I was re-arranging my clothes, thanking God that Ranger had not stumbled across us, as Joe and I exited the stairwell into the lobby.
I was surprised to find Tank was still standing at parade rest in front of the elevator. Ranger hadn't come down yet. I was afraid Tank may had heard us, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he had called Ranger to warn him. I felt my cheeks burning.
As we climbed into the Camaro, I turned to Joe. "We need donuts."
"Tasty Pastry it is," he said, turning the engine over and pulling out of the lot.
Since the wedding, I had needed relatively few donuts and Tastykakes. I hadn't been stalked, shot at, blown up, or assaulted in weeks. But the emotional ups and downs over the past few days with Terri and Ranger had me turning to the bakery for comfort once again.
Joe and I split a half dozen Boston cremes. I was biting into my third donut, and feeling a little better, when my cell phone rang. It was Dave Nelson.
"Hey," I said.
"We're all set for tomorrow. There will not be a viewing, just a funeral service beginning at 1:00 p.m.," Dave said.
"How did Scooter's work turn out?" I was curious to know.
"Um, he's still working. He won't let me see until he's done, so I don't know yet. We have the announcement in today's paper, and it will run again tomorrow. But we need you to get the gossip started on the Burg grapevine. I'll leave you to it," Dave said, and he disconnected.
"That was Dave," I told Joe. "The funeral is tomorrow at 1:00."
I dialed my parent's house. Grandma answered on the third ring.
"Stephanie, I'm so glad you called." She sounded excited.
"You want a ride to the funeral tomorrow," I assumed.
"You betcha. To think that fella you found at that weenie roast fire had been down there all those years. I can't wait to get a look at him."
I cringed. "Yeah, about that. You know it will be a closed casket," I told her. If Grandma thought she had permission, it would take all the fun out of prying the lid up.
"That's a gyp!" she complained. "How do we know he's really in there? He won't weigh anything."
"He'll be in there. Dave and Scooter wouldn't put an empty casket in front of all those people."
"But, how do you know if you aren't allowed to look?"
"Have you been down to Clara's?" I already knew the answer.
"Sure. I stopped in this morning for a quick wash and set. I want to look good in case I'm caught by photographers. It's bound to be in the papers."
I was sure of that. I could already imagine the headline, "More Mazur Mayhem at the Mortuary".
There was a beep on the line. "There's another call. The phone's been ringing off the hook all morning," Grandma said excitedly. The grapevine didn't need priming. It was working like a well oiled machine.
"I'll pick you up at noon," I told her.
"I'll be ready," Grandma promised, disconnecting.
I was on my last donut when my cell phone rang again. It was Ranger.
"Yo," I answered, hoping I didn't sound as anxious as I felt.
"Yo," he said. There was silence for a beat. "I hear there's a funeral tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"I also heard something about you being a gold digger," he said. I could hear him smiling.
"Where did you hear that?" I asked. If someone had leaked the story about the treasure, we would have to act fast.
"Three guesses."
"Barnhardt."
"Got it in one," he said.
This friendly banter seemed reassuring all of a sudden. But, what about Joe and Terry. If I thought Joe was going to have on-going friendly phone calls with Terry, I would lose my mind. I looked over at Joe. He was watching me, curious to know who I was talking to.
"Were there details to this story?" I asked.
"You found a treasure map on the body, and you've been running around town with a metal detector."
"No on the treasure map. Yes on the metal detector," I told him.
"Does that mean there is a treasure?" he pressed.
"Gotta go," I said, and disconnected.
Wherever he was, I knew Ranger was smiling. I could feel it.
"Ranger," I said, in answer to Joe's questioning look. "He heard about Barnhardt's treasure map theory."
My cell phone rang again. It was Ranger.
"Yo," I said.
"You hung up on me," he said. "Don't."
I blew out a sigh. "Was there something else?"
"Yeah. You should know better than to play games with me, Babe."
"Who, me?"
"And you better be able to bring DeChooch in without Rangeman assistance this time."
"Not a problem," I told him, full of false bravado. It was a second later before I remembered I hadn't told Ranger we were working the O'Brien case.
I sensed the smile at the other end. "Later." And he disconnected.
I looked over at Joe. He didn't look angry.
"If Terry was calling you, I think I'd lose my mind," I admitted.
Joe took my hand in his. "I won't lie. Part of me will always love Terry. But, she would destroy us if she could. I can't allow that. There's no respect there."
He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not crazy about Ranger. I know he'll always love you. Part of me hates that. Part of me understands that. I even pity him sometimes."
Joe held my hand to his lips, kissing my ring. "I trust you, Stephanie Morelli, even if I can't trust Ranger."
A tear rolled down my cheek.
"Do you miss Terry?" I asked.
"Not when I'm with you. And I plan to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. So, no. I don't think I'm going to have a chance to miss Terry."
I wanted to say I didn't miss Ranger, but it would be a lie.
"I know you miss him," he said softly. "I'll do my best to keep your mind off Ranger."
But I'll never forget about Ranger, I thought to myself, knowing it was true.
"Why aren't you angry?" I asked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "You're mine, and we both know it. I guess I don't mind making him jealous."
"That's not very nice of you," I said.
"You weren't very nice yourself," he said, referring to my most recent performance.
"No, I wasn't," I agreed, feeling ashamed of myself.
"It made me jealous," he admitted, kissing my fingertips slowly, making me melt.
"I noticed," I said, breathlessly.
"But you're not going to be working with Ranger again," he said firmly.
"I know," I agreed.
"I would like nothing more than to take you home right now, but we need a payday. We have to get serious about finding O'Brien."
"If we want to find O'Brien, we need to find DeChooch," I said, pulling my fingers away from Joe's.
He leaned back in his seat, turning the engine over, and pulling into traffic.
"Ok, let's work the case," he said, putting his cop face on. "DeChooch is on the lam. Someone has to be hiding him. It's time to start shaking the tree and see what falls out."
We were cruising down Hamilton, right past the bonds office. Joyce's car was out front. We pulled into the space right in front of her, and got out.
"What are we doing at the bond's office?" I asked.
"We're visiting Mary Maggie Mason."
DeChooch used to be part owner of The Snake Pit, the night club where Mary Maggie used to work as a mud wrestler. Much to my surprise, she was not only athletically gifted, she was a bookworm. She saved up her winnings and opened a specialty book store next door to the bonds office. It was her white caddy that DeChooch left sitting on the railroad tracks.
Joe and I entered the book shop, making the little cows bell over the door chime, announcing our presence. Mary Maggie rose from a bean bag in the reading nook.
"Well, if it isn't Morelli and Morelli," she said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She was eyeing Joe when the word pleasure rolled off her tongue. I rolled my eyes.
"The usual," I groaned.
"You're looking for DeChooch, again," she guessed.
"Of course."
"Have you seen him?" Joe asked in his no-nonsense cop voice.
"No, I haven't seen him."
"Is there someone else we should be asking?" Joe's voice was forceful, insinuating that she knew more than she was saying.
"You're not a cop anymore, Morelli. You can't hold aiding and abetting or hindering a police investigation over my head this time. Do me a favor, and leave me out of it, okay?"
"Have you heard from Pinwheel Soba or Dave Vincent, his former partners at The Snake Pit?" Joe continued questioning.
"No. I don't work there anymore. But I don't think they would be helping DeChooch after he tore up Pinwheel's house like it was target practice."
I didn't think so either. This felt like a dead end.
We returned to the car, not surprised to find Joyce sitting behind the wheel of her own vehicle, ready to follow us.
I rolled my eyes. Joe just grinned and got in.
"Where to now?" I asked.
"We'll try his nephew, Ronald DeChooch."
I gave an involuntary shiver. Ronald hit on me and sent me flowers the last time I was looking for DeChooch. His idea of poetry wasn't any better than Joe's. That is to say, I've heard more romantic limericks.
We pulled up in front of Ronald's house, but his car was gone. So, we drove to Ace Pavers down on Front Street, near the river. True to form, he was in the back room, playing cards with Benny Colucchi and Ziggy Garvey. Benny and Ziggy were aged members of Eddie DeChooch's social club. They all looked up, surprised to see me and Joe entering the room.
"Hey, it's Stephanie and Joe Morelli. Private dicks, eh?" Ronald announced with a rude laugh.
Benny laughed, making his many rows of chins dance like Jell-O. "You aren't after Eddie again, are ya?"
"I hope not," Ziggy said, equally amused. "'Cause you ain't gonna find him."
"Why's that?" Joe asked, taking the lead on this one.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Ronald said in an oily voice. Wise guys.
"Why don't you just leave Choochie alone. Haven't you put him through enough?" Ziggy whined, looking at me.
"Me?" I was almost yelling. "What I put him through? Are you serious?. What about what he put me through?"
I started towards Ziggy, but Joe held his arm out, pressing me back behind him, reigning me in. This got another laugh from Benny, so I gave him my Burg death glare.
"You fellas sure seem to know a lot," Joe said, pulling up a chair. "You gonna deal me in?"
"You think you're gonna win a few hands and get some information out of us," Ronald assumed, "But it ain't happening. Not today. Not ever."
"Actually, I was just going to try to make rent," Joe admitted.
"What you got to start with?" Benny asked.
Joe pulled out his wallet and tossed $50 on the table. My eyes were wide. I knew that was the last of our gas money, but I didn't say anything. I just stood behind Joe's chair, watching.
"Well, now...give the man some chips," Ronald said to Benny.
Twenty minutes later, Joe was sitting on $500 in chips, and Benny was breaking out in a sweat. Little beads of perspiration were making the long trip down his chins to his shirt collar.
"Cash me in," Joe said, handing his chips to Benny. "Gotta go."
"Hey, now, you know you can't do that. You gotta give us a chance to break even, here."
"No I don't. I told you when I sat down here I was playing to make rent. So, give me my rent money," Joe said, forcing the chips into Benny's hand.
"We don't keep that kind of dough around here," Benny said.
"You do if you're gonna play poker in the Burg," Joe said, unfazed. "Don't you even think about messing with me, Colucci." The words were there, but true menace was missing from his voice.
"Now, here's the thing," Ronald said. "We don't like non-members coming in here thinking they can make the rules in OUR social club. You get me?"
Joe rose out of his seat and got right in Ronald's face.
"The Burg won't take kindly to your social club giving it a bad name. And neither will Anthony Thumbs." The name dropped like a ton of bricks.
"You wouldn't dare," Ziggy breathed. I thought I could hear his bony knees knocking under the table.
"You bet your ass I would," Joe said, still in Ronald's face. "And since this is technically your establishment, I expect the first visit will be paid to you. It'll be sort of like an IRS audit, from what I hear."
"You really play hard ball, don't ya, Morelli?" Ronald croaked. "OK, ok. Everybody calm down. We all know what you want. Information."
"No. I want my $500," Joe assured him. "You don't know where DeChooch is any more than I do."
"Sure we do. We just ain't telling," he said.
"Whatever. I don't care. Cash in my chips, or take your chances."
Ronald swallowed and looked over at Ziggy. Ziggy shook his head 'no'.
"Now you're really gambling," I said, making everyone stop and stare at me. I couldn't help it. I didn't know where it came from. But it seemed to have taken the edge off Joe's well orchestrated tension. Damn.
Ronald let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, you had me going there for a minute, Morelli. I almost believed you would do it."
Joe stood. "Last chance."
"We'll just keep that $50 as a cover charge," Ronald told him, standing. He was trying to stare Joe down, but he was coming up about four inches short.
Ziggy and Benny were surreptitiously reaching for their guns.
"You really gonna shoot us?" Joe asked, not believing it for a second. I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. I'd seen that DeChooch had done to Loretta Ricci, and I thought these guys might be just about crazy enough to do it. Sure, they'd regret it later, but a fat lot of good that would do us.
"Come on, Joe," I said, tugging his sleeve.
"I'll be collecting that $500, and the whereabouts of DeChooch," Joe warned them. He slung an arm around my neck. "We'll be back in an hour," he said, as we headed out the door.
We got back in the car, and Joe pulled away from the curb.
"Sorry," I said.
"Don't worry about it. They'll pay up."
"Are you really going to call Anthony Thumbs?" I asked, not sure.
Everyone in Trenton knew Anthony Thumbs. He was the head of the Trenton Mafia, head of The Family. What I knew about him personally came from Connie. She heard things from her uncle, Bingo, who was quite a bit more closely related to Anthony than Morelli or I were. That is to say, we were not at all related.
"Give Connie a call," he said, rounding a corner.
I dialed, and Connie picked up after a couple rings.
"Stephanie. I heard about the funeral tomorrow. You're going to be there, right?"
"Right."
"Are you in charge of Edna?"
"Yep."
"I knew it!" she squealed.
"That's actually not why I called," I told her.
"Really? What's up?"
"Uh," I looked to Joe. "Not sure, exactly." I turned to Joe. "I have Connie on the phone. Did you want to talk to her?"
"See if Bingo can give Ronald a call. I think that'll be enough to scare him."
I looked at Joe for a beat. "What does Bingo do for Anthony?"
"Ask Connie," he said, grinning. He knew. He just wasn't going to tell me.
I blew out a sigh and put my ear back to the phone.
"Joe and I were just over at Ace Pavers looking for Eddie DeChooch. We think he's responsible for Judge O'Brien's disappearance."
"That's a no brainer. Are you getting paid for this one?" she asked.
"We will if we can locate O'Brien," I told her.
"And?"
"And Joe got into a poker game with Ronald DeChooch, Benny Colucci, and Ziggy Garvey. He was in for $50, and ended up with $500. But they won't pay up. Joe told them he would report them to the local gaming board."
"What local gaming board?"
"Anthony Thumbs."
Connie let out a low whistle. "Oh, that gaming board."
"Yeah."
"So, what's the favor?"
"Joe thought maybe your Uncle Bingo would get a kick out of calling down there and putting the fear of God into Ronald."
I could hear Connie snort and then laugh. "I'm sure he'd like nothing better. As long as you're not actually asking me to get Anthony Thumbs involved."
"No, I don't think that will be necessary."
"Good. 'Cause it ain't gonna happen. That is not a man you want to annoy with petty problems. He tends to end annoyances by ending the cause of the annoyance, if you get my drift."
"Got it," I said, squelching a grimace. "What does Bingo do for the family, anyway?" I almost forgot to ask.
"Oh, you know...a little of this, a little of that."
"You could tell me, but you'd have to kill me?" I suggested.
"Not me."
"But someone close to you?" I surmised.
"Don't be a stranger," she said, and disconnected.
"She's calling Bingo," I said.
Joe was pulling up to the Catholic church on Roebling. This was the church DeChooch shot up while he was drinking in the sanctuary with Father Carolli.
"We're going to interrogate a priest?" I asked, feeling a little panicked. My mother was going to kill me.
"You're married to me now. You don't have to answer to your mother. And don't start with me about the pineapple upside-down cake. She's been threatening to cut you off for years. It's a hollow threat." Joe gave me a quick peck on the cheek and got out.
I took a deep breath and got out of the car, following Joe up the sidewalk and up the stairs. A deep feeling of dread was building in the pit of my stomach. I thought I could hear the orchestra in the background building tension, sort of like in a horror movie, when everyone in the theater starts yelling at the dumb college girl on the screen. I felt like I should run. That would be the smart thing. But I just couldn't. It felt wimpy.
So, I followed Joe inside. I paused to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. There were candles flickering, and I could see Father Carolli's distinct shape snoozing in the confessional. He had left the door open to get some air, it seemed.
Joe sat me in the back row and proceeded to the confessional, taking his place inside and closing the door loudly enough to rouse Carolli. Carolli sat up and shut the door. I made the sign of the cross, since I forgot when I came in. Then I did it again. I was worried that Joe might be about to incur the wrath of Father Carolli.
I didn't hear anything. I waited for the sound of astonishment or angry yelling, but nothing happened. I fidgeted in my seat. I looked through a hymnal. I gazed at the ceiling and took in the art work. I noted the fine restoration job done on the portrait of Jesus. DeChooch had winged him in the knee. I wondered if DeChooch had said all the Hail Mary's Father Carolli had intended to order as penance. Probably not.
I felt the orchestra ratcheting up a few more notches when I heard the church door open behind me. The light spilled in, and an elongated silhouette flashed across the carpet in the aisle before the door shut. There was no doubt. Joyce Barnhardt was approaching. The staccato of the cellos in my head became urgent.
Joyce's spike heeled boots were silenced by the carpet, or the echo in the sanctuary would have been shocking.
"What do you want?" I spat.
"Move over," she insisted, bossy as ever. She slid into the pew beside me, nudging me over.
"Why are you following us?" I asked her.
"You know why."
"There's no treasure map," I said. I wasn't fibbing. There was no map.
"You're in church. Are you going to lie, in church?" she asked, appraising me.
"I'm not lying," I insisted.
"Sure you are."
"You bugged both our cars. We were having you on. Get a clue," I said, rolling my eyes at her.
"I saw you running around the park with a metal detector."
"Yeah, but you didn't see me digging, did you?"
"You will, as soon as you find the treasure."
"Joyce, we knew you bugged the cars," I repeated slowly, hoping she'd get it this time.
"So, there's no treasure?" she asked, pointedly.
She was daring me to say that there wasn't. Yikes. How to answer that...in church.
"There is no treasure buried in Cadwalader Park." There. Not lying.
"Fine. So, where is it?" Joyce said. She knew me too well.
Joe finally emerged from the confessional, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed Joyce sitting beside me and made a bee-line for us with long strides.
"This isn't over," Joyce said, retreating.
It is for now, I thought.
"Everything okay?" Joe asked.
I nodded.
"What did Joyce want?"
"The usual."
"You didn't lie in church, did you?"
"Who me?" I smiled at the concerned look on his face. "No. I told her there was absolutely, unequivocally, no buried treasure at Cadwalader Park."
This got a smile out of him.
"Come on, Cupcake. We struck out with Father Carolli. Let's swing by DeChooch's house. Maybe you can get the goods from Angela Marguchi."
Angela Marguchi was DeChooch's next door neighbor. She was like the bionic woman, with Teflon coated, stainless steel hips and knees that would last a lot longer than she would. She was rail thin, with thinning hair, and thin lips that always held a cigarette.
We rolled up with Joyce on our bumper. I got out and strolled up to Angela's front door. A gray cat came running up on the porch as I knocked. Angela could be heard in side, turning down the television and ambling over to the door. She wasn't surprised when the cat raced inside. She looked to the curb, taking in Joe and Joyce sitting there waiting for me.
"You got a permit for that parade?" she asked.
I nodded, smiling. "How's it going?"
"You know. Same ol', same ol'. Been quiet around here without you. Your grandma is having to resort to making up stories."
"What kind of stories?" I asked. She had my attention.
"She says you were cooking weenies on the river bank. The fire got out of control and the fire department came to put it out. But the hoses broke through the dirt, and you found a skeleton. And now they're having a funeral for the skeleton at Stiva's. No one knows who this guy is, but the whole Burg is invited. Isn't that the dumbest story you've ever heard? She made that up, right?"
I had never known Angela to talk this long. Her cigarette was dancing up and down, up and down, and I couldn't take my eyes off it. It was like it was glued to her lip. It defied gravity.
"No, she's right. I did find a skeleton. And the funeral is tomorrow."
Her eyes grew wide. "Get out," she said. She took a long drag, reconsidering. "Do you think it will be a good turn out?"
"Probably. But that isn't why I'm here. I was hoping you might have seen Eddie."
"DeChooch? Maybe you're the one cracking up," she said, looking me up and down. "Hun, you're the one who put him away."
"He's out," I told her.
"Say what?" Her eyes were wide. "No. Someone would have told me."
"He hasn't been out long."
"They let him out?"
"No, he broke out."
This got her laughing. "Yeah, right. That blind old geezer broke out of the state pen. I don't think so." She started coughing and laughing at the same time. Smoker's cough. "You're just like your grandma. Always telling whoppers."
"No, seriously. DeChooch escaped," I said, as Angela went back inside, presumably for a drink of water. She closed the door behind her.
I walked back to the car.
"That didn't go so well," I said to Joe. "She didn't believe me that DeChooch escaped."
"It is kind of hard to believe," he agreed.
"How did an octogenarian get loose from the state pen?" I asked.
"The Chief didn't know when we talked. If he'd heard something, he probably would have called."
"If you were in prison, how would you get out?" I asked Joe.
Since Joe had almost been sent to prison for murder once, I figured he'd actually spent a little time thinking about this particular scenario.
"Most people don't break out on their own. It takes orchestration. It takes money and connections, usually from the outside as well as inside."
"What connections does DeChooch have to make a prison break happen?" I wondered.
"The family usually uses their attorneys to pass messages to other prisoners on the inside," he mused.
"DeChooch is kind of part of the family," I said.
I was remembering the fiasco caused when DeChooch cut Mickey D's heart out of his dead corpse because he misunderstood Anthony Thumbs. Anthony had ordered DeChooch to, "Bring the fart to me." DeChooch heard, "Bring the heart to me." He was practically deaf as well as blind. And he had to take a whiz every five minutes due to prostate trouble. This was not a guy capable of executing a time-sensitive plan, let alone remembering what the plan was.
"If the family were going to send an attorney in to help orchestrate an escape, who would they use?"
Joe thought about it for a few minutes. We were on our way back to Ace Pavers.
"I would use Ryan Perin. He's not exactly reliable, but he's easy to buy."
Everyone knew Ryan Perin was a coke-head. How he had managed to keep his license was a mystery.
"I thought he would be disbarred like Sy Bernstein by now," I said.
"Well, Sy was greedy. That was a little different," Joe said slowly, obviously having a realization.
"What?" I asked as we rolled to a stop in front of Ace Pavers.
"In a minute," he said, getting out and marching into the office.
I was on his heels, not surprised to see $500 cash being shoved into Morelli's outstretched palm by Ronald.
"Here's your money. Now go. Get out!" he yelled.
"And the information," Joe insisted.
"You should know," he said meaningfully.
"Maybe I just want to hear it from you." Joe's tone was urgent and demanding.
We were all aware that "never" had just arrived.
"Fine. You're the big man. You win," Ronald ranted.
I noticed that Benny and Ziggy had fled the scene, leaving Ronald high and dry. I worked hard not to crack a smile. Ronald was sweating profusely. I could only imagine what that call from Bingo had entailed.
"First, who broke DeChooch out?" Joe asked.
"Anthony," he said, simply.
"Why?" Joe asked, making the question sound rhetorical. I knew he was just fishing, but he was good.
"Because Eddie DeChooch is family."
"And?" Joe pressed.
"He'd made his point, alright?" Ronald was angry and pacing, wiping his brow with his shirt sleeve.
"And what was the point, Ronald?" Joe asked, rapping smartly on the table top to get Ronald's attention.
"That if Choochie hadn't disgraced the family, he would have had a lawyer. He would have had his day in court, and he would be home free right now."
"But he's not at home, is he?"
"No!" Ronald yelled back at Joe, getting more and more agitated.
"Because?"
"He's out! I know! You know! Everyone knows. And now I'm the same as out, thanks to you!" The implication was clear. DeChooch had been released from prison, but he had been disowned by the family. Anthony Thumbs wasn't hiding DeChooch, and neither was the Burg. No one would. Not even Ronald.
"Remember that next time you want to play games with the big boys," Joe told him, tapping the wad of cash on the table top before turning to leave.
I shuffled out the door ahead of him, and we walked smartly back to the car and got in. Joe revved the engine and chirped the tires taking off. Testosterone, I smiled, rolling my eyes just a little. Then again, Joe was kind of hot when he acted like that. It was a little exciting.
"You know what happened," I presumed.
"I have a hunch. We need to pay a call on Sy Bernstein before DeChooch has a chance to warn him." Joe stepped on the gas, blowing through back streets instead of going down the main drag.
"He's probably already calling him," I said.
"He's not thinking straight. And he hasn't realized he just gave me information I didn't already have. It'll come to him, eventually."
"Do you know where you're going?" I asked. Joe seemed to know exactly which streets to stop at and which traffic signs to ignore.
"I worked these streets, Cupcake. I know them like the back of my hand."
I tried to relax, but Joe's energy level was buzzing. I tightened my seat belt after we caught air on a large dip in the road. I was feeling very close to God for the second time that day.
We slid to a stop in front of a dilapidated apartment complex three blocks from Stark. Joe got out and came around to my side of the car, helping me out.
"Stay close to me," he said. I could feel a gun bulge in the back of his shirt. It was his back up piece. He hadn't been carrying at the church. I wondered when he had slipped it in to his waistband. Maybe before he went into Ace Pavers. Maybe just now.
Joe stayed in front of me as we entered the foyer. We went up the dark stairwell. I could hear rats scurrying as we approached the door to the second floor. Joe pushed it open cautiously and we walked at a brisk pace down the hall to apartment 232.
"You know exactly where Sy Bernstein lives?" I asked.
"Shhh," he hissed at me.
Joe knocked loudly on the door. The sound echoed in the empty hallway. There was another abrupt scurrying sound, and I tried not to let out a scream as a rat scampered over my sneaker.
Joe knocked again. "Sy, open this door," he called out.
We could hear the little squeak as Sy opened the cover to the peep hole, and then let it drop back into place.
Joe let out a frustrated breath. It didn't seem like Sy was going to let us in, but finally, the door opened.
"Get in here," Sy hissed.
We slipped inside and he closed the door behind us, throwing the bolts back into place.
"What now?" he complained to Joe. They were obviously well acquainted.
"DeChooch," Joe said. "Spill it."
Suddenly, it all made sense. Sy was an informant. Joe's informant. Joe's mob informant. But, what about Terry? I tried to focus, to work the case. I just couldn't wrap my mind around it all in that moment.
"Thumbs sprang DeChooch," Sy shrugged.
"You sprang DeChooch," Joe accused.
"Me?" Sy laughed.
"You finally had a chance to grind that ax, didn't you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sy asked, dropping into a ratty old recliner and lighting up a cigarette. He was completely at ease, almost to the point that it was unnatural.
"O'Brien."
Sy laughed. "Don't know what you're trying to insinuate...Officer."
Sy's exaggerated use of Joe's former title left little doubt that his cooperation had come to an end. Joe had nothing to offer him that he wanted. We had no leverage.
"Thumbs expected better from a Judge on his payroll. Didn't sit too well that he left Choochie up the creek without a paddle."
"Anthony Thumbs wouldn't have lifted a finger to help DeChooch," Joe said, convinced. "Not after he embarrassed him with the Mickey D. thing."
Sy chuckled. "Nice visual metaphor. 'Thumbs wouldn't have lifted a finger'."
Joe wasn't amused. He was standing, hands on hips, glaring down at Sy. "You broke DeChooch out of prison, so you could frame him for the Judge's murder."
I felt my jaw drop. I quickly tried to close it and assume a knowing stance, backing Joe up.
Sy was toying with his cigarette lighter.
"If I were the murdering kind, do you think I'd let you or your partner walk out of here?" he challenged.
My breath caught in my throat. I had been threatened before. I knew what it sounded like when the threat was real. It sounded just like this. Sy Bernstein was a man on the edge. The edge of what, I wasn't completely sure.
I stepped closer to Joe. As I did, I recognized the butt of a gun sticking up between the arm of the recliner and the seat cushion. If Joe tried to draw on Sy, it would be too close to call.
"Joe, let's go," I said, closing the distance between us casually, as if I had lost interest in annoying this loser. "He's crazy. He's probably on drugs, just like Perin."
Joe didn't move, so I tugged at his shirt, my hand behind his back, reaching for the gun. Joe knew what I was doing. He contracted his stomach muscles as I removed the gun from his waistband.
As soon as I had the gun, Joe lunged at Sy, catching him by surprise. The recliner tumbled backwards, and Joe and Sy were scrambling for the gun that had skittered across the floor.
"Hold it!" I yelled, aiming Joe's gun at Sy as Joe jumped clear.
Sy froze in mid-crawl on the floor, no more than six inches from the gun. Joe was itching to jump on him, but if he did, I would lose my shot. Sy was studying me, trying to decide if I was capable of killing him or just wounding him.
"That's my wife," Joe warned him. His tone conveyed so much. Menace. Love. Pride. Confidence. Permission.
Sy reluctantly withdrew his hand. Joe reached down and yanked him up from the floor, slamming him down on the couch. Sy's head bounced against the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. I kept the gun steady, pointed to towards the floor in Sy's general direction.
"Tell me where DeChooch and O'Brien are. I am not going to ask you again," Joe warned.
"Why are you protecting that thieving, dirty, rotten, S.O.B.?" Sy asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I'm not protecting either one. I'm bringing them in."
"No, you're not," he said, simply.
"One way or another, that's exactly what I'm doing," Joe assured him.
"All this time," Sy said, looking truly disappointed.
"What?" Joe urged him to continue.
"All this time...I thought you were one of the good guys."
Without warning, the door burst open behind us. Joe tackled me, and we were crashing through the second story window as gunfire erupted from the doorway, filling the apartment.