Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(41)

“And you wanted to be him?” I said.

He nodded. “I’m guessing you were never a big fan of gangsta rap, were you, Detective?”

“Not my kind of music,” I said.

“It was mine—N.W.A., Tupac, Wu-Tang. It’s about struggling against life in the ghetto, and I identified. Geraldo and I just came from different ghettos.”

“Tell us about the drug run for Dingo Slide,” I said.

“We were coming up on Christmas break. I told Geraldo we were going to Bangkok on my father’s plane and asked if he wanted to come along. He said no. I said we’re gonna get drunk, we’re gonna get stoned, we’re gonna get laid, and he said, ‘Me too, and I don’t have to go halfway around the world to do it.’ The next day, he went from no to maybe. He knew Dingo was our dealer, and he told us he knew how we could get three, four months’ supply of coke free. All we had to do was bring back a small package from Thailand.”

“And you knew what was in the package.”

“Hell, yeah. That’s what made it exciting. I wouldn’t pick up somebody’s laundry for free cocaine. But smuggling heroin from Thailand? Do you have any idea what kind of a rush that was?”

“Malique said you’re the one who cut the deal with Dingo.”

“Dingo knew me. I was a good customer. I guess he trusted me as much as any Haitian drug lord can trust a rich white kid. It was all Geraldo’s idea, but I got to be the front man. I loved it.”

“How come he’s in prison, and you’re not?”

“My father paid the Thais a fortune to let us go. But they would only release four of us. They needed someone to stay behind. It’s their perverted way of showing their justice system works. The last thing I did before I left Geraldo was make a promise that we’d take care of his family. We have.”

“Did Nathan Hirsch tell you that Segura may have crossed paths with the man who designed the bombs?”

“Yes, but Nathan is an idiot if he thinks Geraldo’s abuela is funding these bombings.”

“Can you think of anyone here in the States who might be acting on his behalf?”

“No, but I’m not the right person to ask.”

“Who is?”

“Geraldo Segura.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Bullshit. Two of my partners are dead, and I’m starting to believe Nathan that he and I are next on the list. So do me a favor: get your glorified supercop asses on the next plane to Bangkok, and keep that from happening.”

“I don’t know what that would cost,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure the department isn’t going to shell out the kind of money it would take to fly us to Thailand.”

“You never know till you ask, Detective.”

“I wouldn’t even know who to ask.”

“Then we’re in luck,” Wells said. “Because as it turns out, I do.”





CHAPTER 39



I was back in the office when my cell phone rang. The caller ID said Silvercup Studios. I picked up.

“Zach, it’s Bob Reitzfeld. How’s your day going so far?”

I looked at my watch. It was 3:00 p.m. “Let’s see: I’ve been at it for twelve hours, and so far I’ve had to suck up to a Haitian drug lord in the back room of a supermarket in Brooklyn, been chewed out by a billionaire, lied to by a lawyer, and wait…I know there is one more thing. Oh yeah: despite the fact that I had a six-man backup team, I managed to lose a hundred thousand dollars of the DA’s money. On the plus side, I got to spend some time on the High Line. It’s quite spectacular. I’m hoping next weekend I can go back there with Cheryl. And how’s your day going, Bob?”

“I need your help.”

“Why? Did someone zip-tie you to another water pipe?”

“I think I know who hired those two lowlifes who pulled off the poker game robbery.”

I inhaled sharply. “Hold on a minute.”

Kylie had gone to the break room for coffee, but she’d be back any second, and this wasn’t a phone call I wanted to have with her sitting at the next desk. I took the stairs up to the fourth floor, found an empty interview room, and shut the door.

“Bob, I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk. It’s what happens when you ask an overworked cop how his day is going. Who do you like for the robbery?”

“Is Kylie within earshot? I don’t want her to pick up on your reaction.”

“No, we’re good. I’m alone.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s her boyfriend who planned the whole operation. His name is C. J. Berringer. Do you remember meeting him the other night?”

Did I remember meeting him? I’d dug deep into Clyde Jerome Berringer’s past, hoping to find something I could use against him, but since Reitzfeld had told me to mind my own business, I couldn’t admit to him how much I knew. “Yeah, I met C.J.,” I said. “Tall guy, professional poker player—what makes you think it’s him?”

“Because it’s clearly an inside job. At first I thought it might be someone connected to the hotel—a desk clerk, someone from room service, a bellman—but I interviewed anyone and everyone at the Mark who knew about the game, and they all come up clean. So I decided to focus on the people in the room.”