“Hey, you’re a fucking cop killer for chrissake. They’re going to love having an excuse to come back at you.”
“Bullshit. Think it through. They fucked up before. Everything was dropped. Plus, the City and State had to pay me a shitload in the end. I’m fucking Kryptonite, man. You think they want to take me on for some asshole Wall Street prick? They’re risking a lot of trouble, for what?”
Beck leaned forward again.
“Walter, I got the same crazy crusading lawyer ready to go back for round two, anytime, for any reason. Ten minutes after they arrest me, my lawyer will be suing everybody that had anything to do with this. He lives for that kind of an arrest. He’ll find out all the brass that were involved. He’ll turn over every fucking stone and trace back every meeting, every phone call. He’ll connect every dot and name every one of those sons of bitches in an avalanche of complaints and lawsuits. And your name is going to be right in the middle of it.
“And guess what, when the shit goes down, the first fucking thing Milstein is going to do is fire you and forget your name. You’ll be out on your ass, the department will blackball you, but he’ll still have his business and his Park Avenue apartment and sit in Central Park smoking his fat cigar while his dog shits on the lawn. And you, you’ll have nothing. No job and One PP telling everybody Walter Pearce is an asshole that caused them a ton of trouble.”
Walter snapped back, “All right, all right. I get your fucking point. But it’s already done. What the hell can you do about it?’
Beck leaned back. “I can make everybody a hero, including you, except for Milstein. I can make all the shit fall on him. I can make you somebody the department will remember helped them.”
Walter screwed up his face in disbelief.
“Bullshit.”
“Try me.”
“How? How the hell you gonna make everybody a hero?”
Beck held his open hands in front of him. “All I need is for you to find out who they’re sending after me. Find out who’s in charge. Find out now. Tonight. And then tell that guy what I’m about to tell you.”
“Which is what?”
“Can you find who’s in charge? Can you find that out? If you can, this will work. If not, you’re right. There’s probably nothing I can do.”
Walter wiped his face with his big hand. For the first time in the conversation, he let the Glock point away from Beck.
“Can you find out who’s coming after me, Walter?”
“Sure.”
“Good.”
“And one last thing, Walter.”
“What?”
“I don’t like Milstein. He’s a supercilious little fuck who let this whole stinking mess unroll. I don’t like the fact that he thinks he can come after me. And I don’t particularly like that he’s going to use you and spit you out. If this works like I hope it will, I’ll put another twenty thousand in cash on top of that ten. So, you’ll not only be squared away with the department, you’ll have a little cushion to tide you over until you get your next job.”
“So now you’re my friend? Fuck you. I’m no charity case.”
“I’m not your friend. And it isn’t charity. Trust me, you’ll earn it.”
Walter pointed his gun at Beck again, this time with the butt resting on the arm of the chair to steady his aim. They were less than six-feet apart. He couldn’t miss. Beck watched the anger well up in Pearce. He realized he might have gone too far. Demeaned Walter too much.
“What if I just shoot you now? You’re armed. I put your gun in your hand, say I got the drop on you. Then I’m a hero for sure. Call the brass and tell them they don’t have to go arrest you. Nobody gets tangled up with your lawyer. Milstein will kiss my ass. I pick up the ten thousand on the table. And I don’t have to worry about your bullshit coming back at me.”
Beck nodded. “You could do that. Yeah. Definitely. Shoot me. Take my gun and put it in my hand. Fire it off in your direction. You might make it work.”
“That’s what I figure.”
“But let me ask you something.”
“What?”
“What do you think the guy with that thirteen tattooed on his neck is going to do if you shoot me? Or the other guys you never saw and don’t know about? Shoot me, Walter, and you might as well put the next bullet in your head and get it over quick, because you’re a dead man.”
“Oh right—your gang. Let me tell you the biggest gang in New York. The fucking NYPD.”
Beck tipped his head, conceding the point. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one. Trouble is, Walter, you’re not in that gang anymore. You’re retired. Nobody is going to avenge Walter Pearce.”
Beck leaned forward a bit more, his hands now hanging down between his knees, his right hand inches away from the Glock 26 strapped to his left ankle. He watched Walter Pearce very carefully, spoke softly. “Think it through, Walter. You got no chance of this working out if you shoot me.”
Beck knew it would be a very tough move to get his gun out from under the cuff of his jeans. If he moved fast, right now, he had a chance to win the shoot-out. But it would be a Pyrrhic victory. He needed Walter Pearce. He moved his hand away from his ankle and sat back.
“What the hell, Walter, why not just hear me out? You can still take your chances and shoot me. And pick up the ten grand.”
Walter Pearce stared at Beck, his Glock pointed at the center of Beck’s chest.
Beck crossed his left ankle over his right knee. He rested his right hand on his left ankle, inches from the Glock, sitting back on the couch, trying to appear totally relaxed. His hand was as close to his gun as he was going to get it. He figured if it came down to it, he might win a shoot-out. It would be a mess, but as much as he needed Walter Pearce, he wasn’t going to let the big, morose, angry man shoot him.
“Come on, detective. Listen to the rest of it. Then decide.”
Finally, Walter nodded, laid his gun flat on his knee, and said, “Say what you have to say.”
Beck looked at his watch. He didn’t have a lot of time. He started talking. Fast.
61