Flashback. New York 1994:
He might not be in the NYPD anymore but it didn't stop him being a good investigator, he spent most of the first twenty four hours since his meeting with the Malucci's tracking down Luca Del Marco. He found it much harder without the resources of the precinct to back him up and so he went about things the old fashioned way. Greasing the palms of local drug addicts in an attempt to locate Del Marco had given him a few solid leads until he had finally tracked the young mobster down.
He sat outside Del Marco's apartment that night and watched as the young man stumbled back towards his home clearly drunk after a heavy night of partying. It had been one of the reasons he'd volunteered the man's name to the Malucci brothers, Luca Del Marco had big ambitions and an even bigger mouth. The man seemed incapable of keeping anything to himself and could often be overheard bragging about his latest accomplishments within the crime organisation to anyone that would listen.
He quietly exited his car and made his way up the steps of the apartment building, checking his jacket pocket once more for the gun he'd purchased from a known-Malucci associate earlier in the day. Creeping up the stairs he reached Del Marco's apartment, placing his ear to the door he listened for any sounds of movement. He shook his head as he heard the other man stumble drunkenly around his home but couldn't hear any voices. Deciding that Del Marco was probably alone he reached for his gun before gently turning the door handle.
He was surprised as it turned easily and opened, he moved forward quietly and peered into the darkened room. From the light flooding in from the door way he could make out the shadow of the other man half-sitting, half-lying in an armchair and could hear his soft snoring. He closed the door quietly and sat on the coffee table in front of Del Marco; he reached over and turned the table lamp on. He sighed as the other man had passed out cold, taking no notice of the artificial light in the room, his senses heightened when he came to the realisation that perhaps this was all a bit too easy, what if it was a set up?
"Too late to worry about that now," he told himself as he slapped Del Marco with his left hand and keeping a tight grip of the gun in the other. The younger man groaned and swatted the hand away. He slapped him harder this time and it had the desired effect; the young mobster woke up looking down the barrel of a 9mm semi-automatic pistol.
"What do you want, pig? Hasn't Benny had your hide yet for losing his drugs?"
His grip tightened on the gun, the urge to shoot the cocky son of a bitch in front of him was a tantalising prospect. "You need to come with me, Frankie wants a word with you."
"And why would he send you?" Del Marco asked unable to hide his arrogance, "Tell Frankie to come and find me."
The other man made a move to get up but stopped when the redhead took the safety of the gun and aimed it square at his chest. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's up to you."
Del Marco regarded him for a few moments before giving him a smug grin; he turned his head to one side before launching a fist at the redhead's face.
He moved out of the way quickly and countered with a punch of his own, the younger man launched himself at him as they both went flying over the coffee table and on to the floor. Shoves and punches were traded until John finally gained the upper hand and pistol-whipped the younger man, knocking him out cold.
He lay on the floor for a while, trying to catch his breath and take stock of his injuries. Satisfied that he was no worse off than a few more bruises he dusted himself off and got up, wiping the blood from his mouth. He walked over to the door and checked the landing was clear before hoisting Del Marco over his shoulder and taking him out of the apartment building via the back entrance. He kept in the shadows as he crept round to where he'd parked his car, stopping every once in a while to readjust the dead weight he was carrying. When the coast was clear he quickly and quietly opened the trunk of his car and shoved the unconscious man in it. He glanced around quickly to check for witnesses before taping Del Marco's wrists together and covering his mouth with duct tape.
He stopped at a payphone ten miles away from Del Marco's apartment and dialled a familiar number, "Joe's Pizza. You top it, we drop it."
"It's Kelly; tell Frankie I've found what he's been looking for. Ask him where he wants me to deliver the goods to."
The line went quiet for a few minutes until he heard the gruff response, "The warehouse in Brooklyn. Be there within the hour."
He placed the phone back in its cradle as the line went dead. He walked back to his car and popped the trunk to check on his unwilling passenger who was still out cold. "Rather you than me," he told himself as he shut the trunk and got back in the car.
He made it to the warehouse quickly which left him time to think about his actions recently. He'd gone from being a respected NYPD detective to nothing more than a common criminal in the space of a few days. Here he was sitting outside a warehouse with an unconscious man in his trunk who he knew would likely meet his maker by the end of the night. It occurred to him that he was setting Del Marco up, accusing him of something he hadn't done. "The guy's an animal; he's done his fair share of stealing and killing." He tried to justify his actions and although he could try to rationalise what he was doing his heart still weighed heavy with the consequences of his actions.
He saw Frankie's car pull up and got out to meet him, "I've got Del Marco, where do you want him?"
The mobster adjusted his tailored Italian overcoat as he answered, "Bring him to the office so we can all have a little chat."
He nodded and walked back over to the trunk of his car, pulling his load out by the arms he threw him over his shoulder and made his way into the building. He dumped Del Marco's unconscious form on to a chair as instructed by Frankie and stood back. The ageing mobster regarded his quarry for a few moments before ripping the tape off of Del Marco's mouth and slapping him hard several times in an effort to rouse him.
The young mobsters eyes went wide as he came face to face with Frankie, "Wakey, wakey. A little bird tells me you've been running your mouth of Luca. Is that right?"
Bound tightly by the wrists he shook his head vigorously, "No, I haven't said nothing to nobody. I swear, Frankie."
"That's not what I hear," the older man replied as he paced the room. "You've got a habit of letting that mouth of yours flap around in the breeze. Maybe you've been talking to the cops."
"No, I haven't. I swear!" the cocky arrogance of earlier had been replaced with snivelling and pleading.
"How did they know where our drugs were? We're very careful about who we tell."
"Maybe it was the pig over there," he pointed in the direction of the redhead. "How do you know you can trust him?"
Frankie stopped pacing and placed his hands behind his back, "That's a good question. How do we know we can trust you, Red?"
He swallowed deeply as all eyes turned to him, "I brought him here didn't I?"
Frankie seemed to accept his response and turned his attention back to Del Marco. "Admit it now or things are going to get quite painful for you, Luca."
John spent most of the next fifteen minutes with his eyes closed as he heard the screams of Luca Del Marco as Frankie and his lieutenants pushed for answers that the young mobster couldn't give them. Each bone snapping felt like another arrow piercing his heart, he was powerless to do anything but stand by and watch as the young man begged and pleaded for his life. He had no idea how he held back the urge to jump in and confess his true identity, he couldn't bear to hear the younger man suffer anymore. Just as willpower gave out completely he heard gurgled choking and saw Del Marco's lifeless body fall to the floor, his accusing eyes staring up at him.
Frankie wiped the blood from his knife with a cloth before sitting back behind his desk, "Let this serve as a warning to you, Kelly. You don't ever want to get on the wrong side of us. Get rid of the body."
He sent a silent prayer to God as he tied weights to the corpse of Luca Del Marco and pushed him off the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness. He watched as the body slowly sunk to the bottom of the river. As he stood there he tried to reason with himself that he'd done the world a favour, one less violent criminal on the streets, but he still couldn't reconcile with himself the way he stood back and watched the other man be tortured and killed. No amount of praying or confessing his sins would ever make what he had just done right.