Blood From A Shadow (2012) Read online

  “Who the fuck was that?” the red detective said.

  I pushed them out of my face, knelt beside Eddie, he was conscious, in a lot of pain, looked like he was hit in the pelvis, maybe the lower back as well. Sirens were screaming towards us, I had to get away.

  “Tell Gallogly he doesn’t have enough in the bank to keep you safe,” black detective said. “Now get to fuck out of here before we have too many questions to answer. Next time we see you, all bets are off, understand me?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  “I told you to stay out of it!” Gallogly’s purple face throbbed his anger. “Eddie gets hit but you fucking walk away as usual! It always happens, Con, you still bring hurt to people, won’t you ever learn?”

  I had learnt, long ago, but Eddie would have been worth it if I had managed to get to Rose. It just didn’t work out for me, not this time.

  “There was a girl in Istanbul, Jack. I killed her, she died because I dragged her into this shit,” I said.

  His curiosity quelled his anger, the cogs in his brain cranked, he waited for more. Cagney’s cold smile still agitated in the otherwise empty room. We were back where it had all started.

  “The same bastard that nailed Eddie killed her, he’s some sort of Brit special forces, or used to be,” I said.

  “It’s over now,” Gallogly said. “We got the Iranians, you can forget about it.”

  He looked at me, he hoped it was over, he wanted to forget about it, get back to normal, back to business.

  “I saw what he did to that girl, Jack,” I said. “What if he has Rose and young Con? What if he’s doing that to them right now? You think I’m ready to forget about it?”

  He sipped his intense Columbian coffee, his purple bloom faded to parchment gray. He looked tired and old when he wasn’t angry.

  * * *

  It was just before 11pm when the red and black detectives swaggered into Blind Mary’s. Gallogly owed them $10,000, and they were heroes tonight, so they were pretty upbeat. The Commissioner had sent congratulations, the NYPD Counterterrorism Bureau were shitting themselves, both could expect to be recalled to duty soon, even promotion wasn’t out of bounds now. Life was good again. They muscled their way in front of the TV, eager to see themselves hailed. Disappointment, just a reference to two off duty NYPD detectives, they would have to wait.

  Gallogly called them to the back room.

  “What the fuck is this prick doing here?” red demanded.

  The black one kicked a chair over. I sat it back in place. He kicked it over again, harder, against the wall.

  “I told you to disappear, motherfucker!” black detective said. “Get him to fuck out of here, Gallogly!”

  Gallogly closed the door, killed the noise from the bar.

  “Let’s keep it friendly, Ed,” Gallogly said. “Remember it was Con that put you on to those guys. Imagine what would have happened tomorrow if we hadn’t listened to him?”

  “Yeah, let’s be friendly, Detective Dart”, red detective laughed. “The friendlier we have to be to this prick, the more it’s gonna cost our good friend Gallogly. Isn’t that so, Jack?”

  So the black detective’s name was Ed Dart, unless the red one was laughing at a private joke.

  “What’s your name?” I asked the red one.

  He looked at me, then at the other two, then back to me, as if to say, “Why the fuck should I tell you?”, but he forced a grin, and answered, “Me? I’m Mike McAnespie. Why? Want to make it any of your fucking business?”

  He didn’t know why I looked surprised, maybe he thought he already had a reputation, thought I had heard of him. He was pleased with himself, looked not unlike Cagney in the photo above his head, just about 100 pounds heavier.

  “So, you’re Irish too, right?” I said.

  “No! Fuck that shit! I’m from Brooklyn!” he laughed more, still no humor.

  Dart didn’t laugh, just told Gallogly to get their fucking money organised so they could get out of that shit hole.

  “It’s not over yet,” I said.

  The three of them looked at me, nobody was laughing now.

  “What do you mean? We wasted those two fuckers. Emergency Response found that powder shit in their car. What more is there?” Dart said.

  I told them what I thought, I didn’t have all the answers, so that would have to be enough. I told them our own people had intended to stage a limited biological attack, enough to incite a retaliation, rekindle the 9/11 spirit. The Israelis were experts, supposed to provide back up, without the Iranians knowing.

  “Yeah? Well we nailed them, didn’t we? It is fucking over. The Israelis can fuck off back to Yidland now, so what?” Brooklyn Mike said.

  “Those Israeli guys are top of the range,” I said. “They could have taken both of you out long before you ever got near the Quds Force. With their eyes closed. That means they didn’t come to pull guard on the Iranians.”

  “Well, what the fuck does it mean? What are they here for?” Gallogly said.

  “They are here to make sure we go to war,” I said. “This is the team that have been blowing Iranian scientists to fuck for years. They know how to do it, that’s why they are here.”

  “Hold it, hold it,” Dart said. “Know how to do what, exactly?”

  It was only then that I understood. Didar had known, my ghosts had known, now I understood.

  “They know how to kill so many Americans that 9/11 will look like a fucking picnic. They know then that the United States will wipe Iran off the map. That is the Israeli end game, that’s why they are here. It’s not over.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  This was a different ballgame. Dart and Brooklyn Mike had just taken out two Iranian suicide bombers, the kudos meant they had access above their rank, until the scare died down, or until the next time they fucked up. Brooklyn stepped outside to make the calls. Dart questioned me, reducing the squirming mass of random elements into his own rational code, inked it all into his notebook, bounded with a hologramed golden margin.

  I told him it all, no need to hold back now, grateful for the release, the absolution. About Lutterall, Conroy, Duffin, Kaffa. He checked the spelling, threw the names to Brooklyn Mike when he slapped back in to the room. Never heard of them, Brooklyn scribbled the names, stepped outside to phone again. Told him about Monsignor Arthur McCooey, he would back me up. When I got to McErlane, Dart read me, knew I was stalling, let me go on, he would come back to it.

  “So these two, Lutterall and Conroy, where are they now?” he asked, scratching thick lines between circles and triangles as he mind mapped it all together.

  I told him Lutterall was dumped at Montefiore, I doubted he would still be there. Conroy, I didn’t know.

  Then we did it all again, he asked the same questions, but now carved into my answers, scalpelling through my hesitations and weakness. No answer was good enough, always spawned another question. Brooklyn Mike came back, closed the door behind him, stood back against it. He gave Dart a look, their partner language not limited by the spoken word. I felt the ground start to tilt against me. The briefing had shifted to an interrogation, it was almost 1am, I was under pressure.

  “If these people are who you say they are, Lutterall and Conroy, then we have a problem. We have your accusation against valued servants of the United States,” he said.

  “You shot the Iranians, didn’t you?” I said.

  “Yeah, we shot them,” Dart said. “That doesn’t mean everything else you have said here isn’t total bullshit. Maybe you are the mercenary, you sold out the United States to Iran, but they crossed you, so you fingered them, right? How much did the Iranians pay you, huh? You have mental health issues, don’t you? They exploited your vulnerability, that’s what happened here, isn’t it?”

  Brooklyn’s cold eyes reflected Cagney’s aggressive contempt, he had made his calls, now he pulled guard on the door, drew heavily on his cigarette, enjoyed his partner’s work.

  “Fuck you, Dart!”
I said. “Fuck both of you! Monsignor Arthur McCooey will prove I’m legit, just ask him. But what about you two? Let’s call the Commissioner’s office and ask him if Gallogly’s pay-offs to you two are legit, how about that?”

  That was a mistake, and I knew it as soon as I said it.

  They gave each other the look, Brooklyn smeared his cigarette across the tiled floor with the steel-tipped toe of his shoe, shifted his weight so his left shoulder held the door closed, his right shoulder pointed towards me. Dart leant back in his chair, his arms folded, hands under his jacket. I knew both of them had fingers rested on trigger guards.

  “It’s a pity McCooey has disappeared then, isn’t it?” Brooklyn sneered. “Yeah, that’s right, fuckwit! Our guys went to pick him up at his room in Fordham, wasn’t there, looked like he left in a hurry, looked like a struggle, like he was dragged out of there.”

  Shit, I needed Artie, Duffin was gone, there was no-one else.

  “Well then they have taken him,” I said. “He knows Lutterall and Conroy are involved, maybe he’s worked out who the ringleaders are. This just proves what I’m saying here, it’s not fucking over!”

  Brooklyn Mike moved behind me, Dart lent forward, into my face.

  “It’s over for you, motherfucker!” Dart snarled at me. “You think you can threaten us? You think you are more than just a piece of shit, like we fucking need to keep you alive?”

  He pushed his forehead between my eyes, I was supposed to fight him off, but I didn’t, I pushed my chair back, felt Brooklyn behind me, knew he was pulling his gun out as I spun off my chair and grabbed his right wrist with my left hand, then sidestepped all my weight through my right elbow into his elbow joint. He screamed and fell forward, blocking Dart’s way as the black one brought his gun up. I sidestepped again and Brooklyn went over the table, knocking Dart off balance, enough for me to lunge forward and kick hard into Dart’s liver, he folded in pain, three heavy elbow strikes to the back of his head and neck put him down. Brooklyn was back up on one knee, pulling himself to his feet, I kicked him in the throat, he gagged and fell over, on hands and knees, I took a step back, then stepped forward to bury my shin bone into his rib blubber, he curled up in a whimper beside Dart on the floor.

  Gallogly was sitting at the bar, waiting for them to take the dollars he had stashed into a cloth bag.

  “They’ve got Artie McCooey,” I said. “I have to get out of here, give me your car keys!”

  Gallogly looked weary of all this, he hauled himself off his bar stool, picked the keys from behind the bar, threw them to me, shook his head as I caught them and made for the door.

  “Wait a minute, Con, I’m coming with you,” Gallogly said.

  “Sure?” I said. “Remember what you said, about me bringing hurt to people? People close to me seem to get hurt most, maybe you should keep your distance, Jack.”

  He didn’t answer, just caught up with me and pushed me towards the door.

  “At least if I’m with you I won’t have to pay those two shitbirds 10 grand,” he said.

  We crossed the street to his parking lot, he took the keys back and opened the trunk of a maroon Chevy Malibu, I kept my eyes on the door from Blind Mary’s, those two would be coming after me. Gallogly pulled back a plastic sheet.

  “Is this enough for you?” he said.

  Two Kel-Tec KSG bullpup shotguns, 2 Glock 21’s, a HK UMP submachine gun, a Colt SMG NATO, 6 M67 grenades and a rattling bag of ammo. When we were young, it had always made Gallogly feel good to know we could outgun any opposition. I could see his smiling teeth in the dark.

  “Grenades? You know how to use them, right?” I said.

  “Fuck it, what’s there to know?” he said.

  Dart came out the door first, he staggered forward until the vomit exploded out of him, he bent over, hands on knees, retching the dregs from his throat. Brooklyn Mike was behind him, half folded over, but waving his gun above his head. I stowed the shotguns and Glocks in the car while Gallogly revved the V6 engine, like he always did, before we spun away from red and black.

  “Ok, so where are we headed?” Gallogly said. “What’s the plan now?”

  I looked straight ahead, didn’t answer. Gallogly glanced sideways at me, I looked out the passenger window, we were going north.

  “Con?” he said. “What’s the plan?”

  I had to say something.

  “You make payments to any other cops?” I said.

  “Nobody that’s gonna go up against those two, that’s for sure,” he said.

  “Politicians?” I said.

  He thought about it for a couple of seconds.

  “Not those sorts of payments, no,” he said. “But I have working contacts, you know.”

  “Journalists? Media people?” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. “This town isn’t really so big, I know plenty of the right people.”

  “Ok, start calling them,” I said. “We’ve got less than 10 hours before it all goes up, get your contacts working.”

  “Shit, Con, what do I tell them?” he said. “I tell them to make sure an Israeli hit squad are shot down?”

  “No, Jack, we need to survive until 11am,” I said. “You tell them to make sure the NYPD doesn’t fucking shoot us down!”

  He shook his head, mumbled to himself, hit the gas harder. We were headed back to the Bronx, I hoped I would know what to do when we got there. He looked over at me again, expecting more.

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s all I have right now.”

  * * *

  Gallogly had invested in property near the Columbia building over at Riverdale in the Bronx, a block of two bed apartments that he was refurbishing, would rent out at over $3,000 per month. They were empty now, still a work in progress, but had heat, water and electricity. I waited in the car until he came back with a painter’s dust sheet, we wrapped the shotguns in it, locked the rest of the gear in the trunk, then he led me up to the top apartment, I lugged the weapons and ammo behind him.

  No furniture, I stretched out on the dusty floor, propped head and shoulders against a cardboard box the new stove had been delivered in. I was tired, but wouldn’t sleep, had that fatigue that sticks after the waves of adrenalin ebb, exhausted but uselessly hyper with it. Gallogly was in the bare kitchen, cursing his way through his cellphone contact list. It was 1.30am. His well connected friends mostly didn’t take his call, or thought he was drunk, or felt vindicated that they had always suspected his low class would eventually emerge from his cracked up DNA. He was getting angry now, wasn’t used to blatant disrespect. I was getting weaker, thought about sleeping, escaping to my nightmare, let somebody else take responsibility. I listened as he stormed about the dark kitchen, thought about me and Didar in her Tarlabasai hideaway, when I still thought I was in control and could force down the enemy. Now I just wanted a way out.

  Gallogly started getting calls back, the journalists, City Council and law enforcement officials who had picked up his message and couldn’t resist the sensational. He cursed successively louder and with mounting fury as each new skeptic called back to snigger or commiserate.

  After 2am now, his ringtone echoed again through the empty building, I waited to hear him explode again. I was drowsy, wished he would just shut up for 30 minutes, that’s all I would need before I would get going again. But he was answering questions this time, came out of the kitchen, the blue cellphone light casting anxiety over his face, he forced calmness into his voice, waving to me with one hand, the cellphone clamped to his ear with the other.

  “No, I told you, he’s not with me, I really don’t know where Con Maknazpy is right now,” Gallogly said, hunkered down beside me so I could listen in.

  I pushed closer, knew the voice even though I couldn’t quite hear the words. I took the cellphone from him, pressed her voice to my ear in the darkness, saw her cool face, felt her hair stroke my cheek, breathed her perfume. I said nothing, just listened. She stalled, held her breath for a moment, then
relaxed.

  “Hi, Maknazpy,” Conroy said. “We need to speak.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT