Bronx Requiem(89)
“I want to give you some money and ask you a few questions.”
“Money? Why?”
“You might need something to tide you over for a while.”
“What are you talking about?”
Beck answered with a shrug.
“I saw what Remsen and his men did to you.”
“You did?”
“Some of it. I heard a gunshot and looked out.”
“You didn’t call the cops?”
“Not on Remsen. I’m sorry. You left the bar before I could warn you.”
“So make it up to me by answering a few questions.”
Janice looked around again and said, “Get into my car. I don’t want anybody seeing us out here.”
Beck walked around to the Volvo’s passenger door, steadying himself on the body of the car as he made his way. He climbed into the passenger seat, still feeling depleted and woozy. He began to think he might not be able to drive back to his motel.
Janice slid into the driver’s seat. When the car’s dome light came on, she got a better look at Beck.
“Good Lord. You should get to a hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital. Just let me get through this with you.”
“Through what?”
“Some questions.” He reached into his pocket and took out the envelope of cash he’d taken from Oswald Remsen. “Here, take this. For your time and trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Well, your time then. If you keep your mouth shut about seeing me, or even remembering me, you shouldn’t have any trouble at all.”
“Wait a second. If you have Oswald’s money and his truck, that means he’s dead or near to it. And his sons, too.”
“You’re right. And so is that big son of a bitch who likes baseball bats.”
Janice sat back in her seat, clearly stunned.
“My God. How did…?”
“It’s much better for you if you don’t know anything about it.”
She didn’t respond for a few moments, absorbing what Beck had said.
She turned to Beck. “What do you want from me?”
“A few answers, and I’ll be on my way. I know Oswald Remsen and his sons were running prostitutes servicing truckers. Correct?”
She paused, looked at Beck for a few moments, made a decision.
“Yes.”
“Do you know how many men besides his sons were in on it?”
“No. But I know there were others involved.”
“All prison guards?”
“Five of the ones I know are prison guards.”
“Four men came in tonight to give him money. Are they all guards?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who the big guy is?”
“He’s a cousin or something. Austen White. He’s the one who isn’t a guard.”
“There were two others with the big guy who jumped me. One was named Fred. Do you know his last name?”
“Yes.”
Janice pulled a pen from under her visor. She took the cash out of the envelope Beck had given her and shoved the money into her purse. She wrote on the empty envelope.
“You’re not going to … “
“No. I’m not. And don’t assume I killed Oswald Remsen or anybody else. What do you know about Oswald’s third son?”
“Not very much. He works downstate. Sing Sing.”
“What’s his name?”
“Edward. Edward Remsen.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“I think he lives in the Bronx. I’m not sure.”
Beck nodded.
“About these prostitutes, do you know where the women come from?”
She finished printing the name Fred Culla on the envelope. “No. I hear Remsen talking and laughing about mud people, which I guess means black people, but I don’t know anything about how he recruits women.”
“Okay, last question. Do you know how Remsen recruited those other guards? The ones besides his sons?”
Janice looked at Beck, thinking it over.
“Not for sure,” she said. “But Oswald Remsen has been a steward in the union at Eastern for a long time. And he’s a captain. So I expect he’d know most of the guards and has some influence.”
Beck nodded, taking it in. “Okay. Thanks.”
Janice handed him the envelope. “I don’t know much. I try to avoid hearing their conversations.”
Beck nodded. “I understand.” He put the envelope in his shirt pocket, turned carefully so as not to aggravate his bruised ribs, and opened the car door.
He stepped out of the car and stood up. Another wave of nausea and dizziness hit him. He thought, I have to get some food and more water. That was the last thought Beck had for ten hours.
53
Demarco calmly finished reloading his Glock as Ciro roared after the Lexus, fighting to keep control of the big Escalade slaloming up the Sheridan Expressway service road. Fortunately, there was no other traffic except the Lexus in front of him.
The Escalade’s wipers could barely keep up with the wind-lashed torrent of rain. Ciro concentrated on the red taillights of the damaged Lexus. As he closed in on the it, he yelled to Demarco, “Save your bullets. You’ll never hit him with us sliding all over this f*cking road.”