Savage code, p.25
Savage Code, page 25
part #4 of The Porter Series
Either way, it was better than he’d deserved.
The bridge led to Brooklyn Heights and its big alabaster-colored buildings and parking lot-esque traffic. The swell of vehicles slowly eased, and Atlantic Avenue allowed the sedan to roll without much stopping, albeit somewhat slowly. Porter had never been to Brooklyn before, and the scenery was a bit different than the rest of the city. This part of town was not full of opulent buildings with walls of mirrored glass.
No, this place was different.
It felt older, with buildings that weren’t as tall or as new. Each one was an artifact of the old New York, and the way things were when the architecture of the sixties was modern. It reminded Porter a bit of neighborhoods in South Tampa, and gave him an odd sense of comfort.
While the landscape changed again, to that of residential brownstones, the feeling of familiarity didn’t subside. The area felt more people-centric, and less nameless-faceless-big-city than he’d expected. Porter looked around as he drove, until Harsh pointed him toward a spot in the off-street parking.
Porter brought the car to rest in front of a sign that read “Betsy Head Park.” He looked through the wrought iron fence that ringed the park, and realized it wasn’t big—not nearly as large as Randall’s Island Park, which Pavel was now a permanent resident of. No, this park was small. Intimate. Children ran around in the near dusk, and multiple sets of playground equipment dotted the nearly two-block-large park.
Porter patted his pants, confident the Python was still there and had not magically disappeared during the ride over. Then he got out, and put his foot up on the floorboard. An elevated view merely confirmed what he thought about Betsy Head Park: it was no mob setup or hit in the making.
At least, not unless Nico planned on taking down a bunch of playing children and their mothers to get at Porter. Despite his barely formed impression of the man, Porter figured better. He looked across the roof at Harsh, who must have been forming his own opinion of the place while Porter had done the same.
“If I were going to ambush someone, this wouldn’t be the place.”
Harsh shook his head.
“Not a setup.”
“Me siento mejor.” I feel better.
“Oh, now you want to be concerned? Come on, blockhead,” Porter said, and slammed the door. The two men walked the sidewalk around the perimeter fence, until Porter saw an entry gate, wide open, and stepped through. He looked around, trying to get his bearings—then he saw a familiar silhouette.
It was the big guy in the pageboy cap, the one Nico had called Carlo. The one who had been sitting across the desk from Nico in the office.
Carlo was smart. He had the sun at his back, leaving Porter to squint as he tried to see the man, his hands, and everything else around him all at the same time. Unable to focus, Porter slipped his hand into his waistband, in case the big man wanted to do more than talk.
“Relax,” Carlo said, in a voice that was nearly as deep as Porter’s. “If we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”
“That’s comforting. Who’s we?”
“You’ll see. Surprised you don’t get it yet. Not sure how you’ve managed to survive so long, being that slow on the uptake, but who am I to judge?”
“I don’t know, you sound like you’re doing a good job of it.”
Carlo looked at Harsh, then back to Porter. “Just you. Tattoo stays here. Got it?”
Porter looked at Carlo, then at Harsh. “Nah. We’re a team. Kind of like Donnie and Marie. You know who I’m talking about, right?”
“You done?” Carlo said.
“I could keep going.”
“The man wants to see you,” Carlo said, pointing at Porter. “No reason to worry. But if you don’t listen to the man, then we will have a problem. Dig what I’m saying?”
Porter nodded his head. He was torn between putting his foot down and wanting to see who “the man” was. At the end of the day, if there was something to learn from this “man,” it was worth a gamble. For Royce Michelson. For the other kids he was trying to help. Most of all, for Rivera. “Take me to him.”
“Just walk down the path. I’ll keep your friend company.”
Porter looked over at Harsh, who nodded.
“Fine. But he’s a real lady. Okay? Make sure you respect him,” Porter said as he turned to leave.
Porter shielded his eyes with his hand. He walked around a playground, with its metal slides that would certainly melt young leg skin during the summer, and passed a small sand pit as he headed toward a trio of park benches, lined up end to end. There were birds fluttering about, probably the first of the birds that had returned from the south after hiding from winter.
Unless New York pigeons were badass enough to deal with the snow.
Sitting on the right side of the middle bench was a figure, its back toward Porter. Porter walked around the cluster and stood in front for a moment as a wave of understanding came crashing down on him at once. “Tommy Blue Eyes?”
The old man from the car dealership looked up at Porter, tinted glasses blocking the sun’s rays, cane leaning against his legs. “So you know who I am?”
“I do now. Can’t believe I missed it earlier. May I sit?”
Thomas Fanucci gestured an upturned hand to the bench next to Porter. “You got good manners, kid. I can see your parents raised you right.”
“They tried,” Porter said. “Mr. Fanucci—”
“Please. Most people just call me Tommy, anymore.”
“I’d imagine most people call you ‘Boss.’”
“People that work for me, sure. But since we’re friends, Tommy is fine.”
Porter nodded.
The two men sat in silence for a few moments. Porter’s eyes slowly took in the space in front of him, not sure what to be looking for. Despite the fact that he’d just been asked by the head of the Fanucci crime family to call him by his first name, he still wasn’t entirely comfortable.
“Relax, kid, there’s nobody here. Just me and Carlo,” Tommy said. “I come here to get away sometimes. You’d be surprised how many questions people want to ask me all day. It’s kind of crazy, really. What did we do before cell phones? How did business get taken care of without being able to reach someone every damn minute of the day?”
“I can sympathize.”
“It’s making people weak. Soft in the head. Like they can’t make good decisions anymore. When I started, all the people that worked under me were independent thinkers. Sure, once in a while one would pop up and try to kill you—you know, getting a little too independent. Most of the time, life was better. Now, people’s independence leads them to do dumb stuff.”
“Like Nico Spirelli?”
“Exactly like that.”
Porter looked at the man. “He a problem for you?”
“I haven’t had a problem since I was in Korea. Challenges, on the other hand—I do sometimes have challenges. Nico is one of those challenges. See, I’ve known about his little drug business for a while. He’s an idiot to think I don’t have eyes and ears in every part of this city. I can find out anything I want to, anytime I want to.”
“Is that how you tracked me down?”
Despite the fact they were seated, Tommy Blue Eyes still had to look up at Porter. “Find you? That was easy, kid. As many cops as I have on the payroll, following your car after you left Nicky’s car lot was a piece of cake. They got traffic cameras most places. Ten minutes after you stopped at Lenox Hill, I got a phone call.”
Porter didn’t say anything.
“I gotta tell you, watching you hustle out of there while Nico’s cars burned, that was about the funniest thing I seen in years. You should have seen him, all upset and pissed. Ranting and raving about what he was going to do to you when he found you. You made him look weak.”
“Well, he deserves it. He’s a scumbag. No disrespect,” Porter said, holding his hand up, palm out, to make his point.
“How could I take offense when I agree with you? He just couldn’t be happy with his drug money. No, I knew he moved on to selling women. Turns my stomach, but what can I do? He’s my only sister’s grandson. I promised to look out for him. So I let him dabble in the things he wants. I pretend like I don’t notice. I think maybe some of the guys think I’m going soft. Maybe that was a mistake.
“Truth is, I can’t stand to be around the little jerk anymore. That’s why I was in the waiting room at the dealership. There was some business we needed to take care of, but I let Carlo handle it. He knows what I expect. Easier for me to sit until they finished and Nicky gave me the new car. The less I have to see that kid, the better.”
Porter had no clue what to say to the crime boss, so he said nothing.
“But now? Now things are different. Apparently I was wrong about what he’s actually doing. Now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I am not happy. Messing with children is something I cannot allow.”
Porter looked down at the man. “And why tell me?”
“Come on, kid, don’t play dumb. You got the look. I know what you’re about. Even if I’d never seen you hang your balls out there and kick in Nico’s door and blow up his cars, I’d still see the look. You’re a killer, plain and simple. The thing is, there’s nothing wrong with that. This world needs killers a lot more than it wants to admit. And right now, so do I.”
Forty-Nine
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t you have people for that? Why me?”
“I have plenty of guys. Some of them have been out finding out things for me all day. The problem is Nicky. Like I said, he’s family. Some of my guys might get a little agita about whacking him.”
Porter smiled. Agita. It was the second time in his life he’d heard the word. The first time was from a pretty brunette who owned a diner in North Carolina. They’d had an argument about whether it was a real word or not. Porter lost the debate. Maybe he should have stayed in North Carolina, with the brunette and her diner. No mob bosses or pedophiles. Maybe no more dreams about Trisha. He dragged his thoughts back to the present, and his smile faded. “You care what your guys think?”
“Of course. That’s the mark of a real leader. I can force them to do anything, but it’s usually better to make them think that my idea is their idea, or that they like what I’m telling them. This would cause a little too much chaos right now. Things are running smoothly, and Nicky has a few goofballs loyal to him that I’d have to take out as well. Better if I’m not involved.”
Porter crossed his arms and looked up into the sky. He opened his mouth and shut it.
“What’s that?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No? I thought you asked me a question.”
Porter shook his head.
Tommy Blue Eyes shook his head. “Yeah, you did. You said you were from out of town, and you were looking for some fun tonight. Big, virile guy like you, I’m sure you could get into some trouble.”
Porter squinted at the man, embarrassed to be so slow on the uptake. “I have been known to cause a ruckus from time to time.”
Tommy held up a piece of paper and pressed it into Porter’s chest. “Well, if you were so inclined, you might find a good time here. And if you do go, before you check out, you should tell ’em Tommy Blue Eyes sent you.”
Porter gently took the paper from the elderly man’s hand, and turned it over in his own. “You know, I gotta ask…” He let the words linger in the air.
Tommy Blue Eyes nodded. “Then ask. You’d be a fool not to. I know you mean no disrespect.”
“This isn’t some kind of trap, is it? You serve me up to Nico?” Porter slowly exhaled.
Tommy’s laugh rasped out and the man’s shoulders shook up and down, his laugh punctuated by a cough. “Kid, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be ended already. We used to say ‘sleeps with the fishies.’ Kind of a dead expression now, but you get the point.”
“Carlo said the same thing,” Porter muttered.
“Of course he did. Because it’s true. Look, you’d be a dummy if you didn’t ask, but sometimes, you gotta go with your gut. What’s your gut say?”
“It says you’re using me for cheap muscle.” The comment slipped out before Porter could catch himself.
Tommy laughed again. “That so? How much would make you feel like you were being properly compensated?”
“Never mind what I said.”
Tommy put his liver-spotted hand on Porter’s forearm. “Well, speak up. You mentioned it.”
“There’s no way for me to give you a number. I’m not a hit man.”
“No?”
“No. I’ve never taken money to kill someone. That’s not what I’m about.”
“Is that so?”
Porter nodded.
“But you have taken money for other things, correct? Bagging groceries when you were a kid? Flipping burgers in college or something?”
“Sure, bu—”
“And this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve put men in the ground before. I can tell. I can always tell.”
Porter slowly exhaled. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“Then what’s the problem? You’re already going to whack Nicky, you might as well get a little something for yourself. Buy a nice watch or car or whatever you kids like these days.”
“I could use a Cadillac,” Porter muttered.
Tommy Blue Eyes laughed. “Yeah, well, get in line. I’m waiting for one too. So, how about it? What number would make you feel comfortable? They always say, if you’re good at something, you shouldn’t do it for free.”
“They do say that.”
“So what’s the number?”
Porter gritted his teeth. “A hundred.”
“Grand?” Tommy coughed. “Damn, kid, you’re expensive. I could have a guy from Florida come up and do Nicky for a fraction of that.”
Porter didn’t say anything, not sure what the etiquette on negotiating with a mob boss called for next.
Tommy Blue Eyes cocked his head and looked at Porter. “Can I be honest with you?”
“I hope so.”
“I liked you the moment you sat down in Nicky’s car lot. You remind me of a friend I had in Korea. Kind of big like you. Hard-nosed, righteous. Same skin as you. That ain’t a bad thing, by the way. Carlo told me what Nicky called you in his office. I don’t approve of that, I’m not into that race crap. If you had pulled that wheel gun of yours and wasted Nicky right then and there, I would have allowed it.”
Porter didn’t say anything.
“That’s part of the problem these days. People talk too much, and they don’t think they can be held accountable for it. It’s like that quote from the guy that wrote them old Conan books.”
“Robert Howard?” Porter said. “‘Civilized men are more discourteous than savages, because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split.’”
Tommy looked up at him. “You know Howard, too? I’m impressed, kid. I wish more of my guys read as much as they drank and whored and bet on the ponies.”
Porter fiddled with the paper in his hands, looking at the address on it.
“See, I never had any problem knowing I was a savage. It’s who I am; it’s just in my blood, always has been. But at least I have a code. A savage code, sure, but still a code. I get the feeling you’re the same. Nicky doesn’t have that. And that’s a problem.”
“Mr. Fanucci—”
“I’ve already asked you once. If you call me Mister again, I’ll be insulted.”
“Tommy. If you just—”
“Look, kid, I’ll give you fifty. A hundred is too much; my accountant will think I’m soft in the head. From time to time, I give a real expert fifty. I see no reason not to treat you like a pro.”
Porter nodded. “That seems more than generous.”
“Good. I’d hate to think you were taking me for a ride.”
The two men sat as the sun dipped lower in the sky. It would soon be lost behind one of the many buildings surrounding the park in Brooklyn. Tommy Blue Eyes pulled his jacket a little tighter around his neck.
“And when I’m done?”
“That’s it. You get a pass for anything that happens. No one will come looking for you, you have my word. Hell, I’ll even make sure the cops don’t go anywhere near Nicky’s building tonight.”
Porter stood up. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Tommy reached up and shook Porter’s hand, his grip again surprising Porter.
“I’ll see you around, Tommy,” Porter said, his mind now set.
“You can count on it, kid.”
Porter left the old man behind, walking toward Harsh and Carlo, who were leaning against the wrought iron fence. “You guys done goofing off?”
“What’d the old man say to you?” Carlo said.
“Ask him yourself,” Porter said, smacking Harsh on the shoulder and pointing to the break in the fence.
He waited until they were in the car to relay the events of the meeting to Harsh, as well as show him the address on the paper.
“Jersey.”
“Yeah, I gathered that much. So, what do you think?”
Harsh nodded his head. “Vámonos.” Let’s go.
Fifty
Porter sat on the chair in the pizza shop. The window was big and open to the road. It was as easy to see in as it was to see out. If Nico Spirelli’s meatheads decided they were hungry for a slice, there would be a big problem.
Still, he had the best view of the place he could hope for.
It seemed like a standard block of apartments. Three stories, with a single staircase that fed into the lobby. There was brick everywhere and, unlike the brownstones he’d seen earlier, this building didn’t seem to be in good shape.
Porter had been slowly eating his half of the large pie over the course of a couple of hours. During that time, he’d watched nearly a dozen people go into the building. If there was one thing he’d noticed, it was that there were no families.
This time of the evening, in a normal apartment building, there should be fathers getting off work, families playing outside, a single mom bringing dinner home for her kids. Perhaps a grandfather going for an evening walk with the dog.
