him.”
God, did he look awful. His hair showed no attempt at order, matted in some spots and sticking up in the back like he’d just awoken. His face was sweaty and unshaven. He ran his tongue against his cheek and stared, with some newfound intensity, at the table.
“The feds are worried about us blowing their operation,” Shelly said.
Alex reacted with a humorless laugh.
“Why don’t we talk about that?” Shelly suggested. “When the feds arrested you.”
His shoulders hunched, his eyes closed, Alex answered quietly. “I—don’t really know. I have my place where I keep—you know.”
The large quantity of cocaine, he meant. Broken down into packets of one gram each.
Buy in bulk,
he had told her.
Cut down on visits to my supplier.
True,
she’d responded.
But then they catch you with a bigger stash.
They won’t catch me.
On its face, his scheme made some sense. He would buy a large quantity of drugs and keep it hidden in the trunk of a beaten-down Chevy he’d bought for a couple hundred dollars. To keep the car off the street, he’d rented a parking space in an alley a couple of blocks from his home. He never drove the car. So there was no chance he would be pulled over by the police, or that the car would be ticketed or towed. Each Friday, he visited the car and removed a small quantity of cocaine to sell to the bankers at work.
“They were all over me,” he explained. “I closed the trunk and didn’t even make it out of the alley. A guy walked up to me and whispered to me. He tells me he’s F.B.I. He points to a black car down the street and he tells me not to run. He takes me to the car and it’s all over.”
“How much did you have on you?”
“At the time? Four grams. I was going to take it to work. It was a Friday.”
“They were waiting for you.” Shelly could imagine how it happened. “They were looking at the cop as a suspect and they found you with him. They followed you, sat on you for a while, and then busted you.”
“That seems to be how it happened,” he agreed. “They whisked me away in that black car of theirs and took me to some building. Bunch of them stayed back and—well, they found the whole load.”
Seventy-four grams, to be precise. “They didn’t want to publicize their catch,” she added.
“I guess not.”
“So what did they say to you?”
His face played, almost into a smile. “They were very interested in what I did with that cocaine. Who I sold it to, who I gotit from.” He looked at her. “They were very interested in a certain cop, too.”
“Raymond Miroballi,” she said. The cop he shot. She stirred at the mention of the name. There was so much to learn. “Tell me about him. How you met him.”
“Miro came to me.” Alex shrugged. “I figure he got my name from Todo.”
“Todo,” she repeated. “This is the guy who supplied you.”
He nodded. “Eddie Todavia. Used to go to high school with me. Anyway. So this cop—Miro—he comes to me one day and says he knows what I’m up to. Says he knows Todo is selling me drugs, and he knows what I’m doing with them. He says it’s cool with him, he’s not looking to bust me. He just wants a piece. A ‘taste,’ he says to me.”
“He wanted a kickback,” Shelly summarized. “He got tipped off about you, presumably from Todo, and he wanted a cut.”
Alex nodded. “So what am I supposed to say? No? He’ll bust me.”
“You said yes.”
“Of course I did. He said he wanted two hundred a month. Two hundred a month and he keeps his mouth shut. And he watches my back.”
Shelly closed her eyes. It wasn’t hard to believe, especially after her meeting with the F.B.I. It was right there, for any cop with a wandering eye. And scold Alex as she may wish, she could see his view of things. What leverage did he have against a cop who had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar? She brought a hand to her face.
This
was precisely what she’d warned him about. One day, he’d get
God, did he look awful. His hair showed no attempt at order, matted in some spots and sticking up in the back like he’d just awoken. His face was sweaty and unshaven. He ran his tongue against his cheek and stared, with some newfound intensity, at the table.
“The feds are worried about us blowing their operation,” Shelly said.
Alex reacted with a humorless laugh.
“Why don’t we talk about that?” Shelly suggested. “When the feds arrested you.”
His shoulders hunched, his eyes closed, Alex answered quietly. “I—don’t really know. I have my place where I keep—you know.”
The large quantity of cocaine, he meant. Broken down into packets of one gram each.
Buy in bulk,
he had told her.
Cut down on visits to my supplier.
True,
she’d responded.
But then they catch you with a bigger stash.
They won’t catch me.
On its face, his scheme made some sense. He would buy a large quantity of drugs and keep it hidden in the trunk of a beaten-down Chevy he’d bought for a couple hundred dollars. To keep the car off the street, he’d rented a parking space in an alley a couple of blocks from his home. He never drove the car. So there was no chance he would be pulled over by the police, or that the car would be ticketed or towed. Each Friday, he visited the car and removed a small quantity of cocaine to sell to the bankers at work.
“They were all over me,” he explained. “I closed the trunk and didn’t even make it out of the alley. A guy walked up to me and whispered to me. He tells me he’s F.B.I. He points to a black car down the street and he tells me not to run. He takes me to the car and it’s all over.”
“How much did you have on you?”
“At the time? Four grams. I was going to take it to work. It was a Friday.”
“They were waiting for you.” Shelly could imagine how it happened. “They were looking at the cop as a suspect and they found you with him. They followed you, sat on you for a while, and then busted you.”
“That seems to be how it happened,” he agreed. “They whisked me away in that black car of theirs and took me to some building. Bunch of them stayed back and—well, they found the whole load.”
Seventy-four grams, to be precise. “They didn’t want to publicize their catch,” she added.
“I guess not.”
“So what did they say to you?”
His face played, almost into a smile. “They were very interested in what I did with that cocaine. Who I sold it to, who I gotit from.” He looked at her. “They were very interested in a certain cop, too.”
“Raymond Miroballi,” she said. The cop he shot. She stirred at the mention of the name. There was so much to learn. “Tell me about him. How you met him.”
“Miro came to me.” Alex shrugged. “I figure he got my name from Todo.”
“Todo,” she repeated. “This is the guy who supplied you.”
He nodded. “Eddie Todavia. Used to go to high school with me. Anyway. So this cop—Miro—he comes to me one day and says he knows what I’m up to. Says he knows Todo is selling me drugs, and he knows what I’m doing with them. He says it’s cool with him, he’s not looking to bust me. He just wants a piece. A ‘taste,’ he says to me.”
“He wanted a kickback,” Shelly summarized. “He got tipped off about you, presumably from Todo, and he wanted a cut.”
Alex nodded. “So what am I supposed to say? No? He’ll bust me.”
“You said yes.”
“Of course I did. He said he wanted two hundred a month. Two hundred a month and he keeps his mouth shut. And he watches my back.”
Shelly closed her eyes. It wasn’t hard to believe, especially after her meeting with the F.B.I. It was right there, for any cop with a wandering eye. And scold Alex as she may wish, she could see his view of things. What leverage did he have against a cop who had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar? She brought a hand to her face.
This
was precisely what she’d warned him about. One day, he’d get
Similar Books
