James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

“We’re meeting with Joe Fogarty tonight at a local bar,” Jack told Henry the next morning at Pete’s, a local greasy spoon in the old neighborhood.

“How did you arrange a meeting overnight?” Henry asked.

“You’ve got to know the right people, Henry. I’m a man with connections.”

“I guess you are.”

“Listen, we’re going to show up about eight. It will be the three of us. I already promised Charlie I’d take her.”

“You don’t need me for this one, Jack. Cops and I don’t get along anyway. I’ll just take the family out for dinner.”

“Are you sure? This is pretty important.”

“I’m sure, Jack. You can handle this one. What else do you have planned?”

“I thought after breakfast you and I would go down to the murder scene to see where the eyewitnesses were and things like that.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“And then I’m going to prepare my stipulation for substitution of counsel.”

“Good. You’re already anticipating that Fogarty is going to confirm what Tillie said. I like that.”

“I figured you would.”

“Are you licensed in New York?”

“Oh yeah. I took the bar exam here more than twenty years ago. I always thought I’d practice here. I don’t know how to find the courthouse yet,” he laughed, “but I will.”

Frankie O’Connor was still a leader of men thirty-plus years after he played for the Lexingtons. Although he barely finished high school, Frankie rose to the rank of lieutenant in the New York City Police Department. He could have been a captain but turned the job down.

“You get too high in this department, you can’t smell your own shit stinking,” he’d explained to a friend. That was Frankie. He didn’t want to get too far away from the rank and file-too far away from his roots. Not too many lieutenants could call a detective like Joe Fogarty and arrange a meeting where he’d be explaining why he’d violated department rules. Frankie could do it because Joe trusted him. It was that simple.

Jack had been back to the Carlow East a few times since the old days but they had been random visits. Nothing could have prepared him for this night. It was a journey back in time. His old friend Norm Martin was behind the bar. Although they hadn’t seen each other in years, Norm recognized Jack as soon as he walked in the front door.

“Hey Johnny, how ya doin’?” Norm greeted him as if the two men had had lunch together that very day. The only difference was that they both leaned across the bar and hugged each other.

“Good, Norm. I’m doing good.” He almost forgot to introduce Charlie. “This is my friend Charlie. She used to work with Pat.”

Norm shook hands with Charlie. “Nice to meet you, Charlie,” he said. “Pat was a great lady. Jack, we haven’t talked since Pat passed. I’m real sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, Norm. I appreciate it. Where’s Frankie? Is he here?”

“Yeah. He’s down at the other end of the bar with everybody else.”

The Carlow looked almost exactly the same as it had thirty years ago, except there were a few more televisions for the sports fans, and fake Tiffany lamps hung from the ceiling illuminating the bar. In the old days, people liked being in the shadows. The other noticeable change was the clientele. Thirty years ago this Irish bar had been full of Irishmen-until the Lexingtons came along. Now it was a mixed crowd.

The “everybody else” Norm had referred to were all people Jack had grown up with. His good friend Chris Dennehy was there, along with Tony McKiernan, Joe Powell, Kathy Tripptree, and Lynn Schultz.

Chris gave Jack a big hug.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asked.

“We all come on Thursday night,” Chris explained. “It’s Frankie’s night off. We’ve been doing it for years.”

Jack introduced Charlie to everybody.

“I can’t believe you know all these people,” Charlie whispered to Jack as the introductions went on and on.

“I went to kindergarten with most of them. You see Joe Powell over there? He was my first friend in the whole world. His mother used to take us fishing in Central Park. You know where Rowboat Lake is?”

“Where they have the rowboats? I didn’t know they called it that.”

“That’s what we called it. We used to catch big carp in there. We were so small we could barely hold them.”

Eventually Jack left Charlie chatting with his friends and made his way over to Frankie, who was sitting at the end of the bar with a few guys who looked like cops. Frankie had gained a few pounds since the Lexington days, but he still looked fit. He stood up and gave Jack a big hug.

“Johnny, how’s my rich and famous pal? You haven’t forgotten where you came from, have you?”

“I wouldn’t dare, Frankie. Not while you’re still alive.” That got a laugh out of everybody. Frankie introduced him to the other guys sitting next to him, one of whom was Joe Fogarty. Neither Frankie nor Joe-nor Jack for that matter-gave any indication that this meeting was anything more than a chance encounter.

Jack had a good time that night reconnecting with his people, all of them regaling Charlie with stories of the old days. At about eleven o’clock he felt a poke in his back. When he turned around, he saw Joe Fogarty heading for the door. Jack excused himself and followed Joe outside.

Joe walked up Lexington Avenue and turned at the corner. Jack followed. When he reached the corner, Joe was about twenty yards up the street sitting on a stoop smoking a cigarette. Jack walked up to him.

“I trust Frank with my life,” Joe said. “We’ve known each other for a long time. He trusts you, and that’s why I’m talking to you. Here are the ground rules, though. After tonight, we never had this conversation. I’m answering some questions for whatever reason you need them to be answered, but I will never admit at any time that I told you what I’m about to tell you. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Jack replied.

“Understand something else too. If my superiors, other than Frank, even suspect that I talked to you, my career is over.”

“I understand.”

“Then ask away. But make it quick.”

“A guy named Tillie, I’m sure you know him, said that you told Benny to clam up when he was arrested. He said you didn’t believe Benny committed the murder he was being arrested for. Is that true?”

Joe Fogarty didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be mulling the words over in his head before he spoke. “I’ve been rousting Benny for years. I know he’s a two-bit punk and a thief, but he’s never been violent. When Tony Severino called me and asked me to pick Benny up for this murder, I didn’t believe it. This was a high-profile guy that got shot, and I figured Benny might have been a fall guy-in the wrong place at the wrong time. So I told him to keep a lid on it.”

Joe took a long drag on his cigarette. “I didn’t know anything about the murder investigation at the time and I still don’t. I worked with Tony Severino for years. He’s a good detective. And Nick Walsh is one of the best homicide detectives this department has ever had. If they think Benny is guilty, then that’s it. I said what I said based on my instincts at the time. Any other questions?”

“Do you think Benny could murder somebody?”

“I think anybody could murder anybody given the right circumstances. It wouldn’t be Benny’s first choice, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Like I said, he’s a criminal. Anything else?”

“Nope. Thanks for the info.”

“Sure.” Joe tossed his cigarette into the street as he walked past Jack back toward Lexington Avenue. He turned left at the corner and headed away from the Carlow East without looking back.