was the one who cracked the strangler case.
Hello. How convenient.
And digging more, Shea’s partner was killed in a
very dubious drug bust.
When Joe tried to get in touch with Shea, he
learned he was on vacation.
Vacation?
His partner is killed, his girl is strangled, and he
takes a holiday?
Hero cop.
The blues joined ranks, closed out questions,
especially from a goddamned reporter.
And … Mr. Right got his gold shield.
Nora got a cold grave, his partner got the same,
and Shea got to make detective.
Joe went back to his job and began to dig.
Eighteen months of solid research and he had some
names to work with. Gino. Morronni. Fernandez.
And a total blackout from the NYPD. He wrote to
Gino, said he was doing a book on the Brooklyn
strangler and would Gino like to give his version?
A guy doing three life sentences, he’ll talk to
anyone.
Joe traveled up to the max security pen, brought
lots of cigs and candies.
He’d been to the joint before and knew what
passed for currency there.
He was put in a small room and they brought Gino
in, manacled from head to toe, in a green prison
uniform.
Joe said,
“Thanks for taking the time.”
Gino looked like death warmed over, the prison
pallor accentuated by a yellow sheen to his face.
He said,
“Buddy, all I got is time and not even much of that,
I’m sick.”
Joe shoved the carton across the table and a
disposable lighter, the guard moved over, checked
the carton and then let them be. Gino peered at the
candies, asked, “Got any Hershey’s Kisses there?”
No. Joe said, “Next time.” And Gino gave a smile
that might have actually been tinged with sadness if
he could for a moment let the tough guy persona
ease.
Joe asked if he could tape the interview and Gino
shrugged, hard ass back in place, asked,
“Whatcha wanna know, bud?”
Joe looked at his notes and then:
“You always claimed you weren’t the strangler,
any way of backing that up?”
Gino said,
“There was an incriminating photo of the kid taking
kickback from Mr. Morronni.”
Joe noted how even though Gino was never getting
out of prison, Morronni was still mister. He asked,
“The kid?”
Gino looked enraged, said,
“Young Irish cop, I trashed his place, sliced up his
uniform, and he had a hard-on for me, when the
cops hit my place, the photo was gone and under
my mattress, the gun that killed the kid’s partner
and the rosary beads … fuck’s sake, I haven’t said
a prayer since I was ten years old and I ain’t going
to lie to you, I hurt people but never … never a
broad.”
Joe digested this, then asked,
“Any idea of who the strangler was?”
Gino said,
“The kid, he was Irish, he offed his partner, and set
me up for the gig, you ever meet this kid?”
Joe shook his head. Gino said,
“Got them brooding Irish looks going for him and a
kind of slow burn, but you don’t get it at first, he
seems harmless but then you think, there is
something real cold about the dude.”
“What about Morronni, Mr. Morronni, what did he
think?”
Gino sighed, said,
“It was him put it together about the kid, all the
kid’s problems went away, everyone got wiped
and he got to be a hero, very slick, I tell you, bud,
I’ve met some real predators, some stone killers,
and none of them, none of them had the iciness this
kid has.” The guard moved, said, “Time’s up.” Joe
stood, said, “I’ll be back soon, with the Hershey’s
Kisses.” Gino laughed, said, “Better be real soon.”
Before he left, Joe went to see the warden, thanked
him for his cooperation, and asked, “Gino seemed
sick, is it just jail time?” The warden looked at
Joe, then said, “Lung cancer, he’s got maybe a
month.” Joe involuntarily muttered, “Jesus.” The
warden said, “I don’t think Jesus has much to do
with it.”
JOE READ THROUGH HIS NOTES, THEN
COMPARED THEM with a telephone call he’d
had with Morronni. They both sang the
Hello. How convenient.
And digging more, Shea’s partner was killed in a
very dubious drug bust.
When Joe tried to get in touch with Shea, he
learned he was on vacation.
Vacation?
His partner is killed, his girl is strangled, and he
takes a holiday?
Hero cop.
The blues joined ranks, closed out questions,
especially from a goddamned reporter.
And … Mr. Right got his gold shield.
Nora got a cold grave, his partner got the same,
and Shea got to make detective.
Joe went back to his job and began to dig.
Eighteen months of solid research and he had some
names to work with. Gino. Morronni. Fernandez.
And a total blackout from the NYPD. He wrote to
Gino, said he was doing a book on the Brooklyn
strangler and would Gino like to give his version?
A guy doing three life sentences, he’ll talk to
anyone.
Joe traveled up to the max security pen, brought
lots of cigs and candies.
He’d been to the joint before and knew what
passed for currency there.
He was put in a small room and they brought Gino
in, manacled from head to toe, in a green prison
uniform.
Joe said,
“Thanks for taking the time.”
Gino looked like death warmed over, the prison
pallor accentuated by a yellow sheen to his face.
He said,
“Buddy, all I got is time and not even much of that,
I’m sick.”
Joe shoved the carton across the table and a
disposable lighter, the guard moved over, checked
the carton and then let them be. Gino peered at the
candies, asked, “Got any Hershey’s Kisses there?”
No. Joe said, “Next time.” And Gino gave a smile
that might have actually been tinged with sadness if
he could for a moment let the tough guy persona
ease.
Joe asked if he could tape the interview and Gino
shrugged, hard ass back in place, asked,
“Whatcha wanna know, bud?”
Joe looked at his notes and then:
“You always claimed you weren’t the strangler,
any way of backing that up?”
Gino said,
“There was an incriminating photo of the kid taking
kickback from Mr. Morronni.”
Joe noted how even though Gino was never getting
out of prison, Morronni was still mister. He asked,
“The kid?”
Gino looked enraged, said,
“Young Irish cop, I trashed his place, sliced up his
uniform, and he had a hard-on for me, when the
cops hit my place, the photo was gone and under
my mattress, the gun that killed the kid’s partner
and the rosary beads … fuck’s sake, I haven’t said
a prayer since I was ten years old and I ain’t going
to lie to you, I hurt people but never … never a
broad.”
Joe digested this, then asked,
“Any idea of who the strangler was?”
Gino said,
“The kid, he was Irish, he offed his partner, and set
me up for the gig, you ever meet this kid?”
Joe shook his head. Gino said,
“Got them brooding Irish looks going for him and a
kind of slow burn, but you don’t get it at first, he
seems harmless but then you think, there is
something real cold about the dude.”
“What about Morronni, Mr. Morronni, what did he
think?”
Gino sighed, said,
“It was him put it together about the kid, all the
kid’s problems went away, everyone got wiped
and he got to be a hero, very slick, I tell you, bud,
I’ve met some real predators, some stone killers,
and none of them, none of them had the iciness this
kid has.” The guard moved, said, “Time’s up.” Joe
stood, said, “I’ll be back soon, with the Hershey’s
Kisses.” Gino laughed, said, “Better be real soon.”
Before he left, Joe went to see the warden, thanked
him for his cooperation, and asked, “Gino seemed
sick, is it just jail time?” The warden looked at
Joe, then said, “Lung cancer, he’s got maybe a
month.” Joe involuntarily muttered, “Jesus.” The
warden said, “I don’t think Jesus has much to do
with it.”
JOE READ THROUGH HIS NOTES, THEN
COMPARED THEM with a telephone call he’d
had with Morronni. They both sang the
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