Second Shot, page 8
He dressed and then he made a quick exit from the apartment. Might as well get to where he needed to be. Scope out the scene even before Frisano arrived. He stopped for a coffee at a local deli and then made his way to the Times Square subway station. He needed the 7 train, following the round purple circles through the complex station. Down a flight of stairs, he waited just two minutes before the train rolled in, coming from the new Hudson Yards extension. He remembered taking this line years ago when he attended a Mets game, all the way to Willet’s Point. But he was going further, to Main Street, Flushing, the end of the line. End of the line maybe, too, for Mr. Wu-Tin.
He boarded the train, grabbed a seat and tried not to think about what—and who—he was about to endure.
Frisano. What would he say? How would he react to seeing Frisano?
Jimmy knew he was being taken advantage of. Salvatore knew how much Jimmy wanted to crush Wu-Tin’s terror reign. It was personal. Tossing in his son as a foil, that only complicated matters, the move deliberate, a power play to force the two men to face a year of ups and downs, if not romantically, at least professionally. Jimmy felt his heart race as the subway shot through the tunnel and began to climb the elevated tracks. It was almost like he’d been exposed, to the light, to the rush of a day he had no control over. At the last stop, what awaited him was the only man who had ever decimated him.
He spent the time on his phone, reading updates about the warehouse fire.
A total loss. One body had been discovered. Which meant someone had known too much.
Yup, Wu-Tin was back. His methods unchanged.
Main Street was the next stop. He and Frisano had agreed to meet at a neutral location, the New Flushing Noodles Restaurant, rather than make an ambush appearance at Wu-Tin’s Queens location of Imperial Dragon, Mr. Wu-Tin’s signature restaurant. He had one each in four of the boroughs. Hadn’t hit the Bronx yet. The two men would need to strategize an approach, a line of attack. Hopefully unsuspecting. Also, could they, in fact, work together. Hearts were bled when torn. Work was better when hearts were healed, or better yet, not involved. The train pulled against the platform, doors opened, and Jimmy stepped off. Thinking maybe he should hop back on and return to Manhattan.
He didn’t quit, though. Ask his father’s killer.
Down the rusted metal stairs he went, easily finding the restaurant of choice a short distance away. A large yellow sign with red lettering. He realized he was hungry. Perhaps food would give him the fuel to deal with how to talk to Frisano.
A block away from the restaurant, he saw Frisano. Jimmy stopped, took a breath.
He looked different and Jimmy tried to assess why that was.
Like him, he realized. Francis X. Frisano was sporting a beard. Dark, thick…shit, sexy. An old emotion stirred in him. He realized it was a thing named attraction.
Jimmy approached him, paused. Was there a proper greeting? Not a hug. But not a shrug. He settled for a word. “Hi,” he said. It felt lame.
Frisano allowed a slight smile. “Hey, Jim.”
Jim. There was a familiarity to his shortened name. Like when he would speak it late night, after they’d had sex and were entwined in each other’s arms. When their emotions were raw, their hearts open to the concept of them. When a future had seemed like the most natural evolution. It wasn’t just seasons that had changed.
After their hello, words failed them. Silence was overtaken by honking horns on the busy avenue. The harsh sounds managed to snap them out of unexpected reveries. This was a new world order. Détente? Jimmy considered his next words carefully, deciding it was best to jump in. Deep end.
Frisano was dressed in plain clothes. But he still reeked of the NYPD. His stance.
“I thought you quit the force.”
“Stories of my departure have been greatly exaggerated.”
“Twain. With a twist.”
Frisano smiled broadly. “The literate detective. I’ve missed that. Him.”
“Should we go inside? Sit? Figure out what we’re doing?”
“What are we doing?”
“Frank, this is business. We’re here to take down a crime boss.”
“Nothing else?”
Jimmy had to swallow his pride. Yes, he wanted more. But, no, he didn’t. “Nothing else.” In his mind, he had a picture of Brenden Hendricks. Naked, bouncing on him, sleeping beside him. A tender kiss when he’d left in the morning. Sometimes life moved on. There was no room for the past, not with a troubled man who had betrayed him. Wounds could be healed differently, if at all.
Frisano simply nodded and silently they entered the restaurant, escorted to a table for two by a female hostess. Both stuck with water as a beverage. Jimmy ordered a noodle soup, Frisano beef with broccoli. Two egg rolls to split. At least they agreed on one thing. While they waited for their food, they looked at each other as they closed the gap between their last time and this time.
“I’m surprised,” Jimmy said.
“At what?”
“At your father. Thrusting us together. Why?”
“I’m going back to the Tenth Precinct when this is over. Consider it a renewal.”
This was supposed to be about Wu-Tin. But it wasn’t. Not yet. “Wrenn will be happy.”
“I’ll be happy, too.”
Happy was a dangerous word. Because as wonderful as it was, it didn’t always last. Jimmy didn’t believe him and he supposed the way he averted his eyes gave him away.
“You don’t seem convinced,” Frisano said.
“Can we just address the case at hand? Wu-Tin. It’s time he pays. What’s the plan?”
“I never knew you to be so…angry.”
“I never knew you to be a fucking cheater. Move on, Frank. This is business. It affects me, my family, Mallory. If you know anything about me, it’s that justice is always served, no matter how long it takes. My father was killed. The NYPD failed to solve it. I did. But it took too long to bring down his killer and reveal the truth. That’s not going to happen this time. I was Wu-Tin’s target. My sister the victim. Wu-Tin will see jail. Or darkness.”
Frisano tried not to show his hurt. It didn’t work. “Quite the impassioned speech.”
“I think that’s how I got hired.”
Frisano drank from his water. Cooling down from the heat of their exchange.
Jimmy spoke again. “How do we trap him?”
No answer was forthcoming, because that’s when their food arrived, triggering a pause to their conversation. Perhaps that was a good thing. A way to ease the tension. Because as much as Jimmy was trying to concentrate on the professional aspect of their assignment, sitting across from Frisano—a man he’d loved, a man he’d thought of as his future, a man who was still hot as hell—it was hard not to just stare at him. To allow himself to sink into the man’s aura. He had an energy about him. A desirability.
A bigger part of him wanted to leave. To forget this foolish quest. An image of Mallory laying in that bed adjusted his perspective. Motivation often came with sacrifices.
“So the fire was just a couple blocks away from here. I looked it up,” Jimmy said.
“As did I.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Like we discussed, he’s cleaning up. Clearing house. He’s already shut down his operation in Manhattan. Remember he burned down a warehouse on Canal Street, and recently Imperial Dragon closed its doors. I looked over the records Barone had been keeping.”
“He’s not easily defeated, just deflected. I think the fire is a distraction. He’s shutting down what the police know of. Setting up a new operation. Men like him don’t change. Greed motivates them. Money his goal.” He stopped and thought about the duality of their situation. “It’s like when you know what you want, you will risk all to achieve it. Whether it’s business, whether it’s love, whether it’s lust.”
Frisano blanched. “Unfair. You’re complicating our mission. You don’t understand.”
Yeah, that was the first truth between them. “Then explain.”
“Do you really want to talk about this now? Or do you want to focus on Wu-Tin?”
Damn, this was hard. This going back and forth, in dialogue and in thought, in conflict. Salvatore Frisano had a double motive here, and Jimmy was confused as to why. Didn’t he reject the notion that his son was gay? This attempt to force these two men back together wasn’t working very well. Jimmy felt himself closed off, felt Frisano was, too. Like a dance, neither one of them hearing the music.
“I’ll return to Wu-Tin in a moment,” Jimmy said.
“But for now?”
It was strange how one word could open the floodgates.
“Why?”
* * * *
“I guess we’re getting into this,” Frisano said, rubbing the dark whiskers on his chin. Both done as a defensive move and an enticing one. The facial hair looked good on him.
Jimmy tried to refocus. He said, “If we’re going to work together, Frank, yeah, I think some explanation is warranted. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, thinking I could maintain a professional attitude. Turns out, I can’t. Sitting across from you, I’m owed.” He paused. “The beard. I like it.”
“My father says it gets shaved off when I return to the precinct.”
Jimmy touched his. “That’s why I like my independent status.”
“Does that mean single?”
The memory of that morning kiss from Brenden found him. “Maybe I’m not.”
It was a cheap shot, one he regretted the moment he spoke the words. That wasn’t Jimmy’s usual style, to strike back so brutally and Frisano’s expression showed it. His eyes blinked, his body shot back against the back of the booth they were seated in.
“Sorry,” Jimmy said.
“I probably deserved that. Maybe more.”
“This doesn’t have to be painful. No verbal knife cuts.”
“I’m not with Elliott. It happened twice. The first time, both of us a little drunk.”
“And the second?
“We knew it shouldn’t have happened and he left the apartment immediately after. Rather than feeling better, we were left empty. I knew it was him saying goodbye. He was wounded and I tried to heal him.”
“And yourself?”
“That case, the death of Elliot’s partner. Gay bashing. Murder. It awakened things in me I never expected. But in a way, it shut me down, too. I wanted to help someone, not realizing what I was really doing was trying to accept myself.” Frisano took a sip of his water. Then looked back up. “Jimmy, the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. This past summer, what I realized was how afraid I was to fully opening myself up—to you, to my true self. Always worried about my father. The NYPD. Acceptance can sometimes lead to denial. I know none of that is a defense. But it is the truth.”
Jimmy nodded. Swallowed too hard. Trying to bury his feelings. The reaction felt like acid reflux. He let the words sink in. He had to move on from this.
“So, Wu-Tin. Why you? Why me?”
“So, we’re done? Shove the past where it lives?”
“We’ve got a job to do, Frank. I’ve got another case, too, so I need to know our parameters for dealing with this man.”
“Before we start, can I ask one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“How’s Mallory?”
The question nearly stopped Jimmy’s heart. It was unexpected. But it was heartfelt. Also, because Frisano had reached across the table and taken Jimmy’s hands in his. Warmth spread deep, washing regret away. Wishing there was some way to erase their yesterdays. Like it could perform that kind of magic. If so, Joseph McSwain would still be walking his beat. His heart would still be beating. Jimmy might be wearing a badge, walking the beat. Life hadn’t worked out that way, it didn’t work that way. He squeezed Frisano’s hand before pulling back.
“She’s healing. Walking, talking about going back to work, maybe as early as next year.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Again, a pause found them. Jimmy didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about personal stuff. “So, Wu-Tin. What’s the plan?”
“Let’s go see what remains of that warehouse fire.”
A good plan of action, if not attack. Frisano paid the bill, said it was on the NYPD, then a minute later they were back out on the streets of Flushing. Lots of people milling about, shopping, talking, walking, the daily life of one of New York City’s more diverse neighborhoods. Almost as though they were in a foreign country. Signs in Chinese and English. Peking ducks hanging in windows. But then a McDonald’s golden arches ruined the affect. Yup, they were still home.
Down Main Street they went, negotiating their way through the throngs of people going through their mid-day routines. Turning right two blocks up, the acrid smell of smoke grew much more prevalent. It didn’t take a map for them to find the warehouse, follow the smell, follow the evidence. Fire trucks were still on scene. A fire marshal van as well. Men mingling, putting out the last of the smoking embers. Ensuring nearby buildings weren’t affected. The investigation into the cause of the fire had begun. No doubt, suspicions abounded.
Frisano beside him, Jimmy stepped toward the fenced in area, assessing the damage.
Another of Wu-Tin’s supposed restaurant supply warehouses. The sign partially scorched but the name Imperial Dragon Restaurant Supply partially preserved. To Jimmy, proof that this was no coincidence. The warehouse in Manhattan that had burned earlier this year had been used as storage for Wu-Tin’s illegal imports, drugs, guns, paraphernalia, whatever else would make him a profit. Seemed he’s moved his operation to Queens upon his return, only to realize the NYPD wasn’t going to rest easy until they’d brought him down. Hence, another fire. Wu-Tin was running out of boroughs. Enter Captain Francis X. Frisano and the hired gumshoe, Jimmy McSwain.
The warehouse was located on a corner, protected behind a fence that had melted from the heat of the blaze. One of the firefighters was swinging an axe to a metal pole, taking it down. Another stood nearby, staring at the burned-out shell of the building. Whatever had been stored inside it was surely unrecognizable. According to NY1 this morning, the blaze had been called in around five am. Now it was two pm and all that remained was remnants, shards, and of course, questions.
Jimmy made his way toward the firefighter, he seemingly more of an authority figure.
“All of you guys okay?”
He turned to Jimmy. Fresh-faced, even behind his helmet. “Thankfully. Who are you?”
Jimmy realized he had no proof of his own authority on this. Which is when Frisano came up behind him. His own badge in hand.
“Captain Francis X. Frisano. Special Task Force. OPP.”
One Police Plaza. The way he said it, it came with gravitas. “Captain, what can I help you with?”
“You are?”
“Kenneth Broughton. Engine company forty-two.” He had a ruddy and blackened face. Like he’d been here all morning. Probably had.
“What can you tell me…uh, us. My partner, Mr. McSwain.”
Jimmy nodded. Trying to fit in. Realizing he was the only one without a badge on him. His was stored inside his office safe. Where he stored his gun, where he stored the Forever Haunt files on his father’s murder. All of that in the past, locked up. Not having one on him didn’t lessen his dedication to this job. Barone trusted him. Sal had manipulated him. Didn’t take away from his ultimate goal. Bringing Wu-Tin to justice. Even if it required him to work alongside Frisano.
“No cause has been determined. But there was a strong scent of an accelerant.”
Frisano nodded. “So, arson.”
“It’s always a possibility. The fire marshal will make the final determination.”
“I appreciate the information. We’ll leave you to your work.”
“One more question,” Jimmy said, stepping forward. Asserting himself. “I heard there was a body.”
The firefighter was visibly troubled by the question. Or maybe the answer.
“I’m not sure I’m able to get into the details of this fire.”
“Which means there was.”
“McSwain,” Frisano said, “let’s leave it alone. We’ll get all the details later. Let’s not get Broughton in trouble for telling things he shouldn’t.”
They started away when Broughton spoke again. “Three. I saw three of them. They didn’t die from the fire.”
“Single bullet wound to the forehead?” Jimmy asked.
“How’d you know?”
He just said, “It’s why we’re here. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
It was time to leave what was now an obvious crime scene, Jimmy and Frisano knowing it would be a while before they had the full results. Didn’t matter. The FDNY and NYPD had their way, a protocol to follow to ensure all rules were followed. Jimmy was not only plain clothes but independent, and as such, he could operate on his own terms.
As he walked down the street, Frisano picked up his pace to catch up to him.
“Jim, what made you ask those questions? What do you know?”
“I just know how Wu-Tin operates. I saw it a couple months ago. When I saw his trusted aide, Kenji, in the same condition. Single bullet, dead in his office at the Imperial Dragon down in Chinatown. What we are dealing with is a megalomaniac, a man with no conscience. He thought nothing of having one of his henchmen try to kill me. When that man failed and hit Mallory instead, you know what happened, right?”
“The henchman was found hanging in a jail cell.”
“Yeah, but he also happened to be Wu-Tin’s son.
Jimmy stopped walking. The two men were approaching the stairs that led up to the Main Street 7 subway line. Jimmy was ready to go home. Today had awakened too much of his past but he still had questions. He and Frisano had covered a lot of territory today. What they had to execute was a plan. What was Frisano’s role in all this? How much decision-making power did he have? What about Jimmy’s? The questions were on his mind, but damn if they weren’t complicated by the presence of the one man he still couldn’t trust.
