NYPD Red 2 Part 28

"Dirty as it gets. They killed my brother."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h. Cops killed Enzo?"

"They weren't cops back then. They were high school kids."

"So we find them, we tail them, and then what do we do?"

"Nothing. You heard my old man. We do the recon. He decides what to do after that."

"What the h.e.l.l do you think he's gonna decide? He's gonna whack them. The only question is who gets to do it."

"You volunteering?"

"Maybe," Tommy Boy said, pulling into a s.p.a.ce in front of a fire hydrant. "When Pacino whacks Sollozzo and that crooked cop in the restaurant, he takes off for Sicily for a couple of years. I wouldn't mind volunteering for that."

"Keep dreaming, Pacino," Jojo said, taking out his iPhone and plugging the white buds into his ears. "Now keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. I need a little Springsteen."

Three songs into the alb.u.m, Jojo ripped the buds out of his ears. "The one in front is Gideon," he said, pointing at two men who came out of the precinct and headed toward a cl.u.s.ter of cop cars. They got into a black SUV and pulled out.

"Hang back," Jojo said. "Cops can spot a tail. Leave a little real estate between us and them."

Tommy Boy dropped the Buick back behind two cars. "Okay, let's just hope these guys don't go all lights and sirens on us, or we're f.u.c.ked."

There were no lights, no sirens, no drama.

The SUV swung onto the Ed Koch Bridge, crossed the East River, turned right onto Vernon Boulevard, and stopped at San Remo, a tiny pizza parlor on the corner of 49th Avenue. Gideon went inside.

Minutes later, he got back into the car carrying a pizza box.

"You ever hear of this place?" Tommy Boy said. "Must be d.a.m.n good if they drove all the way out here to pick up a pie at nine o'clock in the morning."

He followed the SUV onto Jackson. A quarter of a mile later, it hung a right onto Crane. It was a dead-end street.

Tommy Boy waited till the two cops drove to the end of the block, pulled into a graffiti-covered garage, and closed the corrugated metal door. Then he parked behind a battered van a hundred feet away.

Forty minutes later, the garage door opened, and the SUV backed out.

"What the h.e.l.l are you waiting for?" Jojo said as the cops drove off.

"I'm waiting for them to get out of sight," Tommy Boy said. "Then we can go in and find out what they've got going on in there."

The SUV turned onto Jackson. "You're gonna lose them," Jojo yelled.

"We won't lose them forever. We know where they work."

"Follow them."

"Jojo, they didn't drive all the way out to a dump like this just to split a pizza. Your father is going to want to know what the h.e.l.l is going on in there."

"My father told us to follow them. You heard him-nothing else-niente. Now either get moving or get out, and I'll drive."

Tommy Boy started the car and headed up the narrow street. "Okay, but I think you're making a big mistake."

"Well, guess what, a.s.shole?" Jojo said. "You're paid to drive, not to think."

He tilted his seat back and put in his earbuds. He was listening to Bruno Mars when his cell vibrated.

"Mom?" he said, putting his face close to the phone. "I'm busy here."

"Did you find them?" Teresa asked.

"Yeah, they drove out to Long Island City to some dump."

"What kind of dump?" Teresa said.

"I don't know. Some old garage. A run-down cinder-block building on a dead-end street near the railroad yard."

"Why did they go there? What's in there?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"How? As soon as they leave, go inside. Find out what they're up to."

"They already left. TB and I are following them now."

"Are you crazy?" Teresa barked. "Don't follow them."

"Don't follow them? What are you talking about? Pop told me don't do anything except follow them. Scope them out and report back to him."

"Mannaggia! You find the place where these two do their dirty business, and you decide not to check it out? What do you think 'scope' means?"

Jojo pounded his fist on the dashboard. "Mom, I can't check out the place and follow them at the same time."

As soon as he heard it, Tommy Boy eased his foot off the accelerator.

"So follow them tomorrow. Today you have a chance to find out what they're hiding in that building. Maybe it's guns. Maybe it's drugs from the evidence locker. Whatever it is, we know they'll go back, and that's when we settle accounts for Enzo. Or did you think you could just walk into a police station and take down two cops?"

Jojo rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let me talk to Papa."

"No. Stop running to your father and start using your brain. Think about it-that building is a G.o.dsend."

"Mom, it's a s.h.i.+thole."

"They left my son facedown in the mud. A s.h.i.+thole is better than they deserve. Now check it out before they come back. I'll deal with Papa."

And then, dead air.

Jojo couldn't believe it. She'd hung up on him.

"Hang a U-ey," he said. "We're going back."

Tommy Boy tried not to smile as he guided the Buick into a smooth U-turn at 42nd Road. "Whatever you say, Jojo. You're the boss."

Chapter 69.

When he was twelve years old, Tommy Boy's parents sat him down and told him something they had been holding back for two years. He had an IQ of 147.

"So?" he said.

"So it means you're like Einstein," said Tommaso Montanari Sr. "Very smart. Smarter than everybody else."

"So?" he said again.

"So that's wonderful," his mother said halfheartedly.

"But it's gonna be a problem," his father said, "and you got enough s.h.i.+t to handle already. How tall are you now? Six one?"

"Six two."

"And you're only twelve," his father said. "So you're gonna stand out. Kids will make fun of you like you're some kind of freak."

Tommy Boy's eyes teared up. "You mean like calling me Big Bird?"

"Those a.s.sholes," Montanari said. "What are they all, like five foot nothing, eighty-five pounds soaking wet? They're jealous. They want you to feel like c.r.a.p because you're built like a man, and they're not. You know why your mother and I didn't tell you about this IQ thing when we first found out?"

Tommy Boy shook his head.

"Because we wanted you to feel normal. Bad enough you're bigger than everybody else. Worse if they know you're smarter. People hate your guts when they think you're better than them."

The tears spilled over and trickled down the boy's cheeks. "So what do I do?"

Montanari looked at his wife. He knew the question would be coming, and his answer was simple: Kick the s.h.i.+t out of the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and you'll see how fast they start showing you some respect.

But that didn't fly with Angela. So, using all the parenting skills they had, they came up with another solution.

"Look, kiddo," he said, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, "you can't pretend to be short, but you can pretend to be dumb."

"Not dumb," his mother corrected. "Just not so smart. You'll fit in more."

It turned out to be not such bad advice, especially when he started working for Jojo. The man was clueless, but as long as Tommy Boy played the happy-go-lucky buffoon, Jojo felt superior.

Only one person figured out how smart he was. Papa Joe. Nothing got past him.

"You're dumb like a fox," he said one night when Tommy Boy was driving him to Bernice's place.

Tommy froze at the wheel.

"Don't worry," Salvi said. "Right now all I need is your muscle. But I like knowing you have a good head on your shoulders for when the time comes."

When the time comes. Tommy Boy had waited, and this was the time. Eliminating the two b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who killed Enzo would make his bones with Joe Salvi forever. And the payback wouldn't be some bulls.h.i.+t two-year vacation in Sicily like he told Jojo. It would be a spot in the organization. A real spot. Then he could stop acting.

"You got a game plan yet?" Tommy Boy asked Jojo as he turned back onto Crane Street.

"Break the lock, go in, look around, take pictures with the cell phone if we see anything, then go back to Howard Beach."

"Good idea," Tommy Boy said. "Except maybe I could pick the lock instead of breaking it, so they won't know we were here."

"Of course we pick the lock," Jojo said. "That's what I meant. I just didn't think I had to spell it out for you."

They parked the car and walked to the back of the building. The lock was amateur hour, and Tommy had it open in seconds. The room was long and narrow, no more than four feet deep.

There were two mismatched chairs and a small folding table with a stack of audio equipment on it. Nothing worth stealing. Then Tommy Boy spotted the peepholes.

"Over here," he whispered, pointing at the wall in front of them. "Whatever is going on in there, they watch from back here."

There were two narrow openings cut into the Sheetrock at eye level. Tommy Boy had to crouch down to peer through one of them.

Jojo didn't even bother to look. He waited for Tommy Boy to tell him if it was worth the effort. But the big man didn't say a word. He just stared at the woman in the Hazmat suit who was chained to a pipe. The pizza box from San Remo was on the floor, most of it not eaten, and there was a video camera in front of her. He put it all together in a heartbeat, and when he did, he felt as if he'd just walked into King Tut's tomb.

"What the h.e.l.l is so d.a.m.n interesting?" Jojo said, pressing his forehead against the second spy window.

"Holy f.u.c.k," he said. "What the-"

"Shhh. Don't let her hear you."

"These guys are cops? They got some real freaky s.h.i.+t going on," Jojo said in a harsh whisper. "What do you think we should do?"

Tommy Boy pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Who you calling?" Jojo said.

"n.o.body," Tommy whispered. "Getting pictures."

He put the phone up against one of the openings and started clicking. After he'd collected a dozen shots, he put the phone back in his pocket. "Let's blow this place," he said.

"Are you crazy?" Jojo said. "Are you looking at what I'm looking at? They've got some broad chained to a pole. Should we go in? Should we cut her down? We should at least find out who she is."

Tommy Boy stepped away from the wall. "I know who she is, dammit, and trust me, this is a lot bigger than me and you. We need to talk to your father."

Jojo went for his cell phone.