Second shot, p.4
Second Shot, page 4
“Your task force.”
“You’ve done enough detecting along our sidewalks, you weren’t always welcome. This time you are. Why don’t I just explain what the NYPD requires of you.”
Fear slapped him, altering his approach. He owed the cops nothing, he certainly didn’t trust them. Still. Time didn’t heal every wound. He stepped into the restaurant and followed Barone to an upstairs area, where they settled down inside a booth. A gentleman was already seated, lying in wait. Jimmy recognized him, wished he hadn’t. Wished he could wash away the text he’d received, the return phone call he’d made to Barone. This walk, this talk, this meeting. He hadn’t come back to the city to press the rewind button.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet, Jimmy.”
A hand extended. Thick, aggressive. Jimmy accepted it out of respect for the uniform.
“Sir.” He said it with a not in his throat.
“It’s First Deputy Commissioner.”
Jimmy paused, absorbed. This was big, whatever this was. “Congratulations.”
“One step away.”
Salvatore Frisano was career NYPD. Grew up in Brooklyn, hit the streets as a rookie, top of his class, so ambitious he caught the eye of the police commissioner early on. Didn’t last long on the streets. Detective Grade, promotion after promotion, until finally he’d been assigned to the big time, One Police Plaza, in charge of the Mayor and Commissioner’s Special Task Force. That was code for being in charge of crimes they didn’t want the public to know about. Operating in secret, taking down a mastermind, serial murderers, whoever operated on a grander scale of corruption or crime. Jimmy knew Mr. Wu-Tin’s operation qualified for such attention. But it wasn’t what Jimmy was focused on. Salvatore Frisano was just an older version of his son, Francis Xavier. Known also as Frank, known also as Jimmy’s former lover.
“This feels like a set-up,” Jimmy said.
“Barone did the briefing,” Sal said. “I’ll do the debriefing.”
“Very clandestine. Meeting in a secluded booth.”
Frisano shot Barone a look. As if to say: you sure about this? But then he focused back on Jimmy. Jimmy felt a harsher glare hit his eyes. “You want Mr. Wu-Tin to pay for what he’s done?”
“Did I solve my father’s murder?” Jimmy volleyed back.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Shall we order some food, some drinks?”
Jimmy was being treated well today. First by a wealthy law firm, now by the city. He’d yet to open his wallet. Somehow, he still had indigestion. Maybe it was because he was sitting across from his ex-lover’s father, and the resemblance, though grayer in color, was unmistakable. If they had stayed together, was this the face of his future? Jimmy was, for the second time today, grateful for the timely arrival of a waitress. He ordered an Abita beer and the bacon-wrapped shrimp. He was barely paying attention to his hosts’ orders.
“So, McSwain,” Barone said, “Like I said, we have evidence that Wu-Tin is back and trying to regroup. He shut down his Manhattan operation. Killing that Kenji character, burning down his warehouse. Part of this because of your efforts to bring him down. You were a thorn in his side. We’d like you to continue to jab at him, draw blood.”
It was poetic for Barone. The promotion must have awakened him after years on the beat.
“We’re overseeing this case,” Sal jumped in with noted authority. “This man is bad news, we’ve known for a long time. We want him caught, taken down, jailed for life. We couldn’t think of anyone who had more interest in achieving that goal than you. So, here we are. We’ve got justice on our minds. You’ve got revenge. Both powerful motivators. You put them together, you have determination.”
“And success.”
Their drinks arrived. Jimmy drank from his beer. It tasted bitter. An IPA. Or it was the conversation?
“What is it you want me to do?”
“Infiltrate. Find evidence of criminal activity. Report back to your main contact.”
Jimmy sensed a reveal was in the works. “So, I’m guessing neither of them is you.”
Sal lifted his drink. Looked like bourbon. Just like his son liked.
“Frank’s taking the lead on this.”
* * * *
Their food arrived. They unwrapped napkin-sealed utensils. Jimmy didn’t need the steak knife because he felt like one had already been used to stab him. He reran the words in his head. Did the newly named First Deputy Commissioner Salvatore Frisano just say that he wanted Jimmy to work alongside the former Captain Francis X. Frisano of the 10th Precinct? No longer did he think this encounter was a setup, it felt like an ambush.
He decided to deflect.
“Wu-Tin knows me. He’ll know what I’m up to.”
“Exactly our strategy,” Sal said. “Put him on the defensive. He’ll screw up.”
“So, what, you want me to contact him? Just go to his offices in…where? Queens?”
“No confronting him. Just be visible. He’ll see you. He’ll find you.”
“Yeah. Meanwhile, I’ve got a target on my back. He won’t hesitate to score a bullseye.”
Barone and Sal exchanged looks before Barone spoke up. “You’re smarter than that.”
“And you’ll have back up.”
There it was, back to what he didn’t want to discuss. But then Sal took a bite of his po-boy, a fried shrimp falling to his plate. Barone had ordered the same thing and had better control of his sandwich. Meant he was more focused. He ate his appetizer and was glad he hadn’t asked for an entrée. This was more than enough. And not just the food. He remained as patient as he could for what else was to come.
“Jimmy, another beer?” Sal asked.
“No, I’m good. I think I’d like to keep a clear head.”
“Suit yourself.” Sal signaled the waitress while Barone looked at his phone. A text came through, the ping unmistakable.
“I gotta take care of something,” he said, excusing himself. “McSwain. Talk soon.”
And with that, he was gone. Abruptly but not surprisingly. Just as Streb had done earlier. This entire meeting appeared to be staged. With just Jimmy and Sal left, the booth grew somehow smaller. At least he knew he was going to be hit on.
“Okay, Deputy First Commissioner, let’s cut to the chase.”
“We really do want your help and are convinced you’re the right man to flush out Wu-Tin. We are aware of how he feels about you. You stole all that information from his computer. Exposed him, if not convicted him. The attempt on your life and what happened to your sister—just know the NYPD is not going to let another crime against your family grow cold.” He paused. “I knew your dad. He deserved better. You did him proud.”
Salvatore Frisano was bringing his A-game. This was important. Jimmy finished his beer.
Sal said, “You’ve done more damage to Wu-Tin’s operation than the NYPD.”
“I’ll try and take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
“But that’s not why you sent Barone away.”
“Who says I did?”
“You sent him the text. Had it already typed out. From beneath the booth you just pressed send.”
Silence. “You’re good.”
“As Barone said, I’m not dumb. So, your son. Shall we address the elephant in the booth?”
“He’s doing good. If you’re interested.”
“I’m not. What’s he doing on this case? I thought he quit the force.”
“I have influence. I changed his assignment until he’s ready to get back to the job he was meant to do.” Jimmy had nothing to say and instead waited for Sal to provide more information. More detail. And it came. “He had a tough summer. Struggled with lots of internal dilemmas. He knows he hurt you.” Then he paused again. “Look, McSwain, I can’t pretend to understand your…his…biology, if that’s the right word. I grew up in a different world. What he feels, I don’t think it’s right but he’s my son, so I’ll support him. I’ll love him. I think you did, too.”
On the few times Jimmy had met Sal, he’d been a man of few words, few emotions.
This was a flood.
“So knowing what you know, you telling me how you feel. Why put us together on a case?”
“Because it will correct two things. Justice. And a broken soul.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to get us back together. Beyond the professional.”
“I respect you, Jimmy. You treated my son well.”
“I can’t say the same about him.”
“He made a mistake.”
“He told you?”
“Some. Not all. Beverly probably heard more.”
“Don’t you think the complex, uh, emotions could complicate the case.”
“I think you’re both grown men. Professional. You understand what’s at stake. How many more people can Wu-Tin manipulate? Extort.” Again, there came a pause. Sal was not at a loss for the dramatic. “Kill.”
Jimmy thought of Mallory. The image of her going down on the ground after being shot. Knowing the bullet had been meant for him. Would he have survived, or would he have gone down just as his father had? It was a bitter memory and it fueled him. But justice always did. Which is why, despite the circumstances and his new, for lack of a better word, partner, that he couldn’t nor wouldn’t refuse this assignment.
“So, do I get deputized or something?”
“You graduated from the academy. You still have the badge, I assume.”
“Ma had it for a while.”
Sal nodded. “Nice gesture, Jimmy. Retrieve it, keep it on you. I know the cops have had their issues with you. I know Frank has, too. But let me speak personally. I like you. I respect what you did for your father. I think you’re one of the good guys. Some PIs I know, they’re pains in the asses. They thwart our investigations. You, actually, in your own style, help us.”
“I respect the Blue Line. My father instilled that in me.”
Sal downed the last of his drink. “I’ll settle the bill.”
“So, what’s next.”
“Frank will be in touch on the first phase of the operation.”
With that, Salvatore Frisano departed, leaving a conflicted Jimmy McSwain alone in that booth, his glass empty, his heart beating but anxious. This day had taken unusual turns. First came a new case and the sexy tease from Brenden Hendricks. It was clear he sought something beyond the professional. And not six hours later, the ghostly presence of his relationship with Francis X. Frisano reared its bitter head. Both men so different. Brenden younger, blond, ambitious. Frisano dark, burly, but troubled. Neither of these men was Jimmy ready for. Maybe he’d returned to the city too soon.
But he had a job to do.
In truth, he had two jobs, two cases, not only to work, but to solve.
Mr. Wu-Tin was personal.
The Portnoy case was business as usual. Tomorrow, he had to get on that.
Jimmy got up from the booth, left the restaurant to a calm night in Manhattan. Few people about as the dark sky hovered. Wondering how to return home from Lower Manhattan. The E train was a block away and it would be quicker than a cab, certainly a walk. So, down the stairs he went, swiped his Metrocard, waited two minutes and was soon rattling his way uptown, or at least to Midtown. He got off at 50th Street rather than 42nd Street, more for convenience, but also because he had no idea where he was going. But the difference of exiting a local station as opposed to the busy Crosswalks of the World afforded him needed stress relief.
It had been a busy day. Emotionally draining. Jimmy needed a moment to collect himself.
He could go home. No one was there.
He could go to his office. Where he was always the only one there.
He wasn’t in the mood to be alone.
Ten minutes later, after crossing both Eighth and Ninth Avenues, he was opening the door to Paddy’s Pub, run by his uncle, his mother’s brother. With the rest of the family still up at Peach Lake for a couple more days, Jimmy was craving the comfort of a familiar face. A seat opened at the end of the bar. His favorite spot. Paddy smiled at him.
“Back home, huh?”
“It’s fall. Time for a renewal.”
“First of all, it’s still summer by the calendar. And fall kills nature.”
“Nice to see you, too, Paddy.”
Paddy slid a beer Jimmy’s way. Smiled. “Sorry, Jimmy. Guess you’re in a mood.”
“Just a new case. Actually, two.”
“Want to talk?”
“Can I say no?”
Paddy swiped a towel against the bar. Wiped up some beer. “I don’t pry. I just listen.”
Then he went to serve a couple other customers who had arrived behind Jimmy. Leaving Jimmy alone but with the knowledge, and comfort, that family was never far away. He felt better, then decided he should get it out of his mind. He grabbed his phone and opened the Google app. He’d spoken of his two cases and thought maybe he should learn something about the one that was paying him.
He typed in Chaz Portnoy and got a bunch of listings. Even a Wikipedia page. Intriguing. He clicked that one, to see what information was provided and what misinformation might be listed about the man. Typical biographical details. Born in 1947. Married in 1967. No kids. Has a twin brother named Baz. No link for him. He seemed more elusive. As for Chaz, his professional career was varied. Stocks, bonds, producing movies, investing on Broadway, part-owner of a winery. Estimated wealth was unknown. But with all those business ventures, Jimmy had to assume it was sizable. Thus the millions at stake if he died. There was a picture on the page of two houses, mirror images of each other. Brick layered, expansive, not quite mansions but pricey no doubt.
What else did he learn?
Well, it was more what he didn’t learn. Why was there no information about the twin brother?
Which gave this case a greater edge. Even the law firm that had hired him didn’t seem to know anything about the brother. The wife seemed to lack details, too, which was odd. Surely there were differences between the two men that a wife would recognize. It was an odd twist to a tale of twins, and Jimmy realized he was only going to discern fact from fiction by talking with the Mrs.
He went back to his phone. He accessed a site he used that provided information others did not get. Part of his PI business. It cost. He wrote it off. But it was worth it, because in moments the phone number for Rebecca Portnoy came up. It was different from the one provided by Brenden and he briefly wondered why. It was a small distraction, one he bypassed by just pressing the app which listed the phone number. It began to ring.
He took a sip of his beer. Hoped he could hear over the music blasting at Paddy’s.
Maybe he should go upstairs. But then it was too late.
“Hello?”
The voice was sweet, with a sing-song inflection, even with just one word. Two syllables.
“Mrs. Portnoy?”
“Yes, this is she. Who may I ask is calling?”
“My name is Jimmy McSwain. I’ve been hired—”
“Oh, you’re the private investigator, the one Mr. Streb informed me about. I like the idea of an investigator. It’s almost like an alligator. Determined, and possibly vicious. And that’s exactly what I need. Someone who is unafraid to seek out what they hunger, born out of instinct, but also someone who will not let their prey get away.”
It was a brutal picture she painted. Jimmy imagined himself in a death roll. But not sure if he was the attacker or the victim. Despite the sound of her voice, there was an underlying threat, too, if not her tone, her words.
“I’m calling to inquire if we should meet.”
“The sooner the better. I would have called you myself, but Mr. Streb said you were on the fence about taking the case.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Wonderful. Can you come to the house tomorrow?”
His calendar was clear. There was no reason to delay this. It also gave him distance from beginning the Wu-Tin case. Which meant it gave him time before he had to reach out to Frisano. So, he said, “I can.”
“Let me give you the address.”
“I have it.” He spoke it.
“You’re industrious, Mr. McSwain, aren’t you?”
“I am. I’m good at my job. And call me Jimmy. So, how about noon?”
“That’s perfect,” she said.
“May I ask, how is your husband?”
There was a pause. “It’s touch and go, to be frank. If it’s him.”
“I guess that’s for me to determine.”
“I’m paying good money to ensure I get the money I deserve. Baz won’t win.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
The phone call ended and Jimmy finished his beer. Paddy asked if he wanted another and he said no, it had been a long day. Which was why Paddy served up another.
“Sleep upstairs. No one’s home on Tenth.”
“Paddy, you’re both a bad influence and a good one. Not sure which one I like more.”
“I don’t charge you. Consider me a good one.”
His eyes sparkled and Jimmy took a sip and realized, despite all that was facing him with these two cases, there was always safety in family. He knew where to find comfort. Finishing his last beer of the day, he also did one last thing. That same app that gave him the Portnoy phone number provided him that of Francis X. Frisano. He might have deleted their text history, but he’d never removed Frank from his contacts. And now, apparently, not removed from his life.
Chapter 3
Less than a week back in the city and Manhattan was having a stifling effect, like July’s humidity. The new high-rise going up across from his home had encroached ever closer, blocking not only his view but his mood. Another floor had gone up. Which is why it felt good to get out of the city again. To breathe. To work. To see clearly.
He’d been hit by too much too soon.
The Portnoy Case. Not to mention heated advances coming from his client.
The Wu-Tin case. Barone and Frisano…and the realization he would be working a case with someone he didn’t want to see.
Justice had its price. Like a knife, it came with a slice of pain.
He’d chosen to drive rather than take Metro-North. Dragging his creaky Grand Am out of the parking lot at Eleventh Avenue and 50th Street, he’d soon turned onto the West Side Highway and started toward Westchester County. Having secured an appointment with the potential widow, he was beginning this odd Portnoy case. As he drove along, the sun and the trees reminded him of the summer he’d spent in what New Yorkers referred to as Upstate. Not exactly true, but still, it had a different vibe. Manhattan to Jimmy represented cops, crime, danger, the taste of remorse. As the road sign welcomed him to Westchester, he felt a sigh of relief. Maybe he was getting older. Maybe the city was aging him.
