NYPD Red

Chapter 58



THE SUBWAY WAS out of the question. Not with a bag full of C4. The bomb-sniffing dogs would have him for lunch.

And now that the cops had seen him, even a taxi was risky. Every yellow cab in the city had a decal posted on its rear window: THIS VEHICLE IS EQUIPPED WITH CAMERA SECURITY. YOU WILL BE PHOTOGRAPHED.

The hell I will, Gabriel decided.

It took him ten minutes to flag down a gypsy cab.

There was no meter, and the driver quoted a price back into lower Manhattan. “Fifty bucks.”

Gabe opened the door, shoved his backpack in, and flopped onto the grease-stained, duct-taped rear seat.

Any other time and he would have haggled with the guy. Fifty bucks? For what? To ride in a hot, filthy death trap that stinks of pine freshener and whatever disgusting Middle Eastern camel shit you’re chewing on? Fifty bucks so I can listen to you rant nonstop on your cell phone with the rest of your goddamn terrorist network? I’ll give you thirty-five, and you’re lucky I’m not a suicide bomber, or I’d blow your ass to Mecca and back.

It could have been a good scene. But not today. Today he had more important things to do.

He gave up on leaving messages for Lexi. Wherever she was, she obviously didn’t want him to know. He’d deal with her later. First he had to deal with Mickey Peltz. He dialed Mickey’s cell.

“Hello.”

He couldn’t believe it. Mickey picked up.

“Mick, where are you?”

“Manhattan. Cops picked me up and brought me to the 19th, put me in an interrogation room, and told me to wait for these two detectives.”

“Jordan and MacDonald?”

Mickey let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re good.”

“It was easy. Those are the same two who are looking for me.”

“Well, don’t worry about me saying anything. I’m not under arrest. They just want to talk to me, and trust me, I’m not talking.”

“Did they call your parole officer yet?”

“They made me call him from the loft. That’s the deal. He’s supposed to be in the room when they question me, but he’s in Sing Sing at a hearing till one o’clock. So now I’m just sitting here with my thumb up my ass till he shows up.”

“Mickey, I can’t hear you,” Gabe said. “Bad cell connection.”

“I said I’m just sitting here waiting for my parole—”

Gabe hung up.

Mickey was an idiot. He’d be oh so cool and cavalier with the cops, but the PO would crush him in no time. Gabe was already writing the scene in his head.





INT. 19TH PRECINCT—NEW YORK CITY—DAY


Mickey Peltz is sitting in the interrogation room with DETECTIVES JORDAN and MACDONALD. His PO walks in.





PO


Hello, Mickey. You ready to play ball with me?





MICKEY


Sure, coach. Always.





PO


Football or baseball?





MICKEY


What do you mean?





PO


With football, you’re going back to prison for six to twelve. With baseball, it’ll be two to four.





MICKEY


Go back? Why? I didn’t do nothing.





PO


I hear you’ve been associating with a wanted criminal. A mass murderer. Gabriel Benoit.





MICKEY


I told these cops I haven’t seen or heard from Gabe in years.





PO


In that case, when I go back and search your loft, his DNA won’t be there.





MICKEY


So what if his DNA is there? He used to visit me back in the old days. Or maybe he broke in when I was out. That’s no proof that I met with him.





PO


Cops need proof, Mickey. I don’t. All I need is reasonable cause to believe you lapsed into your old criminal ways and you’ve violated the conditions of your parole. Now, listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. Tell me what Gabriel Benoit is planning next, and I’ll be too busy to look for his DNA at your loft. But I want every detail and I want it on a gold platter, because the silver platter is already off the table.





And that would be that. Mickey would open up like a three-dollar hooker at a lumberjack convention.

Gabriel’s cell rang.

Lexi. Please let it be Lexi.

He checked the caller ID. Mickey.

He didn’t answer. Talking to Mickey was a waste of time. What he had to do now was shut the bastard up.

He had till 1:00.