A Bullet for Carlos (3 page)

“If there are more than three of them, forget the bust,” Sean said. “Let Jerry do the deal and we’ll call it a night.”

Jerry Rafferty waited in
a maroon SUV parked near the corner, suitcase full of money on the seat beside him.

An old Buick Electra rolled down the street and slowed down as it passed Jerry’s car. The driver stared into the window then continued through the intersection and parked half a block up. Four men got out and scanned the area. Soon a gray SUV came down the block, pulling into a space behind Jerry. Four more men exited and approached Jerry’s car from the sidewalk. He got out of the car and stood facing Juan, the dealer.

I saw them talking, then what looked like arguing. I got a bad feeling in my gut.
Stay calm, Jerry.

Juan pushed Jerry against the wall. Jerry tried getting away, but Juan grabbed him and jammed a knife into the side of Jerry’s neck. He staggered, fell against the wall then tried to break free. Two of Juan’s guys got him.

Goddamnit, we should have been wired. Should have had backup.

I pulled my gun from inside my coat, grabbed Sean’s arm and yanked him to his feet. I ducked behind a parked car, then another, moving closer. “Police! Drop your weapons.”

I crouched, moving to the next parked car, trying to get position on them. As I poked my head out they fired. I ducked behind the fender and Sean moved in next to me. Bullets slammed into the car’s front panel. “Get back,” I said. “Too many of them.”

Sean was right behind me when one of the dealers came around the back of a pickup and fired two shots. One of them hit Sean in the left arm. He got off a round that took the guy down.

“Sean, you all right?”

“I’m shot! Let’s get out of here. Did you call backup?”

“There
is no
backup.” My gut churned so bad I thought I’d throw up. The night I always worried about was here. I looked for a way out. “Back into that alley.”

Sean was holding his arm, trying to stop the bleeding. “It’s a dead end.”

“Yeah, but only one way in. We can hold them off better.”

We ran with our heads low, ducking shots all the way. I dove behind a dumpster at the end of the alley but not before a bullet caught my leg, just above the knee. I rolled through garbage toward the wall. “Goddamn.” The pain in my leg felt like the jabbing of a knife, throbbing as if someone kept stabbing me over and over.

Just as Sean was about to make it, a shot took him in the back. He lurched toward the wall. “I’m hit. I’m fuckin’ hit.”

I crawled forward and dragged him to safety. It didn’t look good. He couldn’t move his legs. “Hang in there.” I’m sure my voice sounded calm but I was terrified.

“Somebody set us up.”

I patted his head while peeking around the side of the dumpster. “Hang in there. I’ll have you at the hospital soon.” A bullet hit the wall close by, then two more shots rang out. I tore off my coat, jerked off my flannel shirt, then tied one sleeve around my leg to stop the bleeding, and scooped a handful of snow to help the pain, maybe slow the bleeding. I used the rest of the shirt to apply pressure to Sean’s wound.

Another shot hit the dumpster, then another. I cringed with each one, shaking like a goddamn coward. Sean squeezed my hand. “I can’t feel anything.” He stared up at me, tears in his eyes as he struggled for breath, face twisted by pain. A moment later his head fell to the side.

“No! Don’t go, Sean.” I hugged him, put my fingers to his neck, checked for a pulse
.

Get hold of yourself, Gianelli.

I took three deep breaths, then got the clips from Sean’s gun and stuffed them in my pocket. The extra ammo would help, but I couldn’t hold these guys for long. I reached for my phone, only to find it gone. It must have fallen out when I took my coat off. I looked around, felt for it too, but didn’t find it. The alley stunk of piss. As I crawled on the ground rummaging through the garbage, I worried about hitting a needle. Fear crawled up my gut, tightened my throat. I dug through Sean’s pocket, got his cell phone.

Another round of fire blasted the alley, spraying the dumpster and the wall to the right. Several ricochets almost hit me. I tucked my head into my chest, damn near pissing my pants. “Son-of-a-bitch.” I’d been in tight spots before, but nothing like this.

More bullets peppered the alley. The dealers were coming in now. I thought about Bobby Thompson, who had asked me to marry him once, and I thought about the fun I had playing with Zeppe’s kids. That could have been me; instead, I opened my door every night to a three-legged cat and some tropical fish. But those fish didn’t play with me, or laugh with me.
Or sleep with me.
I had nothing. And to top it off I was probably going to get killed in a stinking alley in Brooklyn.

I crouched lower, gritting teeth from the throbbing pain in my leg, then peeked out from behind the dumpster and fired a few rounds. Couldn’t see shit, but I could make a good guess. Back behind the dumpster, I flipped the phone open and dialed a number that was burnt in memory. After two rings someone answered.

“
Pronto
.”

I didn’t have time to appreciate how wonderful that one word sounded, the strength of his deep voice, the accent, the pride. All conveyed with one simple word. “Uncle Dominic, I need help. Drug bust gone bad.”

There was no hesitation. Uncle Dominic knew how to make tactical decisions. Given different circumstances he would have made a magnificent general. “Where are you?”

“I’m in an alley across from Birelli’s. Got six, maybe seven, gang members out there. Already killed my partners.”

“Don’t get brave. Help is on the way.”

“Don’t know if I can last that long.” I paused. “Just in case…”

“Stay put. It won’t be long.”

“All right,” I said, but knew I was screwed. Uncle Dominic was in the Bronx. I’d never last that long.

Chapter 3

Missing Goods

T
hree shots hit the dumpster, ringing loud and threatening. I buried my head in my arms, set the phone beside Sean, and did something I hadn’t done in years—I prayed.

God, I don’t know if you listen to people like me. You probably think I got a lot of nerve asking you to rescue me when I abandoned you so long ago. But I’m not asking for me, God, so let’s make a deal. You get me out of this jam and you have my word that I will get these motherfu—sorry. I’ll get these guys that murdered Sean and Jerry. I’ll save you the trouble of intervening, if you still do that stuff.

A new spurt of gunfire pounded the alley, peppering the walls. Brick pieces flew like shrapnel. I ducked, used my arms to cover my head, then poked out from behind the dumpster and fired a few more rounds. I couldn’t see the dealers, but if they knew I still had ammo they’d be more careful. Hell, maybe some concerned citizen would call the cops.
Fat chance of that.

There was a rustling of debris near the entrance to the alley. I lay down, head resting in some kind of sticky gook on the street. The stench of urine clogged my nose, almost gagging me. I inched forward, each movement another stab in my leg. I crawled just enough to see past the edge of the dumpster. Two of the drug dealers were coming in. Shadows were all I could see, but that would be enough if I let them get closer. I watched for a few seconds, judged how fast they advanced, then pulled back. As I moved into a crouch I grasped the gun with both hands and counted down.
Almost.

Five seconds later I stood, head above the dumpster, and fired. I didn’t stop until I emptied the clip. Both of the dealers went down. Panting, I dropped to my knees, using my arm to apply pressure to the leg while I punched another clip into the gun. I moved to the edge of the dumpster, stayed near the ground and peeked out.

Shots sprayed the dumpster and the walls of the alley. I jumped back, barely avoiding a few ricochets. They had automatics.
Jesus Christ, who
are
these people?
I said another prayer. Maybe enough prayers would raise me a level so I could suffer in Purgatory.

If something happens to me, God, please take care of Hotshot.

During a brief lapse in gunfire, I heard tires squealing on the street.
It couldn’t be Uncle Dominic already,
unless he
beamed
over from the Bronx
.

Two Caddies raced down
the street toward the alley. A Lexus came from the opposite direction. Halfway down the block they stopped, doors flying open. Four men got out of each of the Caddies, guns blazing. Three drug dealers went down with the first assault. The two that remained ran in the other direction but the three guys from the Lexus emptied their guns on them.

The first guy out of the lead Caddy checked the scene then ran to the alley. “Connie, you okay?” A short pause, then he called again. “Connie, it’s okay, baby. Dominic sent us.”

My heart pounded, and I had to catch my breath.
Could it
really
be him?
I poked my head out, leaning against the dumpster for support. Suspicion burnt a hole in my gut, but my leg was bleeding and I needed help. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Dominic called me. We were only a few minutes away, at the club. Don’t worry. Get in the car, and I’ll take you to him.”

I stepped forward, the gun pointed at him. “Who are you?”

The big man standing in the alley laughed a deep belly laugh, the kind from someone who laughed loud and often. “You might not recognize me, but I know you. I was at your Christening, and your First Communion. I’m Manny Rosso.”

I limped toward him, a grimace with each step, and my hand still gripping the gun. I remembered Manny, a big man with a contagious laugh and a happy face. “Manny? Is it really you?”

Manny rushed to my side, threw big thick arms around me.

“
Andre’ tutto bene, bambina.
Manny’s here now.” He rubbed my back as he whispered in English. “Everything will be all right.”

My leg gave out and I slumped. Manny caught me.

“Jesus Christ, you’re bleeding.” He scooped me up in his arms. “We gotta get you to the hospital.”

“I need to stay until they get here. My partners…”

“You got more people back there?”

I shook my head. “No. They’re…God, Manny, they’re dead. Both of them. I need to stay until help gets here.”

“This is Brooklyn, baby; they might never come.”

As we exited the alley, me in Manny’s arms, one of his men approached carrying a briefcase and wearing a strange look on his face.

“Got a truckload of money in here.”

“Put it in the car with me,” Manny said. “We—”

I tried to get down. “Manny—”

“Don’t worry, Connie. It’s all yours. We’re taking it with us.”

“Wait, Manny. We’ve got to get the drugs. And somebody’s got to stay with Sean and Jerry.”

Manny looked at me with his eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing you can do for your partners. As to the other, what drugs you talking about?”

“This was a buy. There should be drugs.”

“We’ll get them,” Manny said. “What cars did they drive?”

I pointed out the old Buick and the SUV. “Not the maroon one, the gray.”

“Ronnie, check those cars. Give it all to Connie.”

“Hey, boss…” Ronnie looked as if someone had slapped him.

“Ronnie!”

Ronnie looked at me, then Manny. “You know she’s the one who busted Little Pete last year. Johnny Hats, too.”

Manny looked at me. “Shame on you, Concetta,” he said, but then laughed. “It’s all in the game, huh.” He smiled, letting me know everything was okay, then loaded me into the back seat of the Caddy.

I was dizzy and my leg hurt like hell, but I was safe.
Thanks, God.
Even as I thought that, I wondered if Manny would expect special treatment for this.

Ronnie came up to us a moment later. “Nothing. Checked all of it. Trunk, underneath, everywhere.”

“It’s got to be here,” I said, and turned to Manny. “The drugs are somewhere. They
have
to be.”

“Don’t worry. They’ll find it,” Manny said, then, “Ronnie, call the cops and report this for Connie.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Manny placed the money on the seat next to me, then got in the car and tapped on the driver’s shoulder. “Let’s go. Hospital’s only a couple of minutes from here.”

I felt numb, but at the same time, ecstatic to be alive. “I don’t know how to thank you, Manny. People are gonna talk. The cops will—”

Two thick fingers pinched my cheek. “Don’t worry about me. And trust me, nobody in this neighborhood is saying anything to the cops.” He smiled again. “Stay alive until I get you to the hospital; otherwise, Dominic will kill me.”

I rubbed my face where he pinched me, then the bridge of my nose, tracing over the hump that had been there since I was a teenager. The hump that had embarrassed me all through high school. “Maybe I’ll get my nose fixed while I’m in the hospital.”

Manny’s big fat hand grabbed the side of my face and turned my head toward him, then at a profile. “Don’t do it. It looks great. That little bump adds flavor to your face…you know, sort of like oregano on a sandwich.”

My partners were dead, my leg hurt like hell, and I was a cop in the backseat of a car with the head of one of the five families. Despite that, I almost laughed. Who else but Manny Rosso would compare a bump in my nose to oregano. But as I laughed, I also worried.
What went wrong? And where are the drugs? They have to be there, so where are they?