NYPD Red 2(70)

“That was over a month ago,” I said. “And he’s willing to talk to us now?”

“He’s lucky he can talk to anyone. He took three bullets the night before last. That’s the delicate part,” she said. “Alma has convinced him to tell us what he knows about the kidnapping, but that’s it. We don’t ask about the shooting, or what connection young Shawn may or may not have had to Tinsdale.”

“The Tin Man was notorious for hiring baby runners,” Kylie said. “You think Shawn worked for him?”

Cates ran two fingers across her lips, zipping them shut.

“Don’t ask; don’t tell,” she said. “I promised Alma that all we care about is finding out what happened to Tinsdale. Those are the ground rules. You got it?”

“Totally,” Kylie said.

“Good,” Cates said. “Shawn’s condition was just upgraded from critical to stable. He’s at Harlem Hospital. Get over there before he changes his mind.”





Chapter 66



Joe Salvi was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the Daily News and sipping his second cup of coffee. There were three cell phones in front of him.

“What are you grinning about?” Teresa said from across the room.

Joe hadn’t realized he was smiling. But that was the way it was whenever he spent time with his goomah. Bernice always made him happy, and last night had been no different. Mama was right. Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest.

Last night, after they made love, Bernice curled up against him and whispered in his ear. “Joe…the sex…”

She let it hang there. He waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

It was a tease. He took the bait. “What about it?” he said.

She nibbled on his ear. “It was age appropriately fantastic.”

He belly-laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. Bernice was the only one who could come up with something like that, much less say it. He had been reliving the moment when Teresa caught him smiling.

One of the cell phones vibrated, neutralizing her curiosity. “Pick it up,” she said, as though maybe he wouldn’t if she weren’t there to give him orders.

He answered. “Good morning.”

The voice on the other end said only one thing. A number.

Salvi repeated it. “You’re sure,” he stated clearly.

The caller knew it was a question. A brief pause, and then Salvi said, “Grazie. Ciao.”

He tossed the phone to his son, who was standing at the sink. Jojo soaked the cell in cold water, then dropped it into the trash masher beneath the counter.

“You found him?” Teresa asked.

“Both of them,” Salvi said. “They work together. Same precinct.”

“So you want me and Tommy Boy to deal with them?” Jojo said.

At the sound of his name, Tommy Boy squared his shoulders and tugged at the sleeves of his Forzieri leather jacket. He was born Tommaso Benito Montanari, the same as his father, so they called him Tommy Boy from birth. Twenty-six years later, he was six feet eight and 275 pounds, but he was still Tommy Boy. His eyes locked in on Papa Joe for an answer to Jojo’s question.

“No,” Salvi said. “We’re not ready to deal with anything. For now, you just follow them, and let me know what they do, where they go.”

“What if they split up?” Jojo said. “Should we take two cars just in case?”

“Two cars?” Joe said. “Good idea. And while you’re at it, get some horses, a brass band, and some of those big fucking balloons. What are you thinking? I said tail them, not start a parade. If they split up, stay with this Gideon. Scope him out and report back to me. But don’t do anything.”

“What if the opportunity presents itself? I could—”

“Did I say anything about opportunity? No. I said, do not do anything. Non fare niente. Niente. You clear on that?”

Jojo looked at Teresa and shrugged.

Salvi caught the exchange. “I don’t give a shit what your mother asked for,” he said. “His head on a silver platter, his balls in a glass jar—I don’t care. I want him and his friend together, and then I’ll decide where we go from there. You clear on that?”

“Yeah, Pop, I’m clear.”

Joe turned to Tommy Boy. “These two you’re following—they’re cops. They got eyes in the back of their heads. So drive smart.”

“Maybe I should take Mrs. Salvi’s car,” Tommy Boy said. “The Buick. It’s beige. It won’t stand out like the Escalade.”

Joe tapped two fingers to his temple. “Now you’re thinking. Get moving.”

The two men went to the garage, and Tommy Boy moved the driver’s seat in the Buick all the way back so he could squeeze in.