Second Shot, page 9
“Frank. Obviously, there’s something going on here behind the scenes. Your father knows more than he’s saying.”
“I’m going to infiltrate Wu-Tin’s operation. He doesn’t know me. He won’t suspect.”
“And me? Let me guess. I’m the bait.”
“He knows you.”
“Wu-Tin wants me dead.”
“He won’t succeed.”
“You’re my savior?”
It was a double-edged phrase, brutal in tone. They both paused and they stared at each other and it was almost like when they’d first met, when both knew of their attraction to each other but denied what was transpiring. Until it exploded. Into passion, into drama, into regret and hope and every emotion to be found along the spectrum. But this wasn’t about them. It was business. Serious business. Based on the fact three bodies had been found at the warehouse, it was life and death.
A subway rattled into the station high above them. Drowning out even their silence. Jimmy wished he could have made that train.
“We’ll alternate days, Jim. The idea is to put the pressure on Wu-Tin. To let him know he’s under surveillance. It’s an aggressive approach but the commissioner and mayor have requested that we bring down this criminal empire. It’s my chance to regain my job, my reputation, with the force.”
“And me?”
“The NYPD did your family wrong. You showed us up.”
“So now they want to make it up to me by making me kill bait for a mass killer?”
“If they didn’t think you could handle it, they wouldn’t have asked.”
“This was your idea.”
“A collaborative decision. Barone trusts you. My father likes you.”
“And you?”
“I think you already know the answer to that. I screwed up. I was screwed up.”
Jimmy didn’t have a response. Rare for him. Sometimes the heart hurt so much the brain failed to work. He waited for something more. Anything more.
Frisano took a step forward, closing the space between them. Jimmy could feel his breath, his heat. Jimmy closed his eyes, trying to block Frisano out. But it didn’t work. Frisano lived inside him, the good, the bad, the sexy.
“So, Jim, you think we have a chance?”
He opened his eyes now. “At defeating Mr. Wu-Tin? Yes.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He reached out a hand, just as he’d done at the restaurant. Jimmy this time deflecting it.
“Never an easy answer, but I think you know.” It hurt him to say it. But he had to. “No.”
Chapter 6
The usual Monday dinner the McSwain’s shared had been pushed back a couple of days. With the new show in previews, Ma and Meaghan had Monday performances, not an unusual practice on Broadway. Which gave Jimmy a free night.
But he still sought out family.
“Jimmy, you look like you just lost your best friend.”
Had he?
Not exactly lost. More like forced to work with him.
“Uncle Paddy, it’s been an unlikely start to this month. It’s like I lit up a billboard when I came back to the city last week. Open for business. Two cases hitting my workload in one day.”
Paddy slid a Guinness his way.
“On the house,” he said.
“Paddy, you never charge me.”
“Consider this one freer.” He stood before his nephew. “You could say no to the cases.”
“Actually, I can’t. One of the cases involves Mallory’s firm.”
“Got it. Obligation and history. Plus, they probably pay well. Maybe I should charge you.” With a smile, Paddy grabbed a cloth and wiped down the bar. There was no need. It was just habit. Taking cases was Jimmy’s habit. Birds of a feather. “And this other case?”
“NYPD.”
“Ah. Your favorite. Sounds complicated already.”
“Worse than it sounds. But it also has to do with Mallory.” Jimmy took a deep drink of his Guinness and then told his uncle the backstory. Wu-Tin’s return, Barone reaching out to him, Sal’s ambush, and complicating matters, the resurgence of Frank Frisano into Jimmy’s life. The conflict he felt over where his loyalties lay. It wasn’t an easy negotiation within himself.
“Gone are the halcyon days of this past summer.”
“It was nice. But I’m only thirty-one. I don’t suppose I can retire yet.”
Paddy laughed. “Kid, not only can you not retire from your job, you can’t from life.”
Telling words from a man with a bitter ex-wife and a dead son. “Bartender’s philosophy?”
He patted Jimmy’s hand. “Uncle’s intuition. Next one is on me, too.”
With that, Paddy moved on to serve customers who actually helped pay the bills. Jimmy sat and watched him in action, admiring how devoted his uncle was. To his job, to his customers, and of course, to his family. Hester had raised two amazing children, Paddy, and of course, Maggie. Both were strong and set positive examples. They used words but they also used their eyes. Jimmy was wise to not only respect them but to absorb the wisdom they imparted. He sipped at his beer. The bitterness of the dark brew helped soften his mood. Let the beer play the bitter role. Let him see the other side of brightness.
So, he sat. He thought. It had been a long day. A complicated day. It wasn’t all about having seen Frisano. The real focus was on Wu-Tin and what he was doing. Shutting down or regrouping? Either had repercussions. The former meant he was planning his escape, his own extradition after cleaning up loose ends. The latter meant he was reorganizing, heightening his presence and empire, and that could have dangerous results in the long run. It meant death to whomever interfered with his greed.
Jimmy thought about how Frisano had presented the case. He would investigate, secretly.
As opposed to Jimmy, who would expose himself to the criminal’s wrath.
He’d survived once.
He hoped he would again. The Fortune’s Enemy case didn’t have the legacy of the Forever Haunt case, but it certainly struck a chord deep within him. Anything to do with his family, Jimmy stepped up. His father had left them when Jimmy was fourteen. Since then he’d assumed a role as the leader of the McSwain clan. Not entirely true, because Maggie McSwain was no pushover. It was more a responsibility he felt within himself than anything that had ever been spoken of.
He didn’t realize he’d finished his beer.
A second one was already waiting for him.
“Thanks, Paddy.”
“Sleeping upstairs?”
“Yeah.” And alone. He’d heard nothing today from Brenden. That was fine. Too much of the day had been about Frisano.
Just then a man approached the seat next to him. “This seat taken?”
“It is now,” Jimmy said. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Kind of you, Mr. McSwain.”
Jimmy put his glass down. Turned to look at the new arrival. Did Jimmy know him? And if not, why did he know Jimmy?
It only took two seconds for him to put one of two names to the man before him. Because it was the ears that were the tell, big and floppy, earlobes like rubber. His frame tall, lanky, almost sickly. From what he’d learned already, this man was closing in on seventy years old and was sitting on an inheritance worth millions. Which was why it surprised Jimmy to find this guest at Paddy’s Pub on Ninth Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. A far cry from Westchester. An effort had been made to seek him out.
“Mr. Portnoy,” Jimmy said.
“Becs said you were astute.”
“That’s just a fancy word for street smart.”
“Ha. I already like you.”
“I’d like to like you, too, except I don’t know which one you are. Whichever twin you are, you have an air for the dramatic. Though so does your brother. You remember him? In a coma up at Hammondsworth?”
Rather than answer the question, the man used evasive measures. He waved to Paddy, then ordered a martini and waited until the drink had been served before anything else happened. A sip and a sigh, contentment.
“You visited Becs.”
“I was hired by her law firm. It has lots of names.”
“As they tend to.”
Jimmy took a sip of his beer. Watched as his companion took a similar sip.
“So, who is sitting beside me?”
“Who do you think it is?”
“Considering I’ve never met either of you, I couldn’t say.”
“You visited one of us at Hammondsworth.”
“That’s a rather coy statement. And not very revealing. Is there a purpose to this visit?”
“I wanted to meet you. There’s a lot of money at stake and it might all be decided by your investigation. Our father was a nasty man, held the family fortune in a trust, dispersing money on a monthly basis. Not releasing the full fortune until we turned seventy. Assuming we were both still alive, all the money goes to the first born.”
“You’re twins. You share the same birthday.”
“But one of us came out first.”
He still hadn’t said which twin he was. “Look, Mr. Portnoy, I was hired by Rebecca, and anything I learn, I’ll tell her. I only provide information, facts. Others make the hard decisions.”
“You’re an interesting fellow, Jimmy McSwain.”
“Thanks. I’ve been called worse.”
“I feel like I’m in a film. Your dialogue is classic.”
“Except it’s real life. And death.” Jimmy stared at the man a good thirty seconds without either speaking a word. “You still haven’t told me which one you are.”
“I’m Charles Portnoy. Chaz to my friends.”
“Okay. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Portnoy.”
“Chaz. I insist.”
To reinforce the idea of his identity? “That means we’re friends?”
“We can be. Your choice. It’s rather a simple case, Jimmy. That portly Streb needs to sign off on my inheritance. He’s the holder of the trust. It’s you who can prove I deserve it.”
“And you can of course back up your identity?”
“Shall I take out my driver’s license?”
“I’m not that gullible.”
The martini drained, the supposed Chaz Portnoy ordered another, insisted Jimmy join him in a second round. Jimmy thought he should keep his wits about him, but he also knew that to refuse the offer would lessen any trust building between them. There was something about men, drinks, and confessions that created a bond. You couldn’t have one without the other. Fresh martini served, Guinness before Jimmy, the two of them clinked glasses. What the toast was went unspoken.
“Let me tell you a story, Jimmy. About life as a twin. Do you know the difference between identical twins?”
“Can’t say I have experience with the subject. Till now.”
“There is no difference. Some parents embrace it. Dress their kids alike. It’s ridiculous.”
“You didn’t like having a second half?
“Oh, my brother Baz and I sure had fun being twins back in the day, as the saying goes. Our mother, she insisted we never dress the same. I guess it was her way of telling us apart. Except we would run back upstairs before leaving for school and switch clothes. It was a game to us.”
“A game still?”
“You’re suspicious of me, aren’t you?”
“Mostly I’m wondering how you knew to find me here at my uncle’s pub.”
“Streb’s associate. A boy named Hendricks, I think you met him. He knew this place.”
Well, he knew the room upstairs. Jimmy wondered just how much was known. Would that night jeopardize his integrity? He had slept with his client. If discovered, it wouldn’t reflect well on him and might cause the partners to question Jimmy’s conclusion, even if he found one. He wondered for a moment whether Brenden might be in on a bigger conspiracy and had used him. The Second Shot case, as he had dubbed it, was taking on new dimensions. Darker ones.
“Mr. Hendricks is my direct contact. But I haven’t spoken to him in a couple days. Another case took up my time.”
“You’re a busy man.”
“I’m a determined one.”
“Indeed you are. I’ve learned of your father’s case.”
Jimmy bristled. He drank. He didn’t like this. “Mr. Portnoy, what can I do for you?”
“I’m having a small dinner party this coming Saturday night. Becs and I are hosting.”
“And I guess I’m getting a personal invitation.”
“In truth, you’re going to be a witness.”
“To what?”
“I have a notary public coming over to ascertain that I am, indeed, Charles Portnoy and that the man at the Hammondsworth Institute is my brother, Baz. Poor soul, it’s not looking good for him. Could be a matter of days.”
“I would think you’d need a DNA test over a notary.”
Portnoy sniffed at that. “Legal overrides medical. Especially when it comes to twins.”
Jimmy had met both brothers. He’d preferred the comatose one.
Portnoy drained his drink and rose from his seat. Smoothed his suit jacket, which Jimmy noticed for the first time. Fancy, pricey. Like a costume. He’d been around the Broadway world enough to know he’d just seen a command performance. Rehearsed on Portnoy’s part, improvised on Jimmy’s. Which would ensure mixed reviews. He held back his applause.
“I wish you a good evening, Jimmy. I trust I’ll see you next Saturday at the house?”
“Should I bring a date?”
He grinned, Cheshire-like. “Oh, my boy, you already had one that went well. So, why deny yourself a second?”
Jimmy wasn’t going to let him get the last word in, not that way.
“You know what I think the difference is between twins?”
That made Portnoy pause. “Oh, do tell.”
“Personality,” he said. “Their character.”
“I assume you’re making a point here?”
“Usually one is nice, one is not.” He, too, finished his drink. “I think I know which one you are.”
* * * *
Jimmy couldn’t sleep. Even staring at the ceiling didn’t bore him enough. It was three twenty-two. Then three twenty-three…four. Some nights proved endless. And his insomnia was not because of his enigmatic encounter with whichever Portnoy twin he’d met tonight, more so because of the lingering suspicion their conversation had raised about what had happened between himself and Brenden.
Streb was the point man. Was Brenden a plant?
Get the cute guy to manipulate the gay guy? To what end?
Jimmy felt empty. Which of course led him to thoughts of Frisano.
Here’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Send a text after two. He was long past that hour. Thankfully, his phone was charging on his desk across the room of his studio. Temptation required getting up off the sofa. Four beers said stay put. He had talked with Paddy some, had that final beer, then made his way upstairs. He’d promptly fallen asleep. Until now.
Stretched out on the sofa, Jimmy closed his eyes and tried to summon sleep. He gave up after ten minutes and then got up anyway. The studio was dark, a hint of streetlight filtering through the blinds. He went over, lifted the blind, stared out the window. There were still people milling about on a darkened Ninth Avenue. Of course there were. This was Manhattan. Jimmy watching it play out in real time. A city that never sleeps tends to claim its victims during the dark hours.
Strange emotions found Jimmy. Maybe it was because of what he’d experienced with Frisano. A realization of what he’d lost. What they had lost. How, as good as the sex had been with Brenden, it wasn’t the heart’s needs that was that night’s focus.
He padded across the floor, made his way toward the small metal safe he kept in the closet. There were three items he kept there. All important. All representing the darkness and lightness of his life. He turned the dial, the code his father’s birthday. Not his death day. There were different ways to remember someone. Best to remember when they arrived in the world than when they left it. The lock clicked open. The door opened. The past exposed.
First Jimmy removed the thick file for the Forever Haunt case. He read it often. It was the history of his father’s life. All that he’d strived for. All he’d achieved. Dedicated to law, justice, truth, important ideals that Joseph McSwain had instilled in his son. Now it was Jimmy’s job to pass that on to his father’s grandson and namesake. He thought of young Joey and wished he was back at the apartment now. Walls closing in on the studio, he knew it was just a reaction to the late hour.
He put the file back. He reached for something else.
The badges. He kept them together in soft pouches locked in a metal tin. They were linked, more than a brotherhood. A fatherhood, a blue line of hope and sadness. He took hold of the older one, rubbed a rough finger on it. Felt its heat, even today…tonight. Aside from his family, Joseph McSwain’s pride and joy was putting on the badge each and every day, walking the streets of his city, knowing that his actions deterred the bad from turning worse. His duty, protect the innocent. Growing up, Jimmy had idolized not only the man but the job. Then one morning it all changed. Half of his life he’d spent mourning his father, challenging others, determined to find answers. He’d accomplished his goal and now he was transitioning to a new existence. Yet the NYPD was never far away. Not only because of the Wu-Tin case, not only because of Frisano. It had more to do with that other badge, the one he now took out its own secure pouch.
A number that could have defined him—9715. Going through the academy, he’d excelled. He was told he had potential, real opportunity, except for a certain defiant edge that didn’t sit well with superiors. The brass. The pencil-pushers. To work a beat, to wear the uniform and walk the streets just as his father had would have been history repeating itself, a tradition given new life. What if Jimmy hadn’t been gay? If he had a wife, a son or daughter, they would keep the McSwain legacy intact. That’s not what happened. A lone, fatal bullet had changed the course of their family history.
And in the process, had changed Jimmy’s trajectory.
Except he couldn’t loosen his hold from the NYPD.
