Lou Manfredo - Rizzo's Fire

Intrafiore snorted. “Fuck you,” he said.

Now Priscilla stood slowly, placing her hands down on the table-top, leaning in toward Zee-Boy’s face. “You be nice to Sergeant Rizzo now, or I just might have to put my big black foot up your little white ass.”

“See, Zee-Boy,” Rizzo said. “You just piss people off. You better learn it ain’t done like that in the big leagues.”

Priscilla smiled at Intrafiore, an evil glint in her dark eyes. Slowly, she sat back down. Intrafiore swung indifferent eyes from her and back to Rizzo. After a slight pause, he spoke in a soft, almost pensive tone.

“So, how’s it done, Joe?” he asked simply.

Rizzo nodded. “Now that’s more like it. You give me a name. I get the vics to eyeball the guy. If they make him, end of story. If they can’t, you squeeze the guy’s balls till he cops. I already showed the Rebel face book around. The perp ain’t one of your made guys. This kid has no record, he’s new. He can stand a fall. I got a pretty strong feelin’ you know exactly who he is, some new psycho even you’re having trouble controllin’. Now’s your chance to smack him down before he starts recruitin’ against you, and save your own neck with Chink at the same time. You gotta figure Louie’s already looking at these street robberies, already gettin’ his Sicilian balls twisted. You give up the kid, I arrange it so Louie Quattropa will never know the perp is one of your guys. Then we all live happily ever after here in Never-Never Land.”

He smiled at Intrafiore. “That’s how it’s done.”

The young man pushed a hand across his buzz cut, looking again from one detective to the other.

“So you want me to hand you one of my guys? Like some pussy lawyer cuttin’ a deal? That’s what you want?”

“ ‘Want’ has nothin’ to do with this,” Rizzo said with a shrug. “ ‘Want’ is for kids. This ain’t kid stuff, Zee-Boy. You make this deal or you got Quattropa or me or maybe both of us on your ass. However it plays, this kid you got off the reservation, he’s goin’ down. Either to me or Chink. Difference is, if it’s Quattropa, you’re goin’ down with him. I’ll make sure that’s how it plays.”

Both detectives stood.

“Think about it,” Rizzo said, fishing a card from his pocket and dropping it onto the table. “Call me with the kid’s name. My arrest report will never mention the Rebels. I guarantee it. Consider it a favor I’m doin’ you.”

As he turned to leave, Rizzo faced Intrafiore one last time.

“You got till Tuesday,” he said, his eyes hard, his tone flat.

The two detectives showed themselves out. Intrafiore sat in silence for a moment, then sighed, picking up Rizzo’s card.

He leaned back in his seat, slipping the card into the front pocket of his tight black jeans.

“Shit,” he said softly.

“SO,” PRISCILLA said as she drove the Impala slowly back toward the precinct house. “You think he’ll go for it?”

Rizzo shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not feelin’ real optimistic. I think maybe my history with the kid could work against us. Maybe I shoulda let the precinct youth officer, Olivero, handle this, or maybe Ginsberg and his partner.”

“Who?” Priscilla asked.

“Mark Ginsberg and his partner, George Parker, the detectives who caught the first two robberies.”

“Well, it makes sense for the kid to go for it,” Priscilla said. “After all, if he’s looking to move up to the mob, he can’t be pissin’ off the goombahs. Especially Quattropa. It makes definite sense for Zee-Boy to give up the perp.”

Rizzo nodded. “Yeah, I know. But Zee-Boy is still just a kid. Kids do stupid shit. And he’s more than a little crazy, maybe crazy enough to want to thumb his nose at The Chink.”

Priscilla frowned and shook her head. “Crazy is one thing, stupid is somethin’ else. Why would he take a chance like that?”

“Couple a reasons,” Rizzo speculated. “One is, maybe he really isn’t afraid of Quattropa. He sure as hell should be, but that don’t mean he is. Also, from word I hear, one of Louie’s captains, guy named Mike Spano, is maybe plannin’ a move.”

“Against Quattropa?” Priscilla asked.

“Yeah. I heard about it from a friend a mine works over at OCCB. He figured I might be able to use the info, since Spano operates outta Brooklyn. They call the guy ‘Mikey the Hammer.’ Made his rep as a button man.”

“Has word reached the street yet?” Priscilla asked.

Rizzo shook his head. “Not that I know of. If it had, Spano would be dead by now. No, I don’t think it’s common knowledge yet, but if it’s true, somebody besides OCCB has to know about it. And if somebody knows about it, Zee-Boy may know about it. He’s got a relative or two in with the mob boys. So maybe he figures he disses The Chink and then, when the dust settles, he already looks good to Spano, and now Spano’s the new boss.”

Priscilla shook her head slowly. “That would be pretty ballsy for a nineteen-year-old.”

“All the great ones were just ballsy kids once. From Capone to Galante to Castellano and Gotti and Quattropa. You can never be sure which one’ll break out young.”

“Well,” she said. “We’ll see. My money says Zee-Boy caves. Why jeopardize his future for some new kid on the block?”

Rizzo nodded. “You’re probably right. I just hope he doesn’t go direct to Quattropa and give up the perp. He may figure that’ll score him some points with the old prick, but he’s too young to see that if Quattropa does decide to act against the perp, Zee-Boy himself becomes a liability. He’d know too much about The Chink’s private business. Louie would have to whack him, too, just to protect himself. Zee-Boy would be making a real mistake goin’ that route. But, tell you the truth, I’m okay with chancing it. No great loss if two assholes turn up dead.” Rizzo paused. “We’ll see how it plays out. That’s why I only gave him two days. I don’t want him overthinkin’ this.”

After a moment or two, Priscilla swung her eyes to Rizzo as she slowed for a traffic light.

“What about that drug plant, Joe?” she asked, her tone neutral. “Would you really do that? Drop some dope on the kid and squeeze him?”

“Well, I figured you’d ask about that,” Rizzo said. “Truth is I’da never said it in front of a new partner, ’cept I know you got a history with Mike. I figured I could trust you on it.”

She nodded. “Okay. A threat’s one thing. What I’m askin’ is would you actually do it?”

“I don’t like this street shit in my precinct, Cil,” Rizzo said, the strength of his feeling showing in his eyes. “I don’t like it any more than The Chink does. And this case, with the Homs, has really pissed me off. The neighborhood ain’t been real receptive to these Asians movin’ in the last few years. There’ve been some incidents. It’s embarrassin’ to me, and to most of the people with roots around here. So I’d like to nail this mugger. For a few different reasons.”

Priscilla smiled. “I don’t know what you just answered, Joe, but it wasn’t the fuckin’ question I asked you.”

Rizzo pointed through the windshield. “The light turned green,” he said.

She glanced up, then eased the car forward.

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“Like I told the kid,” Rizzo said, searching his pockets for the packet of Nicorette, “this is the big leagues.”

JOE RIZZO SAT AT HIS DESK in the Six-Two squad room, his eyes falling to the calendar. November 10: seventeen days until Thanksgiving. Carol would be home from college on the twenty-third, so he had less than two weeks to mend fences and perfect his argument, to once again try to dissuade his youngest daughter from planning a career with the NYPD.