Bronx Requiem(65)

Palmer couldn’t believe it. “What?”

“Am I speaking a foreign language? Your witness Tyrell Williams is dead.”

“When? How?”

“Palmer, focus. I just said about an hour ago.” Levitt handed Palmer a piece of paper with an address written on it. “You better get out there and see what the hell is going on.”

“Jeesuz f*cking Christ.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry, boss. It’s just…” Palmer shook his head in disbelief. “Do you have anything else? Any more information?”

Levitt looked at a report he held in his right hand. “Your guy is one of two dead on the scene. The other one is tentatively ID’d as Jerome Watkins.”

“Any witnesses?” Palmer asked.

“I don’t know. Go see what you can find out. I want to hear from you two within the hour. Whatever you have. If you don’t reach me, report in to Sergeant Clovehill. Go.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as Levitt and Clovehill left, Palmer blurted out, “I can’t f*cking believe it. This is a disaster. Anything to make sure I never get a goddam break. Fuck!”

Ippolito said, “I wonder if Juju and that maniac Whitey are already cleaning house.”

“Fucking hell.”

Ippolito said to Palmer, “Hey, look at the upside, John. Now you got two more murders to investigate.”

“Upside? Where’s the upside with Tyrell dead? He was my key to closing two murders. What am I supposed to do now?”

Ippolito lowered his voice. “The same f*cking thing we were gonna do. We’ll just get another witness to replace him. There were more guys at that location. Listen, this might be a blessing in disguise. I never trusted shit bag Tyrell.”

“Christ, Ray, this is getting nuts. Fucking Jackson’s going to squeeze us for everything we got. If I had Tyrell, I’d only need a couple more to corroborate.”

Ippolito sat at his desk. “Aw hell, John, in for a penny, in for a pound. You think a guy like Jackson does some complex calculation? One of his mooks is as good as another. There was nothing special about Tyrell Williams except for his unfailing ability to f*ck things up. I told you that * was going to screw you, John. Didn’t I tell you?”

“By getting killed?”

“Getting killed is one of their specialties. One way or another these goddam shine, mutt motherf*ckers find a way to ruin everything.”

Palmer raised a hand. “All right, all right, stop. Let’s get the hell out there and see what happened.”

“Hang on a second.” Ippolito shuffled through the piles of papers and folders on his desk. “Let me get the file Witherspoon put together for you. It’s got photos of Beck and his known associates. Maybe they did this. You know, looking to take out more of Derrick Watkins’s boys. Let’s take pictures and see if we can get an ID.”

Still distracted, Palmer said, “What?”

“Photos. From Witherspoon’s file. It might have been James Beck or one of his crew who shot Tyrell and the other guy.”

“Oh. Right. Right. Okay. Good idea.”

Ippolito dug out a folder from the mess on his desk and flipped through the loose pages.

“Here they are.” Ippolito pulled out three sets of identification cards complete with mug shots for Beck, Ciro Baldassare, and Emmanuel Guzman. “I’m thinking it’s too soon for Juju to be doing this. I bet one of these hard cases are the shooters. Which is good. Could give us more leverage with Jackson.”

Palmer stared at the photos and scanned the criminal records.

“Come on, John. Get your head in the game. You lost Tyrell, but this might put us in a stronger position.”

“How?”

Ippolito pointed to the mug shots. “I just told you. If one of these guys shot two more of Jackson’s boys, he’ll be f*cking foaming at the mouth to go after them. It gives us more to offer him. If he agrees to play ball with us, we’ll point Juju in the right direction.”

“Hold on, Ray. Beck is mine.”

“Hey, if Beck or one of his guys shot Biggie Watkins and Tyrell, Jackson and Bondurant are going after them, case closed. You want to get witnesses and keep Beck for yourself, you’re going to have to make a deal.”

“How?”

“Like I said before. Witnesses for information. And now we talk him into laying off Beck if we give him the rest of Beck’s crew.”

Palmer raised a hand. “Wait a minute…”

“John, you already got two murders on your plate. Now there’s two more. You want to get credit for solving the Paco Johnson murder and lock Beck up for the Watkins murder, we gotta move fast before borough command steps in and takes over all of it. What do you give a shit if Jackson gets a lead on Beck’s crew?”

Palmer shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it. In the meantime, let’s go see what the hell happened.”





41

Demarco drove out of the Bronx thinking about the gun battle with Biggie Watkins and smelling the gun smoke on his clothes. He headed straight to the Cross Bronx Expressway and over the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. Even though he didn’t intend to keep Ricky Bolo’s Impala for much longer, he wanted to get out of New York City in case there was an alert out for the car.