FORTY-NINE
The building was a twenty-four-story high-rise near the corner of Fourth and Washington. It was one of the few remaining old high-rise buildings in the area. It had recently been converted into a senior living facility. On the way over, Vincent explained to Byrne that one of DeRon Wilson’s dodges was to use the place as a stash house. He said Wilson’s grandmother had passed away in 2009, but Wilson kept the place.
At nine o’clock Carter Wilson left the building, and headed down Fourth Street to his car. He rounded the corner and was just about to open the door when two men walked up behind him. Instinctively Carter’s hand went to the 9mm pistol in his belt.
Vincent Balzano stopped him.
Where DeRon Wilson was small and wiry, Carter Wilson was of average height, but flabby. Too much junk food, too much sampling of the product. Vincent easily pushed the man to the top of the dead-end alley.
‘You know who I am?’ Vincent asked.
Nothing. Just Carter Wilson’s version of a jailhouse stare.
‘Coulda swore I asked you a question,’ Vincent added.
‘I know who you are.’
‘Good,’ Vincent said. ‘That saves me a lot of time.’
Carter nodded in Byrne’s direction. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Him? He’s the angel of f*cking death, Carter. Believe me, you don’t want to deal with him.’
Carter continued to stare at Byrne.
‘Time to look at me,’ Vincent said.
Carter took a half-second too long to follow directions. Vincent turned Carter roughly around, slammed him into the wall. He emptied the man’s pockets, put the contents onto the top of a fifty-gallon drum, one of three in the alley: a few dollars, some loose change, car keys, an empty condom wrapper, a cell phone, and a disposable lighter.
‘Put your hands down and turn around,’ Vincent said.
Carter slowly did as he was told.
‘Where are you coming from?’ Vincent asked.
‘The store.’
‘Oh yeah? Which store is that?’
‘I don’t know, man.’
‘You don’t know? You were just there, how could you not know? Are you talking about that Rite-Aid on the corner?’
‘Yeah, yeah. That’s the one.’
‘There’s no Rite-Aid up there.’
Carter shook his head. ‘Man. Why you playin’ me like this?’
Vincent smiled. ‘I’m not playing, Carter. Truth is, we have somewhere to be. Do you know where we’re going?’
Carter remained silent.
‘That was a question,’ Vincent said.
‘How would I know where y’all going?’
‘We’re going to see your brother.’
Carter pulled a face, like he’d never heard the word before. ‘My brother?’
‘Yeah. Your real brother, not your play brother, or your cousin-brother. The one called DeRon. We can’t seem to locate him.’
‘Did you try his house?’
‘Damn,’ Vincent said. He looked over at Byrne, and back. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? Yeah. We tried his house, Carter. We also hit all his spots, all his corners, so we’re pretty sure the word is out that we want to have a little chat with him. That’s why we came to you, my man.’
Stone cold silence.
‘Okay. Look. I’m not going to insult your intelligence – such as it is – by asking you the question again.’
Vincent reached into his jacket pocket with one leather-gloved hand and pulled out a neatly wrapped package, a clear plastic baggie of what looked like two ounces of cocaine. He handed it to Carter, who took it.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s yours,’ Vincent said. ‘I just found it on you when I patted you down.’
Everything seemed to hit Carter all at once. Instead of flailing, railing, or running, he seemed to implode. He just stood there, wide-eyed and shocked. Vincent took the package back.
‘That ain’t mine, man!’
‘Of course it is. Got your prints all over it. And with your record, I’m pretty sure you’re looking at federal time.’
Vincent tossed Byrne the keys to Carter’s car. Byrne opened the trunk, found a zippered canvas pouch, opened it. Inside was what looked like thirty or forty thousand dollars.
‘Oh, Carter, Carter,’ Vincent said. ‘We add that money into the mix and you are looking at a deep, dark hole.’
Carter started to vibrate. Byrne had seen it many times. It was the involuntary muscle reflex that always preceded supersonic felony flight. Carter was getting ready for liftoff.
Vincent casually pulled back the hem of his leather jacket. There in a holster was a massive .45 auto. ‘Feel free to run.’
‘Why, man? Why you doin’ this?’
‘Because I need your brother, and I need him now.’
‘I don’t –’
‘Done f*cking with you.’ Vincent pulled his weapon, cocked the hammer, put it to Carter’s right kneecap. ‘You’ve now got ten seconds.’
‘Elbow,’ Byrne said.
Vincent looked over. ‘Elbow?’
‘Yeah,’ Byrne said. ‘If you shoot them in the elbow, they can still walk. Hurts like a motherf*cker, but we won’t have to carry him down to the river.’
‘The river?’ Carter yelled.
‘Good point,’ Vincent said. He turned back to Carter. ‘You now have two seconds.’
‘Wait!’ Carted said. ‘I page him. Then he texts me back with the place I gotta go.’
Vincent took a moment, then picked up the disposable cell phone. ‘This is the phone he texts you on?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And he doesn’t call, or leave a voicemail?’
‘No,’ Carter said. ‘He don’t want his voice on nothin’.’
‘Who else has this number?’
‘Nobody. Just DeRon.’
‘Page him.’ Hands shaking, Carter did as he was told. Twenty seconds later, as promised, a text message came across the screen. It was an address.
‘See how easy that was?’ Vincent asked.
Carter said nothing.
Vincent tossed the cell phone to Byrne. Carter opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.
‘We can’t have you tipping your brother now, can we?’ Vincent said.
‘I ain’t gonna call him.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yeah.’
Vincent laughed. He turned the man around, muscled him over to the open trunk.
‘Get in,’ Vincent said.
‘What the f*ck, man? I tole you where he is.’
‘I know,’ Vincent said. ‘And on behalf of the entire PPD let me say that we really appreciate your cooperation. Now get in the f*cking trunk.’
Reluctantly, Carter got in the trunk. Before Vincent slammed it shut, he took the baggie out of his pocket. ‘I’ll just put this in the back seat.’
‘You can’t leave that out like that!’ Carter yelled. ‘What if the cops come by?’
‘If they do you can make them some pancakes,’ Vincent said. ‘It’s Bisquick, a*shole.’
Vincent slammed the trunk lid, threw Carter’s keys into a sewer.
Ten seconds later the two detectives headed to North Philly.