CHAPTER SEVEN

"Damn, Jimmy, rough night? You look like hell."

"I was at the bar pretty late last night."

"Yeah, Marcus called me yesterday afternoon. He said you were headed home, and he was headed out. What happened?"

"Well," Jimmy said sheepishly. "We both got into cabs and headed in different directions. But I paid my guy to just drive around the block and bring me right back."

"Yeah," Eva agreed. "That's what Marcus said."

"What…?"

Eva shook her head with a disappointing look. "Jimmy, he works for the FBI. He paid his guy to turn around and follow your cab. He knew you were in bad shape over the crap at the courthouse yesterday and wanted to make sure you were safe. Even if you wound up back at the bar."

"Well, unfortunately, that's where I ended up. I really screwed things up. Somehow, I gave that criminal son of a bitch a pass on a case that should have sent him upstate for life. And then, somehow, that piece of work threatened my life while managing to make me look like the bad guy."

"Well, get over it. We have a whole new set of problems with our bodies from the drug house. We're going to need one of your four-leaf clovers to catch a break on this one." Eva continued to fill Jimmy in on the conversation she had with the ESU lieutenant yesterday.

By the time Eva had gotten Jimmy caught up, all he could say was, "I want to go back to the bar."

At noon, lieutenant Markinson, head of the Brooklyn North homicide squad, called Eva and Jimmy into his office for an update on their case.

"Hey, rock star. I got a call from the Chief of Detectives this morning. He tore me a new asshole over your stellar performance in the Baskins case. He wanted to suspend your ass for that colossal fuck-up, but I assured him that you were an essential part of the Williamsburg drug case, so he let it go for now. With that said, you two had probably better have some damn good news for me this morning. What's going on with the investigation?"

"Lieutenant…" Jimmy began to protest.

"Jimmy, let me stop you right there. Because I don't care. I spoke up for you because you've done some great work up to now. And I need you to do some great work on this Williamsburg thing. But if you drop the ball again, I won't be able to help you because I'll probably already be suspended before the Chief gets back around to your ass. So, just save the explanations and give me some good news. Okay?"

Jimmy just deflated back into his chair, letting his hand float to his forehead.

Eva began to explain, "Well, ID's finally came in on all three of our unknown vic's this morning. All three are known dealers, one from Queens, and the other two are from Baltimore. According to Baltimore P.D., the two are pretty well-known to them. They both have records the size of phone books and both are suspected of importing cocaine into the country."

"Not exactly a tragic loss with those two. How about clown number three?"

"Vic number three is Darnell Odom. He was a mid-level dealer from Queens. Again, lengthy record. I talked to somebody over in the 104th precinct, and this Odom was rumored to be moving his way up. Apparently, he was partnered with another dealer over there named Lamar Tate. Nobody has seen Tate for a few days now. I've got an alert out on him, wanted for questioning in a triple homicide. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Wait," lieutenant Markinson interrupted. "We don't like this Tate guy for this? Double-crossed his buddy, figures to go into business for himself, shot everybody at the house, took the dope and the money, and now he's just letting things cool off before his debut as the next big thing?"

"Well, boss," Eva began to explain what they had found so far and her conversation with the ESU supervisor about the tactics used. There was evidence of at least two suspects entering the house. Plus, ballistics testing confirmed that three separate weapons were used. However, the Crime Scene Unit couldn't distinguish if there were more than two suspects or not. She then explained how she was concerned with the two broken windows at the scene.

"Smitty," Markinson said. "This case is already getting worse with every word I hear. Now you want to overcomplicate it by reinventing Broken-Window theory?"

"I'm not saying it's our priority, boss. I'm just saying it's just really weird. You know how instincts work. I know it doesn't fit anything, yet. But something about both of those windows fits into this somehow."

"Smitty, you've got fourteen years on the job, you're a top-rate detective, and I might even trust your instincts more than my own. But you also know as well as I do what it means when people from 1 Police Plaza take an interest in a case. Careers are made and broken based on those interests. Show me some handcuffed suspects and we can talk about windows. What else do ya have?"

Eva sat back and took a long breath before answering. "Well, we also have a giant mystery of how everyone arrived at the house. The local guy, Odom, has no vehicles listed in his name, no ride-sharing accounts, no car rentals, etc. However, he was only a few streets from home, so he could've gotten a ride or even walked…"

"Or arrived with his partner, the one that's missing right now," Markinson blurted out.

"Or, yeah," Eva continued, "Maybe, his partner brought him and then left him behind. It's just unlikely that a local street dealer like his partner had the skills or resources to pull this off. But, then again, maybe he hired outside help, which would explain a hell of a lot."

"Keep going," Markinson said.

"Well, aside from Odom and his part in all this, we still have no idea how the Baltimore vic's got here. They both have driver's licenses on file, but no vehicles are registered in their name. And we can't link them with any type of taxi or ride sharing services, car rentals, etc. It's like they just appeared out of thin air."

"Anything else," asked Markinson.

"We've also got Baltimore P.D. trying to locate some known associates of the two vic's, just in case one of them might have given them a ride or loaned them a vehicle. But we're not holding out much hope on that angle."

"Jesus Christ," Markinson groaned.

"Boss," Eva said. "We're turning over every rock we can look under, however unlikely, but we're coming up empty on a lot of things. There just wasn't much evidence left behind."

"Well," Markinson barked. "Whatever you do, don't go announcing that around town."

"There's still worse news, boss."

"It can't possibly get worse unless you tell me that you did the shooting yourself."

"Well," Eva said, "The lab also got back to us on those cigarette butts. It's a Russian brand that is smoked by about half a million immigrants. They're far too common to trace. And, there were no usable DNA samples on the butts."

"Great," Lieutenant Markinson said. "So, there's nothing there, either."

"As it stands," Jimmy said, "We don't have anything but loose ends. It's like some kind of Zen riddle or something: The more we search, the more questions that pop up. Boss, there's just not a lot to work with here."

"Is that what your old man would have said, Jimmy?"

"C'mon, boss," Jimmy replied as he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Markinson sighed. "Two years away from retiring with full pension and benefits. Twenty-three years of service and this is how it's going to end. My entire career flushed down the toilet over a couple of mystery drug dealers. You two just get out of here and avoid me altogether until you have something we can use."

The detectives from the NYPD Bronx Narcotics Bureau got together on Ortiz's boat late in the afternoon. Ortiz had floated the name of a well-known high-level dealer whom they were all familiar with. The dealer, Franklin Jackson, grew up on the streets of Harlem, known by the nickname Jump. He had started as a small-time street runner for other local dealers when he was just ten years old. Over the years he managed to survive long enough to become a mid-level dealer, supplying people who worked various street corners, until he was arrested at age nineteen for possessing an ounce of crack cocaine. He was sent to prison for five years but released after only three. Since his release, he had been able to work his way up to being a high-level dealer that imported heroin from Mexico.

Jump was well-known to various NYPD detectives from the 23rd precinct for many reasons. Narcotics detectives had tried in vain to make a case against him over the years since his rise to kingpin status. However, primarily because Jump never touched or even seen the drugs that he imported, the detectives failed at every attempt. Homicide detectives were sure he played a major role in about a dozen different murders over the years but could not produce any evidence or witnesses to bolster their claims. Vice detectives wanted to link him to various local gambling and prostitution operations around Harlem — but again, they could never find any useful witnesses or evidence.

After Ortiz had mentioned Jump's name and history to his detectives, and everyone agreed he was a viable target, they began doing their own research on him. Now they were meeting on Ortiz's boat to discuss if they could actually kill Jump and get away with it.

Gil Martinez took a long pull on his beer bottle and said, "The way I see it, trying to do this covertly is going to be a nightmare."

"That's where I excel, brother," said Roman. "In Iraq, the insurgents called me the bogeyman because my Rangers and I were known for showing up in the middle of the night and scaring bad guys to death."

Everyone chuckled for a moment. Then Hodges spoke up, "He might be onto something there, guys. If we take him at home , which he allegedly never leaves, we are looking at possibly one of the toughest jobs I've ever heard of. It will take some real spooky shit to get in and out of this one unnoticed."

Everyone sat up a little straighter after Hodges made his prediction. Since Detective James Hodges hardly ever spoke critical of operational details, and because he was a former Army Special Forces Officer with eight years of special operations experience, the detectives all tended to listen whenever he did speak up.

"Wait a minute," Ortiz spoke up. "Let's take that apart for a minute. Starting with the part where he never leaves home."

"Well," Hodges said, "We have information from multiple sources over a few years worth of notes that one of the ways that he has survived so long is by rarely leaving the apartment building he lives in."

"How does he manage that," Martinez asked.

"He owns the entire building and maintains two different apartments in there that he shifts back and forth between to break up the monotony. He always has one apartment remodeled and redecorated while he's staying in the other. He also has other apartments in the building converted into a workout gym, a large home theater, and one dedicated to a hot tub and a very well-stocked bar."

"What about making ourselves into contractors when he has one of the apartments remodeled," asked Ortiz.

"No dice," Hodges replied. "He only uses known people from the neighborhood that he can pay off with cash."

"Jeez," Roman said. "Half my age and he owns an apartment building. Feel like I've been doing something wrong all this time."

"Agreed," Hodges said. "Also, his top three guys live in three of the other apartments. All food and entertainment is delivered fresh daily. And, finally, he had the roof rebuilt to support a swimming pool and a large patio area with a bar and grill setup. Bottom line, he doesn't really have any reason to leave."

"Shit," exclaimed Roman. "Now I know I did things wrong. How much do I need to buy that life?"

Hodges looked over at Roman and said, "Just your soul and a few tons of heroin. And, by my count, you're only short a few tons of heroin."

"Damn, I knew I should have held out for more when I was offered that trade for my soul," said Roman.

"It's not just the apartment issue," Martinez chimed in. "I took a ride over the bridge yesterday and drove up to 117th street in Harlem. It's a one way street, heading east to west, and packed with vehicles parked on both sides of the street. We can't even stop a vehicle for thirty seconds without blocking up the street and drawing a lot of unwanted attention."

"Wait, wait, wait," Roman said. "Why don't we just set up a hide and snipe his ass? Small operation, two guys, one shot, and it's over."

"Because of the next issue," Hodges said. "All the walls and floors are lined with steel plates to prevent stray rounds from coming through and to limit electronic eavesdropping. Protection from both bullets and electronic bugs since they can't transmit through the steel. Plus, all the windows are three-inch thick bulletproof panes. Same quality of stuff that they use in the White House."

Roman was incredulous. "Then how in the hell does he use his cell phone?"

"He doesn't," Hodges replied. "At least, not for business. Too smart for that, he doesn't trust phones, and forbids any of his crew from talking business on phones, either. If he does need to make a phone call, he does it from the roof. And there's no way we can keep a sniper-hide while we wait for him to use his phone — personally, I don't have enough vacation hours saved for that mission."

Everyone broke out into a fit of laughter.

As they recovered, Ortiz asked, "So, on a covert level, we're talking about pretty much an impossible task."

"Well…," Hodges said. "What we need is to simply give him a good reason to leave the building and go somewhere else. Then we just catch him in transit or at another location."

"Holy hell, Hodges," Martinez spat out. "I'm glad we work together because otherwise I'd lose sleep knowing you were walking around out here."

Roman was quick to co-sign Hodges' recommendation. "In transit might be an ideal situation."

"So, what's the best way to get him out of the building," Ortiz asked.

"Hey," Martinez began to ask, "If we're going to force him out, why not force him into a funnel? Then we can control a lot more of how this plays out."

"Another good call," Roman agreed. "I was just thinking how nice it would be if he exited from the back of the building."

"I got an idea," Hodges said. "Instead of all the work we need to spring this guy, why don't we just go in there and clean house ? All the structural protection he has in place will give us a lot of privacy. I mean, there are obviously some inherent risks, but his strengths are also his biggest weakness."

"Hodges," Martinez asked, "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"He's right," Ortiz spoke up. "All his security can actually work to our advantage, allowing us to contain the situation."

"Simple and direct," Hodges said. "Besides, Jump seems to have missed the golden rule of fortifying a location: The harder you make it for someone to get in, the harder it is for you to get out."

"Okay," Ortiz said, "So, what's the quickest and quietest way for us to gain entry, clean house, and get back out — without drawing any outside attention?"