Bronx Requiem(111)

“You have any warrants outstanding?”

“Some old stuff nobody is lookin’ at. Still, I can’t be bringing heat on my sister.”

Beck nodded. “Not these days. Every jurisdiction has access to everybody else’s records. These days they stop you for a traffic ticket, unpaid bill, anything, warrants in New York will come up. You won’t be able to get insurance, a driver’s license, credit cards, ID, go to a hospital, or work under your real name. Even if you buy some ID, it can blow up if someone rats you out.”

Queenie nodded. “You know what you talkin’ about, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well so do I. I been duckin’ police my whole life. You really think you can get me a decent stake and help me get away clean without Juju and Whitey comin’ after me?”

“It’s either that, or we all die.”

“All right, Mr. Beck, whyn’t you tell me exactly what I got to do for you.”

Beck checked his watch.

“I’ve got to prepare for a meeting with a couple of gentleman at eleven. After that, we’ll get to work. Okay?”

“All right.”

“In the meantime, start with one thing.”

“What?”

“No more fighting with Amelia. You two are going to have to get along for now.”

Esther pursed her lips. “That girl wasn’t never cut out to be no whore. Girl like her woulda been beaten down by now till she broke, or died. I don’t know how she thought she could play with the likes of Derrick Watkins. It don’t work like that.”

Beck listened, saying nothing.

“But it ain’t my place to teach her anything. All right, Mr. Beck, no more fussin’ with her. She’s your problem now.”





65

Except for two hours of sleep grabbed when he couldn’t function anymore, John Palmer had been working nearly nonstop from late Friday afternoon until just after twelve noon on Saturday, first running down as much proof as he could to bolster the case against Beck and his men, and then making himself available to the police officials cycling in and out of meetings at One Police Plaza.

Clearly, the word had come from on high to go after Beck and his crew. Palmer was fairly sure his father might have had something to do with it, but they hadn’t discussed it.

Cops cycled in and out of meetings from multiple divisions bearing ranks all the way up to assistant chiefs. Palmer and Ippolito, their squad commander, James Levitt, and their precinct commander, Dermott Jennie, presented material over and over again. Also included were Bronx Borough Commander Assistant Chief Edward Pierce, precinct commanders based in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Manhattan, the assistant chiefs in charge of the Warrants Squad, NYPD Emergency Services Unit, and lawyers from the Bronx District Attorney’s office led by Frederick Wilson.

During the whole time, more information had been filtering in from the other detectives in the 42nd Precinct Levitt had assigned to work on the cases. But finally, by two o’clock Saturday, everybody had been briefed and plans agreed upon.

A meeting was scheduled for 3:00 P.M. Sunday afternoon to finalize the personnel who would execute the arrest warrants on Beck and his men at locations in Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Manhattan.

Even though most of the participants had left, Palmer was too tired to gather his things and leave. Ippolito sat next to him. He’d stuck it through with Palmer, mostly keeping in touch with other detectives and organizing information while Palmer presented. But now with the interminable meetings ending, Ippolito knew his final exit had come. Time to get as far away as possible from John Palmer and his plot to assassinate Beck’s men.

He turned to Palmer and said, “Well, I guess that’s it. However this turns out, you made your mark, John. There’s a hell of a lot of brass who know your name now.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

“Listen, I’m not officially out until Friday, but the skipper told me to clean out my stuff and use personal days to take the rest of the week off. So now that all this bullshit with the brass is done, I’m gone, unless you need me for something.”

Palmer knew what Ippolito was doing, but he didn’t care. Raymond Ippolito had served his purpose.

“Sure, Ray. No reason for you to hang around. There’s nothing else to do. I’m gonna be sleeping until tomorrow’s meeting and then be on call for Wilson when he needs me. I was you, I’d be on a beach somewhere sipping a margarita this time next week.”

Palmer pushed himself out of his chair. Ippolito stood and they shook hands.

“Let me know when you want me to put the word in with my dad.”

“Will do.”

Lieutenant Levitt saw them and headed toward them. A moment before he reached them, his cell phone rang. They all stopped and stood in place while he answered his phone.

He stood listening, brows furrowed.

“Wait, who called you?” He paused to listen. “And what did he say?”

Levitt’s expression turned dark.

He kept nodding, saying, “Uh-huh,” and “Okay.”

He ended the call and looked at Palmer and Ippolito. He closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head, and muttered the closest thing to a curse they’d ever heard him speak.

“God almighty.”

Palmer asked, “What’s the matter?”