problem with the law and he made millions, mostly off dope, and he didn’t share much with anybody else. I just remember we were sitting in a bar one day and Quinn was on the TV, and Carmine laughed and said, ‘I own that mick prick.’”
“What did he mean?” DeMarco asked.
“I don’t know what he meant. I just know what he said.”
“And why was Quinn on television?”
“He’s on all the time. I thought you’d know who he was as soon as I said his name. Brian Quinn is the commissioner of the NYPD.”
“You gotta be shittin’ me!” DeMarco said. It had never occurred to him that Tony meant that Brian Quinn. It was bad enough to learn that his father’s killer was a cop but now he knew he wasn’t just any cop: he was the most powerful cop in New York.
“Do you have any idea if Carmine was bribing Quinn?” DeMarco asked. He was thinking that maybe some of Carmine’s money could be traced to Quinn.
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Tony said. “Based on what he said about how he owned the guy, it sounded like he was probably blackmailing him or something. But I don’t know for sure. I do know that Carmine didn’t pay people unless he had to.” Before DeMarco could respond, Tony laughed and said, “All the money Carmine had, he still lived in that same little house in Queens just a couple blocks from your mom’s place and I don’t think he bought a new piece of furniture after his wife died. He had a nice place down in Florida, a condo he went to in the winter, but the house in Queens . . . I guess he just didn’t see the point in moving. His daughter ended up with all his money. She and her husband own a bunch a businesses—legit ones, as far as I know—and she’s a big-shot politician now.”
DeMarco didn’t care about Taliaferro’s daughter, but if she was big in politics it must be something local because he’d never heard of her.
DeMarco sat for a moment just listening to the sound of Tony breathing, and wondered what he should do next. Only one thing occurred to him. “The woman who saw Quinn shoot that guy in the alley, the paint store guy, is she still alive?” DeMarco asked.
“As far as I know,” Tony said. “But if you’re thinking you can get her to testify against Quinn, you’re dreaming. I mean, that happened almost twenty years ago. Who’s going to believe her coming forward now and especially when you look at all the things Quinn’s done since then?”
“What’s the woman’s name?” DeMarco asked.
“All I remember is Janet something. You’d have to ask Sal Anselmo. I know he’s still alive. He’s just a little older than you. He’s straight now, sells cars out on the island.”
DeMarco rose to leave. He started to tell Tony that if he wasn’t a frail old man, he’d beat the shit out of him, then figured: Why bother? He turned and headed for the door, but before he reached it, Tony said, “Kid, the only way you’re going to be able to make things right is if you become who your dad was. What I mean is, you’re not going to get Quinn by going after him with some bullshit legal thing. You’re going to have to kill him. You think you got the stones for that?”
DeMarco didn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer.
15
After DeMarco left, Tony wondered if he’d done the right thing telling DeMarco that Quinn had killed his father. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but if somebody had killed his old man, he’d want to know.
He could tell DeMarco was pissed because he hadn’t told him years ago, right after Carmine died, but at that time there was no way he was going to put himself in a position where some lawyer could subpoena him to testify against Quinn. Now he didn’t care about a subpoena; he’d be dead before they could drag him into a courtroom.
The other thing was, he’d never liked Quinn—Quinn was a prick—and he had liked Gino DeMarco, although he hadn’t really known him all that well. Gino never had much to do with the rest of the guys on
“What did he mean?” DeMarco asked.
“I don’t know what he meant. I just know what he said.”
“And why was Quinn on television?”
“He’s on all the time. I thought you’d know who he was as soon as I said his name. Brian Quinn is the commissioner of the NYPD.”
“You gotta be shittin’ me!” DeMarco said. It had never occurred to him that Tony meant that Brian Quinn. It was bad enough to learn that his father’s killer was a cop but now he knew he wasn’t just any cop: he was the most powerful cop in New York.
“Do you have any idea if Carmine was bribing Quinn?” DeMarco asked. He was thinking that maybe some of Carmine’s money could be traced to Quinn.
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Tony said. “Based on what he said about how he owned the guy, it sounded like he was probably blackmailing him or something. But I don’t know for sure. I do know that Carmine didn’t pay people unless he had to.” Before DeMarco could respond, Tony laughed and said, “All the money Carmine had, he still lived in that same little house in Queens just a couple blocks from your mom’s place and I don’t think he bought a new piece of furniture after his wife died. He had a nice place down in Florida, a condo he went to in the winter, but the house in Queens . . . I guess he just didn’t see the point in moving. His daughter ended up with all his money. She and her husband own a bunch a businesses—legit ones, as far as I know—and she’s a big-shot politician now.”
DeMarco didn’t care about Taliaferro’s daughter, but if she was big in politics it must be something local because he’d never heard of her.
DeMarco sat for a moment just listening to the sound of Tony breathing, and wondered what he should do next. Only one thing occurred to him. “The woman who saw Quinn shoot that guy in the alley, the paint store guy, is she still alive?” DeMarco asked.
“As far as I know,” Tony said. “But if you’re thinking you can get her to testify against Quinn, you’re dreaming. I mean, that happened almost twenty years ago. Who’s going to believe her coming forward now and especially when you look at all the things Quinn’s done since then?”
“What’s the woman’s name?” DeMarco asked.
“All I remember is Janet something. You’d have to ask Sal Anselmo. I know he’s still alive. He’s just a little older than you. He’s straight now, sells cars out on the island.”
DeMarco rose to leave. He started to tell Tony that if he wasn’t a frail old man, he’d beat the shit out of him, then figured: Why bother? He turned and headed for the door, but before he reached it, Tony said, “Kid, the only way you’re going to be able to make things right is if you become who your dad was. What I mean is, you’re not going to get Quinn by going after him with some bullshit legal thing. You’re going to have to kill him. You think you got the stones for that?”
DeMarco didn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer.
15
After DeMarco left, Tony wondered if he’d done the right thing telling DeMarco that Quinn had killed his father. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but if somebody had killed his old man, he’d want to know.
He could tell DeMarco was pissed because he hadn’t told him years ago, right after Carmine died, but at that time there was no way he was going to put himself in a position where some lawyer could subpoena him to testify against Quinn. Now he didn’t care about a subpoena; he’d be dead before they could drag him into a courtroom.
The other thing was, he’d never liked Quinn—Quinn was a prick—and he had liked Gino DeMarco, although he hadn’t really known him all that well. Gino never had much to do with the rest of the guys on
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