either job right. This Reyes kid, the cops think the Saints killed him because he fucked up, brought dishonor on them.”
“Where did you get all this shit, Healy? I’m thinking it didn’t all come from
Newsday.”
“My little brother George works in the Suffolk County D.A.’s office. He hears things.”
“Hoskins and Kramer part of this task force?” Joe asked.
“Bingo. That’s why they’re on the case even though they didn’t catch it. The minute word got back about the spray paint and the paint on the truck, the case was theirs. So you see, going after this Toussant guy isn’t worth it.”
“I never really thought he did it,” Serpe confessed. “But you can’t tell me he didn’t hit the kid. Trouble was brewing between them for weeks. Besides, whatever went on between Cain and Toussant started the whole chain of events. I can feel it in my guts. I’m going after him whether you come or not.”
“Look, Serpe, I’m not saying the guy’s not a total piece a shit, but—”
“But what? You think it’s too thin, right? It’s not worth the risk. You fucking I.A. guys kill me. You have any idea how many times me and Ralphy risked our necks for nothing, to go after some little pissant dealer who wasn’t half the—”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Healy put up his palms. “The last time I looked, there wasn’t a cop of any kind in this room. We’re just two private citizens here and that’s all we are. There’s a lot of mutts and skells out there on the street, a lot of them worse than this scumbag Toussant.”
“You think so, huh? You wanna ask Corral Lofton?”
After Joe recounted what Marla had told him, Bob Healy didn’t need any more convincing. But after he agreed to help, Healy did say one thing to Serpe that stuck with him and probably always would.
“You know, Hoskins was right about one thing. We
are
both fucked for life. And we can’t buy our souls back with good deeds.”
About twenty-four hours had passed since that conversation. Now they rode a long way in silence, Healy occasionally interrupting the quiet to reassure Mr. French. “Just keep calm and nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s the Suffolk Police you have to worry about.”
As he steered the car through the setting darkness, Serpe noticed his right hand had swelled considerably. He flexed it with no small measure of difficulty. Only in the movies, he thought, could you smack a man square on the jaw with your bare knuckles and suffer no damage yourself. But that was the thing about movies, wasn’t it? There weren’t any consequences, not really. In make-believe, there never are. Trying to shake some of the pain and stiffness out of his puffy fingers, Joe understood there would be consequences to what he was planning to do.
“We’re almost there,” he said, half-turning to the backseat. Then he refocused, trying to find the turnoff for the unmarked road.
Getting Toussant out of the car was no mean feat. They literally had to drag him out, but neither Serpe nor Healy could fault him for resisting. Most people don’t suffer their impending executions gladly. Once they’d gotten far enough into the woods, Joe removed the sock from Mr. French’s mouth. He screamed.
“M’aidez.
Somebody ‘elp me.”
Serpe was amused at the irony in that. “Scream your head off, asshole. Unless the local deer figure out how to dial 911, you’re fucked.”
Next, Toussant did the second most logical thing after screaming; he ran. At least he tried to, but Healy slammed his right leg across the back of Toussant’s knees. The Haitian’s legs went rubbery. First he teetered back, then pitched forward. The two ex-cops let him lay face down in the frozen compost of fallen leaves, bark, and squirrel droppings for a minute before propping him up into a squatting position.
His first two options gone by the boards, Toussant went to his third; a combination of begging and bargaining. Between pleas for his life to be spared, promises of
“Where did you get all this shit, Healy? I’m thinking it didn’t all come from
Newsday.”
“My little brother George works in the Suffolk County D.A.’s office. He hears things.”
“Hoskins and Kramer part of this task force?” Joe asked.
“Bingo. That’s why they’re on the case even though they didn’t catch it. The minute word got back about the spray paint and the paint on the truck, the case was theirs. So you see, going after this Toussant guy isn’t worth it.”
“I never really thought he did it,” Serpe confessed. “But you can’t tell me he didn’t hit the kid. Trouble was brewing between them for weeks. Besides, whatever went on between Cain and Toussant started the whole chain of events. I can feel it in my guts. I’m going after him whether you come or not.”
“Look, Serpe, I’m not saying the guy’s not a total piece a shit, but—”
“But what? You think it’s too thin, right? It’s not worth the risk. You fucking I.A. guys kill me. You have any idea how many times me and Ralphy risked our necks for nothing, to go after some little pissant dealer who wasn’t half the—”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Healy put up his palms. “The last time I looked, there wasn’t a cop of any kind in this room. We’re just two private citizens here and that’s all we are. There’s a lot of mutts and skells out there on the street, a lot of them worse than this scumbag Toussant.”
“You think so, huh? You wanna ask Corral Lofton?”
After Joe recounted what Marla had told him, Bob Healy didn’t need any more convincing. But after he agreed to help, Healy did say one thing to Serpe that stuck with him and probably always would.
“You know, Hoskins was right about one thing. We
are
both fucked for life. And we can’t buy our souls back with good deeds.”
About twenty-four hours had passed since that conversation. Now they rode a long way in silence, Healy occasionally interrupting the quiet to reassure Mr. French. “Just keep calm and nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s the Suffolk Police you have to worry about.”
As he steered the car through the setting darkness, Serpe noticed his right hand had swelled considerably. He flexed it with no small measure of difficulty. Only in the movies, he thought, could you smack a man square on the jaw with your bare knuckles and suffer no damage yourself. But that was the thing about movies, wasn’t it? There weren’t any consequences, not really. In make-believe, there never are. Trying to shake some of the pain and stiffness out of his puffy fingers, Joe understood there would be consequences to what he was planning to do.
“We’re almost there,” he said, half-turning to the backseat. Then he refocused, trying to find the turnoff for the unmarked road.
Getting Toussant out of the car was no mean feat. They literally had to drag him out, but neither Serpe nor Healy could fault him for resisting. Most people don’t suffer their impending executions gladly. Once they’d gotten far enough into the woods, Joe removed the sock from Mr. French’s mouth. He screamed.
“M’aidez.
Somebody ‘elp me.”
Serpe was amused at the irony in that. “Scream your head off, asshole. Unless the local deer figure out how to dial 911, you’re fucked.”
Next, Toussant did the second most logical thing after screaming; he ran. At least he tried to, but Healy slammed his right leg across the back of Toussant’s knees. The Haitian’s legs went rubbery. First he teetered back, then pitched forward. The two ex-cops let him lay face down in the frozen compost of fallen leaves, bark, and squirrel droppings for a minute before propping him up into a squatting position.
His first two options gone by the boards, Toussant went to his third; a combination of begging and bargaining. Between pleas for his life to be spared, promises of
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