Bronx Requiem(66)

Manny asked, “You taking the long way back?”

“Safer. And I figure we should check in with Ciro. After that shootout, we’re going to need a place to lay low. Cops are going to come looking for us in Red Hook sooner or later.”

“Yeah. Thanks to Packy’s mother-in-law the cops know about James. They know about him, they’ll know about us. After the war we were in last winter, the Red Hook place is on their records.”

Demarco said, “We have to get someone to lock up Red Hook and hide all the guns and anything else we don’t want the cops to find. And hang out there if the cops come with search warrants. If someone’s not there, they’ll break down doors and tear up the place.”

“True. Who should hold the fort? Alex?”

Demarco said, “Alex got stuck doing it last time.”

“Willie?”

Demarco shook his head. “No. No way. Cops bust in on him he’ll start a war. And he’s still on parole. They’ll lock him up in a heartbeat. I guess Alex.”

“I’ll call him now. And Ciro. Let him know we’re coming.”

Manny made the calls while Demarco drove. He didn’t expect either of them to pick up. He left messages, pocketed his old clamshell phone, and stared out the windshield, brow furrowed.

Demarco looked over at him.

“What?”

“Cops are only half our problem. This thing is gonna explode now. Three dead, including the two brothers who ran things. Eric Jackson will be coming after us now. And they’ll be looking for Packy’s daughter even harder.”

“So they can use her to find us.”

“Yes. Even though she doesn’t know us, or have a clue where to find us.”

“Which isn’t going to help her,” Demarco said. “They’ll torture her, and she won’t have any answers.”

Manny shook his head. “First Packy. Now his kid. Shit. We got to find her, D. We can’t let them kill her, too.”

“Killing her is the least of what they’ll do to her.”

Manny made a guttural noise, picturing the duct tape and rope he’d seen in Watkins’s car.

Both men fell silent.

Finally, Manny said, “We’re going to have to take out those guys.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, brother. I don’t know.”





42

Amelia Johnson kept thinking about how to get more bullets as she drove back to the parking lot where she’d found Crackhead Betty. The derelict woman had already finished a pint of cheap white wine and fallen into a stupor. No surprise. Amelia had left her with seven dollars and there was a liquor store nearby.

Amelia returned Betty’s shopping cart, blanket, and bag of cans. She folded a twenty-dollar bill and stuffed it into the pocket of Betty’s filthy down jacket, hoping she’d find it soon.

She climbed into the Jeep and drove off, still thinking about bullets. She might not have any, but she had a lot more money. She pulled the Jeep to the curb and dug out the bills she had taken from the bodies, quickly counting the money. It amounted to six hundred seventy dollars. Good, but she needed more.

And in the next instant, Amelia knew exactly where she might get it.

She had been unconsciously driving toward Bronx River Houses. She pulled out and headed toward Tyrell’s apartment building on Daly Street. She knew his sister, Darlene, often stayed at his apartment. If she was there, it would make getting into the place easier, and odds were good she hadn’t yet heard her brother had been shot dead.

Amelia parked the Jeep almost in front of Tyrell’s apartment building. She didn’t think about anything, or plan anything. She walked right up to the outside panel of buzzers, all of them unmarked, and pushed 4E.

Nobody answered. She buzzed again and again, and finally a female voice yelled, “Who is it?”

“Darlene, it’s me, Amelia. I got something for Tyrell.”

“Tyrell not here.”

“So buzz me in, and I’ll give it to you.”

“What is it?”

“A envelope from Jerome.”

“Jerome?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s in it?”

“What the f*ck you think is in it? C’mon, buzz me in. Tyrell don’t get this he’s going to be pissed.”

Amelia heard a mumbled curse before the buzzer rang.

She entered the lobby, saw the OUT OF SERVICE sign on the elevator, and headed up the stairs. When she reached the fourth floor, she pulled out her empty gun. Even without bullets, the Ruger made her feel powerful. She walked up to Tyrell’s door without hesitation and banged on it.

The door swung open in the middle of a curse.

“Fuck’s up with you, bitch? Bangin’ on doors and shit…”

Amelia overhanded the barrel of the gun right into the Darlene’s face, splitting the skin from her forehead down to the bridge of her nose, and knocking her backward into the room.

Darlene was a large girl. As tall as Amelia and fifty pounds heavier. She swung at Amelia, who leaned back away from her fist and whipped the barrel of the Ruger into the side of Darlene’s head. Darlene’s hands flailed at Amelia as she staggered sideways and fell on her side, unconscious.

Amelia stood over the fallen woman, yelling, “Don’t you never, ever call me a bitch. Ever, goddammit. I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”