Second Shot, page 23
“Canal and Broadway,” he told the cabbie.
Saturday night, it might be an effort, but through Times Square wasn’t so bad, because all shows started at eight, which meant the bulk of the crowd was inside. The cab cruised down the narrow road of Broadway, past Herald Square, 23rd Street, 14th Street and beyond. Jimmy hadn’t seen much of Manhattan the past few months, and it kind of felt like a homecoming. Like his home was calling to him.
Like his life was calling to him.
The cabbie pulled to the corner, even while another car was trying to pull out. The other driver honked a couple times, clearly annoyed. Yeah, it was good to be home. Jimmy paid and then hopped out, and he made his way toward Mott, a couple blocks away. A narrow street, many Chinese restaurants, Peking Ducks hanging in windows. A couple gift shops with those cats with swinging arms. He bypassed them all. Imperial Dragon was two blocks down; he remembered it well. The food, that egg roll, the doomed host Kenji. But most of all, the man who had tried to kill him.
Mr. Fong Wu-Tin.
It was dark now, twilight on a mid-September night. Almost nine o’clock. Jimmy walked in the shadows, which he felt was better than if he had arrived as the sun set. He had no doubt that Wu-Tin operated more nocturnally, and that proved to be the case. He saw the trucks on the street, noticed the men carrying large boxes and unloading them down through a back entrance. With the restaurant closed, guess this was the new hiding place for Wu-Tin’s wares. What he didn’t see at first was any sign of Frisano, or his supposed back up.
There was a reason for that. In the blackness of the night, they were all dressed in black. Hiding amidst the overhanging leafy branches of a tree, like urban camouflage. Best they could do. Jimmy slid over to them, finding himself face-to-face with the newly clean-shaven Frisano. He still looked hot and it made Jimmy think of the night they’d spent together. Like he needed another distraction. It was time to focus, what was about to go down was about him, about Mallory, about the McSwains, and ultimately, about his father, Joseph. Murder had a way of living inside you. It created within you a need to seek justice for any wrong, and when it hit your family, the intensity was strong. Jimmy swallowed all his emotions. Right now, it was action.
“What do you want me to do?”
“As we said from the beginning, you’re the bait. Wu-Tin knows something’s up.”
“What about Sal and Barone?”
“They’re at OPP, close enough to help if needed. They’re still trying to figure out where Wu-Tin’s private dock is. They haven’t been able to locate the whereabouts of the yacht. But that’s for them to do. We get the big guy, he’ll tell us.”
“Ready or not?”
Frisano pointed to the building across the street. The now-closed Imperial Dragon, but yet on the upper floor there was a light shining through the window. Wu-Tin’s office, and it was here that Jimmy knew he must go. He stole a look around, Frisano was here, as were five members of the NYPD. They had his back, and they had better have. While Wu-Tin liked to use associates to do his dirty work—which meant his killings—Jimmy held no illusions that if desperate, he could pull the trigger himself.
“Stay close,” Jimmy said as he started to cross the street.
Frisano stopped him and asked, “Are you armed?”
Jimmy had locked his gun in the locker at the Calloway when he changed. Almost forgotten it and had doubled-back for it. “Yeah.”
“Good. Don’t use it.”
“I’ve never pulled the trigger,” he said.
Both knew this was a moment, of truth, of justice, of them, and Frisano grabbed him and kissed him, despite whoever might be looking on. Jimmy felt the heat insinuate itself into him, which gave him fuel to complete this journey. If they achieved their goal, there was nothing that would stop their tomorrow.
Jimmy eased his way across the street, watching as Wu-Tin’s henchmen continued to unload the cardboard boxes. He snuck behind the building, watching as one of the men entered the building, a large box in his hands while another man entered through the front entrance. Which meant one thing: it was unlocked. Jimmy waited his turn, and then made his move.
He was inside the Imperial Dragon in Chinatown. It had all come down to this.
Wu-Tin upstairs. Not an Opening Night, but a Closing Night.
Jimmy crept up the stairs, carefully looking around him. No one had seen him. Unless there were cameras, and if so, then his presence was already known by Wu-Tin. Jimmy checked again at the small of his back. Yeah, he was packing. He hated that he was.
Game time.
* * * *
Wu-Tin’s office was on the third floor, but first Jimmy wanted to do some exploring.
He knew the man was a noted criminal, a killer, and a thief. But they, meaning he, needed the evidence. Isn’t this why the NYPD had deputized him? He had full authority, and he had back up outside with Frisano and selected officers. But right now, this was on him.
Instead of taking the stairs up, he found access through a door to the kitchen, shut down after the fire. But still navigable. He found a door, a staircase that led down to the basement. He also noticed a backdoor at the edge of the kitchen, slightly ajar. Must be where the boxes were being brought in. Stored downstairs. He heard footsteps coming from the stairs. He turned, checked for a hiding spot, knowing he needed to hide to avoid discovery. There were probably surveillance cameras, but at the moment Wu-Tin’s men were otherwise occupied. He slipped down beneath an island in the kitchen, free of being found he hoped. Two men emerged from the downstairs. Arms empty. Going back for more. They exited the building, which was when Jimmy made his move.
What the hell was in those boxes?
Knowing he had limited time, he dashed down the stairs, hoping there wasn’t a third man there. The wooden stairs creaked, which could give away Jimmy’s presence, or if there was another, he could just think his colleagues had returned. But as he stepped off the last of the cracked stairs, he was alone. Just him, and about fifty boxes. He remembered last Spring when Wu-Tin burned down his warehouse a couple blocks away. Seemingly destroying his stash. Nope, not this time. Whatever was in these boxes, it was too valuable to burn. He needed to stash them somewhere.
Giving a quick glance around, ensuring his momentary safety, he went to a box and damn, they were sealed. How could he open them and not reveal an intruder was on the premises? Fuck it, this wasn’t the time to hold back. He ripped open a box, not surprised to see bricks of cocaine, wrapped up. Probably worth millions on the black market. He tried his best to reseal it. Then he went to another box, all while listening for sounds from above. So far, all quiet.
Another box, more cocaine.
But there were boxes on the other side of the room, so he slipped over to them. First box, weapons. Guns, pistols and revolvers, dark, metallic, and to Jimmy, ugly. Wu-Tin was a smuggler of drugs and guns, hardly a surprise. But it was the next box that had him recoil. Ripping the tape off, he found small bottles. Vials filled with a clear liquid.
“What the hell is this?” he asked aloud.
Then he heard footsteps from the kitchen. He grabbed one of the vials, but then had to hide as the footsteps grew closer. He darted for a hiding place, found a door and opened it. A pantry. He crouched down, realizing he hadn’t had a chance to reattach the tape on that last box. Maybe the men wouldn’t go for that one.
Neither man said anything. He heard them as they dropped off a couple more boxes and returned upstairs.
Jimmy had gone undiscovered and knew this was his chance to escape. The vial was in his pocket.
Back upstairs and through the kitchen, he wound his way back to the main entrance of the Imperial Dragon. A staircase, much more grand than the one he’d just navigated, that would take him upstairs. Leading to the man of the hour, Mr. Fong Wu-Tin. Jimmy sensed an end game. He just hoped it wasn’t his. As he headed upstairs with stealth, he heard a sudden whirring sound. As he’d guessed, cameras, and they’d caught him in the act. Wu-Tin was expecting him.
Two flights up, Jimmy found himself headed down a short corridor. A door at the end, and it was wide open. He slowed his progress, thinking, anticipating. Was Wu-Tin alone, or was there a bodyguard, no doubt armed with one of those weapons he’d seen downstairs. Probably the same type that had been used to try to kill Jimmy, that had downed the innocent Mallory. Thoughts of her, what she’d been through, fueled him forward. Whatever awaited him, fate or retribution, there was no denying this moment.
He entered the office and found Wu-Tin simply sitting behind an oversize, wooden desk. A lamp was the only lighting in the room, and it reflected off two ancient swords positioned on the wall behind him. A family crest painted on porcelain between their crossed sheaths. It was an elegant picture, gleaming in the white light. Highlighting a powerful man and a rich heritage. Then there was the revolver on the desk. Not far from Wu-Tin’s right hand.
“And at last you make your way upstairs, Mr. McSwain.”
“I thought I’d keep you in suspense.”
“My cameras tell a different approach,” he said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here to tell you it’s over.”
“Nothing is ever over until the heart stops and your eyes close. As you can see, I am fine.”
“The New York City Police Department is on to you.”
He waved a hand. “Let them do what they want. They have no proof. They tried once before, after you handed over that flash drive. Foolish, Mr. McSwain, stealing it, guaranteeing its inadmissibility. This isn’t about them, this is personal. Between you and me, Mr. Jimmy McSwain. How you found yourself here, it is about anger, about vengeance? In my culture, those are seen as the downfall of a doomed man. When an emotion is unchecked, it makes a man do something they shouldn’t.” He hesitated then rose from behind his desk.
Jimmy realized he knew very little about this man, except that Mr. Wu-Tin had tried to kill him.
What drove him? Was money that much more important than money? Did people fail to matter to him, so long as he achieved his goals? Wu-Tin eliminating the people he’d hired, burning down his beloved empire, betraying even family members. The gunman who had shot Mallory had been his son, and he’d been found hanging in his jail cell. His own daughter in law had confirmed it all. But in reality, Jimmy and Wu-Tin had only crossed paths a couple of times. Jimmy helping to rescue a small boy, but then discovering that flash drive which held many details about Wu-Tin’s business.
New evidence had to be found.
“Mr. McSwain, you do realize I could right now call the police on you?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You are trespassing.”
“I’m here with the authority of the NYPD.” He dug into his pocket. Showed his badge. “They have a warrant.”
“No evidence.”
“Lena helped out. After I rescued her.”
Wu-Tin showed the first hint of annoyance, of vulnerability.
Jimmy put his badge away. Wu-Tin had been right about one thing. This was personal. As he returned it to his pocket, he realized that wasn’t his only accoutrement. He felt it at the small of his back. He felt threatened being in this man’s lair, but he wasn’t going to act. Temptation for violence had to be tempered.
Jimmy took a step forward. “You know I was in the basement.”
“I saw.”
“Your men didn’t.”
“They are stupid. Just hired thugs. They won’t work for me again.”
“Or for anyone, if your will is done.”
“I’m growing tiresome of our talk, Mr. McSwain.”
“Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to listen a bit longer. I don’t take kindly to an attempt on my life. I certainly don’t like when my family gets caught in the crossfire. My sister barely survived the gunshot to the head. The one you authorized for me.”
“Ah yes, the famous Jimmy McSwain and his devotion to his family. Your father’s death defined you. You took down victims along the way. We’re hardly different in that regard.”
“I deal justice. You just deal death.”
“Justification redefines reason.”
Jimmy felt rattled. Talk of his father, why was that Wu-Tin’s concern? A way to antagonize Jimmy, distract him. It was pure manipulation. His voice raised, his heart-rate elevated, he said, “This, it’s between you and me, isn’t about my family. Not anymore. This is about you and your criminal empire. This is your finale. I’m the lucky one who gets to stop it, but know that the NYPD is outside, watching everything your so-called thugs are hauling in. Cocaine, guns, neither of them a surprise,” he said. But then he reached into his pocket and held up the vial. The clear liquid splashed inside. “And then there’s this.”
Wu-Tin reacted fast, rushing at Jimmy in an effort to grab the vial.
He pushed back, afraid to drop it, to have it break open. What the hell was in there?
Wu-Tin fell to the floor, but he scrambled quickly, fast for a man of his older age. He ran for the revolver on his desk but so did Jimmy, realizing his intention. No longer with a henchman like Kenji, this was their battle. Jimmy got hold of it and he threw it far across the room. Even the cold feel of the gun sent shivers through him. Picturing his father taking that bullet. The same fate would not take him.
Wu-Tin, panicked, cornered, looked around, and that’s when he reached for a sword. He yanked it off the wall and swung it with a fierce determination. Fire lit his eyes.
“In China, I had many enemies. Remember that word. Had.”
He stepped forward, swinging the sword wildly. Jimmy had lived his life in fear of guns. This was a new weapon, a different enemy. He backed up, trying to think of a way to disarm the man. Or maybe hope Frisano would start to worry and make a surprise hero entrance. But all was quiet, except for the whir of the sword through the air. Wu-Tin jutted it forward, the blade making impact on Jimmy’s left thumb. Blood spurted and he grimaced but he wouldn’t cry out.
Wu-Tin stayed after him. Forcing him into a corner. He stumbled against a chair and fell to the carpet. He’d come here for Wu-Tin’s end game and as he saw the sword coming down toward him, he realized instead it was his. He had no choice. Justice had many meanings and it had many answers, and right now, it’s what he felt at the small of his back. He’d felt the pain on impact, the gun dig into his skin. Thought left him. Only survival.
He pulled out the gun.
And dammit, he pulled the trigger. The blast was loud, but it would always be.
Wu-Tin staggered back, blood beginning to seep from his chest.
Jimmy closed his eyes, trying to absolve himself already. What had he done?
Then came the second shot. He stared down at his hand, the gun still in his grip.
Wu-Tin had gone down and it was clear, two bullet wounds. He was dead.
Jimmy couldn’t remember pulling the trigger the second time.
Just then he heard the scrambling of footsteps on the stairs. Several of them, racing toward the room. Jimmy stood up and he went over to where Wu-Tin was sprawled out. The carpet around him a crimson puddle.
“Jimmy, what the hell happened?”
It was Frisano and his men. Jimmy was dazed, trying to absorb what indeed had just gone down.
“I shot him,” Jimmy said, his voice devoid of emotion. He’d never felt so empty.
“Twice,” Frisano said, examining the body.
“I was defending myself. I shot him.”
The sword was on the other side of the room. Wu-Tin had staggered back near his desk. Unable to execute another attack.
“But then you shot him again, Jim. He was already defenseless. You shot at him a second time. In cold blood.”
It was a chilling statement, but what came next was worse.
“We’ll get this sorted out, but right now…Jim, I have to do this.”
The lover with whom he’d shared a bed last night, whose betrayal he had forgiven, issued words he never thought he would hear in his life. Not to him.
“Jimmy McSwain, you’re under arrest for the murder of Mr. Fong Wu-Tin…”
There were other words to that creed, but Jimmy didn’t hear them. All he saw was the dead man on the floor, and then the man who had regained his life as a cop, soon again to be a precinct captain, and he was here doing his job. It all happened in a blur. The accompanying officers helped him as Frisano handcuffed him. It was surreal, unreal, but Jimmy did what he knew what to do. He stayed silent.
He was just led outside. The only thing he heard were sirens in the distance, coming ever closer. Coming for him.
Epilogue
Case file #721: Second Shot.
He could picture the marquee of The Harold Calloway Theatre on this night. Ablaze with klieg lights outside, the red carpet covering the sidewalk on West 47th Street. Paparazzi taking photographs. He knew them. Joseph, Ritchie, the whole gang of regulars who specialized in the celebration of what Broadway called Opening Night.
Jimmy had been asked to work another shift for Maggie. She needed extra help for their big night.
But he’d said no to the work days ago, it was important to him to be in the audience. Jonathan Tolliver was his plus one, both to the performance and at the after-party. It was all he could do to thank the man for so capably filling the role vacated by Ralphie. Jimmy missed that man, his guidance and wisdom.
He could use a bit of that right now.
But his plans had gone awry. He was missing Opening Night. Kander & Ebb had it right. And the World Goes ‘Round indeed.
Jimmy was still in jail, awaiting his bond hearing Monday morning.
The courts were not exactly active on the weekends.
So Sunday night, he was stretched out on the thin mattress, thinking about how Friday night had gone down. His confrontation with Wu-Tin, their final battle. The sword, the gun, what had followed, all of it existing as if in a blur. Perhaps feeling some PTSD, more so than what he’d experienced at the end of the Forever Haunt case. Then he’d felt relief, like he could finally allow himself to feel free of swirling demons. Now he had new ones, and he was having trouble processing them.
