Bronx Requiem(83)

“Why you think I need your help?”

Palmer spoke up. “Because there are a number of investigations focused on people connected to you.”

“I got no people connected to me.”

Palmer didn’t hesitate. “Well, both the NYPD and the FBI say you do.”

Palmer slipped the 11 x 17 FBI organizational chart of known Bronx gang members from his folder and placed it on the table facing Jackson. Many of the names were highlighted in yellow. He paired the chart with pages of NYPD files with many of the same names highlighted in yellow.

Jackson glanced at both as if they had nothing to do with him.

Palmer didn’t try to convince Jackson. He simply said, “Those are the people under FBI and NYPD investigations. Here is a list of the federal charges they’re drawing up.”

He laid a typewritten page on the table listing: money laundering, prostitution, exploiting minors for the purposes of prostitution, transporting minors across state lines for purposes of prostitution, conspiracy, racketeering, tax evasion.

“I’m sure they’ll include more charges when they start petitioning the federal courts for warrants. As usual, the Feds will cast a wide net. They’ll invoke RICO statutes. They’ll arrest everybody connected to those crimes, including you.”

Jackson said nothing.

Palmer continued. “That’s their side of it. Our side is investigating two murders connected to you involving people on those FBI charts. Warrants are in process. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Jackson, once we start making arrests, it’s going to prompt the Feds to move faster than they might ordinarily. They won’t want their targets to end up in state courts. They’ll rush to get warrants, subpoenas, pull in witnesses, and push for indictments.”

Ippolito added in a friendlier tone, “Look, Eric, the FBI has a big hard-on these days about getting convictions on prostitution of minors. Operation whatever. What is it, Detective Palmer?”

“There are several operations in place. All run by their Child Exploitation Task Force. They have a lot of resources they’re focusing on the east coast these days.”

Jackson finally responded, still looking straight ahead.

“FBI ain’t going to find a damn thing on me. All that RICO shit starts with finances. Ain’t no financial records connecting me to anything. No way are they gonna prove any exploitation of any minors by me.”

Ippolito said, “Maybe yes, maybe no, Eric. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is very good at tracking money. Be that as it may, once they move, they’ll grab everybody. They don’t even need warrants to start pulling in witnesses. They start squeezing some of these dipshits around you, threatening ’em with no-bullshit for-real sentences of thirty, forty years’ hard time in a federal penitentiary, these kids are going to fall over each other trying to make deals. It’ll be a race to see who flips first. The FBI will have their choice of rats telling them what they know, whether they know it or not.”

Jackson finally turned to Ippolito. “We got ways of dealing with that shit, too.”

Palmer leaned in now, getting to it. “Okay, fine. Let’s say you do. So the sooner you know when this is going down, the sooner you know who’s going to get pinched, and the sooner you can make plans to deal with it.”

Ippolito took note of how quickly Palmer had volunteered to give Eric Jackson names of people to kill, and when to kill them.

Jackson had heard Palmer, but wanted to make sure. “What exactly are you saying to me?”

Palmer answered, “You’ll know when subpoenas are going to be issued, schedule of arrests, grand jury indictments, and the names.”

“From the Feds?”

“Yes.”

“How you going to get all that?”

“Same way I got the org chart.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“You’ll believe it when you see it.”

“And you saying this is coming down because of some murders you investigating?”

Ippolito spoke up. “Yes. Shit’s gonna hit the fan once we start making arrests.”

“What’re these murders you talking about?”

Palmer said, “On Tuesday, an ex-con named Paco Johnson got released from prison. Mr. Johnson had a run-in with one of your associates, Derrick Watkins, who subsequently shot him. As a result, friends of Paco Johnson tracked down Derrick Watkins, and shot him. We have reason to believe those same friends of Paco Johnson shot and killed two more of your men earlier today, Jerome Watkins and Tyrell Williams. We’re investigating all four of those murders. They’re all connected.”

“Who are these people you talking about? The friends of that convict.”

Ippolito held up a hand. “Hold off on that for a second.”

For the first time since they’d sat down, Juju Jackson looked back and forth between the two detectives, almost catching Palmer, who had been sneaking glances at his ravaged skin.

Jackson said, “All right. Let’s cut through the bullshit. You got information I might be interested in. What do I got to do to get it?”

Palmer concentrated on looking directly into Jackson’s eyes, and made his pitch in a low voice.

“Okay, bottom line. The friends of Paco Johnson we’re talking about are part of a crew run by a guy named James Beck. We had Tyrell Williams lined up to testify that Beck shot Derrick Watkins. We believe Beck, or one of his crew, shot Tyrell this afternoon to eliminate him as a witness. We need a witness to replace Tyrell. Preferably someone who was at the location on Mount Hope Place where Derrick got shot. We also need a witness to corroborate that. We also need witnesses to testify that Derrick Watkins shot Paco Johnson, providing a motive for Beck and his men to attack his crew. We need a minimum of four witnesses who can stand up.”