A Bullet for Carlos (5 page)

Interrogation

I
woke the next morning to the familiar hospital smell, and wishing I had taken a bullet in the head instead of the leg. It wasn’t the pain, it was everything else—Uncle Dominic was pissed; IA would be here any minute with their thousand questions; and sooner or later the Chief of Detectives would make an appearance toting a bag of questions.

Somewhere between worrying over Sean’s death and the missing drugs, I decided to heed Manny’s advice and leave my nose alone. What was a little bump anyway? Besides, I liked oregano.

I stretched to get the water from the table. The nurse hurried over and handed it to me. Suspicion built as I studied her. Tough, wiry body and tobacco-stained teeth—one chipped—combined with eyes that darted to the hall every time footsteps sounded. “Dominic hire you?”

The woman never flinched. “Mr. Mangini asked me to watch you, yes.”

“How do you know Mr. Mangini?”

She tucked the pillow under my head and pressed the button to raise the bed more. Her smile, when it appeared, seemed practiced. “I used to be a waitress at a bar. I had a bad marriage and a husband who beat me.” She fluffed up another pillow, set it beside me. “Mr. Mangini paid for me to go to nursing school so I could support myself.”

“How did he know you? He doesn’t go to bars.”

“My brother knows a…friend of Mr. Mangini’s.”

Ah, there’s the connection.
I knew the routine. Her brother was likely a small-time earner for Dominic, so the brother tells his crew boss and it moves up the ladder. “And your husband? Does he still beat you?”

“I haven’t seen my husband for a while.”

“Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me that.”

Those tobacco-stained, chipped teeth showed when she smiled. “You’re the one who asked. Besides, instead of questioning what your uncle is doing, you might think about who cares for you, dear.” She turned and walked back to her chair against the wall. She didn’t walk like a nurse either; she was…balanced, like an athlete.

But she’s probably right.
I took a sip of water, and gave her the “once over” again. A towel peeked above the pocket of her uniform. “Cops will be here all morning. If there’s a piece under that towel I’d keep it hidden.”

She smiled again. She was good at that. Far better than the lieutenant. “Thanks,” she said.

Over the next several hours, I prepared myself for the inevitable questioning from IA, but all I could think about was being back in the family. I had confused feelings about Uncle Dominic, but family was the most important thing in my life—that, and being a cop.
How’s that for a contradiction?

I remembered the family get-togethers, especially the holiday ones. Christmas was best, exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve with all the cousins, eating a meal that should have filled us for days, then getting up the next morning to too many presents and too much laughter. Those thoughts brought up another worry—not having my own kids. I was thirty. Past the time when most “good Italian girls” start a family.

While I lay in the hospital bed, I dreamed there was a line of suitors at the door, all waiting to vie for my affections.

Like a princess in a fairy tale.

The door opened a few seconds later, but it wasn’t a suitor. It was IA. Same two guys. Randall was the taller of the two, but other than that they looked alike.

“Good morning, Detective. How are you feeling?” That came from Randall.

“I can talk, and I’m sure that’s what you wanted to hear.”

Randall looked to Green and they smiled. Smirked was more like it, and they even did that alike, causing me to wonder if they taught smirking in Internal Affairs school.

“I like you,” Green said, as he pulled out a tape recorder. “Detective, we’re going to tape this conversation. Is that okay with you?”

“Fine by me.”

Randall leaned forward, but he bent in the wrong places. It made him look like a Slinky with a stiff back.

“You have a right to have your representative here.”

“Let’s get it over with. I got nothing to hide.”

Randall, still bent in that same posture, stated the date and time into the recorder, then he mentioned he would be interviewing Detective Connie Gianelli.

“Detective Gianelli, tell us what happened the other night. The night of February 12th.”

I took a moment to think about what to say, then I recited the details of the evening, stopping at the part when I got to the hospital.

“Detective, this was a major drug bust with known drug dealers. Violent men. Why didn’t you get backup?”

I should have cleared this with Chambers.
Not knowing what to say, I opted for the truth. “We decided to go in without backup.”

“Why? That’s against policy.”

Spit the truth out here, too. “We were concerned with leaks. We wanted control of the situation.”

Randall’s tone was getting more sarcastic by the minute. “And when things went bad. When Detective Rafferty was killed, why didn’t you call for backup?”

I didn’t know if these guys were slow, but they were sure as hell annoying. “I already told you, we didn’t have backup arranged.”

“Why not call 9-1-1?”

I sighed. What was I going to say—that I didn’t trust 9-1-1? If I said that, they’d commit me to the looney bin. “Things were happening fast. Bullets flying. I had one partner dead and one wounded.” I stopped for only a second, then, “And I couldn’t find my phone. Must have dropped it in the alley.”

“Yes, you must have,” Randall said. “We recovered both your phone and Sean’s at the scene.” He took time to look at his notes. “But tell me, Detective, who did Sean call?”

I paused. Things were getting sticky. “He didn’t call anyone.”

Green shuffled through some papers in a manila folder and pulled one out. “This is a copy of the phone log for Detective Monroe’s cell phone. There is a call to Dominic Mangini, a known member of organized crime. And that call went out at 10:27.”

Should I tell them I used Sean’s phone? That it was
me
who called.
I grabbed the paper and scanned the report, frantic. “Something’s wrong.” I threw the paper at Green. “Why are you doing this? Sean’s a good cop.”

“Was he?” Green said.

His use of the past tense brought reality back to me.
Was
he?

After that, Randall’s questions came rapid fire. “Detective Gianelli, why didn’t you and Detective Monroe want backup? Were you planning to get away with the drugs, or the money? Or both?” He walked to the other side of the bed, then leaned toward me, his face inches away. “And by the way, Detective, where
are
the drugs?”

Green and Randall hovered like vultures on each side of the bed. “What went wrong?” Green asked. “Why did Detective Monroe call Dominic Mangini? Why did the drug dealers turn on you? And yes, where
are
those drugs?”

My gut tightened. I glared. “You got the money, didn’t you?”

“No drugs, though.”

“I can only assume they weren’t carrying them because they never intended to do a deal. They
knew
we were cops.” I leaned forward. “
Knew it.
That’s why Sean and Jerry are dead.”

Randall pretended to look at his notes. “And tell me again how it is you’re not dead? The dealers were killed with other guns, ones not found on the scene.”

Green stepped in. “Where are those guns, and more importantly, where are those drugs?”

I clenched my fists, but what I wanted was to smack this guy. “I already
told
you. Some people came and started blasting, then they took me to the hospital.”

“So this mysterious group of Good Samaritans came in, killed heavily-armed drug dealers, drove you to the hospital, then disappeared without asking for so much as a thank you. Oh, and they gave you back the money…but not the drugs?”

My expression must have shown the disgust I felt. “Guess you gotta love New York.”

“Detective, everyone in this room knows you’re dirty, and I’m going to see to it that you get suspended.”

“Suspended? We busted more drug dealers than any other borough. You know how much cocaine and heroin we got off the street last year?” I wanted to hit him. “Get the hell out of here. It looks like you made up your mind anyway.”

Randall’s smile seemed sinister. “We’ll get out, Detective. But we
will
be back.”

I lay back on the pillow, a lot of questions plaguing me.
Where were the drugs? Was Sean dirty like they said, or did someone set us up? Should I have told them about the call to Dominic?

I closed my eyes and tried to think of who might have the drugs. There were endless possibilities, but the one thought that kept coming back to me was Manny. Maybe keeping the drugs was payback for busting Johnny Hats. Most of these mobsters would cut your throat as soon as look at you, and Manny was one of the worst.
Goddamn, I hope it isn’t Manny.

***

The phone rang three
times at the Mangini house. Dominic picked it up on the fourth ring. “
Pronto
.”

“This is Anna Crincoli.”

“Is she all right?”

“Fine, Mr. Mangini. But the two internal police were here. They say they are going to suspend her.”

“But Concetta is all right?”

“She’s upset.”

“Thank you, Anna. I’m in your debt.” Dominic paused. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Mangini.”

“Good. Stay close to her,” he said, then hung up.

Dominic put the paper down on the table and walked to the patio door. “Zeppe, come here.”

Zeppe came into the kitchen with a coffee in his hand, smiling. He had managed to keep a full head of dark wavy hair, and his olive skin did a good job of hiding the few wrinkles he had. “What’s up, Dom?”

“We need some of our friends at the papers. Concetta needs help.”

“What kind of help?”

“A few stories, well-placed.”

“Help me out here, Dom. You talking about an article buried on page ten or something more prominent?”

“I’m talking about headlines.”

Zeppe wiped his brow. “That’s gonna cost us.”

“Get them on the phone. I’ll talk to them.” Dominic seemed lost in thought. “We might kill two birds with this one, Zeppe. Clear Concetta’s name
and
get her out of narcotics.”

***

Lieutenant Chambers burst through
the door and pushed past Nurse Crincoli, interrupting my dinner. He had a paper in his hand. “You see this yet?”

I shook my head. “What?”

“Scoot over,” he said, then handed me the paper and sat on a chair beside me. “Look at this, Connie. You’re a hero.”

I stared at the headlines. “Detective Concetta Gianelli—Hero Cop,” then underneath it.

‘On the back streets of Brooklyn, two New York City Police Officers died in the line of duty when an undercover drug bust went bad. Detective Gianelli shot and killed several drug dealers while suffering a shot to her thigh. Then, in a touch-and-go situation, she not only held her own against better-armed criminals, she got the best of them until help arrived. Unfortunately it was not in time to save her two partners: Detectives Sean Monroe and Gerard Rafferty. Both were pronounced dead at St. Vincent’s Hospital.’

I whistled. “Holy shit. Whose ass did I kiss, huh? The
New York Times
loves cops today. How about that?”

Chambers stood. “Not just the Times. Every paper has you on the front page. And every newsstand has your picture plastered on the front.” Chambers grabbed me and kissed my cheek. “A hero. That’s what you are. Of course, this will ruin your undercover work, with your face plastered all over town. Doesn’t matter though, you did good. And by the way, what was the name of that garbage you wanted to eat?”

“It was mezzaluna, Lieu. Half-moon ravioli. But don’t worry. I’ll have plenty when I get out.” As I laughed, reality struck.

Dominic. He’s the one who did this.
I looked at Chambers. “Captain approve of this?”

“No, but he’s got to love it. One of our own being front-page material.”

I nodded. The lieutenant was right. What
could
the captain say?

You clever old fox, Dominic. Thank you.

Chapter 6

Back on the Job

F
or three weeks I gorged on pasta, cheese, and my favorite pastries—all compliments of Uncle Zeppe—and I didn’t feel guilty even once…until I tried pulling my pants up over my hips. I swore I’d never miss another workout as I drove to work, but I stopped short of swearing off pasta. That would be carrying things too far.

I walked into the station sporting a slight limp, but I wore a Friday-night smile on my face and it was only Monday morning.

“Hey, Brad.” I waved to the desk sergeant as I passed.

Brad smiled, then whistled—loud, so everyone heard. “Gianelli’s back. Brooklyn’s own superwoman.”

Half a dozen people greeted me as “hero” before I got to the steps. It felt good. Not that I wanted the adulation, but it was better than a kick in the ass. People flocked over, patting my back, offering congratulations. After some idle chatter I managed to get to the second floor and into Lieutenant Chambers’ office. It wasn’t much more than a couple of cubicles surrounded by glass, but the privacy made it seem twice as big.