“The media are all over this,” Sykes says. “They’re already talking about out-of-control, trigger-happy cowboy cops. They’re already asking if the Task Force should be shut down. I have to give them some answers.”
McGivern stands up. “You think you can throw them Malone and they’ll stop at that? If you give the press any opening at all, they will eat us all alive. Here are the answers you’re going to give them: Four New York cops—hero cops—engaged a gang of killers in a desperate gun battle. One of those heroes was killed—he gave his life for this city—and another is fighting for his life. Those are the answers, and the only answers, that you will give. Do you understand me, Captain Sykes?”
Sykes walks away.
McGivern starts to say something and then hears a commotion in the lobby. The commissioner, the chief of detectives and the mayor are coming in through the crowd.
Cameras chatter.
Malone sees that Chief Neely is in full dress uniform. He must have taken time to climb into the costume before he came rushing over.
He beats the mayor over to Yolanda.
Bends over and says comforting things, Malone supposes. We’re all behind you. Keep a good thought. Thirty-eight thousand of us will be out looking for the men who did this to your husband, and we’ll get them.
Neely spots Malone and walks over.
Looks at McGivern, who finds somewhere else to be.
“Sergeant Malone,” Neely says.
“Sir.”
“Through this ordeal,” Neely says, “I will support you, praise you to the press and back you up one hundred and ten percent. But you’re finished on the Job. There’s no place for your cowboy bullshit anymore. You got one and maybe two good officers killed. Do yourself a favor, take a disability buyout. I’ll sign it.”
He pats Malone on the shoulder and walks away.
A doctor in scrubs comes in, Claudette behind him. He looks around the room and spots Yolanda. Donna helps her up and they walk over to him. Malone and Russo stand at the edge within earshot.
“Your husband is out of surgery,” the doctor says.
“Thank God,” Yolanda says.
The doctor says, “We’ve taken him to ICU. The flow of blood to his brain was cut off for a considerable period of time. Also, another bullet nicked the cervical vertebrae and the spinal cord. At this point in time, we might have to consider lowering our expectations.”
Yolanda breaks down in Donna’s arms.
Donna walks her away.
The doctor goes back to the OR.
Malone approaches Claudette. “Translation?”
“It doesn’t look good,” Claudette says. “He has severe brain damage. Even if he makes it, you need to prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“The man you knew is gone,” Claudette says. “If he lives, it will be at the most basic level.”
“Christ.”
“I’m sorry,” Claudette says. “And guilty. When the 10-13 came in, I was afraid it was you. Then I was relieved it wasn’t.”
He sees she’s clean.
Or at least not high on heroin.
Maybe her tame doc’s got her propped up so she can work.
She looks over his shoulder and sees Sheila, walking in straight for Malone. She knows this has to be the wife.
“You’d better go,” Claudette says.
Malone turns around, sees Sheila and walks over to her. She puts her arms around him.
“I have blood all over me,” Malone says.
“I don’t care,” she says. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Malone says. “Levin’s dead, Monty’s in bad shape.”
“Is he going to make it?”
“Maybe he shouldn’t,” Malone says.
She sees Claudette and knows right the fuck away. “Is that her? She’s pretty, Denny. I can see what you see in her.”
“Not here, Sheila.”
“Don’t worry,” Sheila says. “I’m not going to cause a scene, not in front of Yolanda, what she’s going through.”
She walks over to Claudette. “I’m Sheila Malone.”
“I figured. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“I just came over to tell you,” Sheila says, “you want my husband, you can have him. Good luck with him, honey.”
Sheila goes over to Yolanda and throws her arms around her.
There’s nothing an Irish Catholic police inspector loves more than death and tragedy. McGivern’s worse than an old lady for that stuff; several times Malone has walked into his office and caught him reading the obituaries.
Now he finds McGivern in the hospital chapel, clutching his rosary beads.
“Denny . . . I was just saying a prayer.”
Malone lowers his voice. “If Homicide starts looking into motive, if they pick up Castillo, it might all come out.”
“What all might come out?”
Don’t you fucking play the innocent with me, Malone thinks. “The Pena thing.”
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that.”
“Where do you think your fat envelopes came from?” Malone asks. “We went in together on a lottery ticket, that was your share? It was just coincidence after the Pena bust your monthly went up like an insider stock?”
“You never told me anything about the Pena bust,” McGivern says, his voice getting tight, “except what was in your report.”
“You didn’t want to know.”
“And I still don’t.” McGivern gets up. “Excuse me, Sergeant. I have a gravely wounded officer to look in on.”
Malone doesn’t get out of the pew. “If they get Castillo, he might start telling stories about how many kilos were really in that room. If he does, that goes on me and on my partners, including the gravely wounded officer you’re so concerned about.”
“But you’re going to stand up, aren’t you?” McGivern says. “I know you, Denny. I know the man your father raised would never inform on a brother officer.”
“I could go to prison.”
“Your family will be taken care of,” McGivern says.
“That’s what mob guys say.”
“We’re different,” McGivern says. “We mean it.”
“You and my old man,” Malone says, “were you on the pad together way back in the day?”
“We took care of our families,” McGivern says. “You and your brother never went without. Your father saw to that.”
“Like father like son.”
“You’re like a son to me, Denny,” McGivern says. “Your father, may our Lord bless and keep him, made me promise that I’d look after you. Help you in your career, make sure you did the right thing. You’re going to do the right thing now, aren’t you? Tell me you’re going to do the right thing.”
“Which is to keep my mouth shut.”
“That is the right thing to do.”
Malone looks at his face. Sees the fear. “Then I’m going to do the right thing, Inspector.”
He gets up and edges out of the pew.
McGivern steps into the aisle, faces the altar and crosses himself. Then he turns to Malone. “You’re a good boy, Denny.”
Yeah, Malone thinks.
I’m your good boy.
He don’t cross himself.
What’s the point?
They’ve moved Monty to Intensive Care.
When Malone goes up to ICU, a nurse blocks him in the hall outside Monty’s room. “Immediate family only, sir.”
“I’m immediate family,” Malone says, showing her his badge as he moves around her. “But I appreciate you looking out.”