Bronx Requiem(41)

As he spoke, Palmer unlocked one of Tyrell’s handcuffs and attached it to the frame of the bed.

“Don’t worry about this cuff. This is just procedure. Something I have to do until I get things set up. Understand?”

Tyrell lifted his left arm and held his wrist in front of Palmer.

“You arrestin’ me?”

“No, no. Just procedure until I get you looked after.”

“Yo, cuz I ain’t done nuthin’ but tell you what you want to know. I don’t want to be cuffed like this for too long. We on the same page?”

“Sure. Sure. Don’t worry. I just need them on until I get you set up as a witness. Just work with me here.”

“Yeah, because I’m still a little dizzy and all. I want to be able to recall what you need.”

Palmer nodded. He didn’t like the implied threat, but at least it showed his witness had a brain. “Well, if you want to do yourself a favor, you’ll make sure you do recall what I need. Otherwise, all kinds of problems come into the picture. Problems about who actually shot that guy out front. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I got it. Ain’t no need for any confusion. I can identify all them motherf*ckers. All four of them. Show me their pictures and I’ll pick ’em out for you. All four.”

“And the white guy who shot Derrick.”

“Him especially.”

Palmer stood above Tyrell Williams and smiled down on him.

“Good. That’s real good.”

Tyrell nodded at Palmer, saying nothing more. He’d play along with this detective. Let the f*cking cops go after those four motherf*ckers. Lock their asses up. Then tell Juju Jackson what really went down. Help him and Biggie find that bitch Amelia and make her pay for what she did. Make her pay like she’d never paid in her goddam life. The shit he would do to her was going to be legend. Tyrell Williams closed his eyes picturing how he would strip that fine bitch, tie her up, and rape her for days.

John Palmer took one last look at his prize witness, lying on the sour-smelling bed, eyes closed, like all was right with the world.

He’d better call Witherspoon and get him to come over with a photo array with James Beck’s picture. Palmer smiled. Wait’ll Ray finds out how close he is to sending a cop killer back to jail. Forever.





23

Demarco Jones had taken a route back from the shootout that avoided security cameras and eluded the cops. Now James Beck and the others sat on couches surrounding a massive coffee table made of petrified wood on the second floor of his three-story waterfront building at the south end of Red Hook—the smell of gun smoke still in their clothes, still ramped up from their brawl with Watkins’s crew, still picturing Derrick Watkins blown away by three shots at close range.

Beck’s building at the far end of Red Hook provided a measure of safety and security for them. It had taken him a year to renovate the place with help from an assortment of local workers and ex-cons. He’d restored the ground-floor bar, gutted the second and third floors, and built them to meet his needs. The top floor had bedrooms, bathrooms, storage areas, and a workout space. The second floor was an open loft divided into an office space, kitchen/dining area, and seating area.

Manny and Beck sat on one couch, Demarco and Ciro on the facing couch, all of them finishing a meal Manny had put together in the large upstairs kitchen accompanied by an ample supply of amber lager.

Demarco asked, “How long you think before the cops come after us for shooting Derrick Watkins?”

Ciro said, “Maybe never. That cop might have seen us, but he couldn’t identify anybody with me blasting the crap out of his vehicle.”

Beck said, “He doesn’t have to. I caught a glimpse of him. He fits the description Walter gave us of the cop who showed up at his office this morning.”

Ciro asked, “Walter Ferguson? The parole guy you work with?”

“Yeah. That cop and his partner told Walter Packy had been shot. Walter said they were going to interview Packy’s mother-in-law after they talked to him. I gotta figure she told them about me. How me and Walter persuaded her to take Packy in, so he knows I’m tight with Packy. He’ll figure I went after the crew responsible for shooting my friend. It won’t be a big leap to say I killed the guy who I think killed Packy.”

Demarco said, “Except you didn’t.”

Manny said, “So what. Cops get someone they can hang a murder on, they ain’t gonna bust their ass trying to find anyone else. In the meantime, James, that girl did everyone a favor getting rid of that lowlife pimp, but I don’t think he shot Packy. He didn’t sound to me like he even knew Packy got shot.”

Ciro said, “How do we know he wasn’t lying? Guys like that, if their lips are moving they’re lying. Shit, I’d lie my ass off if someone had a shotgun pointed at my foot.”

Beck said, “Maybe. But I think Manny is right. I don’t think Watkins shot Packy.”

Ciro said, “Then who did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one of his crew. I also don’t know why the girl shot him. I did not see that coming.”

Manny said, “Neither did the pimp.”

Beck said, “She didn’t have a gun on her when you found her, right D?”

“Absolutely not. The way she was dressed, she had no place to hide a gun.”