Bronx Requiem(90)

“We can’t let them or the girl get on the Expressway.”

Ciro’s answer was to accelerate even more. He angled right and banged the corner of his massive bumper into the rear left corner of the Lexus, sending it into a violent counterclockwise spin on the wet asphalt. It banged into a guardrail, bounced clockwise, and smashed into the base of a streetlamp pole. As the pole crashed onto the roof of the Lexus, Ciro wrestled the Escalade straight and roared past. He clipped a DO NOT ENTER sign, bumped over a grass divider, and straightened out onto service road.

Amelia heard the crash, looked in her rearview mirror and saw the rainwater spray into the air and debris fly as the Lexus smacked the guardrail. But taking her eye off the road was a mistake. With the Malibu wobbling so badly, she had veered toward a fence running along the expressway. In a desperate move, she wrenched the steering wheel right, hit a curb, and slalomed off the road into an open construction site.

Ciro saw the Malibu leave the road up ahead and barely managed to brake enough so he could follow Amelia.

Amelia just managed to keep control of the Chevy. She slammed on the brakes and slid into a concrete partition. The engine died. She tried to start the car, but the key was already turned in the ignition. She turned the ignition off and then tried again, grinding the starter. She pumped the gas pedal, desperately turning the ignition key. Suddenly, the passenger door opened. Rain blew in. Before she realized what was happening, a large hand covered her hand turning the ignition key and a calm voice said, “Hold it, kid. Don’t you smell the gas? Turn the damn thing off before you start a fire.”

Amelia looked over at Demarco Jones smiling at her.

“That was some driving. But I think those guys put a couple of bullets in your gas tank. You’ve been spewing gas all over the road, which was good. They slid all over the place once we hit them.”

Amelia sat frozen. Demarco gently, but firmly, turned off the ignition. She didn’t know what to do or say.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here before the cops find us.” Demarco flashed a dazzling smile. “Hey, how much worse off can you be with us? Come on. You have anything in this car that will track back to you?”

He had already found the empty Ruger from Mount Hope Place in the glove compartment and the laundry bag on the floor. He dropped the Ruger into the bag.

He held up the laundry bag and asked, “Anything else?”

“No.”

“You hear those sirens? We don’t have much time.”

Demarco had to go around to the driver’s side and help Amelia get the bent door open. They climbed into the Escalade, both Demarco and Amelia in the passenger seats behind Ciro.

Ciro killed his headlights, put the big SUV into all-wheel drive, and carefully navigated across the excavated rock and rubble to the far end of the construction site. He managed to squeeze between huge boulders that had been dug up at the site and set in a line to form a barrier between the construction area and a footpath that ran alongside a soccer field. He meandered through the park paths, under the 174th Street overpass, across a footbridge, and under the Cross Bronx Expressway until he emerged on Devoe Avenue.

Once on Devoe, Ciro switched on his headlights and announced, “That was fun.”





54

Manny Guzman stood across the street from Walter Ferguson’s apartment waiting patiently.

It was a warm, almost sultry evening, the air pregnant with the feel of a rainstorm coming. He’d called Walter while waiting in the bar on Atlantic. Walter said he should arrive by nine. Sure enough, two minutes before nine the all-black Mercury Marauder pulled up in front of Walter’s apartment on Livingston Street.

Manny strolled across the street and slipped into the passenger seat.

“Hey, Walter.”

“Hello, Emmanuel.”

“How’d it go?”

Walter rubbed the back of his neck to release tension from the long drive. He’d stopped only once for a bathroom break.

“I think I found some information that helped James.”

“Which was?”

“It seems this thing with Packy might involve correction officers.”

Manny scowled. “How?”

“It’s not completely clear. I made contact with a guard on the staff who seemed to know something, but all she did was give us a name of another guard who works at Eastern. He was there when James was there. Name of Oswald Remsen.”

“But you don’t know how he’s connected to Packy.”

“No. That’s what James stayed to find out.”

Manny stared out the windshield of the Mercury, nodding to himself, then he turned to Ferguson and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re back, Walter. I wanted to check in with you, remind you to follow up on what the cops are doing. See where those two detectives are on Paco’s case.”

“Yes, James told me the same thing when I left him. I’ve already called them, but I haven’t heard back. Not all that surprising. Before I left Ellenville, I put in a call to their precinct. Got the name of their supervisor and left a message for him.”

“And?”

“He hasn’t called me back either.”

“What you going to do?”

“Head up to the Bronx in the morning and find the man. His name is Levitt. I’m going to sit in that precinct until I find him and get answers.”