Second Shot, page 16
Tomorrow…well, today, given the turn of the clock past midnight, would see the return of Jimmy to his deputized spot on the NYPD’s task force. He wanted to check in with Barone, since the detective was leading the charge. Better him than Frisano. As for Sal Frisano, he was the figurehead, he would only be interested in results, not progress. It was a delicate balance, two high profile cases, both of which left Jimmy strangely unfulfilled. One was about money, the other about vengeance. Neither coated his psyche.
He had a feeling he’d be left damaged when resolutions were found, if they were.
“You look like a lost puppy,” Paddy said, coming up to him.
Jimmy sipped his beer. “You adopting?”
“I think your mother would have something to say about that.”
“Was she in earlier?”
“She sent me a text. There was a party backstage at the Calloway, said she’d be over when it was over.”
“Kind of late.”
“Maybe she changed her mind.”
Or maybe they conjured her. The door opened and in walked Maggie McSwain, her face as unreadable as ever, that is until she noticed Jimmy sitting at the end of the bar. She smiled and then took up on the stool next to him.
“A sight for sore eyes,” she said.
“Ma, you’re out late.”
“Good thing I have a handsome man to escort me home. But not yet.” She signaled Paddy, even though it was unnecessary. He brought over a gin martini, one olive pierced with a red stick. The drink was clear but potent. She leaned in and sipped over the full rim.
“Tough night, Ma?”
“Nah, a good one. I like our producers. They’re very inclusive.”
As head usher of a staff of twelve at the eleven hundred seat Harold Calloway Theatre, Maggie oversaw the seating of their audience, ensuring their safety and, along with her staff, making sure they felt welcome. Drinks, bathrooms, merchandise, how long is the show, is it good, endless questions from patrons. It’s what you did in this job. But by night’s end, there was a relief as well as satisfaction of a job well done. All the while knowing tomorrow you would do it again. In fact, on Broadway, you did it eight times a week. Wednesdays and Saturdays, with their double show schedules, could exhaust you. Sometimes the front of house staff worked their asses off to little or no recognition.
So it was nice to hear that an after-show party in the Calloway’s upstairs apartment had included them.
“Press previews begin tomorrow night,” Maggie said. “So tonight was a chance for cast and crew to raise a glass and celebrate the near-end of our preview period. The next four shows, our seats will be awash with critics. Leading up to Sunday night’s official Opening.” She took a sip of her drink. “You know what my favorite day is?”
“Yeah, the day after opening. All the producers go away and you just go about your job.”
“Need a couple shifts next week?”
She liked to use him as a sub usher. But right now things were too crazy.”
“Two cases, Ma. Neither nearing completion.”
“You’re still coming to the Opening?”
He nodded. “With Jonathan Tolliver.”
She pressed her hand to his wrist, squeezed. “Your father would be proud of you.”
Jimmy drained his beer. She finished her own drink. They fought off an offer of a second round, and soon were on the sidewalk, walking home. Jimmy had intended to stay upstairs in his office, since he had some research to do. He wanted to know who owned that townhouse on Sutton Place, and his computer upstairs had access to certain websites which would reveal that information. It would have to wait, because what son allowed his mother to walk home alone after midnight?
She cradled his arm as they walked. First down 46th Street, turning right onto 10th Avenue, going past the corner deli where Joseph McSwain had taken his last breath. Neither said a word, neither paused their steps. That didn’t mean neither remembered. Maybe he felt an extra squeeze from her, but he might have imagined that. He imagined a lot on this block.
They reached their building, Jimmy unlocking the front entrance and escorting his mother to the stairs. Five flights. She was used to it, had been doing it for nearly forty years. In good health and sharp mind, Maggie McSwain made the trek upstairs as though it was just a usual part of her day. It was, but it was also starting to take its toll. Jimmy noticed it took longer for her.
Inside the apartment, Maggie retreated to her bedroom, while Jimmy grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to the living room. All was quiet inside the apartment, both Meaghan and Joey fast asleep in their room. He settled on the sofa, staring out the window as he did so. Concentrating on the building across the street. It’s skeleton structure aglow with periodic lights. So focused was he that he failed to see Maggie approach.
He felt the depression in the sofa cushions as she sat down. She, too, stared ahead.
“Every day, they make progress.”
“That’s how the world works, isn’t it? Life moves forward.”
“While forgetting where it came from.”
“It’ll be a year before that building is finished. For now, we’re home.”
Maggie paused, as though she had words on her tongue. It was rare she held back.
Jimmy asked, “Ma, what is it?”
“I put in an application for one of those apartments. Facing west. I want my view back.”
“I’m surprised.”
“I’m not ready to leave my neighborhood. Life is about making adjustments.”
“Does Meaghan know?”
“That girl will never leave me. That boy of hers, he’s our future. Best I can give him is a home for the future.”
Maggie McSwain had lost so much. Her husband, notably, a nephew, almost a daughter, and he knew she worried about him and his choice of profession. What she sought was security. She lived a simple life. Her family, her theatre, her neighborhood. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? He leaned over and kissed her cheek. She didn’t bristle at the touch of his beard.
“I’m getting used to that thing,” she said.
“Really? I was thinking of shaving it off. It’s from a different time in my life.”
“Beards hide expressions.”
“You a philosopher now?”
She smiled at him. “No, just a mother. Goodnight, Jimmy. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
“That was all you,” he said, “and Dad.”
She got up from the sofa, started toward her bedroom before turning back. “Speaking of your dad, why are you walking around carrying that gun?”
Jimmy was still packing, the pistol at the small of his back. He blushed.
“How’d you know?”
“Jimmy McSwain, when you’re married to a cop, you get to know all the tricks. Whatever has made you take it out of your safe, be careful. You introduce a gun into a case, history shows it’s bound to go off.”
“Jonathan warned me of the same.”
It would be hours before Jimmy found sleep. He stared out the window. At the construction across the street. He wished it was a year later. Mallory would be back home. Maybe the family would be settled in a new home. Both the Portnoy and Wu-Tin cases would be long closed. And he’d be able to lock this damned gun back in his safe. A year away, a second shot at life.
* * * *
“Meet me downtown. My usual spot. Noon.”
Talk about a rude awakening. Jimmy had finally fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room, only to be awakened by the ringing of his cell phone at 7:11. He’d barely had a chance to say good morning when Roscoe Barone barked out his orders. He sounded annoyed, a harsh tone giving Jimmy’s eyes reason to widen. He had no time to think, he just said, “Yes, I’ll be there.”
And now, he was on his way.
So much for spending his morning researching what he’d learned last night about the house on Sutton Place—he was distracted and only a newspaper and coffee could fill the time. The Portnoy case would have to take a backseat today, as the NYPD grabbed early control of his day. He’d stepped on the E train at Times Square and had just now been released at Church Street, just a block away from 1803, the New Orleans-themed restaurant that Barone had taken a liking to. He’d been expected at noon. It was now twelve-ten. Blame the MTA on that one.
He entered through the wooden doors, waved at the pretty, lithe bartender he remembered from his last visit, then made his way upstairs. Barone’s booth was occupied, not only by Barone but by Frank Frisano. Jimmy took a step back, not expecting to see his partner in crime and his ex-partner in bed sitting together. Both had waters in front of them.
Jimmy assessed this was a serious meeting. He slipped into the booth, facing both men.
“You’re late,” Barone said.
“Call De Blasio.”
“No need to be flippant, Jimmy.”
“No need to summon me like you did. There, we even?”
It was Frank who intervened. “Hey, we’re all here now. Let’s get to the matter at hand.”
A waitress arrived. Barone ordered simple glasses of seltzer for the three of them. Non-booze beverages did not lead to tips. She left in a huff.
“So, you’ve got us here. What is all this about?”
It was very unusual for Frisano to assume such an aggressive tone, at least professionally, leaving Jimmy wondering just what kind of personal growth had taken place over these past few months. Was it confidence in his job, being comfortable in his own skin, or a way to deflect insecurity by being needlessly forceful. Frank Frisano still had his issues to deal with, that’s what Jimmy decided, but that, them, would have to wait.
“Okay, we’re here. Talk to me. What’s the urgency?” Jimmy asked. “Another fire?”
“No,” Barone said. “Frank, why don’t you fill Jimmy in while he’s been AWOL.”
“I’ve had another case. I was dealing with a local police department on a murder.”
“Yes, Detective Selfridge called us for, shall we call it a character reference? What I’m not happy about is your failure to disclose your involvement with what turned to murder. And what’s worse, you were on the premises when it happened. So, McSwain, it’s time to focus on the case we’ve enlisted your help on. Is that too much to ask.”
“I’m doing you all a favor. I still have other jobs.”
“Not the answer I was looking for,” Barone said.
He must be under pressure from his upper brass. Because Barone usually played good cop, at least he had when he’d been partnered with Larry Dean, that classmate of Jimmy’s who had hit that home run with Jimmy on base. Dean had graduated through the NYPD and risen quickly through the ranks. Larry disapproved of Jimmy’s lifestyle. And Jimmy disapproved of his attitude. Which is why he always relied on Barone to keep the peace. Not so now.
Barone repeated his words that Frisano should fill Jimmy in.
Frank leaned in. “I was on surveillance all night, and don’t worry, I wasn’t going to require your presence on that. It was outside the parameters of what we’d asked of you. Anyway, with a team of trained officers, we kept watch on a second warehouse in Queens, videotaping it being emptied. Crates, boxes. Contents unknown, but it was all done under cover of the night. Two, three, a.m. Four trucks in all. Each of them loaded with whatever they wanted to remove. We know he deals in drugs, probably weapons. Explosives, and not the innocent firework displays for Fourth of July. We’re talking plastique, dynamite. He’ll sell to anyone, so long as the price is right.”
“Hardly a surprise, given what we already know about him.”
“There were other boxes. They were marked fragile.”
“Any clue what was in them?”
“No.”
“But here’s the last piece. Four panel trucks left the warehouse, and we followed them in our unmarked van. We ended up at a parking lot on the outskirts of Astoria. From what I could tell, they were expected. The gate opened almost immediately. The trucks were locked, the drivers departed. One of our officers trailed them. They just went up to the platform of the 7 at Queensborough Plaza. He thought they were heading back to Flushing. But they were on the Manhattan side. Right now, the trucks are still there, and we’re keeping a close eye, and once they start moving, we’ll be on their trail.”
“Busy night,” Jimmy said. “So, what’s the plan?”
“You’ll be visiting that supposedly vacated warehouse. We want to see what you can find. But you’ll be going in daylight. Today, walk around, check out the three properties, no doubt Wu-Tin will see you. That’s what we want. Because once he sees you, he’s going to act and start to move those trucks—with their contents—somewhere else.”
“Gee, sounds easy enough.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t solve cases,” Barone said.
“We’ll have back up—officers hiding in plain sight. You’ll never see them.”
“Why don’t you just get a warrant to search the trucks?”
“No proof of cause,” Barone said. “We learned our lesson with the flash drive you managed to secure, inadmissible. We need to catch Wu and his gang in action. Then we can just arrest them, charge him with whatever crime we can think of, and trust me, there will be many.”
“Attempted murder,” Jimmy said, thinking of himself, of Mallory.
“And murder.”
Jimmy recalled the eviscerated body of Wu-Tin’s associate, Kenji. Bloody and brutal.
“Wonderful, we have a plan. I’ll leave the details for you both to work out.” Barone stood up, turned back. “I expect results. Good day, gentlemen.”
Barone departed, and that left Jimmy McSwain and Francis X. Frisano in the corner booth on the upstairs level of a restaurant that was otherwise empty. Even the waitress had vanished, leaving them to their own devices.
Jimmy wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
“How’s Mallory?”
“Healing Thinking about coming back to the city.” He paused. “Thanks for asking.”
“I consider her family,” Frisano said. “She paid the price for our efforts.”
“I’ll let her know that.”
The waitress appeared then, asking if they wanted anything stronger than the water they had in front of them. Jimmy ordered an Abita Pale Ale, Frisano mirroring him. They might be on duty, but they were independent of rules, and as such, were entitled to indulge. Neither said a word until the beers arrived. They clinked bottles.
“To success.”
“To the end,” Jimmy added.
Which went unspecified. Wu-Tin’s, or theirs.
Jimmy drank from his beer. He found himself staring forward at Frisano. At his handsome façade, that dark beard, a compliment to his dark shirt and slacks. Like he was already in darkness, even in the light of the day. Was this look an extension of all he’d been through these past few months. Quitting his job, sabotaging his relationship with Jimmy, only to be saved by his father. What was the endgame?
Jimmy downed his beer. Set the bottle down. “I think I need to go.”
“We need to coordinate our efforts, Jim.”
“I’ll do my own thing. I’ll report back.”
“We’re a team.”
“We were.”
“Jimmy, this isn’t personal. We have a common mission. Stopping a criminal is priority.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Big words. Are you ready for the consequences.?”
“Wu-Tin tried to kill me. He nearly killed Mallory. I’m not afraid of after-effects.”
“There’s a reason my father and Barone established this task force. They know Wu-Tin needs to be brought down. But justice must prevail. Not vigilante justice. Jimmy, don’t go rogue.”
Jimmy felt the gun at the small of his back, like it was a permanent accoutrement.
“I’ll behave myself. I’ll follow instructions.”
“So do the job we’re asking you to do. Case out the warehouse that was just cleaned out.” He pushed a piece of paper forward. “That’s the address. He hasn’t burned that one down.”
“Yet.”
“You’d have made a good NYPD detective. Suspicious by nature.”
Jimmy felt a blow to his heart. Yeah, he would have. If life had taken a turn other than the one it had. Life as a private investigator you were never on one side or another. There was the defense, there was the prosecution, and then there was that middle ground. Jimmy liked to call it the truth. A concept never easy to uncover.
Jimmy played with his empty beer bottle. Contemplated another, but realized he was done.
“I’ve got things to do.”
Jimmy stood up, smoothed his shirt. Setting himself up for whatever came next.
“Jimmy, be careful. Wu-Tin is on to you. Remember how he pointed his finger to his head. After pointing it at you. You turned this into a personal issue for him. Which means he’s willing to do anything to save himself.”
Jimmy pulled the gun out of the small of his back before quickly returning it.
“You don’t use guns. You told me.”
“He almost killed my sister.”
“Jimmy, a gun never solves problems.”
“I’ll be careful.”
At the last moment, Frisano reached out a hand, grabbed Jimmy’s. Jimmy felt the heartbeat pulse through their connection. Their eyes met, and passion rose to a level they hadn’t experienced in months. Not even the kiss from the other night could match what they both felt now. For Jimmy, there was no doubt his attraction to this man had not diminished. Perhaps it had increased given their new proximity. They’d never worked a case so closely.
The heat was palpable.
“You don’t have to leave, not just yet.”
Jimmy wished he could stay. Wished the two of them could rekindle yesterday.
“I gotta go,” Jimmy said.
“Call me later. Tell me what you found.”
Jimmy started off, but then turned around to face his ex-lover. “Frank, this is work. It’s a job. We’ll defeat Wu-Tin. Justice will be served. And then we move on, separately.” He stopped, took a breath, and finally said the words he’d held back for the past months. “You hurt me. You betrayed me. You felt pain and rather than share it with me you sought comfort elsewhere. I was always here for you. You failed me. You had a crisis of identity and you gave up your life, your livelihood. For what?”
