Among Thieves by John Clarkson Page A

heading for Red Hook.

 
    10
    Neither Milstein nor Walter Pearce said a word as they walked out of Central Park. Walter lumbered along next to Milstein, silent, expressionless. Twice now he had been rendered useless. Once was bad enough. The fact that it happened again after he should have been on the alert, made Walter even more worried.
    He ignored the seething Milstein and tried to sort out the questions running through his mind. How had they found out about Milstein’s nightly dog walk? How had the leader pulled together a crew so quickly? Who was he working for? Who had the juice or the connections to send someone like that after Milstein? He knew there had been some trouble between one of Milstein’s female employees and his man Crane. But would some woman corporate type be able to pull together people like that? No way. So then who was behind this?
    Walter couldn’t get rid of the image of that man pointing the big Smith & Wesson at him. He knew without any doubt that whoever he was, he would have pulled the trigger without hesitation. The barrel of that gun never wavered. He didn’t say or do anything after the first threat. He displayed absolutely no nervousness. None.
    Walter had been so worried he might make a wrong move that he finally had to turn away and look down at the ground.
    And the indignity of losing his gun so easily. Walter didn’t know which was worse: losing the gun, or the pity they’d shown him by giving it back.
    The whole thing had happened so fast. The time between the two incidents was only a matter of hours. Things moved so much more slowly when he was a cop. A case could take days, weeks. Worse, Walter was accustomed to failing without suffering too many consequences. Nothing much happened if you failed to solve a crime. But not with this situation.
    Part of him wanted to get as far away from Milstein as possible, as fast as he could. Part of him wanted to redeem himself. Had to redeem himself.
    Walter had been smart enough to plan a life after the NYPD. He’d seen so many cops talk big about cutting loose from all the bureaucratic bullshit. Crow about how they’d go work for a private security outfit or go out on their own. And then months later, Walter would see them sitting in a cop bar, drunker than ever, getting fatter and angrier than ever, heading toward a future of wet-brain irrelevance.
    So Walter had made efforts to stay in the game. He’d arranged the job with Milstein even before he drew his last check from the NYPD. He’d refused to be unemployed. To be irrelevant. But it wasn’t supposed to involve hard men and a gun in his face.
    As they approached Madison Avenue, Milstein broke the silence.
    â€œI’m beginning to wonder what the hell I pay you for.”
    This was his chance, thought Pearce. Tell him you agree. Cut loose from this prick. Nothing good will come of this. But then what?
    â€œI understand your frustration. But I still think without me it would have been worse. And not to excuse anything, but I don’t see anyone else who could have done much; one guy against three of them.”
    â€œThree?”
    â€œThat first one walking past us had to be with them. To distract me. Us. While we were watching him, the other two slipped into position.”
    â€œHe left. So it was two, not three. And only one with you.”
    â€œThe third guy was out of sight, but I guarantee he wasn’t gone. Look, Mr. Milstein, I don’t want to argue with you. If you don’t want me around on this, fine. But I’ll tell you, this is serious. This is not just one man. He has a crew. And they are good at what they do.”
    Milstein frowned as he listened to Walter. “What do you suggest?”
    â€œWhat did he say to you?”
    Milstein thought carefully before he answered. The light changed on Madison. They headed across, a cold wind suddenly gusting into them as they reached the middle of the avenue.
    â€œI