Tom Wallace - Gnosis

The woman closest to Scott punched him on his good shoulder. “What are we? Invisible?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Scott said. “Detective Dantzler, this is my sister, Amy. And my girlfriend, Molly.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dantzler said, nodding at the two women. He looked at Molly, then at Scott. “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Scott. Good for you. But I have to tell you, she’s way out of your league.”

“Don’t I know it,” Scott said, taking Molly’s hand. “I’m gonna try to hang onto her, even if she is too good for me.”

“You’d better keep her, loser brother,” Amy said, adding, “because you’ll never find another one like her.”

Following Amy’s pronouncement, no one seemed to know what to say next. Molly blushed, Amy appeared to be either annoyed or amused-Dantzler couldn’t decide-and Scott had the look of a man who had uttered something he now wished he’d kept to himself. Dantzler wanted to laugh but found the strength to restrain himself. He didn’t want to embarrass Scott or the women, nor did he want to exacerbate what had obviously become an awkward moment.

Finally, Scott broke the silence, saying, “What about Eric? How is he holding up?”

“Eric’s good,” Dantzler answered. “You needn’t worry about him.”

“He saved my life, didn’t he?”

“Eric and Milt get the credit. They’re your guardian angels.”

Scott worked his right hand beneath the cast on his left shoulder and began digging at an itch, grimacing slightly as he did. “Will I still have my job when I get healthy?”

“You mean, will you still be on the force?”

“No. Will I remain on the Homicide unit?”

“Is that what you want?”

“More than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then, sure, you stay with us. But that’s not something you need to worry about right now. You need to concentrate on getting well.”

“I was just thinking, getting shot, well, you know… it might mark me as a loser, a failure.”

“You were wounded in the line of duty, Scott. You were doing your job. People in our business get shot sometimes. Unfortunately, that possibility goes with the territory. Thank God, you survived. You came through it okay. When you get healthy enough to come back, you’ll work the desk until the doctors clear you for field duty. Once they do, you’ll be back out with us, trying to put the bad guys away.”

Scott nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Just be forewarned, Scott,” Dantzler said, moving toward the door. “Having been wounded is not going to shield you against the slings and arrows Milt will toss your way. Knowing him, he’ll probably ride you even harder.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Scott said, grinning.

Dantzler went from the hospital to the Tennis Center, spending an hour working out on the treadmill, and another hour helping Alice Crawford perfect her serve. It was, he knew, a hopeless cause. But Alice had convinced herself that at age forty-one, with Dantzler’s help, she could be the next Martina Navratilova. He didn’t have the heart to tell her tennis really wasn’t her game.

After concluding his futile efforts with Alice, he showered, dressed, and went to Rafferty’s, where he had soup and a salad. Then he headed straight to the office for a one o’clock meeting with Captain Bird. Dantzler had requested the meeting for the purpose of bringing Bird up to date on the case, what he wanted to do, and how best to go about doing it. However, when Dantzler arrived at the office, he was informed that Captain Bird had been summoned to a meeting with Mayor Elizabeth Anderson. Dantzler was only too happy to have escaped an invitation to that little tete a tete . The mayor was one tough, no-nonsense go-getter. A pit bull in a skirt was the closest analogy Dantzler could come up with. Having a sit-down with her, especially one she requested, was rarely a pleasant experience.

At three-thirty, Dantzler was alone in the office when his cell phone buzzed. He flipped it open, said, “Detective Dantzler.”

“Detective, this is Jeff Walker. I’m with the Department of Justice.”

“Lisa told me you might be getting in touch with me. I appreciate the call.”

“Sorry it took so long, but… it’s kinda busy around here these days.”

“No problem. Like I said, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

“So… you want to know about Johnny Richards, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Better get a pen and some paper, Detective. This could take a while.”

Dantzler sat at the head of the table in the War Room, a half-dozen crumpled yellow pages torn from a legal pad spread out in front of him. Laurie and Eric sat to his left, Milt to his right. Captain Bird leaned against the wall at the far end of the room.

They all waited patiently as Dantzler searched through the pages, which he had numbered, getting them in order. Satisfied with his arrangement, he looked around the room, took a deep breath, and began reading.

“Johnny Richards was born Gianni Rinetti in Palermo, Sicily, in nineteen fifty-eight, the son of Enzio and Gabriella Rinetti. Enzio, a physician, died of a heart attack at age thirty-five, leaving twenty-year-old Gaby to take care of their infant son. Beautiful and highly ambitious, Gaby longed to leave Italy and move to Brooklyn, where many of her family members were living. She wanted the good life for her and her son. Gaby’s desire was for him to have the same opportunities her relatives had. To experience the most appealing of all enticements-the Great American Dream.

“Obviously, she needed money in order to cross the big pond,” he continued. “To achieve her goal meant reaching out to one of her relatives in America, which she did. An uncle.”

Dantzler paused, then said, “Carlo Gambino.”

“Holy shit,” Milt said. “ The Carlo Gambino? Head of the Gambino Crime Family?”

“He was more than simply head of the family, Milt,” Dantzler pointed out. “He was Capo Di Tutti Capi , boss of all bosses. Head of The Commission. Which, as everyone knows, is made up of the heads of New York’s five crime families.”

“Lucky Luciano was the genius who created The Commission back in the thirties,” Milt pointed out. “He’s the guy who put the ‘organized’ in organized crime.”

“Man, this is straight out of The Godfather ,” Eric noted. “The only thing missing is the damn theme music. So… how does Johnny Richards, or Gianni whatever, fit into this?”

“Don Carlo loved Gianni like one of his own children,” Dantzler read from his notes. “He doted on the boy, lavished him with expensive gifts, clothes, and toys. Nothing was too good or too costly for little Gianni. Not surprisingly, Gianni, as he grew older, was fiercely loyal to the old man. And as we all know, in Mafia-land, loyalty and respect mean more than anything.

“At some point, Carlo, recognizing Gianni possessed exceptional skills and intelligence, began to view the kid as a potential successor. He undertook the process of grooming the boy for the top spot, introducing him to the heads of other families, letting him sit in on meetings, pointing out potential rivals or threats, giving him Cosa Nostra history lessons… that sort of stuff.”

Dantzler opened a bottle of water and took a long drink before continuing. “No one knows for sure when or under what circumstances Rinetti made his first hit, but the guess is he was around fourteen or fifteen. What is known for sure is that within the next three or four years he became Gambino’s top trigger man. If the old man needed a rival eliminated, the job was given to Gianni. Also, Gambino began to loan Gianni out to other families-for a hefty fee, of course.”