Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(28)

“Zoe Pound,” I repeated. “The Haitian drug cartel out of Miami.”

“Their New York branch runs a thriving drug business out of Brooklyn,” Hirsch said.

“And why would they want to kill you?” Kylie asked.

“The grudge, as you called it, goes back twenty years. We were in college.”

“We?”

“The four of us: me, Del Fairfax, Arnie Zimmer, and Princeton Wells. We were…let’s say customers in good standing.” He paused. “That’s an understatement. The reality was, we bought a shitload of coke from them.”

“To sell?”

“To snort. And to share with our friends—especially our lady friends. I wasn’t blessed with the fine patrician features of Princeton or Del, but you’d be amazed how easy it is for a fat boy with unlimited blow to wind up in a threesome, a foursome, or whatever the hell else I wanted.

“We were spending a fortune on dope, but our parties were legendary. We were kings. Then one day Princeton has this brilliant idea. We were flying off for winter break—senior year, our last big hurrah. We’d smuggle some heroin back into the country for Zoe, and they’d pay us off in cocaine.

“Princeton set up a meeting with Dingo Slide. He was the undisputed boss back then. Dingo thought it through like he had a PhD in economics. On the downside, he’d be losing some good customers, but he knew no matter how much coke he gave us, we’d go through it fast. On the upside, the Feds had just shut down one of his supply channels, and he needed product. Malique La Grande, one of his lieutenants, was against it, but it was Dingo’s call. The cartel fronted us a hundred grand, and we took off on an all-expenses-paid drug run.”

“You were mules,” Kylie said.

“Rich mules with a corporate jet at our disposal. Princeton’s father had three of them, and if a plane was just sitting around, he’d ask Daddy for a flight crew, and off we’d go. It was before 9/11. Private aircraft like that were almost never searched.” He paused. “Emphasis on the word almost.”

“You got busted,” I said.

“Big-time. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Luckily, cops and judges are as corrupt as drug dealers. We bribed our way to freedom, only to find out that Malique wanted to kill us when we got back to the States. More money changed hands. Princeton cut a deal with Dingo. We paid them two hundred fifty thousand dollars and Dingo told Malique to stand down.”

“That was a long time ago,” I said. “Why would they suddenly change their mind and come after you now?”

“Dingo Slide died last month. Malique La Grande is running the show now. He doesn’t have any of Dingo’s business instincts. He’s a born killer.”

“And you think he’s out to settle a twenty-year-old grudge,” I said.

“Yes. And I need you to stop him before he kills me.”

“What about Princeton Wells?” I asked.

“What about him?” Hirsch snapped.

“If what you say about La Grande is true, then Wells is on his hit list, too.”

“Not my problem.”

“He’s your friend. Don’t you think you should at least warn him?”

“Fuck him. He’s the friend who got us into this mess in the first place. Besides, if I tell him that Zoe Pound is out there looking for revenge, he’ll hop on his private jet and disappear on an extended business trip to God knows where.”

“But—”

“There is no but, Detective. Malique is picking us off one by one. I’m trying to save my own ass, and the last thing I’m going to do is help him get to me faster by thinning out the herd.”





CHAPTER 27



“The Silver Bullet boys have come a long way in a short time,” Kylie said as soon as Hirsch left.

“How so?” I said.

“When we first met them, they were friends for life and beloved by one and all. Now two of them are murdered, and Survivor One is willing to throw Survivor Two under the bus to save his own skin.”

“I guess you never know who your real friends are until you come face-to-face with a Haitian drug lord who’s threatening to put a bomb under your ass.”

My landline rang.

“Speaking of bombs,” I said, “it’s Howard Malley.” I put him on speaker. “Agent Malley, you’ve got us both. What did you come up with?”

“No surprises. The two bombs were identical. The second one has the same Flynn Samuels signature touches as the first.”

“But Mr. Samuels couldn’t have built the bombs because he’s still in a prison in Thailand,” I said.

“He’s got a lifetime commitment, and as far as we know, he’s never taught anyone the tricks of his trade.”

“Any chance he may have a secret Haitian apprentice?” Kylie said.

Malley laughed. “An Aussie bomb maker in a Thai prison with a Haitian groupie. Sounds like you guys have cracked the code.”

“You’re not funny, and you’re not helping, Malley,” Kylie said.

“Then my work is done. As we say at the Bureau, ‘We’re not happy till you’re not happy.’”

He hung up.

“There may not be a connection between Malique La Grande and Flynn Samuels,” I said, “but Hirsch’s story about a twenty-year-old drug deal gone south is the first time we’ve even heard a viable motive for these killings.”