Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

“The victim moved from the Dominican Republic sixteen years ago. He has sixteen arrests and four convictions and has never done any prison time.”

Roddy looked at me and said, “And please don’t just write this off as a Hispanic thing. Not all Hispanics are involved in the drug trade.”

“Did I say or do anything to make you think that?”

“Sorry — just a little defensive.”

I looked into the room at the face of the young man with a gray complexion staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. I’d been looking at this as a homicide investigation when in fact it was more of a narcotics investigation.

If I needed to know something about narcotics investigations, I knew exactly who to turn to. Sergeant Tim Marcia. When I explained that I wanted to start looking at the homicides as if they were one big narcotics case, he understood immediately.

That’s how we found ourselves on Audubon Avenue, a few blocks from Yeshiva University in upper Manhattan. We sat in a booth in the kind of café where all types of business are conducted and no one pays much attention to who comes and goes.

I said, “Who exactly is this guy we’re meeting?”

“John is what people call a regulator.”

“And what is a regulator?”

“It’s an odd little position in the drug world. Someone respected and trusted by all sides of the narcotics business. His job is to iron out disputes and keep things quiet and profitable. It’s exactly the kind of job the NYPD would create if they understood anything about narcotics.”

“So everyone listens to him?”

“Everyone except for the cartels. You can’t tell them shit. They think they can run the world.”

The front door opened, and as soon as I saw the man step inside, something told me he had to be the regulator. He was about fifty and had spent way too much time out in the sun. His hair was brown with streaks of silver and tied in a long braid that draped over his left shoulder. He was dressed like he lived in the West, complete with cowboy boots and a plaid shirt. In New York, he would be written off as just another colorful character.

A much younger woman stepped in behind him. She was stunning, with thick black hair and curves that seemed almost unbelievable. Even though he walked toward us, she sat at another table on the other side of the room.

The regulator stepped right up to Sergeant Marcia and nodded as he sat down.

Sergeant Marcia said, “Mike, this is the man I was telling you about.”

The regulator spoke with the raspy voice of someone who’d smoked since childhood. “Call me John. Everyone does.”

I looked across at the beautiful woman sitting by herself. “Is she with you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He looked over his shoulder and waved to the young woman. She smiled and nodded her head. “She was provided to me by the Santos gang, near Yonkers. The idea is to make sure I don’t talk to the other side during a crucial negotiation.”

I said, “What negotiation?”

“It would be unethical for me to disclose that. It has nothing to do with what you want to talk about.”

For the first time I noticed a slight European accent. I had the distinct impression he didn’t mind a beautiful young woman following him everywhere.

I said, “I don’t mean to throw a wrench into anything, but I’m curious as to why you agreed to meet us.”

The man took a moment, as if he was gathering his thoughts. “Sergeant Marcia understands the balance of the streets. You do what you have to do, and I do what I have to. That balance is crucial to a happy life for a lot of people. I know about your issues with the Mexican cartel. Their use of a hit man and Dominican gunmen doesn’t involve me at all. Personally, I avoid Dominicans whenever possible.”

I said, “You don’t like their tactics?”

“No. They don’t pay me or recognize my value. Their existence should not affect me one way or the other. But if they try to kill a cop and then the cops crack down on everyone, it hurts my bottom line. My job is to keep things quiet and profitable.”

“Do you have any information that might help me help you do your job?”

The regulator chuckled. “I like your view of things. Sergeant Marcia said you were okay. What I’ve heard is that three Dominicans tried to shoot you in front of a church yesterday. You were too fast for them.”

“Do you know any of the men?”

He slid a small piece of paper across the table. “I believe these three men were involved. At least two of them are cousins. They’re not the kind of people to take a failure like this well.”

“I appreciate the information.”

“Use it well, and maybe we’ll both have an easier time of it. Good luck, Detective Bennett. You’re gonna need it.”

Back at the office, I wasted no time running the names the regulator had given me, not seeking assistance from analysts and other detectives. This was a lead I wanted to follow up quickly, without input from anyone else.

All three of the men whose names the regulator gave me had a past with narcotics violations. All three had done time at Rikers Island or upstate. Their photos looked familiar, but booking photos are notoriously difficult to match with faces you see on the street. In the photographs, all the men had facial hair. No one who tried to shoot me in front of Holy Name had any facial hair. But that meant little.

What I found most interesting was that one man, named Julio Laza, had a car registered to him. A one-year-old Chevy Cruze. My guess was that the car was green.

Usually someone trying to commit a crime like murder or even armed robbery goes to the trouble of stealing a car or using a rental. In this case, it seemed like the suspects were overconfident — thought they could pull off the hit with no issues and save the money they would have spent on a car.

I considered grabbing someone to come with me as a partner. Then I thought about Antrole and decided that one dead partner was enough. This was something I was going to do on my own.

When I had a couple of addresses and some information I could use, I scooped everything up and turned from my desk, then almost ran into Harry Grissom.

My lieutenant said, “What have you got, Mike?”

“Still trying to put some leads together.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid by yourself.”

“I haven’t since I was a teenager and discovered girls.”

“Very funny. But I’m serious. I don’t want you to get all vigilante on me. You’ve got a job to do. That job should include finding out who killed Antrole. But I don’t want to have this talk with someone else working on your homicide. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

Thirty seconds later, I was out the door. As the regulator had said, I do what I have to .

Alex Martinez leaned in close over the elegant table next to a window at Central Park’s Tavern on the Green. The colossal windows provided a grand view. Mostly of tourists strolling in the park, but she appreciated that her new police officer friend, Tom McLaughlin, was trying to impress her. He’d used his connections to get them into the very busy tourist spot.

He dressed well and had impeccable manners. That was hard to find anymore. Especially in New York. He opened doors for her and held her chair. All the things he’d been taught as a child.

She never would’ve guessed she’d be on two dates in two nights with the same man in New York City. She wasn’t complaining. This was fun. A lot of fun. Tom had proved to be charming as well as attractive and energetic. And he loved the NYPD. He was almost an expert on its history.