donnell must have agreed.
“That’s the way it’s gonna be?”
“That’s the way.”
“All right then, Harry Truman, I found three very interesting connections between your friends. Do you want door number one, door number two, or door number three?”
“All of them. What’s the first connection?”
“First? Okay, well, every single one of these folks has done time. And I’m not talking a week in the joint for taking a hit on your mother’s bong. I’m talking serious, get-comfy-in-solitary-confinement time. Every one of these winning personalities has served between two and twelve years in prison.”
I looked at Amanda, the blood draining from my face. I couldn’t tell how much she could hear, but she sensed something was wrong. Cold sweat spread over my body, inking its way down my spine.
“What’s the second?”
“The second is that seven of these men were arrested again within five years of their initial release. Four went down for drug trafficking, two for transporting stolen goods across state lines and one for assault and battery while in possession of narcotics.”
“Jesus.” The words escaped my lips without thought. So far this information was like two successive uppercuts to the jaw, leaving me shaken. All these men lived in one building?
“You want to hear the third, or should we call it a night?”
“No,” I said, numb. “What’s the third?”
“Okay, well, five of these guys are currently deceased.”
I felt bile rise in my throat.
“Did you say five of them are dead?”
“Yes, deceased is a fancy word for dead. Three were shot by the police, one committed suicide, the other was murdered by his partner while robbing a bank.”
“Five of them are dead?”
“You’re a quick one. One more of these fellows was shot during a robbery, but he healed quite nicely, currently lives in Dover. Nice place to convalesce, I hear.”
“Which one lives in Dover?”
“Guy named Alex Reed. He moved after taking a bullet in the gut from a 357. Blew out half his lower intestine. Ironically, he was the one being robbed.”
The information was being processed way too fast. My head hurt. At least ten men in that building had served time, same as Luis Guzman, and five of those ten were dead. If I hadn’t gone back that night, Luis and Christine would have been numbers six and seven.
But there was still one name to give O’Donnell. The one name I’d held back.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Henry?”
“I need you to run one more name for me.”
“Henry, I’m sticking my neck out as it is. I can’t keep doing this or someone’s gonna lop it off.”
“Please, Jack. Just one more, I promise.”
O’Donnell sighed. “All right. You’d better give me one hell of a story once this is over.”
“I will, you have my word.”
“Okay. So who’s the guy?”
“His name is Angelo Pineiro. I think he might have some sort of connection to the other men on the list.”
Another noise came over the line. Jack wasn’t sighing this time. He was laughing.
“Angelo Pineiro?” O’Donnell said derisively. “That’s who you’re asking about?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”
“Well, do you want the long or the short version?”
“You know him?” I asked. “You recognize the name?”
“Recognize the name? Hell, I’ve written about the guy. Angelo Pineiro. His nickname is Blanket. Affectionately known amongst the law enforcement community as Lucifer’s Right Hand. In short, Angelo Pineiro is the guy who holds Michael DiForio’s dick every time he takes a piss.”
35
Joe Mauser dug his nails into the armrest as he felt the landing gear below the plane. The pilot announced the landing preparation, so Joe took another sip of scotch from his flask, held on so tight his knuckles turned white. Why couldn’t Parker have just hid at the Marriott?
Denton sat next to him, chirping into an Airfone and scribbling away on a cocktail napkin. The call sounded important. Maybe there was some good news. Joe was praying for that. Parker had fucked with them long enough. And Joe couldn’t bear another call from Linda until justice had been served. John’s killer had been on the loose for long enough. It was time for retribution.
Denton hung up the phone, nodding toward Mauser’s silver flask, engraved with the letters JLM.
Joseph Louis Mauser.
Joe always told people he’d been named after the boxer Joe Louis. It was bullshit, of course. His grandfather had been named Louis and his godmother Josephine. Didn’t matter. Everyone who knew the truth had passed away a long time ago.
“Grab a nip?” Denton asked. Mauser handed him the flask without saying a word. He peered out the window, watching the thousands of tiny lights dotting the New York landscape. Everyone going on with their lives, blissfully ignorant to the soulless murderer in their midst. A slight shudder ran through Joe’s body as the liquor took hold. When Denton finished his plug Mauser downed another take.
“Take it easy there, chief,” Denton said. “I got some news that’ll warm you up better than any drink.”
“This is Glenlivet, aged twelve years,” Mauser said. “You better have some pretty fucking incredible news.”
“Don’t worry.” Then he said, “NYPD has a beat on Parker and the Davies girl.”
“No shit?”
“Nope. Some old man claims he saw Parker and the Davies girl sitting in a coffee shop up in Harlem. The uniform who took the report was skeptical as hell, said the witness looked like he was a heartbeat away from death itself, but both descriptions fit. The diner’s chef corroborated his story, saying he’d seen Parker’s picture in the newspaper that morning.”
“So Amanda Davies is alive.”
“Guess so,” Denton said. “But why would he kill Evelyn and David Morris, and not kill Amanda? Could he be keeping her as a hostage?”
“You know how hard it is to carry a hostage a city block, let alone cross country? Personally, I think she’s in it with him.” Then something clicked in Mauser’s head. “You said they spotted Parker up in Harlem. Where in Harlem?”
Denton looked at the soiled napkin.
“Says here the place is called Three Eggs and Ham. Cute. It’s on 104th and Amsterdam.”
“104th and Amsterdam. That’s right by…”
“The building where Fredrickson got whacked.” Mauser glared at Denton, who seemed to realize his poor choice of words. “Sorry, Joe, where he was murdered. Anyway, NYPD’s combing the neighborhood. It took the witness a good fifteen minutes to call 911-had to change his Depends, I guess-so Parker could be anywhere, but they’re giving it due diligence.”
