Bronx Requiem(109)
“Ten K. They got about eighty percent of the files open.”
“You find anything we can use to nail these guys?”
“How about bank accounts in Kansas City, Missouri; Roslyn, Long Island; and a TD Bank in Toronto?
“Really?”
“Yep. I got bank statements and deposit images. I’m printing out everything now.”
“How were the deposits made?”
“U.S. postal money orders via snail mail.”
Beck smiled. “We got ’em.”
“Uh-huh. All kinds of federal crimes connected to moving money between states and a foreign country. We also busted open a folder showing a bunch of properties, along with the titles and deeds.”
“Who owns them?”
“I’ll tell you who doesn’t.”
“Who?”
“Eric Jackson.” Alex handed Beck a single page. “Here. I printed out the names of the straw owners and the addresses.”
Beck scanned the names.
“Holy shit.”
“Interesting, huh?”
“Very.” Beck’s voice trailed off, as he thought through the implications. “You find any information on other properties?”
“I think that’s it. It was all in one folder.”
“Okay, can you destroy that folder? After you copy the information?”
“Sure.”
“Do it. How long before you open the rest of the drive?”
“Couple hours, but I think the rest of the drive is empty. I’m making sure now.”
“Okay. Finish printing the bank stuff. Wipe out the information on these properties and leave everything else. Can you do it without leaving a trace?”
“No. But I’ll make sure there won’t be any way to figure out when it was done.”
“Good enough. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Beck paused and looked at Alex. “The ten thousand was worth it.”
“Yep.”
Beck headed up to the third floor and knocked on Queenie’s door.
“Who is it?”
“Beck. Can I come in?”
“It’s your house.”
Beck stepped into the room. Queenie had raised the window wide open. Beck could smell the sea air chilled by the cold water in the bay. A bright sun lit up a blue sky cleaned by a high-pressure system. But there was nothing fresh or sunny about Queenie. She sat on the bed, slumped over, her short hair uncombed, her clothes wrinkled from wearing them all night.
“How much sleep did you get?”
Her answer was a smirk.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
She looked at Beck, annoyed. “What the f*ck am I doing here?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. How about we take a walk? Might do you some good to get outside.”
Queenie shook her head as if this were simply another bother to endure.
“You want some coffee? I’m going to get some coffee to walk with.”
She frowned at Beck, but hoisted herself off the bed and followed him down the back stairs to the kitchen area.
Queenie remained sullen, refusing to look at Amelia while Beck prepared coffee in two stainless-steel travel mugs. The tension between the two women ended all conversation in the kitchen. Queenie took her coffee with milk and three spoons of sugar.
Beck and Queenie made their way outside and walked toward the waterfront without speaking until they settled on a bench with a view of New York Bay.
Queenie broke the silence. Pointing out across the bay, she asked, “What’s out there?”
“Jersey. Bayonne. Over there is Staten Island.”
Queenie nodded, pointed, “And the so-called Statue of Liberty.”
“Yep.” He paused. “I’m sorry I had to pull you out of your place last night.”
“Ain’t my place. Ain’t got no place.”
“Well…”
Queenie turned to Beck. “Well what, dammit? What’d you bring me out here for? You lookin’ to turn me into a rat? I been ridin’ this bitch for a long time, son. You ain’t going to make me no rat now.”
“I’m not asking you to rat out anybody, but why the hell would you stay loyal to those pimps?”
“Juju Jackson is a hell of lot more’n a pimp. And Whitey Bondurant ain’t no pimp. He’s Jackson’s enforcer.”
“Wrong. Whatever else he does, Eric Jackson makes millions from prostituting women. He’s a pimp. And anybody who helps him is a pimp.”
Queenie looked at Beck askance.
Beck said, “Don’t give me that look. It’s millions. Maybe hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. You can put a number on the dollars, but you can’t measure the pain and misery behind it. Anyhow, this is all beyond you ratting out anybody. There’s no cops involved. I already told you, they’re going down.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s that gonna happen?”
“It has to. It’s either them, or us.”
Queenie leaned back and said, “I ain’t gonna argue with you. But what’s it got to do with me? Why you need my help?”
“To get to Jackson.”