Ch. 30

Before Dante could settle in once he had arrived at the PCPD, Jordan was approaching him with Randy Hill at her side. Barely suppressing an eye roll, he waited to hear what his boss had in store for him and his new "partner." "Falconeri, good morning," stated Jordan with a smile, adding, "I've got some news for you. We got a hit from one of the precincts in South Jersey City about Scribbs, it seems. He was picked up for public drunkenness in one of their parks and they took him to one of their treatment centers. One of the officers had seen your fax and contacted us so I need you and Hill to head out there. It's only an hour and a half or so by plane—you and Hill mount up and go see what Scribbs has to say about his part in West's stabbing."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't that the plane ride was uncomfortable but Dante couldn't for the life of him think of any ice breakers to initiate conversation with Randy. He was the senior officer—he really should try to lead by example, he thought. Finally, for lack of anything better to say, he turned to Randy and asked, "So, the Boss tells me you're looking to make Detective. How're you preparing for it?" Randy looked at Dante in surprise as if shocked at the interest Dante was displaying but he answered, "Well, the main thing I'm trying to do now is get investigative experience. I figure I've got to get at least another year and a half maybe under my belt. Eventually I may even have to transfer to the NYPD if I can't get what I need in Port Charles. I've also been getting familiar with the exam for Sergeant, just to prepare myself." Dante was impressed. Maybe Hill wasn't as much of a goofball as he'd previously thought. "You're already looking ahead to the Sergeant's exam? Wow. That's forward thinking of you."

Randy turned fully in his seat as he warmed to his topic. "My plan is to have my own house someday, but I've gotta get there, I know. That's why, believe it or not, I was interested in working with you. I know you were a bit of a fast burner, and I wanted to know how you did it. From what I hear, you made Detective pretty quickly."

"Wait a minute—you seriously want to run your own house someday? That's real ambitious, isn't it? And pretty far off into the future…"

"My father was a cop, a sergeant. Had to retire on a medical. My grandfather was a lieutenant with the NYPD. It's expected of me to make rank and to shoot for having my own command someday. When I was a kid, I really wanted to be a fireman but that didn't fly in my house. That 'wasn't my destiny', I was told, and so I gave that up and went into the Force. I probably could get what I need to make rank if I transferred to New York now but I wanted to see what I could do on my own. I didn't want to hear, 'Of course he made rank, he's Hill's grandson.' I know nepotism is alive and well and I'm not saying I'd never use that connection—I'm just hoping I don't have to."

"I am impressed, Hill, I've gotta tell you. Half the time, you come off like such a goof that I didn't know you were capable of depth. You asked me how I was able to make rank so fast. Going undercover was where I made my mark. Being able to get placed in the right situation at the right time helps, too. Organized crime is a great place to start. I was undercover for a year with the Zacchara organization without getting busted by them. Things were going wrong for them left and right, which allowed the Corinthos organization to gain ground on them and they never suspected I was the problem. I gathered evidence, submitted it to my superiors, and kept my position in their organization, all without getting caught. I walked a tightrope for a year and a half. By the time I'd gotten positioned with Corinthos, I thought I'd end up single-handedly bringing down the Mob. I was flying too high, I know that now. I felt like I was invincible. Obviously, I wasn't."

"It sounds exciting. I'd like to think I have the stones to pull something like that off, but I know it takes a special mindset and determination and I'm not there yet. I'd like the chance to try, though, I think. Being undercover in a crime family sounds intense. I think it's weird how you refer to him as 'Corinthos' when you're talking about him. I know he's a crime boss, but don't you think of him as your father?"

Dante frowned as he thought about Randy's question. "I guess when I'm talking about him to other cops, I don't think of him as my father. That was my second biggest fear after finding out that I was his kid—that other officers would think of me as tainted because he's my father. It's a weird kind of distance I have to keep with him. Yes, he's my father, but I didn't know that when I went undercover in his organization. I was just trying to take down a crime boss."

"How do you deal with it now?"

"I don't really know. Day by day, I suppose. He knows that if he does something I have to take him in for, I'm taking him. I know that he's never going to give up his power and go legit. So those are our rules, I guess. He knows I can't look the other way when he does what he does, and he doesn't expect me to. But he is my father, so it's hard. I'm walking a different kind of tightrope these days." Randy nodded his understanding and was getting ready to ask another question when the pilot came over the loudspeaker announcing their arrival at Teterboro Airport.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Your guy is kind of squirrelly," they were told once they had made their way to the Greenville Precinct in South Jersey. "He's all kinds of agitated. When we told him you were on your way here to talk to him, he got worse." They were shown to an interrogation room where Scribbs was waiting with another officer. His eyes widened when Dante and Randy entered and he immediately began insisting, "I didn't do nothin'! I didn't do nothin'! I don't know nothin' an' I didn't do nothin!" Dante and Hill looked at one another and then Dante sat down at the table across from Scribbs and regarded him, scratching his brow as if puzzled. "You don't 'know nothin' and you didn't do nothin', huh? Ok. But you're a ways from home, Scribbs. We had to fly over an hour just to get here ourselves. Why'd you give up your cushy corner in Port Charles for this pit? No offense," he added to the officers in the room. They smirked, but otherwise didn't reply.

"Dunno. Jus' wanted to come to Jersey, that's all."

"It's strange, though, Scribbs. The timing, I mean. You're doing what you do, getting information, working your corner, giving information to West, he gets stabbed, and you disappear. Not that you asked, but he's gonna live, by the way. It was touch and go for a while there, but he's gonna be ok. That must set your mind at ease."

"Dunno what you're talkin' about. Don't know nothin' about no stabbin'. I didn't do nothin'."

"So you keep saying, Scribbs. But what I really wanna know is how West ended up at the old mill because of a tip you gave him."

Scribbs' agitation was back in full force. "I tole you, I don't know nothin' 'bout no stabbin'! I didn't do nothin' wrong!"

Randy leaned forward on the table and softly asked, "Is there a fencing ring down at the old mill, Scribbs? Did you see it for yourself? Did you see Joey Robbs there?"

"No! I mean, what? I didn't see Joey Robbs at the mill or nowhere else! Why won't you guys believe me? I didn't do nothin'!"

Dante rested his chin on his thumb while supporting his bent arm on the table. Quietly he stated, "Scribbs, you're in this up to your neck, man. It was your tip, your information that got Nathan to that alley. He went because he trusted your tips. He told me that himself—that your word was golden to him. So you got him to that mill. You either did it because you really had seen something suspicious, or because someone told you to get him down there. It can't be any other way, Scribbs. Now if you saw something, you tell us what you saw, and we'll take it from there. But if someone told you to get Nathan to the mill, we need to know who that someone was. You don't want to go down on conspiracy charges, do you?"

By now, Scribbs was almost in tears and he grabbed his hair, pulling it tightly, exclaiming, "You got me all wrong! I didn't do nothin', Detective, honest! I wouldn't hurt West!"

Randy interjected, "Maybe you didn't know he would get hurt, Scribbs. Maybe you just thought whoever told you to lure him to the mill would scare him a bit and let him go. Maybe that's what you were told, huh? Just get him there—nothing bad would happen to him. Was that how it was?"

"I didn't know he was gonna get hurt. Nobody said nothin' 'bout that."

"But somebody did tell you to draw him down there, didn't they, Scribbs? Right now, I've got you all alone in this thing, man," Dante reminded him, adding, "Don't take the fall for this. All I need is a name."

Rapidly shaking his head, Scribbs asserted, "He'll kill me. I say anythin', my life ain't worth livin'. I don't know nothin', no sir."

Dante gazed around the room at the other officers and then leaned back in his chair. To Scribbs he said, "This is what I think is gonna happen. We're gonna have you brought back to Port Charles. We're gonna book you on conspiracy charges, hold you for a couple of days, and then convince the DA to let you go. We're gonna hint around that whatever you told us is what got you sprung. Then we're gonna let the chips fall and see who does what to try to squash this thing."

Scribbs looked at Dante incredulously, saying, "You can't do that! He can't do that, can he?" he asked, appealing to the other officers in the room. One of the officers shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "I can't help you." When he realized he had no help coming from anyone else present, he tried again to plead his case with Dante. "This guy will kill me, I swear. That's why I came to Jersey, ok? He tole me to take off and I did. I don't want no trouble. I didn't mean what happened to West, ok? I didn't know that was gonna happen! I didn't do it, though. It wasn't me!"

"Somebody stabbed my partner and left him for dead. I want that guy, whoever he is. You know who he is. All I need is a name, Scribbs. And yeah, you might have to testify, which means you'd better not try to disappear again. We're going after this guy because he tried to kill a cop. We're not gonna rest until we get him. You give me a name, we're gone. No one has to know where you are. You come in, testify, take off."

"I testify, I'm dead."

"I take you back to Port Charles and put you on the street after a brief hold, and you're dead, too. You don't have a lot of choices, Scribbs, but that's what happens when you set up a cop to be stabbed and left for dead in an alley, whether you meant for that to happen or not. You come in, you testify, you come back here and disappear into the bowels of Jersey—again, no offense," he reiterated to the Jersey City cops. "None taken, yet, Port Chuck," he was told. Once again he looked at Scribbs. "Clock's ticking, my patience is fading. What's it gonna be, man? You give us a name, stay available until we need you, or do we take you back with us and let you take your chances?"

"Carmine Garafalo," mumbled Scribbs defeatedly, putting his head down on the table. Dante glanced around the room at his fellow officers again in confusion, asking, "Is this someone I should know?"

One of the officers answered, "Crazy Carmine Garafalo, outta North Jersey. Mostly a bagman, but he sidelines. Whatever you need, if you're willing to pay, he's willing to do it. Good at his craft, obviously, otherwise he'd already be locked up. I kind of see why your guy's scared here."

"And you're trying to tell me," Dante said to Scribbs, "That Joey Robbs isn't involved here, huh? That this guy who might as well be a million miles away from Port Charles just popped in to ice a cop he didn't know?" Even as he asked him, he remembered Robbs saying that if he wanted someone done, he would use a guy who knew a guy. "Never mind," he told Scribbs, "Scratch that. Look, just lay low, ok? We'll look into this Garafalo. If we tag him, be available—don't make us have to hunt you down, ok? Because if you do, I'll be gunning for you and I won't rest until I've either got you in my hands or your body on a slab. Let's not let it get to that point." Addressing the other officers Dante asked them, "What are you guys gonna do with him?" "We're gonna cut him loose for now, if you're done with him. What we picked him up for isn't considered a crime here—we only held on to him because of your fax. If you're not taking him, he's free to go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On the plane ride home, Dante could tell that Randy was experiencing some sort of inner struggle and he finally said, "Ok, you've got something on your mind. Let's have it." Randy frowned and opened his mouth to speak a couple of times without saying anything. Snorting out a short laugh, Dante wondered, "Did you have a problem with something I did back there? You seem bothered." Randy shook his head but he eventually muttered, "He was just a frightened old man." "Yeah, he was a frightened old man. A frightened old man who almost got a cop killed. Should I have offered him milk and cookies and asked him nicely to tell me what I needed to know?"

"You threatened to set him up, to put him out on the street to get killed, basically. Something about that doesn't seem right to me, that's all." Dante looked at Randy amusedly and smiled again, saying, "You really are green, aren't you? Let me tell you something. To get the name of whoever tried to kill my partner in that alley, not only did I threaten that old man, but I would have followed through on my threat. Your dad might have been a cop but it doesn't sound like he talked too much about the realities of what we have to do sometimes to get what we need to do our jobs. You're gonna get your hands dirty sometimes, Hill. You're gonna find yourself doing things you never thought you'd do sometimes, too. The key is to straddle that line and keep Internal Affairs off your back. Do what you need to do and keep it legal. Legal doesn't always mean clean, though. You need to think about that if you plan to run your own house someday. You've got a long way to go, man."

"I don't know if I want to be that kind of cop, though."

"You think you can re-invent the wheel or something? You're gonna be the kinder, gentler cop who gets it done with soft words and suggestions? Keep your ideals, man. You're gonna find out the hard way that you won't be effective, but stay idealistic. I'm not saying you have to go around busting people's heads in and planting evidence on them to make your cases. That's not the way, either. But if you had a hard time with what I did to Scribbs back there, you're gonna have a hard time in this career field. No matter what your parental expectations are, you might wanna think about that." For the rest of the plane ride home they were silent, lost in their own thoughts about the outcome of the day's events.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX