Episode 22: "Kidnapped"
Part Two
Scene One
Detective Pete D'Amato shifted uncomfortably in the front seat of the unmarked. "How much longer you think we're gonna be stuck here?" he asked his partner, Eric Carruthers.
"Who knows?" Carruthers replied. "Those guys ain't gonna be stupid enough to come back here." He gestured toward the vacant warehouse where Jim had been taken.
They sat in bored silence for a few minutes. Then D'Amato spoke up again. "You ever meet Dunbar before?" he asked.
"No. You?"
D'Amato shook his head. "Nope. Guy must be crazy, coming back on the job like he did," he observed.
"Yeah – something like that happened to me, I'd be out the door with my pension. You wouldn't have to ask me twice."
"You got that right. Wonder why he did it?"
"I heard it was some kind of political deal," Carruthers told him.
"Yeah, I heard that, too. But he's lasted – what – six, nine months?"
"Something like that. I bet the rest of his squad is carrying him, though."
"Maybe," D'Amato conceded. "But I talked to the uniforms who picked him up this morning. They said he was just walking down the street, no clue where he was but cool as a cucumber. Then when he got in the car, he started ordering them around, right off the bat."
"You gotta hand it to the guy – he's got balls," Carruthers said. "I'm just glad I didn't get stuck working with him – "
"What's that?" D'Amato interrupted, pointing toward the building entrance.
An old, battered Toyota Corolla pulled up in front of the building. A young man got out, looked around apprehensively, and went inside. The two detectives got out of the car and followed him.
Scene Two
Fisk hung up the phone and emerged from his office. "That was Tom Girardi at the 1-0-8," he said. "They picked up someone at the building in Long Island City. They're on the way here with him now."
"How'd they grab him?" Marty asked.
Fisk sat at Jim's vacant desk. "Tom said they went in and took a quick look around the building early this morning. Jim was right – it was being used as a meth lab. They thought someone might come back to finish cooking a batch of meth, so they decided to keep an eye on the place, even after the word was out that Jim was found. The guy showed up about an hour ago."
"Who is he?" Tom asked.
"Name's Steve Johnson," Fisk answered.
"I'll run him for priors," Karen volunteered, then asked, "You hear anything from Jim?"
"Yeah, he's still at the hospital. The doctor wants to keep him for a couple more hours for observation. He was ready to sign out AMA, but apparently, his wife put her foot down and insisted on him staying at the hospital."
"I'll be surprised if she ever lets him out of her sight again," Karen commented.
"You got that right," Marty said. "Did you see the look on her face at the hospital? That was one seriously freaked out lady."
"Wouldn't you be?" Karen demanded. "Her husband gets shot and ends up blind – and now this. That's a hell of a lot to cope with." As she spoke, Karen remembered that wasn't all the Dunbars had had to cope with, but she wasn't about to betray Jim's secret to the rest of the squad – now or ever.
Fisk broke in. "That's enough, " he said, "I know you'd rather yak about Dunbar and his wife, but don't you have work to do?"
"Yes, sir," the three detectives replied in unison.
Scene Three
D'Amato and Carruthers escorted Steve Johnson into the squad room. In spite of his tattoos and shaved head, he looked young – and scared. D'Amato took him into an interview room and removed his handcuffs. As D'Amato closed the door, Johnson was sitting at the table, rubbing his wrists.
"He say anything on the way here?" Tom asked.
Carruthers shook his head. "I don't think he's figured out what hit him yet."
"We can take it from here," Marty said. "Thanks, guys."
As they headed for the elevator, D'Amato stopped and looked back. "How's your buddy, Dunbar?" he asked.
Marty seemed poised for a smart-ass comeback, but he simply said, "Still at the hospital, waiting for the doc to spring him."
"Glad he's gonna be OK," D'Amato said.
"Yeah," Marty said to his retreating back. He looked over at Karen. "What'd you find out about this guy?"
"A few collars for drugs, nothing violent. He did six months at Rikers last year for cooking meth."
Marty turned to Tom. "Let's go talk to this squirrel."
"Hey, Steve," Tom began as they entered the interview room. Johnson looked up anxiously at the sound of his voice. "I'm Detective Selway, and this is Detective Russo. We'd like to talk to you, OK?"
Johnson nodded. Tom Mirandized him, then sat next to him.
Before Tom could ask his first question, Johnson blurted out, "I didn't know what they were going to do, I didn't have anything to do with it, you gotta believe me."
"OK," Tom told him soothingly. "Let's start at the beginning. What didn't you know?"
"I didn't know they were going to snatch that – that blind guy. I almost crapped my pants when they did that. I thought we were just going to boost that van, ride around for a while, maybe tweak a little, you know."
"So why'd you go back to the warehouse this morning?"
Johnson swallowed hard, looking guilty. "I was tweaking last night, you know, after – and I used up my stash. I knew there was some crystal there. I thought maybe I could cop some."
From his position at the end of the table, Marty spoke up for the first time. "You know, Steve, I'm havin' a little trouble believing what you're telling us. I gotta tell you, I don't think a jury's gonna buy it, either. You say you didn't know what they were gonna do, but you boosted that van for them, and you drove them to that warehouse after they snatched the blind guy, right?"
"Yes, I swear, it's the truth," Johnson asserted. "You gotta believe me."
"I don't think you understand what you're looking at here, Steve. You aided and abetted a kidnapping. It doesn't make any difference that you were just the driver – you're still on the hook for first degree kidnapping. You know what that'll get you?"
"No," whispered Johnson fearfully.
"Fifteen to life."
Johnson looked to Tom for confirmation. Tom nodded solemnly. "Oh, my God, no."
"We can help you, Steve," Tom said, "but you gotta give us something to show your good faith."
Johnson nodded hopefully.
"You need to tell us who your two friends are and where to find them."
Johnson groaned. "I can't. I'm a dead man if I do that."
"We can protect you, Steve," Tom assured him.
"I can't," Johnson repeated, shaking his head.
"You might as well, you know," Marty told him. "Your buddies are going to think you ratted them out, even if you don't. You might as well get the benefit."
"No, no, I can't," Johnson insisted.
"Suit yourself," Marty told him, as he and Tom started to leave the room.
"Wait," Johnson wailed, "You gotta help me."
No," Marty told him firmly, "you have to help yourself."
Before Marty and Tom reached the door, Johnson spoke up. "Detectives? Can I ask you something?" They stopped and looked back at him. "That blind guy, he wasn't there, at the warehouse – what happened to him?"
"What do you think happened to him?" Marty asked, ominously.
"Oh, shit," Johnson said. Marty and Tom left him sitting at the table, his head in his hands.
After they closed the door behind them, Tom and Marty headed for their desks. When Fisk and Karen emerged from the observation room, Tom said, "We'll let him stew for a while, let things sink in."
"Yeah," Fisk agreed.
Scene Four
When she saw Jim and Hank approaching the entrance to the squad room, Karen jumped up from her desk and hurried to greet her partner. "Jim! Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured her automatically.
Marty, Tom, and Fisk joined them. After the ritual exchange of "Are you OK?" and "I'm fine," the detectives returned to their desks, and the lieutenant returned to his office.
When Jim and Karen were both seated at their desks, Karen rolled her chair toward him. Lowering her voice, she asked, "How's Christie doing?"
Keeping his voice low, Jim responded, "She was pretty shook up. But she'll be OK," he added, trying to reassure himself as much as his partner. After all, he reminded himself, Christie had been through much worse. But maybe that was the problem. He set those concerns aside, for now. Raising his voice, he spoke to Tom and Marty, "I heard we've got someone in custody?"
"Yeah," Marty replied. "Steve Johnson, the driver. So far, he's not giving up the names of the other two. We were just going to go back in, see if he's wised up since we spoke to him before."
"Good." Jim nodded.
"Hey, Jim, since you're here – " Marty began.
"Yeah?"
" – I want you to be somewhere Johnson can't see you when we go in." Marty looked at Karen, who nodded. "You're going to be watching, right?"
"Yes," she replied.
"When we're almost done, I want Jim to go stand right outside the door. OK?"
"OK," Jim said. "Are you going to tell me what you have planned?"
"You'll see," Marty answered, "oh, you'll see." He and Tom headed for the interview room as Jim and Karen took their places in the observation room.
"Yo, Steve," Marty began, "you gotten any smarter in the last ninety minutes?"
Johnson swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Good," Tom said. "Who were your two buddies?"
"Jason Taylor and Eddie Parker."
"Where can we find them?" Tom asked, pushing a pad and pen toward Johnson, who laboriously wrote down Taylor's and Parker's addresses.
"What happened last night?" Tom asked, when Johnson finished writing.
"Like I said before, we boosted the van, we were just riding around in the East Village. Then Jason spotted that blind guy. He said something like, 'Now we're gonna have us some fun,' and told me to pull over."
"So you did," Marty said, disgustedly.
"Well, yeah. I didn't think they were gonna do anything to the guy, you know?"
"Then what?" Tom asked.
"They got out of the van and jumped him. He put up a pretty good fight – you know, for being blind and all – "
Watching in the observation room, Karen glanced at Jim, but he didn't react to the comment.
"Then they shoved him in the back of the van. Eddie stayed in the back. Jason got in the front and told me to drive. Jesus, I was so freaked out, I didn't know what else to do. After we got over the bridge, I asked Jason what the fuck he thought he was doing."
"And?" Tom asked.
"He told me not to be a wuss, he wasn't going to do anything to the guy. He just wanted to mess with his head, maybe scare him some, because he couldn't see, you know. . . ."
On the other side of the one-way mirror, Fisk and Karen exchanged disgusted looks as Jim muttered, "Son of a bitch."
"Then you took him to that warehouse and just left him there?" Marty asked.
"Yeah, they were gonna come back later, after he woke up, I guess, and – whatever." Johnson shrugged. "I didn't want any part of it."
"You didn't think to tell someone that Jason and Eddie snatched some blind guy?" Marty demanded.
"Hell, no, man – they'd a killed me."
Marty shook his head and stood to leave. Halfway to the door, he stopped and turned back toward Johnson. "By the way, Steve," he said, "the blind guy – he's OK." He stepped to the door and opened it. Jim walked in.
"Steve Johnson, meet Jim Dunbar." Marty paused, noticing the relief on Johnson's face. "Detective Jim Dunbar."
Johnson's face crumpled. "They snatched a cop?" he asked, looking sick. Marty walked out of the room, followed by Tom and Jim. "Fuck," Johnson muttered miserably.
Scene Five
Fisk put down the phone and came out of his office. "They just picked up Jason Taylor in Bensonhurst. They're bringing him in now.
"Yes!" Marty exclaimed.
A half hour later, a uniformed officer escorted Jason Taylor into the squad room. He looked to be about the same age as Johnson, with the same shaved head and tattoos. But even in handcuffs, he had a swagger and insolence that Johnson lacked. "Room two," Marty told the officer, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door.
Fisk came out of his office, moving in the direction of the observation room. Marty looked a question at him. Fisk nodded. "Do it," he ordered. "Karen, Jim, you're with me." They followed him to the observation room as Tom and Marty entered the interview room.
Tom sat across the table from Taylor and Mirandized him. He listened contemptuously to the warnings, responding, "Yeah, whatever," when Tom asked if he was willing to talk. He spoke before either detective could ask a question. "I see you got your blind guy back," he sneered, "sorry about that."
Marty crossed to the table from the windows and leaned over Taylor. "I'm gonna tell you this one time," he said, "you want to watch your mouth, because you do not want to get me any more pissed off than I already am. Got that?"
"Sure, whatever."
"You think you're a comedian, is that it?" Marty demanded.
"Hey, we were just gonna have a little fun with the guy, show him what's what, you know?"
"No, I don't know," Marty said, glaring at Taylor, "why don't you tell me?"
"It makes me sick, you know, all them ni – " he stopped himself when he saw the look on Tom's face. " – all them blacks – and all the rest of them, you know, spics, towelheads, gimps, fags – acting like they're just as good as us, taking our jobs – shit, man, you know what I mean – they're taking over. So Eddie and me, we remembered there was this blind guy here, working as a cop – yeah, like that could happen." Taylor snorted derisively. "He was all over the news a while back – so we got the idea of having a little fun, you know, messing with his head, teaching him a lesson – "
Standing with his head resting against the wall of the observation room, Jim clenched his fist and muttered, "Son of a bitch." Karen gave him a worried look. Fisk scowled, his face reddening in anger.
" – so we watched him for a coupla days – he was clueless, of course – and decided to make the snatch last night. Piece of cake," Taylor boasted.
"You didn't get a taste of his left hook," Marty commented dryly. "Lucky for you."
In the observation room, Karen and Fisk exchanged smiles at Marty's comeback, and even Jim gave a little grin when he heard it.
Taylor ignored it. "Then we dumped him over in Queens. We got tired of waiting for him to wake up, so we took off for a while. It's not like he was going anywhere, he was helpless, you know?" Taylor paused, as if a thought had just struck him. "So how'd he get rescued?" he asked.
"He didn't 'get rescued'," Tom answered. "He got loose on his own and took off while you were gone. Real helpless, huh?"
Not waiting for Taylor to answer, Marty asked, "What about the driver?"
"You mean Steve?" Taylor asked scornfully. "What a wuss. We just had him along to help boost the van and drive. You don't think we'd let him in on it, do you?"
Tom pushed a pad and pen across the table to Taylor. "You're gonna need to give us a statement."
"Sure, whatever," Taylor replied nonchalantly.
By the time the statement was finished, Marty had had it with Taylor. He turned to Tom. "Let's get outta here. The stench is starting to get to me."
"Yeah," Tom agreed, "gettin' pretty stinky in here."
Marty left his spot at the end of the table and started for the door. He stopped before he got there and turned back to glare at Taylor in disgust. "You know, Jason," he snapped, "that 'blind guy,' like you like to call him, is ten times the man you could ever be. You're nothing but a loser, a pathetic loser." Without another word, the two detectives stalked out of the room.
As Marty sat at his desk, he gave a disgusted shudder. "Jesus, I need a shower."
"You're not the only one, bro," Tom agreed.
Fisk came out of his office. "You got his statement?" Marty nodded, indicating the pad on the desk in front of him. "OK. We've got teams sitting on Parker's apartment and his parents' and girlfriend's houses. We might as well pack it in for today. I'll get someone to take Taylor to Central Booking."
"Thanks, boss," Tom said. He and Marty grabbed their coats and started down the hall.
Jim called after them. "Hey, guys – thanks."
"No problem," Tom assured him.
"See you tomorrow," Marty added.
"Yeah. See you tomorrow," Jim replied. He closed his computer and reached for his coat.
"I'll drop you at home," Karen offered.
He was too tired to object. "Thanks."
Scene Six
Christie handed her coffee mug to Jim, who was putting the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. When he finished and closed the dishwasher, he said, "About what you said this morning – we should talk."
"What's the point?" she asked. "You're going to stay on the job, even if it kills you." She added bitterly, "Or maybe I should say until it kills you."
He shook his head. "That's not going to happen – "
"How can you say that – after everything that's happened? Maybe you got lucky twice – "
"'Got lucky'?" Jim interrupted. "You think I got lucky?" He gestured at his eyes.
"Oh, great, play the blind card." She turned away from him and walked into the living room. "That doesn't work with me. I remember – even if you don't – how close you came to being dead instead of blind. And now it's happened again."
Jim followed her, then stopped, putting his hand on the column between the kitchen and living room. "You know, Christie, I was never in any real danger from those idiots. They're seriously warped, but they're not killers."
"So what? I didn't know that. No one did. And what about next time?"
"What next time? You don't know there's going to be a next time."
"And you don't know there isn't going to be one," she countered.
"So what are you saying, Christie?" he asked. "You want me to stop being a cop? Is that it?"
"Nice of you to ask," she answered sarcastically, "as if what I wanted counted for anything."
"It does, but – "
"There's always a 'but,' isn't there?"
"If I stop being a cop, I stop being who I am. I don't think you want that – not really."
"How the hell would you know what I want?" she asked bitterly. Without waiting for an answer, she turned away and walked into the bedroom. As she closed the door behind her, she felt her defenses settling inexorably back into place.