meeting at the diner.
“You know about the G.A.T.F.?” Healy asked.
“The what?”
“Gang Activity Task Force. It’s a joint NYPD, Nassau, and Suffolk task force. You read the papers, don’t you?”
“I stopped reading the papers or watching the news when they were harassing my wife and kid. They actually followed my son to school and asked him about what his dad was doing to his Uncle Ralphy.”
“Sorry,” Healy said. “I guess it was pretty rough on your family, the trial and everything.”
“Rough’s one way to describe it,” Joe agreed. “Hell is another. The last time I watched the news was to get info about Vinny. I was out delivering that day and some guy, his face as white as a sheet, invites me to come into his house. That’s when I saw the first tower collapse. I didn’t know it, but I was watching my brother die.”
“Look, Serpe, I didn’t mean for the conversation to go this way.”
“I realize that.”
“Why I asked about the papers is that if you read them regularly, you’d know there’s been a huge increase in gang violence on the island. With the influx of all these illegals, it was bound to happen. It was the same when your people and my people came over. For a long time the only Hispanic gang on the island was the Latino Lobos.”
“I know all about them,” Serpe said. “They started in the city. Mostly Puerto Ricans and some Dominicans. Big into dealing and protection. I arrested plenty of ‘em. But I’ve been outta the loop for a while, so I didn’t know they’d spread out here.”
“Yeah, mostly to places like Freeport and Bayshore. It was pretty much contained until the big influx of day laborers from Mexico and El Salvador the past couple of years. Now you got big Hispanic populations over in Farmingville, C.I., Brentwood, and Huntington Station.”
“The cops gave Frank a warning a few weeks ago about an increase in vandalism and stuff, but they didn’t make the particulars clear. So now there’s competition between gangs?”
“Exactly. I’ve always followed the news real carefully,” Healy said. “And over this last year there’s been a big increase in violence between the Lobos and the MSS, the MexSal Saints. But it was mostly them killing each other. You know the old cop philosophy.”
“As long as they kill each other, who gives a shit?” Joe laughed.
“That’s the one. But violence spreads. Always does. Some civilians have been getting caught in the crossfire just lately.” It hit Joe. “Cain?”
“Well, yeah, apparently the cops think so. It didn’t occur to me until that Reyes kid was killed, then I did some checking. Did you take a good look at the truck you guys found the boy’s body in?”
“What do you mean take a good look? I saw that truck every day.”
“But the day you found him, did you see anything unusual by the truck or some spray paint on the truck itself?”
“No. I was a little preoccupied that day,” Joe said, sarcasm leaking in. “Why?”
“Cops found cans of red and black spray paint and a faint black spray on the tank itself. It was there under the snow, I guess,” Healy said. “The Saints’ colors are red and black and their symbol is a black dagger surrounded by a blood-dripping red halo. I think you can see where I’m headed with this.”
“You don’t have to draw me a map. Cain tried to stop them from fucking up the trucks and got killed for his troubles. It’s just the kinda shit he would pull, too. Fuck!” Joe slammed his fist into his thigh. “He got real attached to things, like this dumb shirt I had made up for him. I could just imagine what he’d do if he found someone screwing with the trucks.”
“The Lobos and the Saints are like rival tigers pissing on trees in the jungle. Marking territory is part of their initiation rites. Rumor has it that another part is—”
“—killing a rival member. But—”
“That’s right. Whoever was in your oil yard that night didn’t do
“You know about the G.A.T.F.?” Healy asked.
“The what?”
“Gang Activity Task Force. It’s a joint NYPD, Nassau, and Suffolk task force. You read the papers, don’t you?”
“I stopped reading the papers or watching the news when they were harassing my wife and kid. They actually followed my son to school and asked him about what his dad was doing to his Uncle Ralphy.”
“Sorry,” Healy said. “I guess it was pretty rough on your family, the trial and everything.”
“Rough’s one way to describe it,” Joe agreed. “Hell is another. The last time I watched the news was to get info about Vinny. I was out delivering that day and some guy, his face as white as a sheet, invites me to come into his house. That’s when I saw the first tower collapse. I didn’t know it, but I was watching my brother die.”
“Look, Serpe, I didn’t mean for the conversation to go this way.”
“I realize that.”
“Why I asked about the papers is that if you read them regularly, you’d know there’s been a huge increase in gang violence on the island. With the influx of all these illegals, it was bound to happen. It was the same when your people and my people came over. For a long time the only Hispanic gang on the island was the Latino Lobos.”
“I know all about them,” Serpe said. “They started in the city. Mostly Puerto Ricans and some Dominicans. Big into dealing and protection. I arrested plenty of ‘em. But I’ve been outta the loop for a while, so I didn’t know they’d spread out here.”
“Yeah, mostly to places like Freeport and Bayshore. It was pretty much contained until the big influx of day laborers from Mexico and El Salvador the past couple of years. Now you got big Hispanic populations over in Farmingville, C.I., Brentwood, and Huntington Station.”
“The cops gave Frank a warning a few weeks ago about an increase in vandalism and stuff, but they didn’t make the particulars clear. So now there’s competition between gangs?”
“Exactly. I’ve always followed the news real carefully,” Healy said. “And over this last year there’s been a big increase in violence between the Lobos and the MSS, the MexSal Saints. But it was mostly them killing each other. You know the old cop philosophy.”
“As long as they kill each other, who gives a shit?” Joe laughed.
“That’s the one. But violence spreads. Always does. Some civilians have been getting caught in the crossfire just lately.” It hit Joe. “Cain?”
“Well, yeah, apparently the cops think so. It didn’t occur to me until that Reyes kid was killed, then I did some checking. Did you take a good look at the truck you guys found the boy’s body in?”
“What do you mean take a good look? I saw that truck every day.”
“But the day you found him, did you see anything unusual by the truck or some spray paint on the truck itself?”
“No. I was a little preoccupied that day,” Joe said, sarcasm leaking in. “Why?”
“Cops found cans of red and black spray paint and a faint black spray on the tank itself. It was there under the snow, I guess,” Healy said. “The Saints’ colors are red and black and their symbol is a black dagger surrounded by a blood-dripping red halo. I think you can see where I’m headed with this.”
“You don’t have to draw me a map. Cain tried to stop them from fucking up the trucks and got killed for his troubles. It’s just the kinda shit he would pull, too. Fuck!” Joe slammed his fist into his thigh. “He got real attached to things, like this dumb shirt I had made up for him. I could just imagine what he’d do if he found someone screwing with the trucks.”
“The Lobos and the Saints are like rival tigers pissing on trees in the jungle. Marking territory is part of their initiation rites. Rumor has it that another part is—”
“—killing a rival member. But—”
“That’s right. Whoever was in your oil yard that night didn’t do
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