Richard Price - The Whites

“They’re not sure, they said they were walking on either St. Nicholas or Amsterdam, all of a sudden five or six black guys jumped out of a car, stabbed Ismaeli, snatched his chain, then took off.”

“Who’s they.”

“What?”

“‘ They were walking.’ Who was walking.”

“The other Albanians, his buddies. They brought him in.”

“Can any of them ID the car?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Make, color, nothing?”

“Apparently not.”

“Guys are walking down a street, middle of the night, five, six other guys jump out of a car, stab their friend twice, steal his chain, then jump back into the car and take off.”

“Apparently.”

“And these friends who brought him here, not one of them knows what street they were on, and nobody can even say what color car it was. Do I have that right?”

“Apparently,” Butter looking away now.

“What does that sound like to you.”

“Like they’re selling a story.”

“I agree. So where are these Albanian friends?”

“They left.”

“They left. Did you interview any of them?”

“Just as far as I told you. Then I went to check with the doctor and when I came back out they were kind of gone.”

“Kind of gone. You got their names though, right?”

“I was about to,” Butter said, blushing with humiliation, then: “I’ll put it all in the report.”

“How about you don’t.”

“What?”

“Do everybody a favor and say you got here after they left.”

“Yeah?” Butter looking at him now with dog’s eyes.

“But we’re clear about what happened in here, yes?”

“Yeah, yes.”

“My people get to screw up once.”

“I understand,” Butter said, then again: “I understand.”

“All right,” Billy said, turning away, “stay with Ismaeli, see if he comes around.”

“Hey, boss,” Butter called out. “Thank you.”

Thinking that there was a good chance the kid would screw the pooch on this, his first run, Billy had made sure to wait until something came in north of Ninety-sixth Street before sending Butter out, knowing that grievously fucking up anywhere south of that, where the press began to give a shit, would have resulted in him being transferred to Missing Persons or worse. But if Butter was ever going to be of any use to him or any other squad boss, he had to start cutting his teeth somewhere.

His wife would never admit it to him, but Billy’s guess was that interns killed patients all the time, and their supervisors, with an eye for the long-term healer to come, mainly looked the other way. Well, it was the same with him. In order to get the greater job done, to mold your people as you saw fit and prepare them to effectively do the job in the years to come, you tolerated error, you turned a not-quite-blind eye to the actions of others and to your own actions. You created secrets and you kept secrets.

Out on the streets, same thing: depending on the individual and the situation, sometimes you threw the Thor hammer at a misdemeanor, other times you let an individual walk who had no right to sleep in his own bed that night. You did all these things and more because as a boss, if you weren’t willing to play fast and loose when required, if you weren’t willing to make a discreet hash of the rule book now and then, on this job you might as well call in sick.

That’s just the way it was.

Carmen called as he was walking to his car. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Billy bracing himself.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t want you to do anything or not do anything because I pressured you. You’ll resent me forever.”

“I appreciate that.”

“That being said, you know how I feel.”

“Right.”

“Just come to it on your own.”

Marilys Irrizary Ramos.

Even her pregnancy was probably bullshit.

Another family taken away from him. And for what: fifteen hundred for the bogus plane tickets, eighty-five hundred for the bogus bribe.

A lousy 10K.

Fuck her.

It was time to get back in the game.

Here’s what he didn’t like about giving his daughter away to Anita:

1.

Her two-story clapboard was only a curb’s width distant from the city-bound service road of the Staten Island Expressway, cars flying by as if the first to reach the Verrazano Bridge was entitled to free head.

2. She was a smoker.

3.

She drank. As far as could tell, nothing harder than white wine, but still…

And here’s what he did:

1.

Her husband, Raymond, was a nice enough guy who owned a gas station and made decent money.

2.

She was a thirty-five-year-old teacher’s aide who worked at a K-4 public school but who couldn’t have children of her own, and her eyes always had that slightly tense quivery thing going on, which hopefully meant that she desperately wanted a kid before her time ran out.

3.

The house was not just neat but clean, the velour couch and matching chairs in her living room sheathed in vinyl, the wall-to-wall carpet as pristine as a putting green.

4.

And lastly, she was slender, at least by his standards, and the most fattening things in her refrigerator, which he opened on the pretense of getting a soda, were a still-sealed log of Cracker Barrel cheddar cheese and a small bubble pack of Genoa salami.

“What do you mean you’re being targeted, what does that mean?” Anita asked him.

They were sitting at her dinette table, Sofia watching cartoons in the dustless living room, a small overstuffed suitcase at her feet.

“Some big-time banger I put away sent down orders from upstate for his crew to take me out. Gang Intel found out about it from a CI.”

“But what does that mean?” Anita nervously playing with the cellophane on a new pack of Merit Lights.

“Probably nothing. I spoke to the NYPD Threat Assessment Team, they already had TARU put up surveillance cameras around the house, plus a directed patrol unit rolls by once an hour twenty-four/seven. I’m not really worried about it? But that doesn’t mean nothing’s going to happen.”

“Milton, Jesus.”

“It comes with the territory.” He shrugged. “The thing is…” looking to Sofia, who was quietly eating mozzarella strips, eyes on the screen. “The thing is, if something does happen to me? Sofia…”

“Of course.”

“So I was thinking…”

“Of course.”

“Or if I’m unable to take care of her for whatever reason…”

“Of course of course of course.”

Milton felt relieved but also freaked, his cousin going for it way too fast. “Don’t you want to talk to Ray first?”

“Why. We’ve being trying to have a child for the last five years.”

“Still…”

“He’d be doing handstands, trust me.”

“And you like her, right?”

“Do I like Sofia?” she whispered. “The bigger question is does she like me.”

Good question. Sofia hardly knew her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re her favorite aunt.”

“I’m her second cousin, if you want to get technical about it,” Anita said, still whispering.

“Whatever,” Milton said, “blood is blood.”

“Wow,” Anita said.

“It would be a simple matter of writing you into my will as Sofia’s guardian.”

“We have that second bedroom, I mean Ray’s just using it as an office, you know?”

“Good,” Milton said tightly.

“I mean what does he need it for?”

Too fast, too fast, Anita just going with the excitement without a moment’s reflection, as if Milton were offering her a puppy. And she didn’t seem too worried about his own dangerous situation, horseshit story that it was.