Bronx Requiem(53)

Beck sat back, taking a moment to think before he spoke. “I won’t do anything that hurts you, Walter. You should know that.”

“I never thought you would. What about others?”

“What about them?”

Walter stopped talking and looked down, feeling his way with it. Beck remained silent. Finally, Walter looked up and said, “Okay. I have an obligation to see this through for Packy. He was my responsibility. So I’ll go into Eastern and find out what I can. But James, can you promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“If I learn something that helps you find out what led to his death, or who killed him, can you promise me you will bring that information to me? Let me at least give the system a chance to investigate and arrest whoever did it. A chance to do this legally?”

Beck stared intently at Walter Ferguson.

“Legally.”

“Yes.”

“The system that incarcerated me illegally for eight years? That tried to break me, that took everything away from me? The system that institutionalized Packy Johnson from the age of eleven, then spit him out on his own to try to build a life from nothing? From worse than nothing? The system that does those things every day to hundreds of thousands of people whose main crime is being black or brown or poor? The legal system that doesn’t give one goddam about Packy Johnson? You want me to give that system a chance to investigate and prosecute whoever killed Packy? Legally?”

“I’m part of that system, James. And I give a damn.”

Beck’s voice softened. “I know, Walter. I know. But what about the others in that system? The ones who are corrupt, or inept, or too overworked and battered themselves to give a shit?”

“They can’t stop me from trying.”

Beck saw the pain his question had caused his friend who had spent decades trying to make the system work, experiencing every disappointment and frustration that meant.

Beck nodded. “Fair enough, Walter. If there were more people like you, there wouldn’t be a need for someone like me.” Beck leaned forward. “How about this? We’re partners. So I promise you, I will share everything I find out, whether it’s from a lead you come up with, or from something I find out myself, or from any other source. You can use the information to do whatever you think is right.”

Walter paused, making sure he had heard Beck correctly, then said, “I can’t ask for more.”

“Good. And will you promise me the same thing, Walter? Will you promise me you’ll follow through with what the cops are doing about Packy, good or bad, and share the information with me?”

“What will you do with the information?”

“Same as I’m asking you to do. Whatever I think is right.”

Walter looked away, staring out the diner’s large window into the parking lot and beyond. Without seeing it coming, Beck had maneuvered him into a checkmate. There was no comeback. He supposed he had known it would end up this way. Was he with Beck, or against him?

He turned to Beck and nodded his assent.

“Agreed.”





33

They finished their breakfast in silence and Beck drove Walter to the entrance of Eastern Correctional. He had been locked up there for nearly two years, but had never clearly seen the outside until the day he’d left. Seeing the prison now, it seemed more foreboding than ever. From the road, the immense structure looked like a massive Germanic medieval fortress that had been dropped in the middle of the countryside.

The four-story-high center of the prison had been built out of huge brown blocks of stone, topped by a massive pyramid-shaped roof. All four corners ended in battlement towers and cone-capped turrets. Long cell blocks made of the same massive blocks of stone flanked the center section. The structure looked so imposing it seemed able to hold its own against the jagged Shawangunk Ridge in the background.

Beck had spent relatively good time in the prison. Eastern had a reputation for being perhaps the easiest maximum-security prison in the system. But prison was prison, and Beck didn’t want to be anywhere near the place for a moment longer than he had to.

He dropped Walter off and told him to call when he was ready to be picked up.

Beck sped out of the parking lot and took Route 209 toward Ellenville. As soon as he entered town, he turned in to a hospital parking lot, pulled out his smartphone to call Demarco, but changed his mind. He wanted to hear Demarco’s plan to find Jerome Watkins. He wanted to urge him to find Packy’s daughter, knowing Watkins would be looking for her to avenge his brother’s death. He wanted to warn Demarco to watch out for that cop, John Palmer, who would also be looking for Watkins and the other members of his crew.

But Demarco didn’t need a call from him. Demarco knew what was at stake, and he had Manny Guzman, who could give him any counsel he needed.

Beck realized he wanted to make contact with somebody who understood his reaction to Eastern Correctional. And perhaps he wanted to share his misgivings about getting any information from the prisoners in Eastern. Packy wouldn’t have shared his plans with very many. Finding the one or two who might know what had sent Packy off on a tear to get his daughter wouldn’t be easy.

Forget it. Demarco and Manny have enough to deal with.

Instead of calling Brooklyn, Beck used his smartphone to find a local car dealer that might have what he wanted.