Authors: John Cutter
“The fucking rich ones are the worst,” Galipoli said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, she was a piece of work. She just seemed so fucking arrogant, you know? I wouldn’t have done anything otherwise, but I knew she needed to learn a lesson, so I made her blow me.”
Galipoli laughed. “That’s good,” he said. “Still small-time, but that’s the idea.”
“Small-time?” Medveded looked offended.
“I
thought it was pretty goddamn risky at the time.”
“Oh, brother, the shit I could tell you,” Galipoli muttered, half to himself.
“Come on,” Medveded prodded him.
Galipoli scoffed. “It’s not something I ought to be talking about,” he said.
“How much worse could it be than forcing a girl to blow you?” Medveded laughed. “I didn’t mention that she was basically a teenager—some fucking club girl.”
“Yeah, well, I got some stories about those,” Galipoli hinted again, rolling his eyes as he took Medveded’s bait.
“Well—?”
Galipoli leaned in eagerly. “There was this one girl, total freak,” he said. “I met her in a transgender club downtown. Said she was exploring a part for a role as an actress. She was full of shit—just a freak. I asked her if she wanted a real man, and she had the balls to say,
Tell me when you see one.
”
Medveded chuckled. “Nice. How’d you take that?”
“Oh, fine. I bought her a drink anyway—I’m a good guy. But she refused to drink it.
That
pissed me off. Bitch wanted freaky, so that’s what she got.” Galipoli hesitated. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, man,” he said.
Medveded knew he was close. It was time to pull out the stops. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he rubbed it against his leg, making just enough noise for Galipoli to hear him.
“Come on, just tell me,” he said.
“Hey, are you—” Galipoli started, his eyes widening.
“Listen, you gotta tell me, man,” Medveded said. “This shit is why I got into the job in the first place. You don’t think the pay’s what gets me, do you? Come on, I need to know this bitch got what was coming to her.”
Galipoli looked shocked. “Are you serious?”
Medveded let out a sigh. “Look, it’s not like I’m going to pass
this
on, right?” he said. “It’s between us.”
“No one else?”
“No one else.” Medveded raised his right hand. “One cop to another. I swear it.”
He could see Galipoli’s excitement rising. Finally, he had someone who truly understood him, admired him even, with whom he could share his exploits. His voice lowered almost to a whisper.
“All right,” Galipoli said. “So this bitch comes out of the club, and I’m waiting for her. It’s pretty dark, and I walk up behind her; she turns around and doesn’t even remember me from the club. Stupid cunt. I punch her square in the face. She goes down like a sack of potatoes.”
“Incredible,” Medveded said, closing his eyes as though in appreciation of the justice of it. “Bet she didn’t see
that
coming.”
“Oh, definitely not. And I was going to leave her there, but decided I ought to have a little fun with her first.”
“What’d you do? You fuck her?”
“Man, way worse,” Galipoli bragged. “I picked that bitch up and threw her in my car.”
“How the fuck did you get away with that?”
“I just played the Good Samaritan, the guy who found her lying on the street when she came to. She was real shook up. She told me her address, and eventually told me she lived alone too. The rest was easy.”
Medveded pretended to gloss over this crucial detail, hoping to lock in the location first. “Lived alone, huh?” he asked. “Rich bitch, was she?”
“Yeah, totally. She lived in fucking Gramercy.”
Bingo,
Medveded thought. He couldn’t believe Galipoli had copped to it so matter-of-factly. It seemed the guy was really getting carried away. And he was so remorseless about it, too!—Medveded had imagined there’d be at least a little compunction mingled in with these confessions, but so far he hadn’t seen any at all. Galipoli had started to rub himself under the table, none too discreetly, and his breathing had become ragged as he’d begun to inwardly relive the thrill of his crime. It looked like the excitement alone could take him all the way, to say nothing of his braggadocio. Medveded decided to try and make things completely explicit between them.
“Wait, so—
this
was the girl from Park Avenue South?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Galipoli said absently. “And nobody knew. They still don’t. And they couldn’t prove it if they wanted to,” he added, smiling, “so don’t get any ideas.”
Medveded waved the idea away, as though nothing could be more absurd between men like them. “But what about all that stuff the other guys had used—the rope, the tape, all that shit—are you telling me
you
put all that together?”
“Hardware store on Twenty-Third,” Galipoli grinned. “I went by there the next morning to pick it all up.”
“Weren’t you afraid someone would see you going back to her place?”
“No, I wore a big hoodie when I went back. Besides, quiet building like that? No one even knew I was there.”
Medveded whistled again. “Man, I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were brilliant.”
“Man, that was nothing,” Galipoli beamed. “The one on Thirtieth Street—now
that
was a work of art.”
Medveded feigned utter amazement. “You did the girl on
Thirtieth
too?”
Galipoli laughed coyly. “Well, you know, I’m not saying anything incriminating here. Just—you do some things right, you know? Some things just—they just go exactly the way you want them to.”
“How so?”
“Oh, you know—some women, they just want it so bad. They keep begging you to do it harder. I gave that one everything I had.”
“I’ve always suspected they want it that way,” Medveded said.
“They do,” Galipoli said. “They really do. Makes you think sometimes, you know. I’m sure she knew it,” he trailed off absently, as though recalling a fond memory.
“Knew it?”
“Yeah.” Galipoli shook his head contentedly. “Not all of them did, but she knew was going to die.”
Medveded smiled. It was as close to a flat-out admission as he was going to get. This game was over; the rest was icing.
“You said ‘not all of them’—so tell me, Lou,” he said, “in all these good times of yours, were those the only two women you killed?”
Galipoli’s smile came crashing down. His eyes went dark as he glared at Medveded.
“You piece of shit,” he said quietly.
“Hey, no need to get nasty,” Medveded said coolly. “Just a friendly conversation we’re having.”
“And
have
been having, for hours,” Galipoli said. “You trying to get something out of me, you slick motherfucker?”
“Trying?”
Medveded said, his smile fixed.
“I’ll
kill
you!” Galipoli shrieked suddenly, leaping up, his hands shooting out toward the detective as he spun around the table.
Medveded was quicker. In a blur, his hand emerged from his pocket as he swung his arm up. The blackjack landed home perfectly,
connecting solidly with Galipoli’s temple. There was a deep thud as Galipoli went down hard to the ground, followed by the answering crash of the kitchen door swinging open.
Kasak and Marchioni were the first through the door. Galipoli, sluggish but conscious, swung out at them with fists and feet as he struggled to get to his feet. They were the wrong guys to get physical with. The two detectives rained down blow after blow to his body, pummelling his ribs and abdomen until he was forced into submission. Cuffing him once more they dragged him out, kicking and screaming, to the squad room cell.
Medveded straightened up and shook the tension out of his hands. His calm restored, he walked into Morrison’s office and closed the door behind him. Morrison stood and, without a word, opened up his cabinet.
“I know it isn’t your usual,” Morrison said, pouring him a tall shot of Jameson. “But I’m sure it’ll do.”
“None for you?” Medveded asked.
“Nah, I might be giving that up,” Morrison smiled. “I’ve got something better going, these days.”
“Understood. I, on the other hand”—Medveded raised his glass.
“Na zdarovje,
Captain.” He tilted the glass back and swallowed. “Cap, that guy’s one sick fuck,” he said.
“And the ego on him!” Morrison said. “I don’t know how you do it, Alex; it got so the rest of us couldn’t listen for more than a few minutes at a time.”
“Hmm.” Medveded cocked his head at him. “So you might not have heard the big part, the stuff outside the homicides. Did you happen to catch what he said about the chain of command—about his promotion, and all that?”
Morrison raised his eyebrows. “Must’ve been in my office for that part,” he said. “What’d he say?”
Medveded smiled. He gestured toward the bottle of Jameson. “Better pour me another of those, Captain,” he said. “And with all due respect to this ‘something better’ you’ve got going these days, you might want one yourself, when I’ve told you.”
41
It had been a grueling day already, and the subsequent mountain of paperwork carried everyone from Morrison’s taskforce long into the night. Exhausted as they were, though, when the door to the squad room opened in the early hours of the morning, they all snapped to attention when they saw who it was.
Police Commissioner Robert Harrington walked casually through the squad room, stopping at each desk to shake the hand of every detective and sergeant in the room. Walking by the cell, he peered in at Galipoli, who’d been sound asleep on his bench practically since they’d locked the door on him.
“What a disgrace,” Harrington said under his breath. He turned from the cell to see Morrison standing in his office doorway, a bigger smile on his face than Harrington had seen him wear in years. “Bill,” Harrington said, walking toward him with an answering smile.
“Commissioner, thank you for coming in—especially at this early hour,” Morrison said as they shook hands.
“Are you kidding?” Harrington laughed. “I couldn’t get dressed fast enough. Hell, I almost walked out without my shoes on, I was in such a hurry.” Laughter rippled through the squad room.
“Well, come on in, Commissioner,” Morrison said, ushering
Harrington into his office. He closed the door.
“Commissioner, I have some big news for you,” he said.
“Quite a day you’re having, Captain,” Harrington smiled. “Is it as big as what you’ve already told me?”
“In a way it is, yes.”
“Good news, then, I hope.”
Morrison chuckled. “Well, I guess
I’d
say it is, but you probably won’t,” he said. “During Galipoli’s talk with Detective Medveded, he admitted to having been on the take.”
“What?” Harrington said. “From whom?”
“Councilman Cook.”
“Dave Cook, out in Brooklyn? District 43?”
“That’s the one.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, sir. Galipoli claims he was paying him for campaign appearances, on the strength of his war record. And there’s more: according to him, Chief Arndt, who introduced them, was getting fatter envelopes from Cook—and it sounds like he may have sold Galipoli his shield, too.”
“Jesus,” Harrington said, obviously blown away. “Why would he do that? That’s your soul, your dignity on the line—to say nothing of your professional reputation! For what—a few bucks?”
“Agreed. Though it was probably a few more than a few.”
“How much?”
“On which end?”
“Either!”
“Galipoli claimed he was getting a grand per appearance. He said Arndt was getting ten times that.”
“Ten times—! What about the shield?”
“He didn’t say how much that cost him, but he copped to paying Arndt something for it.”
“This is beyond belief. Do you have reason to believe he’s telling the truth?”
Morrison laughed again, looking hard at Harrington. “Aside from my personal knowledge of Arndt’s character?”
Harrington nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll have to look into it. If money changed hands over it, as you say, that should be something we can pin down. It’s not something I’m happy to hear, but I’m glad to have the lead; we can’t have that sort of thing in this department.” He took out his cell phone and dialed a number. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m going to call back to the office and have someone escort Arndt out of the building for the day—if what you say is true, we can’t have him getting the jump on us.”
“By all means, Commissioner,” Morrison said.
As Harrington was making his call, there was a knock at the door, and Rivera poked his head in.
“Chief Arndt’s on the phone for you, Captain,” he said.
“Send it in,” Morrison said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll put it on speaker, Commissioner,” he said.
Harrington nodded. Morrison picked up.
“Captain Morrison—how can I help you?” Morrison said.
“You know exactly how you can help me, you son of a bitch,” Arndt’s voice came through. “You can get the fuck out of my detective bureau. Who the hell do you think you are, arresting a war hero, and a decorated member of this department, without my authority? This is the last time you make me look like a fool! Everyone on that goddamn task force is going to be transferred before this phone call is—”
“Understood, Chief, understood,” Morrison said, smiling at Harrington. “Listen, Chief, I don’t want to interrupt you, but the PC just walked in, and he wants to talk to you.”
“Good,” Arndt said, after a slight pause. “I’m looking forward to telling him what you’ve done.”
Harrington spoke up. “Chief Arndt, Commissioner Harrington here,” he said, his voice cold.
“Commissioner, good to speak to you,” Arndt said. “As I’m sure you’re already aware, we have a problem that needs dealing with.”
“Yes, so I understand,” Harrington said. “I’d like to deal with it as swiftly as possible.”
“I’m glad we see eye to eye, sir,” Arndt said. “What would you like me to do first?”
“Nice to hear you’re on board,” Harrington said. “The first thing I’d like you to do is to head home for the day.”