Switch (40 page)

"How did you know about the garage?"

"Sweeney's been bugging me to bring in my car ever since he drove it back from the burial. For years I've heard about the fat discounts he gives to cops and all the little courtesies he extends. I've also heard about shoddy parts—getting your car back, then later finding something wrong. I put Sal on it, and when he found the back shop and I could see them stripping cars it was pretty obvious how the thing had worked. Sweeney told his goons to make it look like a New Jersey gangland slaying. But they got sloppy—out of greed or incompetence or both. You know: 'Why waste a stolen car? Let's get double use out of it. Strip it first, the stereo, the tires and all the easy stuff. Then slap on some crud and use it to stow the corpse.' Al must have known he'd hit pay dirt when he heard about that car. But then he blew his case. He had no real proof, but he went ahead anyway and threatened Hart. Big mistake. He should have concentrated on Sweeney instead."

"Why Sweeney?"

"Because Sweeney's the weak spot, the link between the executioners and Hart. He's the insulation, and the insulation's always weak. He had no stake in your father being killed and he doesn't go around shooting people in the head. They way he sees it he was just the broker, and he's not going to want to burn alone for that. Still he's a strong-arm guy and that's important to know because you can break a strong-arm guy if you handle him right—show him superior force."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Make him squawk."

"How?"

"Leverage. I send him to prison for the garage unless he gives me Hart."

"Is that really going to do it?"

"First you're going to have to scare him."

"Me?"

"You"—he leaned over and kissed the top of her head —"with your crazy-daughter-of-the-man-he-killed routine. Now, don't worry, I know you can do it. It'll go something like this: If Sweeney doesn't tell me what I want to know I threaten to cut you
loose
. He'll believe in your fury if you show him furious eyes. If you do it right you'll scare him and he'll break."

"Well," she said, "sounds like we're back to aggression."

"Yeah," he said. "But this time it's yours."

T
he first hard part would be to lure Sweeney out.
Janek
decided to use his car.

It was a late 1960s Volvo, the classic Model 122, battered and only shiny when it rained. But it ran well, never failed to start, and it could use a tune-up, he thought.

He drove it over to the Bronx and into the garage, then stood beside it, stupid, while Sweeney's chief mechanic checked it out.

"Needs all new shocks. The pinion on the differential leaks. Needs a new slave cylinder. Tune-up and ring job like you say. And there's an oil leak. New oil-pan gasket. Run you eight or nine hundred, but when we're finished it'll be perfect." The man glanced at the body. "Mechanically speaking, at least. I notice some rust on those fenders round the lights."

"Let's just stick to the insides,"
Janek
said. He showed his discount card.

S
he spent two weekends working with Jamie Sullivan in the garage behind Jamie's house in Bayside, Queens.
Janek
watched her. She and Jamie got on well. He showed her how to handle explosive, mold it around caps, how to strip and curl wire, connect caps to wire and wire to batteries and then bring all the wires to the terminals of the switch.

"You got to do it like you've been doing it for years," Jamie told her. "It's the way you handle the plastic. There's a touch. You can always tell a good demo man by the lightness and sureness of his hands. You train yourself by playing with clay. Your fingers get good. You always flutter them first before you begin. And in weather like this you always wear gloves. The way an old safecracker does, to keep his fingers warm and loose."

They left her to practice, went to the kitchen, opened beers, sat down and drank.

"She'll make it if she doesn't panic," Jamie said, "and she won't panic if she concentrates." He was an ex-cop, a Vietnam vet who'd been a member of the Bomb Squad for five years. In that time he saw four men he loved get blown to bits. He quit finally because he began to shake; he'd be shaking in the morning before he left for work. He got a full disability discharge and grew a beard. It was half a foot long now, black and curly tinged with gray.

"She says she plays tennis. Is she any good?"

"Excellent player,"
Janek
said.

"She and I should play this week. It'll help her concentration." Jamie paused. "She might even pay more attention to me if I win."

H
e told her, "At first he'll think I'm pissed about the car. He'll know there's got to be more, but he won't put it all together till the end. I won't talk much and you won't talk at all. You'll do everything with your eyes. Don't grimace or make faces. Just feel your anger and it'll show. Don't try to act and don't forget: this guy got your father killed. You want him to die hard. I'm the only one who can control you. When I tell you to do something you nod and do it right away. That way he knows I can stop you. You're my creature until I cut you
loose
and then you're an icy maniac. Try and be like Lane. Cold like that. Full of ice-cold fury. Let him catch a glimpse of the beast, but only just a glimpse. Remember: the two most effective tools we got are silence and the way you handle yourself. The more silence the better — that way he makes all the noise. If you make a mistake just go on like it didn't happen. It's important that you keep your movements clean and sure. A lot depends on the determined way you go about the thing, like you've thought it all through and there's no way once you start you're not going to take it to the end. That's what'll make him know we're dangerous. I'm a guy who doesn't give a shit and you're a woman who's willing to go all the way."

H
e was delighted with his car; it purred better than it had in years. It performed exceptionally well as Caroline drove it out to Douglaston then past Sweeney's house, an expensive split-level on three-eighths of an acre with a two-car garage facing the street and an Audi 5000 parked in the drive.
Janek
told her to turn the corner and come around again. It was an exceptionally warm February evening, a kind of false spring evening, he thought.

He knew that
Sweeneys
' wife was in Florida for the week and his kids were away at college. If they were going to do it they would have to do it now. He knew she was ready and feared if they waited she could lose her edge.

She turned into the drive, blocked the Audi the way he told her. He liked the way her hands were steady on the wheel. He got out fast and moved quickly to the front of the house. By the time Sweeney opened the door he could feel adrenaline pumping through his heart.

"
Janek
? What the hell—?" As predicted, Sweeney was surprised.

"Took my car into your so-called garage."

Sweeney squinted at him. "I rate a house call cause of that?"

"Going to ask me in?"

"You look pretty upset."
          

They stared at each other. "Fuckin' right I'm upset. Rotten parts. Car's been filled with crap. Came to tell you that and that tomorrow I'm reporting you for fraud."

"What you talking about?" Sweeney's face turned red.

"Come out and take a look."

"Calm down,
Janek
. I'll see you're satisfied. And no charge, either. The whole job free. How's that?"

Janek
ignored the offer. "You want to look?"

Sweeney paused, trying to decide just how angry
Janek
was and how dangerous he could become if he didn't look at the rotten parts and sympathize. "Okay," he said, "let me get my jacket."

"Never mind the jacket, Sweeney. Come out and see the damage."

Sweeney shrugged and stepped onto the stoop. He glanced at the car and spotted Caroline. The sight of her seemed to relax him. A girl in the car meant
Janek
wasn't totally crazy, though it was strange he'd come all the way out to the suburbs to bitch to him at night.

"Look,
Janek
, if there was a mix-up on parts don't worry—that's no big deal. You know me. I'm not going to let my brother-in-law screw a cop. Too much to lose. You guys are my bread and butter."

They were beside the car now. "Hands behind your back."

"
What?
"

Janek
pressed the barrel of his Colt into Sweeney's side, then jammed it hard into his kidney. "Your hands. Fast. Before I blow you away. Move it, fuck-face.
Now.
"

Sweeney muttered something that sounded like "Shit!" and
Janek
jabbed him again. This time Sweeney put his hands behind his back.
Janek
snapped cuffs tight around his wrists.

"What the—?"

"
Shut up.
"
Janek
pulled open the back door and shoved Sweeney into the car face-first. Then he came in on top of him, grabbed hold of his hair, jerked his head back, then smashed his face down as hard as he could into the seat. "Listen, scumbag. I only say this once. Try something and you're gone." He gave Sweeney's head another brutal shove. Sweeney blubbered against the vinyl while
Janek
patted him down.

No gun, no knife, nothing. He pulled off Sweeney's shoes and threw them into the front. Then he tied his ankles together with rope, forced his legs back, connected the handcuffs to the ankles so that Sweeney was hog-tied face-down on the seat. Then he got out, came around to the front and got in beside Caroline. "Go," he told her. She nodded crisply and backed out of Sweeney's driveway fast.

He figured it would take a minute or so for Sweeney to comprehend his predicament. He'd been forcibly kidnapped by a fellow police officer from in front of his house at night. He was bound up now, very uncomfortably, in the back of that officer's car. A girl he didn't know was driving. They seemed to be heading somewhere. There'd been a crazy look in
Janek's
eyes, but he'd acted like he was carrying out a plan.
Janek
could lose everything for this; if Sweeney filed a complaint
Janek
would go to jail. Unless this whole thing was official somehow, which seemed highly improbable. Or unless
Janek
had planned it so he, Sweeney, wouldn't be around at the end to file a complaint.

"
Janek
—"

"Okay, here it is. Got an airtight case. You're running a chop operation behind your garage. Been watching the place for weeks. You're going to Attica. You'll do hard time. Five years, probably ten. For a big-shot police sergeant, that's going to be rough. I'm
glad
, Sweeney. Because I always thought you were a piece of shit."

That,
Janek
figured, ought to hold him for two to three minutes, long enough for them to get out of the suburb and onto the Long Island Expressway. From now on silence would be their weapon. Sweeney had to talk himself into a state of panic.

"
Janek
—?"

Janek
didn't answer.

"Look,
Janek
—this is no kind of good arrest."

Silence.

"You can't make anything stick you take me in like this. This is fuckin' kidnapping,
Janek
. You'll do big time for this."

Janek
laughed.

"Think it's funny, huh? You're stupid, really dumb. Who's this bimbo driving? She some kind of police officer, too." A pause. "You got to be crazy. All this on account of some parts. Tell you the truth, this jalopy's sounding pretty good...."

He went on like that, calling names, complaining about his discomfort, appealing to reason, making threats. It was when he'd try to bargain that
Janek
would hit him again, so he glanced at Caroline, shrugged, and she drove on.

The Long Island Expressway to the Suffolk County line, then a U-turn and back again. Then the Brooklyn-Queens to the Verrazano Bridge. Then around Staten Island for a while:

"Where we going,
Janek
? Christ, my legs are cramping up. The fuck you taking me?

"Jesus,
Janek
—what do you want? Tell me.
The fuck you want?

"
Janek
—you can't do this. You'll be up shit creek for sure.

"
Janek
—let's settle this thing. The car? Christ, I'll give you a Mercedes if you want.

"
Janek
—you want to kill me ‘count of some stupid parts? You're fucking
crazy.
You're a cocksucker,
Janek
. Wait till Hart—he'll ream your ass for this."

Janek
turned and looked down at his prisoner. There was a line of sweat on the back of his neck.
Janek
stuck the point of his Colt into the crease at the base of his skull. "What about Hart?" he asked.

He was surprised at the harshness of his voice; his whisper, he thought, grated like a saw. Sweeney didn't answer right away; he was calculating,
Janek
knew, trying to figure out what
Janek
wanted. It had something to do with Hart; now that message had been delivered.
Janek
worked the gun barrel in, slowly, methodically, twisting it in the sweaty crease of flesh.