fuckin’ nigger.”
“Okay, so you made a mistake,” Condon said, ignoring his partner. “Shit happens, right? You wanna talk about it?”
“Fuck you.”
This time Rico hit me hard enough to knock me out of the chair. I ate the pain, ate it and turned it into hatred. What Doesn’t Kill Me, Makes Me Stronger . Handcuffed and as helpless as a nine-year-old trapped in a shower, I fought back with the only weapon I possessed. Later, when I was dragged over to a holding pen at Central Booking, the other side, the depression and the failure, would overwhelm me.
Condon continued to play his part in the charade. He got up and pushed his partner out of the room. Rico cursed me as he fell back. “Piece of shit. Piece of shit.” There was a window in the office door and I watched Rico’s lips move after Condon shut the door.
“My partner’s a head case,” Condon announced, helping me to my feet. “The Department shoulda given him a desk job ten years ago.” He righted my chair, sat me in it, then plunked his fat ass into the chair next to mine. “Tough break, Pete. I mean about only being out one day and gettin’ into shit like this. I know you had to do what you did, ’cause I know Calvin. Calvin’s been workin’ with us for a long time.”
“Calvin’s a snitch?” I was so surprised that I spoke without thinking. The rule of thumb for experienced criminals like myself is never give the cops a statement. The detectives try to make you believe that you can talk your way out of jail, but it never happens like that. What happens is your lawyer reads your statement and advises you to plead guilty.
“‘Confidential informant’ is the way we like to put it.”
He gave me a chance to respond, but I pulled back into myself again. This conversation should have been happening back at the precinct. What did they want from me? There was no good reason to speculate, because they’d tell me when they were ready.
“Jeez, I gotta pee bad.” He shook his head in disgust, setting his jowls in motion. His cheeks were red and lined with small blue veins. “I eat too much, smoke too much, drink too much. My whole fuckin’ body’s fallin’ apart and I’m only forty-three. You believe that?”
He waddled out of the office and Rico, as expected, came back inside. With my hands cuffed behind my back, I had to lean forward in the chair, making my face an easy target. Rico put his skinny ass where his partner’s fat ass had been and shook his head. His face was all angles. Sharp nose and cheekbones, thin slash for a mouth, pointy jaw and glittering black eyes. He looked like a terminal speed freak. Even his ears had little points on top.
“How does it feel, asshole?” he asked. “One day on the outside. One fuckin’ day. You probly didn’t even get laid. Or maybe you didn’t wanna get laid. Maybe you got laid so many times in the joint you don’t even remember what a pussy tastes like.” He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in my face—a Grade A asshole with a badge and a gun—then reached over and casually slapped me. “I don’t like that look on your face. That look is sayin’, ‘Fuck you.’ I don’t like that.” He slapped me again. “Ya know what else I don’t like? Calvin was settin’ up half the goddamn street dealers in Hell’s Kitchen and now he’s in the fuckin’ hospital. I’m losin’ twenty collars because a piece of shit like you can’t control himself for one fuckin’ day. I oughta throw you out the window.”
Condon rushed back into the room, right on cue. “Hey, hey, hey, hey. I told you to stay outta here.” He grabbed Rico and dragged him away from me, pushing him out the door. “Damn psycho. I musta asked for a new partner twenty times. Might as well have spit in the wind for all the good it did me. But about Calvin …”
“Who’s Calvin?” I asked.
“You sayin’ you don’t know who Calvin is? How come you asked me if he was a snitch if you don’t know who he
“Okay, so you made a mistake,” Condon said, ignoring his partner. “Shit happens, right? You wanna talk about it?”
“Fuck you.”
This time Rico hit me hard enough to knock me out of the chair. I ate the pain, ate it and turned it into hatred. What Doesn’t Kill Me, Makes Me Stronger . Handcuffed and as helpless as a nine-year-old trapped in a shower, I fought back with the only weapon I possessed. Later, when I was dragged over to a holding pen at Central Booking, the other side, the depression and the failure, would overwhelm me.
Condon continued to play his part in the charade. He got up and pushed his partner out of the room. Rico cursed me as he fell back. “Piece of shit. Piece of shit.” There was a window in the office door and I watched Rico’s lips move after Condon shut the door.
“My partner’s a head case,” Condon announced, helping me to my feet. “The Department shoulda given him a desk job ten years ago.” He righted my chair, sat me in it, then plunked his fat ass into the chair next to mine. “Tough break, Pete. I mean about only being out one day and gettin’ into shit like this. I know you had to do what you did, ’cause I know Calvin. Calvin’s been workin’ with us for a long time.”
“Calvin’s a snitch?” I was so surprised that I spoke without thinking. The rule of thumb for experienced criminals like myself is never give the cops a statement. The detectives try to make you believe that you can talk your way out of jail, but it never happens like that. What happens is your lawyer reads your statement and advises you to plead guilty.
“‘Confidential informant’ is the way we like to put it.”
He gave me a chance to respond, but I pulled back into myself again. This conversation should have been happening back at the precinct. What did they want from me? There was no good reason to speculate, because they’d tell me when they were ready.
“Jeez, I gotta pee bad.” He shook his head in disgust, setting his jowls in motion. His cheeks were red and lined with small blue veins. “I eat too much, smoke too much, drink too much. My whole fuckin’ body’s fallin’ apart and I’m only forty-three. You believe that?”
He waddled out of the office and Rico, as expected, came back inside. With my hands cuffed behind my back, I had to lean forward in the chair, making my face an easy target. Rico put his skinny ass where his partner’s fat ass had been and shook his head. His face was all angles. Sharp nose and cheekbones, thin slash for a mouth, pointy jaw and glittering black eyes. He looked like a terminal speed freak. Even his ears had little points on top.
“How does it feel, asshole?” he asked. “One day on the outside. One fuckin’ day. You probly didn’t even get laid. Or maybe you didn’t wanna get laid. Maybe you got laid so many times in the joint you don’t even remember what a pussy tastes like.” He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in my face—a Grade A asshole with a badge and a gun—then reached over and casually slapped me. “I don’t like that look on your face. That look is sayin’, ‘Fuck you.’ I don’t like that.” He slapped me again. “Ya know what else I don’t like? Calvin was settin’ up half the goddamn street dealers in Hell’s Kitchen and now he’s in the fuckin’ hospital. I’m losin’ twenty collars because a piece of shit like you can’t control himself for one fuckin’ day. I oughta throw you out the window.”
Condon rushed back into the room, right on cue. “Hey, hey, hey, hey. I told you to stay outta here.” He grabbed Rico and dragged him away from me, pushing him out the door. “Damn psycho. I musta asked for a new partner twenty times. Might as well have spit in the wind for all the good it did me. But about Calvin …”
“Who’s Calvin?” I asked.
“You sayin’ you don’t know who Calvin is? How come you asked me if he was a snitch if you don’t know who he
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