“Fifty thousand,” Malone says.
Sykes laughs. “You want me to go to McGivern for fifty thousand dollars based on something you heard that you shouldn’t have?”
“I’ll have a typed and sworn CI statement.”
“As soon as you leave my office.”
“McGivern will get it for you,” Malone says. It’s a risk but he has to take it. “If you tell him it’s me.”
That’s a turd for Sykes to swallow.
“When is this going down?” Sykes asks.
Malone shrugs. “Soon.”
“I’ll talk to the inspector,” Sykes says. “But this travels down the straight and narrow. You communicate, you keep me in touch every step of the way.”
“You got it.”
“And I want you to bring in another team when it goes down,” Sykes says. “Use Torres and his people.”
“Captain Sykes . . .”
“What?”
“Not Torres.”
“What’s wrong with Torres?”
“I need you to trust me on this one,” Malone says.
Sykes looks at him for several long seconds. “What are you trying to tell me, Sergeant?”
“Let my team handle the buy,” Malone says. “Bring the plainclothes and the uniforms in on the seller. You distribute the collars any way you want—the whole Task Force dines out.”
“Only not Torres.”
“Only not Torres.”
More silence.
More of a look.
Then Sykes says, “If you fuck me on this, Malone, I will set a fire up your ass that will never go out.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, boss.”
“Did you perjure yourself in the Rivera case?” Paz asks him.
“Who’d you have lunch with,” Malone asks, “Gerry Berger?”
She tosses a file on the table. “Answer my question.”
“This file was sealed,” Malone says. “How did Berger get it to give it to you?”
She doesn’t answer.
“You think that piece of shit wins all his cases because he’s so smart?” Malone asks. “Because all his clients are innocent? You don’t think he ever bought a ruling, got some evidence tossed with an envelope?”
“He didn’t need that to get your evidence tossed, did he?” Paz asks. “You manufactured probable cause and then committed perjury.”
“If you say so.”
“The record says so,” Paz says. “Does Mary Hinman normally countenance this kind of thing to make her cases?”
“You going after her now?”
“If she’s dirty.”
“She’s not,” Malone says. “Leave her alone.”
“Why? You fucking her?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“If you perjured yourself,” Paz says, “our deal is invalid.”
“Do it,” Malone says. He holds his hands out to be cuffed. “No, come on, right now. Do it.”
She keeps glaring at him.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He lowers his hands. “You know why you won’t? Brady versus Maryland—you have to notify defense attorneys if a cop involved in their cases ever knowingly lied under oath. Because if I told you I had, it would open up forty or fifty old cases of guys who are locked up and are going to want new trials. And it will open up questions of whether your buddy prosecutors knew I was lying and tolerated it to get those convictions. So don’t give me your sanctimonious, condescending bullshit because I’ll bet to get to where you are you did the same goddamn thing.”
Silence in the room.
“You fuckin’ feds,” Malone says. “You’d lie, cheat, sell your mother’s eyes to get a conviction. It’s only wrong when a cop does it.”
“Shut up, Denny,” O’Dell says.
“I’ve got you, what, six indictments now? Seven?” Malone asks. “When is this over? When is it enough?”
“It’s over when we tell you it’s over,” Paz says.
“When is that?” Malone asks. “How high up you want to go? You got balls, Paz, you got big enough balls to go after judges? How much you think they clear after taxes? Enough for the condo down in West Palm? How about when they go to Vegas, get comped? Lose a bundle and it gets written off, too? You interested in how that happens?”
“What are you,” Weintraub asks, “a crusader all of a sudden?”
Paz says, “If you know something—”
“Everybody knows it!” Malone says. “The fuckin’ Hindu at the newspaper stand knows it! A ten-year-old black kid on the corner knows it! What I’m asking is how come you don’t know it?”
Silence.
“Yeah, it gets real quiet now,” Malone says.
“We have to work from the bottom up,” O’Dell says.
“Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it,” Malone says. “That works out nice for you. You never have to lay your asses on the line.”
“I’m not going to sit here and be lectured by a crooked cop,” Paz says.
“You know what, you don’t have to,” Malone says.
He gets up.
“Sit down, Denny,” O’Dell says.
“You got your money’s worth from me,” Malone says. “I gave you all the lawyers I worked with. I’m done.”
“Then we charge you,” Paz says.
“Yeah, put me on the stand,” Malone says. “See what names I name, see what happens to your careers then.”
“Any professional aspirations I may harbor,” Paz says, “have nothing to do with this.”
“And I’m the Easter Bunny.”
He walks toward the door.
“You know, you’re right, Malone,” Paz says. “You’ve taken us as far as you can with lawyers. Now I want cops.”
You dumb mick motherfucker, Malone thinks, the lawyers were just the come-along, to get you in. How many times have you used the same game on snitches? Once you get their cherry, they’re yours, you put them on the street and use them up.
But you thought you were different, dumb shit.
“I told you from the jump,” Malone says. “No cops.”
“You’re going to give me cops. Or when we unseal these indictments against the lawyers, I’ll put it out that it was you.” Paz lets that sit and then smiles at him. “Run, Denny, run.”
This bitch has you by the balls, Malone thinks. You’re trapped. If she puts out the word that you’re a rat, they’ll all come after you—the Job, the Ciminos, the motherfuckers in City Hall.
You’re dead.
Malone says, “You spic cunt.”
Paz smiles at him. “Spic cunt is famously good. That’s why everyone wants them some. Get me cops. On tape.”
She walks out.
For Malone the room is spinning. He controls himself enough to say to O’Dell, “We had a deal.”
“We’re not asking for your partners,” O’Dell says. “Just get us one or two other guys. There have to be cops even you think are over the line, Denny. Brutal cops. Cops we need to get off the street.”
“I won’t hurt my partners,” Malone says.
“This is you saving your partners,” O’Dell says. “Do you think we’re stupid? That we think you could pull off shit like Rivera by yourself? If we charge you with that, they go too—Russo and Montague.”
“They’re in your hands, Malone,” Weintraub says. “Don’t fumble.”
“Denny,” O’Dell says, “I like you. I don’t think you’re a bad guy. I think you’re a good guy who’s done some bad things. There’s a way out of this, for you and your partners. Work with us and we’ll work with you.”
“What about Paz?”
“You know she can’t be privy to a deal like that,” O’Dell says.
Weintraub asks, “Why do you think she left?”