The metal man looked at me queerly before turning back and replying. “Detective Roche has been admirable, and though he is somewhat passionate in his approach, he understands the intricacies of the police work, as well as the concept of subtlety.”
Robins nodded, biting his lip before turning back to me. “Not too many dead bodies this time?”
“Just one — the boy in the Packard 900,” I answered. I wouldn’t mention the stiffs in the alley behind Prince and Greene.
“Good. Can we absolutely confirm that it was Belik who rewired that Red-eye?”
I glanced at Allen.
Robins got the hint and turned to the machine. “Allen, do you mind assisting Sinclair and Agent Ewalt in my office? I feel like you’d be an invaluable resource. And be sure to keep things under wraps. He doesn’t need to know anything about your past few days with Elias.”
“Will do, Commissioner.” Allen attempted a smile — a good step toward its integration into this shitty little city — and walked through the door, taking care to close it behind him.
Robins put an arm around me and walked me down the hall a little farther away from his office. “Roche, what’s off about all this? I’ve seen that face and heard that tone enough to know that you’re bothered by the situation.”
“I can tell something about this is rubbing the Eye the wrong way; seeing as she wants everyone connected to this dead. I doubt Belik was the one behind all this. I think that, just like Jaeger, he’s a meat shield. Think about it: Has the Eye ever been this jumpy dealing with other racketeering gigs?”
“She’s a paranoid person. But she’s dealt with rivals before, and she can handle it. Status quo.”
Of course Robins wanted the Iron Hands to be unhindered. They were far more of an asset some days, rooting out the wrong kind of criminal and keeping the right kind. Even the commissioner knew that, as he was an avid believer in risk assessment.
“I know she has,” I said, “and she’s been fine before with any number of rivals. But these guys are giving her the willies. And one reason she’d have to be afraid is if they have serious backing. Like, above what we believe to be serious backing.”
“Police? Paramilitary? Some big top-hatter up on the Plate?”
“Worse.” My eyes darted back to his door several times before he caught my drift.
“What, the fucking G-men? You can’t be serious, Roche. This is one hell of a claim, even for you.”
“Well, it fits, doesn’t it? Everywhere I’ve gone, this Masters guy has popped up. He denied the shooting me and Sinclair saw first-hand. His name was on the computer used to blackmail that technician into rigging the towers at GE. Hell, just the fact that he hid the scene and then dumped the Automatic shell in that graveyard past 90th is damning enough, since he’s probably hijacked shells to do his bidding before.”
“Wait. What graveyard?”
I brushed aside his question and continued. “Paddy said there was a shooting in the Lower East End. Have there been any official statements from the FBI or anyone from down there?”
Robins rubbed his neck. “There were rumours that the Red-eye that raised hell didn’t have an NI … but the FBI aren’t saying anything.”
“Masters is running the inspection! Don’t you see? The Iron Hands have been a heavy presence, and no one can root them out, not even the 5th, not even several dozen companies trying to buy them out. The only thing that would scare them is someone with the full force of the country’s government behind them. And if this really is an undercover organization wrapped around Uncle Sam’s finger, we both know the FBI would send tanks down Broadway before they let business be ruined by some bootleggers that have only been around for a decade or so.”
Robins nodded again, deep in thought. “No matter how much I believe you and want to help you, I can’t exactly subtly organize a raid team without that posh prince in there noticing ten badges are missing from the station. That would lead to them being followed, and if this is being run by the G-man leading this inspection, it’s your ass and mine. So … I’m sorry to say it, so I don’t think I will say it.”
Of course he wouldn’t say it. I was on my own. He knew I’d object, that there would be some speech about justice and law — like the discussion between Allen and me — and then I’d reluctantly agree. This time, I’d call the shots for a two-man raid.
“Double,” I said.
“Double? You’re kidding me. How much are the Iron Hands paying you? Her pockets are deep enough to cover the cost. You’re making me quadruple your already insane rates.”
“If you want a massacre and some evidence to support that you weren’t involved, I can ring the Eye up. If you want Belik alive, standing trial and rooting out the G-man who organized this little venture, you’ll pay me double.”
That face he gave was like a slap sometimes. He hated me for extorting him, but he agreed.
I went to get Allen, but before we left, Robins called it over. He pulled a weapon from the holster that lay snugly under his arm and placed the handle in Allen’s outstretched palm with a metallic clang. “Forty-five-calibre pistol, heavy frame, eight rounds, sticks on reload if the mag is empty. Rules of Engagement are: shoot anything that moves, but bring Belik and whoever else is running the show back alive. Take Sinclair and the bird
