“Christ.”
“If you go in with enough manpower, it’ll be worth it. You’ll get more than just the two assholes on your warrants. If you go in aware, this could be very good for you.”
“Good for me? How?”
“You’ll take down more than just those two. A lot more. And the brass will be glad you did. These are bad people.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Trust me, I know,” said Walter. “I don’t have time to explain everything, but I’m trying to help you.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
“Because I don’t want to be the reason a bunch of cops get hurt out there tonight. I’m off the force, but I’m working in private security. I brought this thing to that bureau chief, so my name’s all over this. Somebody gets hurt out there tonight, it won’t go good for me. You can see that.”
“So who are you trying to help here? You, or me?”
“Both.”
Esposito nodded. It made sense, but it didn’t make him happy,
“And I’m supposed to trust you, some guy I don’t know from Adam.”
“If you had more time, you could check me out. I’d come up good.”
Walter watched Esposito struggling with what he had been told. Walter made his final pitch. “It’s too late to call it off. The brass will murder you. All I’m saying is, call for backup before you go in. What’s the downside?”
“Me looking like an asshole.”
Walter was about to tell Esposito how bad he’d look if he didn’t listen to him, but he held back. Instead, he said, “Do what you think is best.”
It would have to do. He turned and walked out of the precinct. The last thing he had to do was give Beck the word when the cops headed out, but he knew he couldn’t do much more than that. He had no idea if the precinct detective was going to take his advice.
67
Beck checked his watch. Five minutes to two. He’d received Ricky’s last call twenty minutes ago. He figured with no traffic it would take about a half hour to drive from Brighton Beach to Red Hook. He called Willie Reese and told him to be on the lookout for two SUVs, as well as cops coming into the neighborhood. He’d told Willie all he needed was a heads-up, nothing more.
Beck told him again, “Let me know what you see, but stay out of sight, man. Seriously. Don’t put yourself anywhere around this.”
“I’m up in the fuckin’ projects, dude. Nobody gonna see me, but I’ll tell you right now, I see them.”
“Who? What?”
“Two black SUVs comin’ down Lorraine, heading your way.”
“Can you spot any cops anywhere?”
“Nah. No five-oh anywhere I can see. Got some boys over by all the Hamilton Street crossings and ain’t heard any word from them about cops.”
“Okay, thanks. Stay where you are.”
“I hear you, boss, but I got one request.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let any dumb-ass motherfuckers bust up my window.”
Beck smiled. “I’ll do what I can.”
And then Beck heard the far-off sound of a car engine breaking the silence of the dead winter night. The sound seemed to be coming his way, slowly.
“I think I hear ’em.”
Beck’s phone signaled another incoming call. Shit.
“Take care, Willie.”
He tried to drop the call to Reese and catch the second one. He ended up with only a dial tone. “Goddammit.”
Had to be Pearce. But what was the message? He’d made the pitch? They bought it? Didn’t buy it? Were coming? Weren’t coming? Fucking cell phones.
Suddenly, Beck saw the glare of headlights behind him on Van Brunt.
It was going down. A black SUV turned onto Reed.
Too late to try to call Pearce. Had to go with the assumption that even if the cops were coming, they’d be too late. Useless pieces of shit. I must have been crazy to count on them.
The SUV rolled past Beck, headed in the direction of Conover.
Beck let the SUV get about twenty feet ahead of him, then edged out into the street. He crouched down low near the front of the car he had been hiding next to so that he could have a better view in front of him.
He glanced across the street at Olivia’s Porsche. No sign of Ciro and Joey B. Good, stay out of sight, boys.
Now they all had to wait. Stick with the plan until they couldn’t. If the cops came in time, it might work. If not … Beck didn’t want to think about “if not.”
Beck watched the SUV slow to a halt a few feet before the gate. Shit. It would be better if they had stopped parallel to the gate. Fuck it. Beck eased a few feet forward, still keeping low. In the dim light Beck could make out the Chevy emblem on the back of the SUV. It was a Suburban. Big enough for a lot of men.
The passenger door of the SUV opened. One man stepped out of the vehicle. He had a two-foot-long bolt cutter. So far so good. The interior lights dimmed as he shut the door behind him, but it was on long enough to light up the inside of the Suburban. Time enough for Beck to catch sight of Stepanovich’s bald head rising above the others, but not enough time to get a body count. Didn’t matter. At least he knew where Stepanovich was.
The man with the bolt cutter went straight to the chain on the gate and set to work. Beck hoped he’d be smart enough to cut the hasp of the lock. The chain would be too hard for a bolt cutter. Even one that big.
The guy kept working it, grinding away, opening and closing the long handles. Finally the chain fell. He grabbed the end of the gate and tried to pull it open. Nothing. He pushed on it, leaning his weight against it. It went nowhere.
Jeezus Christ, thought Beck, you dumb son of a bitch. Slide it. Slide the damn thing. It’s on wheels.
Finally, the man with the bolt cutter figured it out and started to push the gate to his right. The wheels were frozen or rusted. They wouldn’t turn. Another of Stepanovich’s men stepped out of the Suburban and helped him. They kept lifting and shoving the long gate over the patches of frozen snow, opening it wider and wider.
What are they doing? Beck wondered.