“Why go at all?” Weintraub asked. “We have enough to pick them up right now, you go into the program.”
“You can’t arrest them at home,” Malone said, “not in front of their families.”
“He could make the meeting,” Weintraub said, “and we could pick them up then.”
“Then he’d have to wear a wire.”
“Fuck that,” Malone said.
“If you don’t wear a wire,” O’Dell said, “we can’t provide backup.”
“Good. I don’t want backup.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Weintraub said.
But that’s what I am, Malone thought. I’m an asshole.
“What are you going to tell them?” O’Dell asked.
“The truth,” Malone said. “I’m going to tell them the truth, what I did. At least give them a chance to prepare their families. You can arrest them tomorrow.”
“What if they run?” Weintraub asked.
“They won’t,” Malone said. “They won’t leave their wives and kids in the wind.”
“If they do run,” O’Dell says, “it’s on you.”
Now he stands in the park and watches Russo and Monty walk up from Morningside Avenue.
Russo’s face is twisted with anger; Monty’s is flat, unreadable.
Cop faces.
And they’re carrying heavy. Malone can see the extra weight on Russo’s hip, can see it in Monty’s walk.
“We’re going to pat you down, Denny,” Monty says.
Malone raises his arms. Russo steps in and searches for a wire.
Doesn’t find one.
“You sobered up?” Russo asks.
“Sober enough.”
“You have something you want to tell us?” Monty asks.
They know—they’re cops, they’re his brothers, they see it on his face, the guilt. But he can’t bring himself to say it. “Like what?”
“Like they flipped you,” Monty says. “They caught you and they flipped you and you gave us up.”
Malone doesn’t answer.
“Jesus, Denny,” Russo says. “At my home? With our families? You wore a fucking wire at my home? While our wives talked and our kids played in the pool together.”
“How did they get to you?” Monty asks.
Malone doesn’t answer.
He can’t.
“It doesn’t matter,” Monty says.
He pulls his .38 and aims it at Malone’s face.
Malone don’t go for his gun, just looks at Monty. “If you think I’m a rat, do it.”
“I will.”
“We have to be sure,” Russo says. He’s almost crying. “We have to be one hundred percent sure.”
“What do you need?” Monty asks.
“I need to hear him say it,” Russo says. He grabs Malone’s arms. “Denny, you look me in the eye and tell me it isn’t true, I’ll believe you. Please, shit, man, tell me it isn’t true.”
Malone looks him in the eye.
The words won’t come out.
“Denny, please,” Russo says. “I can understand if . . . it could happen to any of us . . . just tell us the fucking truth, we can still fix this.”
“How are we going to fix it?” Monty asks.
“He’s my kids’ godfather!”
“He’s going to put your kids’ father in jail,” Monty says. “Mine too. Unless he’s not around to corroborate the tape and testify. I’m sorry, Denny, but—”
“Denny, tell him we got it wrong!”
“He’s going to think what he’s going think,” Malone says.
Russo pulls his piece. “I’m not letting you do it.”
“What, we’re all going to shoot each other?” Malone asks. “That’s who we are now?”
His phone rings.
Monty says, “Go ahead. Slow.”
Malone pulls his phone from his jeans pocket.
“Put it on speaker,” Monty says.
Malone does.
It’s Henderson from IAB.
“Denny, I thought you should know,” he says, “I just got my head handed to me by the feds.”
“The fuck you mean?”
“Fed named O’Dell told me to lay off the Task Force, they got a guy in there,” Henderson says. “Denny, it’s Levin.”
Malone feels sick.
O’Dell, what did you do?
“You told me Levin was clean,” Malone says.
“He showed me the 302,” Henderson says. “It had Levin’s name on it.”
“Okay.” Malone clicks off.
Russo sits down on the grass. “Jesus Christ. We were going to shoot each other. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m sorry, Denny.”
Monty holsters his .38.
But slow.
Malone can see the big man thinking, playing chess in his head, going through the moves—Henderson is Denny’s guy, feds only show documents to city cops when they’re forced to . . .
He ain’t sold.
Now it’s Russo’s phone that rings. He listens for a minute, clicks off and says, “Speak of the fucking devil.”
“What?”
“Levin,” Russo says. “He’s got a visual on Castillo.”
They walk to the work car.
Monty’s eyes boring into him.
Malone can feel a .38 round going through the back of his head.
Old school.
And I’d deserve it, he thinks. I fucking deserve it.
I almost want it.
He slows down, gets beside Monty. “Were you really going to shoot me, Big Man?”
“I don’t know,” Monty says. “Let me ask you this—if the shoe were on the other foot, what would you have done?”
“I don’t know I could shoot you.”
“None of us know, do we,” Monty says, “until we get there.”
“What are we going to do about Levin?” Russo asks. “If Levin is with the feds, we’re fucked, he puts us all in jail.”
“What are you saying?” Malone asks.
“That if we bust Castillo,” Russo says, “there are two people who can’t come out of that raid alive.”
Monty says, “Drug busts are dangerous work.”
“You have a problem with that?” Russo asks.
Malone feels sick. What the fuck was O’Dell doing, covering for me? Tell them, tell them now. Three syllables—I’m a rat.
He can’t say it.
Thought he could.
Instead, he says, “Let’s move.”
Maybe, he thinks, I’ll get lucky.
And I’ll get killed.
The building is on Payson Avenue, across the street from Inwood Hill Park.
“You’re sure about this,” Malone says.
“I saw the van pull up,” Levin says. His voice is tense, excited. “All Trinis. They brought out duffel bags.”
“And you saw Castillo,” Malone says.
“They dropped him off and left,” Levin says. “He went to the fourth floor. I saw him there before they pulled the shades.”
“You’re sure,” Malone says. “You’re sure it was him.”
“One hundred percent,” Levin says.
“Anyone else come or go?” Malone asks.
Levin says, “No one.”
So we don’t know how many people Castillo has in there, Malone thinks. Could be the ten Levin saw, could be twenty more already inside. Castillo’s in there checking and counting before he puts the smack out, making sure none of his own people skimmed.
What we should do, Malone knows, is keep it under surveillance, call Manhattan North, let Sykes bring in an Emergency Services squad, the SWAT guys. Except we can’t do that because this isn’t a bust, it’s an execution.
They all know the risk. And they all, with the exception of Levin, know why they’re taking it.
No one says anything.
A silent assent.
“Gear up,” Malone says. “Vests. Automatic weapons, we’re going in heavy.”
“What about a warrant?” Levin asks.