Gatac

  Sean Collins hated coffee. Hated how it always tasted burned, how everyone had their favorite ‘blend’ like it made them special and sophisticated, hated how people always said they wanted it bck and still snuck in creamer and sugar by the spoonful, as if they couldn't admit to hating the beverage itself the same way Sean did. He hated how it was served too hot to drink and tasted stomach-churningly worse when it was cold. And he hated the idea of coffee as a social event, as a ritual you were forced to share with your colleagues, chatting in the kitchen while the pot brewed up, drinking shit nobody liked out of mugs nobody washed talking about crap nobody cared about. But most of all? He hated how it was 8 AM and his thermos was already half-empty, a hypocrite condemning the vital ‘go juice’ between sips. Vile poison. Would have been on top of the enemies list if he was in charge of this country. Unfortunately for his daydreams, he was pretty far on the other end of the spectrum. He wasn’t in charge of jack shit, least of all himself. Years of building sleek muscles in semi-competitive swimming were wasted on (and wasting away from) his all-but-desk job. It was a good day when he could be assed to brush his hair, the ‘bck’ part of his Bck Irish heritage. For this, Sean had nobody to bme but himself. Should’ve thought of that before he became a cop.

  The 64th Precinct of the NYPD1Fictional, of course, but would fit the numbering scheme. was situated in a Brooklyn building the city called ‘historic’ and less cynical colleagues referred to as ‘venerable’. Sean thought of it primarily as having an annoying set of stairs at the entrance. Those were 26 steps, to be exact. 26 steps every morning, twice every lunch break and again after his shift for good measure. The building also cked central air conditioning, which gave the entire pce a slightly damp air that was tough on his voice whenever the window units were overwhelmed, which was basically every time they were actually in operation. The front door had a tch with bigger than normal amount of travel to it, so the beginner's mistake was to push the handle down just a little — maybe twenty-five degrees if you wanted to be scientific — which would have been enough to open most doors with door handles, sure, but it left this door decidedly unimpressed. You had to do better than that, right? You had to push the handle down further, about sixty degrees from horizontal, and keep it there to feel the clear-cut resistance of metal on metal, before the bolt finally cleared the strike pte and the door would open to you. Sean had gotten his fill of forgetting this in his first year there, so now every morning he pushed the handle down with gusto, smmed that sucker as hard as he could without making it into a concert, as if spping the creator of this door handle themselves with that move. Maybe one of those days he would break it, and they would be forced to put in a door lock built for humans. The hope kept him going.

  His badge got him through the front desk with the booking area. Sean picked out a Drunk and Disorderly as well as two Assaults from the people awaiting processing, which qualified as a slow morning. The elevator behind booking took him to the third floor of the building, where the precinct's contribution to the Organized Crime Control Bureau had its home. Soon, he was swimming in the noises of the open office: rustling sheets of paper, overheard phone calls, the occasional slow taps on the office’s singur computer keyboard. He tried to ignore the ughter from the break room — another squaddie’s birthday, about a one in nine chance of the exact same shit any day of the week — and he tried to ignore the forest of files locked up in his desk. Like most mornings, his partner, Detective Joseph Berkovitz, was already sitting in Sean's chair, waiting for him and making him feel te. Sean tried to ignore him, too. Tried and failed.

  “Morning, kid,” Berkovitz said.“Morning, Joe,” Sean replied automatically.“So, you’re gonna love this,” Berkovitz said.“Nobody in the history of mankind has ever loved anything preceded by that phrase,” Sean shot back. Berkovitz looked up at him. “Now, come on,” Sean continued. “Let me have it before I lose my nerve.”“The Captain wants to see you right away,” Berkovitz said. “He's waiting in his office with Carmen.”“Oh, yeah, fantastic, that I do love, how could I ever have doubted you,” Sean said. Berkovitz didn’t take the chance to interrupt, giving Sean the chance to work himself up. “You know I love it when there’s a wsuit and I’m on the docket. I mean, I don’t know who I pissed off this time, but that’s the reason the ADA2Assistant District Attorney. is gracing our humble office with her presence, yeah?”“Come on, kid,” Berkovitz said. He pulled down his pair of horn-rimmed gsses for a fatherly look. “Think good thoughts for once. Could be a big case…maybe a promotion?”“Uh huh,” Sean said. “ADA came all the way down here to witness the Captain telling me I’m jumping the line on second grade3Sean’s a Detective Third Grade, the bottom rung as a Detective Investigator. With just a few years of service in the NYPD, he’s far away from his next promotion, though he could — in theory — be promoted to Second Grade at the discretion of the Commissioner. Frankly, the Commissioner does not like Sean that much. We’ll see why as we go on.? That’s your theory? I call bullshit.”“I think you've got the chops,” Berkovitz said.“’course I do, it’s everything else I ain’t got,” Sean said, slipping out of his wool jacket and maneuvering it onto a nearby coat hanger. Jacket over the backrest of his chair would have looked zier, sure, but also been uncomfortable to lean on, and Sean prized sitting comfortably even if it meant skipping extra credit on the slob checklist. “I got no juice, I got no clues, I can’t even afford the blues.”“You’ve been working on that one for a while, huh?” Berkovitz said.“Just keeping my mind alive,” Sean said. “But yeah, I’ll see my pension before I see another grade. If I see my pension, that is. So you better hold on to your faith in me. You’re gonna need it.”“That's your line, kid?” Berkovitz said. He drummed his fingers on the desk to the beat of a song Sean didn't recognize.“That's my line, Joe,” Sean said. “Look, I know I’m gonna get my ass kicked in there. Don’t give a condemned man hope on the way to the gallows. That’s cruel.”“Ah, so young and already so hopeless,” Berkovitz said, ending his musical interlude with a big drum finish that saw his right hand shoot up over his head before settling into a pistol pose aimed at Sean, who rolled his eyes. “You know you can't keep your head down for the rest of your career, right?” Berkovitz added, miming the recoil of a fired shot. “You’ve still got your badge and that’s not nothing. Take a chance, kid.”“Took one, got me stuck with you,” Sean said. “I mean, why are you so optimistic about this? Know something you’re not telling me?”“Nope, Captain didn’t want me spoiling the surprise, I guess,” Berkovitz said. He held up his right hand. “Fingers crossed. I'll be here, waiting for the good news.”Sean's scowl turned into a smirk, and he made a point of walking behind Berkovitz and resting both hands on his partner’s shoulders before he headed for the Captain's office. “So I'll have a warm chair when I write my statement,” he said as he sauntered off. “Thanks, Joe. Your ass is the best.”“Good thoughts, kid!” Berkovitz called after Sean. “Good thoughts!”

  Captain Paul Whitton's office could have been described as lived in. It also could have been described in other terms, though that would have been less accurate. While the office theoretically had a window front to the rest of the floor, Sean had in his nearly two years at the Six-Four never seen the blinds open. The other walls featured a wild assortment of whiteboards, pinboards and posters with sharpie-added notes. A stranger could have walked into the office, surveyed the walls and learned exactly where the department stood on half a dozen cases in exhaustive detail, but would have spelled their own name backwards after that information overload. Captain Whitton's desk stood square in the middle of the chaos. It dated from the 40s and cried out for mercy whenever anything was set down on it. Whitton himself also dated from the 40s, sporting short-cropped blonde hair with a very small widow's peak, a tiny one, completely insignificant, really. The woman next to him was a decade his junior and there existed neither photographic evidence nor living witnesses of her ever committing to a genuine smile. Sean had previously not had to personally interact with ADA Carmen Lucía Vera y Mir4Real quick surface-level Spanish-speaking name guide: Carmen and Lucía are two first names. Both are references to Catholic saints; Carmen refers to Virgin Mary’s title as Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, while Lucía refers to St. Lucy. Vera and Mir are family names, from her father’s and mother’s side, respectively. Vera’s a common name meaning ‘river bank’ while Mir is likely derived from Mirón meaning ‘Germanic’. The ‘y’ is included as separator for crity, as Spanish-speaking family names can get…intricate., but if today was the day, he hoped it’d be quick and painless.

  “Sir?” Sean said. Whitton and Vera looked at him, and after a moment of being looked at, being clearly and obviously seen, Sean thought to knock on the open door. “You wanted to see me?”“Get in here and close the door, Detective,” Whitton said. Sean did as ordered, but kept his eyes on Vera. “The DA's office requested our help with a case,” Whitton continued. “I want you and Berkovitz to run point.”“Um, okay, Sir,” Sean said, not daring to add a 'but'-cuse and especially not daring to believe in good things like Berkovitz. He held out his hand to Vera. “Sean Collins.”“Carmen Vera,”5This might seem obvious to the more socially adept members of my readership, but one of the nicer things you can do when you get to know someone is pay attention to how they introduce themselves and use that going forward. When uncertain, repeat what you think you heard them call themselves and ask if you got it right. It’s been my experience that most people will be gracious about this. It certainly beats assuming you know how to pronounce someone’s name better than they do, or what nickname they may prefer, or their pronouns. Vera replied and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective,” she said, in a not at all nice way. Sean gnced down at the handshake. This was getting to be a regur Fitzpatrick Type I6Fitzpatrick scale is a measurement of skin susceptibility to UV exposure. Type I is the pale end of the scale and it’s where I live, too. Basically? We don’t tan, we just burn. convention. If anything, her skin was even paler than his.“Likewise,” Sean said. “So, uh, what exactly do you need help with?”“Would you tell him, Carmen?” Whitton said.“There’s a body,” Vera said, shoving a file into Sean's waiting hands. “Vic's name is Robert Morrison, 56 year old white male, found dead in his home in Newark st night. Two GSWs7Gun Shot Wound, just in case anyone didn’t already know that. to the chest, no signs of struggle8The primary concern of most burgrs is to be in and out quickly with light, reselble loot without having to deal with arms, dogs, or even the owners of the pce, if at all possible. Even if a hypothetical burgr had been surprised by Mr. Morrison coming home, you’d expect them to either have fled hastily (very likely) or, in extremis, try to get him out of the way before he could fight back — which would have left the cliché ‘signs of struggle’, i.e. dirt and blood spread around, furniture pushed around and damaged, items shifted or broken, even holes in drywall and the like. If you have the chance when you renovate or something, see how easy it is to put something heavy through drywall. It’s even possible to kick or punch through the material by accident, though I recommend you try with a sledgehammer instead., neighbors didn't see or hear a thing.”“…Newark?” Sean asked. “This is from NPD’s desk, then?”“It is,” Vera said. “Their leading theory is organized crime. A reaction to Monday’s raid.”“And they think it connects how exactly?” Sean asked.“He was a foreman at the docks,” Vera said. “Legally, we have nothing to tie him to this. But our friends doubt it’s a coincidence and asked us to help them look into it. They think the shipment is connected to the scene here, so running that down might get us whoever pulled the trigger on Morrison.”“What do you make of all that?” Whitton asked and waited for Sean to skim the thin file.“Should get this to Homicide,” Sean said, leafing through the pages, “but if you want my opinion, sure.”

  Vera nodded, and her eyes wandered across the room. She had her arms folded in front of her chest, wrinkling her starched blouse.

  “No obvious brute force entry, we’re having the doors and windows checked for tool marks,”9Real-world criminals rarely pick locks. Compared to smashing windows, prying doors open, looking for hidden spare keys, social engineering or even using other points of entry like crawlspaces or thin walls, lockpicking is a highly technical and time-consuming method. It’s a fun challenge for the mechanically inclined and potentially a neat party trick, but the vagaries of various types of locks (What tools am I gonna need? Does this model of lock have any known weaknesses?), environmental concerns (How long is it going to take? Do I have enough visibility to see what I’m doing? Is anyone likely to come around and notice me?) and the avaibility of easier and faster (if messier) options make it unattractive to someone who’s just looking to get in, grab valuables and get out. So the first thing you should be thinking of when you hear ‘tool marks’ is actually a crowbar, not rakes and tension wrenches.That said, picking does leave very distinctive marks in the interior of a lock, because lockpicking tools are usually made of harder materials (steel or aluminum) than lock interiors (which are often brass or nickel-silver). Picked pins have impressions, raked pins have linear scratches, bumped locks will show damage to the body, impressioned keys are usually made of soft materials which may leave residue in the lock, and bypass techniques may leave tool marks on other parts of the locking mechanism. Even when there are no tool marks whatsoever, that leaves open the possibility that the intruder either had a genuine key or was able to have a copy made. Some locks are also vulnerable to sets of ‘tryout’ keys if their tolerances are particurly coarse; those are keys cut between ‘normal’ bittings for each pin so that each key can open several different combinations and the whole set (often 100+ keys) in theory covers every possible bitting the lock might be set to. But then that implies the intruder knew exactly what lock model they’re coming at. It sounds trite, but security is only ever as good as its weakest link. A cheap lock on a closed particleboard door is still better than a 500 dolr lock on a steel door you’ve propped open because the A/C is out. Doesn’t matter that your new Padlock Ultra 5000 EXTREME has an intricate ten-pin tumbler inside that’s a real bear to pick if the boron-carbide shackle can be snapped out of the pot metal body with two wrenches and a bit of leverage. Your fancy RFID badge scanner is worthless if you have a company culture that tolerates people riding along once the door is open. Hey, I’m the new guy from IT, look at my white shirt/bck scks/clipboard/photoshopped company ID, mind letting me in and pointing me toward your server room? Vera said, summing up what Sean was scanning through himself. “No shoe prints, nothing in the carpets but the vic’s blood.”“I’ll wait for the workup before I call it nothing,”10A proper workup of a crime scene can take several days of careful search and documentation even leaving aside the b work. Once we get into that, we have to look at testing protocols, sending evidence around the country to specialized bs and, of course, the backlog. Not every case can be highest priority. Be gd if you can get results within the month. Sean said. “Don’t like the body lying on the couch when the lividity11Lividity in this context is the pooling of blood after death, creating discolorations and bruise-like patterns in the skin. The full process of livor mortis (as in all fluids in the body settling into their final pce) takes about half a day; as the body was found retively soon after Morrison’s death, there would only be slight marks visible at that time. suggests he wasn’t moved. Feels staged.” Sean paused. “Family?”“Wasn't there, thank God,” Vera said.“And that’s it?” Sean asked.“There is one more detail,” Vera said. “Somebody pced a 911 call from the house at or around what NPD’s Crime Scene people believe was time of death. Said nothing, just dialed in and left the phone off the hook.”“Okay, put a pin in that,” Sean said. “So, I’m guessing you’re short on suspects, too?”Vera nodded. “I hope we can at least establish who would have a motive to kill Morrison.”“A motive, wow, we’re really fishing here, huh?”12Generally, in the means-motive-opportunity trifecta, the ‘motive’ part doesn’t matter a whole lot to the conviction. It’s a good starting point for an investigation from a cui bono perspective, sure, and it makes for good drama in a story trying to figure it out, but once the case goes to trial, nobody’s gonna stand on the why if they can prove the what and how beyond a reasonable doubt. Sean said. Nobody ughed. “Okay, not to speak ill of the dead, but we’re assuming he was involved in the shipment?”“We need to start somewhere, so yes, let’s assume he was their insider,” Vera said.“Right,” Sean said. “So, the Jamaicans, then, to make sure he doesn't talk.”“Yes, anyone else?” Vera asked.“You don’t like them for this?” Sean said.“Don’t see what they gain by drawing more attention to how they got their product through the port inspections,” Vera said.“Unless they thought he was about to flip,” Sean said. “They wouldn’t have told him more than strictly necessary, but a loose end is a loose end.”“Paranoia’s always an option,” Vera said. “Let’s keep going, though. I don’t like getting stuck too early on the easiest answer.”13Known as ‘anchoring’ or ‘focalism’, this is a cognitive bias where the first bit of information you learn about a topic becomes your reference point for all subsequent investigation. Comforting as it might be to have a beachhead from which to explore, it can distort your view of the topic as a whole if you only see it in retion to that one thing.“Any sign of a payoff?” Sean asked.“NPD couldn't find that sort of money in the house and his wife doesn't know anything about anything, so far,” Vera said. “We might have more luck with the coworkers, but that will take a few days, too.”“…and just because we don’t have proof doesn’t mean they didn’t pay him off,” Sean reasoned.“If he did help them,” Vera said, “I doubt it was for free.”“I mean, monetary gain is up there on the motivation list,” Sean said. “So, uh, second group: people who knew about the deal and figured Morrison was worth knocking off. Brings us right back to the Jamaicans, either their boss never intended to let him keep the payoff or one of them went rogue. That’s a shorter leap than a third party. But the guy who actually killed Morrison…he apparently knew what he was doing. And a professional killer doesn’t need a personal motive. They need a cut.”“I considered that,” Vera said. “That puts a lower limit on the profit, though. The hitmen our office prosecuted wouldn’t lift a finger for less than ten rge.”“Okay, what about amateurs?” Sean asked.“Those are the amateurs,”14It is difficult to find any sort of hard data on how killers for hire operate, because the ones that we know about are the ones that got caught — often before ever actually killing anyone, so isn’t that kind of a pretty serious sample bias? You could argue they’re not representative of professional assassins, but then we’re getting into the No True Scotsman falcy and you’d still be stuck with having no useful data. It turns out that the market, such as it is, is full of braggarts, frauds and otherwise not very trustworthy people, not to mention extensive sting operations by various w enforcement agencies posing as either clients or assassins for hire. Judging from what I was able to find, ten grand seems like a realistic lower bound for the time period, but every case is different — and in many of them, neither buyer nor seller had a really good idea of what they should offer or ask. Who knew that the old saw “You can’t put a price on human life” was down to market imperfection? Vera said. “Professional freencers might as well be unicorns. God knows what they charge, but I assume six figures and up. Assuming you can actually find and hire one.”“Well, there are mobbed-up killers, and I guess the Jamaicans have a few of those,” Sean said. “But I don’t like that option, either. This is trying way too hard for someone only doing a job. Like, what’s the deal with calling 911? Did he want a specific audience? Control the presentation? It’s almost…like a ritual.” He turned it around in his head for a few more seconds. “Okay, I’m not saying it.”“I’ll say it,” Whitton cut in. “A serial killer.”“I don’t love that answer,” Vera said. “That’ll go federal in a heartbeat.”“If it was,” Sean said, “he’d already be on America’s Most Wanted. This is not someone’s first kill, that’s for damn sure. I mean, it’s one thing to have a pn for the perfect murder. Anybody could come up with a pn, some might even be not complete shit. Hell, close range double-tap doesn’t exactly need a marksman. But everything around it? This guy’s already 99th percentile by executing without obvious fuckups. If that’s luck, I want some of that. Also, serial killers have an urge that informs their methods. Their kills have meaning to them. Where’s the signature, why didn’t he take trophies and again, how is this not the refined version after one or two messy kills the NPD would already know about?”“And that leaves us where exactly?” Vera said.“Just saying it feels weird,” Sean said. “Let’s stick with ‘weird’ for the moment, okay? I mean, we need more information.”“Lab work seems like our only avenue there,” Vera said, “maybe poison or drugs in Morrison’s blood that we can run down, but at this stage I'm not holding my breath for more evidence from the scene. Okay. Let’s cover all bases, while we’re at it. Can we at least exclude a freence hit? Just because we’ve never caught a good freencer doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And not every hit needs to turn a direct profit for the client.”

  Sean skimmed through the file again, which wasn't difficult considering the sparse contents. Where was the mess? What hadn’t the killer accounted for?

  “But it’s not just not turning a profit,” Sean said. “It’s leaving money on the table. I’m thinking, if I knew about this deal, which I’d have to to know about a payoff, and if I also knew a top shelf freencer, someone I can trust to get things done like this, like…clean and quiet…I would hire him to knock over the Jamaicans directly and take their money and the product. Thirty-seven keys15Kilograms, probably morphed from shortening that to ‘Ki’. I pondered writing it that way, too, but it seems ‘key’ has won the spelling wars where drug sng is concerned and I didn’t want to have to expin the difference…which I’m doing right now. Well, darn. But it does sound very Miami Vice, doesn’t it? of stolen cocaine, that’s about” — Sean gnced at the ceiling by reflex — “five million dolrs16Period street prices for various narcotics were rather easier to figure out from freely avaible sources than the fee structures of professional assassins. I have to caveat this by saying bck market prices are obviously much more votile than anything ‘legit’, but I feel pretty confident that 5 million dolrs for 37 kilograms of cocaine in 1989 is at least in the right ballpark., provided you can move that much. At that point, a six figure investment starts making some sense. You would need access to a distribution network, sure, so it's not exactly instant cash, but still, that's a lot of money the client passed up.”“Begs the question, doesn’t it?” Whitton said. “Why kill Morrison after leaving the posse for the NPD?”“Raises the question,”17Whitton’s vernacur use of ‘begs the question’ is perfectly cromulent, but of course Sean has to be technically correct. Sean corrected under his breath.“Attacking a gang with weapons and numbers like a Jamaican posse is very risky,” Vera threw in. “Like we saw in the raid, they had machine guns —”“They did?” Sean cut in.“I read something like FAL18The FN FAL. Arguably the 7.62mm NATO service rifle, though the H&K G3 might disagree. —” Vera tried.“— those are automatic rifles,”19In more modern parnce, the term ‘battle rifle’ is used to differentiate select-fire service rifles with detachable magazines using full-power rifle calibers from ‘assault rifles’ using intermediate calibers. Automatic rifle appears to be the acceptable period umbrel term for both. Sean corrected her. No appuse. “I mean, if it was FALs,” he added. “Those aren’t that uncommon as military surplus and a logical upgrade if you don’t want to settle for possibly dodgy AKs20Well, usually dodgy AK magazines, but that’s a different rant. Just take away from this that not every AK variation is the same, there’s an immense difference between smuggling in whole weapons and rebuilding them in the US from so-called parts kits, plus even the high-quality ones require upkeep and maintenance to work reliably. You know, like every other firearm in existence. but can’t buy American.”“That might have been what the report said, sure,” Vera said. “Anyway, these…rifles, bulletproof vests, the money was in strongboxes, they had legit-looking shipping papers, everything. So this kind of a job, even if a hitman could pull it off, would put a bullseye on his back. The vic was a much safer target. Or maybe the perp had a tip the raid was coming, or he suspected it was only a matter of time, or this was actually Pn B after NPD beat him to the big score…pick you favorite expnation. Any way you look at it, table scraps are better than nothing.”Sean shook his head. Come on, he told himself. What didn’t fit?“Morrison doesn’t even count as table scraps,” he said. “Whatever the Jamaicans paid him for his silence can't be much more than your ten rge minimum for a hit, never mind making it attractive enough to risk Murder One and Conspiracy21Murder in the first degree (details depending on the jurisdiction, but premediation generally counts) and conspiracy to commit murder.. I mean, tell me if I’m making sense here. Morrison’s a middle css house-owner, steady job easily covers the mortgage, no priors. That’s not a life you throw away unless you have to.”“Gambling debts?” Whitton suggested.“Not this deep this fast without a runway,” Sean said. “I mean, sure, ask the wife if there were any sudden bills that might have pushed him, but I don’t think he needed the money. I think they leaned on him. If he got paid, he got paid because that’s how it’s done. Pta o plomo22‘Silver or lead’, the motto of noted philosopher Pablo Escobar. doesn’t mean a thing without the pta, you know? But that’s not how you get rich, they’re gonna pay you enough that you worry about getting busted but not so much that you can buy your way out. Plus, he had to hide it. Pop on down to evidence, let them show you some piles of money — anything he could hide around the house without his family knowing wouldn't be very much. Can’t take it to the bank, you’re too paranoid to bury it or put it in a storage locker because what if the guys who pushed it on you come back and ask for a refund? Anyone smart enough to hire Mr. Phantom should come to that conclusion, too. There’s no money to be made by killing Morrison and stealing from him. So unless they’re having a Christmas Super-Saver Special at Murder Inc., hiring anyone more expensive than a crackhead23That’s not very nice of you, Sean. with a steel pipe would destroy even the smallest profit margin. If somebody hired this mythical six figures tier of professional killer, I’m damn sure they took a hefty loss on the deal. Hell, having enough liquid assets to pay for this up front would narrow the list of suspects considerably.”“Okay, so strike greed,” Vera said. “Unless there’s a profit here we’re not seeing. Any other motives?”“Something personal?” Sean said. “Maybe Morrison and the drug bust are two separate puzzles after all. And maybe he’s not the unluckiest guy in the world, being the first known victim of history’s most careful serial killer. Maybe somebody just really hated the guy.24In crime fiction, murder just about always has an eborate reason because of drama and constructing a mystery to be unraveled. I’m not pying it differently in this story, but I figured we could at least mention most real-life murders are far more mundane and petty. Can't tell you why they would go to this much trouble for it, though. And the phone call, that’s…that doesn’t fit into the picture either way.”“Newark can handle the coincidence angle,” Vera said. “Back to organized crime. If it wasn’t to shut up him, and it wasn’t to steal the payoff —““It could be someone looking to send a message,” Sean cut it. “Don't work with those guys or you get killed. A group looking to make sure the posse can't muscle in on their business. Write off the hitman’s fee as marketing.”“See, that sounds like a possibility your department can run down,” Vera said.“Sure, but where do we start?” Sean said. “Whose cornfkes did that drug deal piss in? Import/Export is cssic Italian except they’re not crazy enough to mess with cartels, we still haven’t actually excluded the Jamaicans but —““Russians,” Whitton weighed in. “This is why you came to us, isn’t it, Carmen?”“I was hoping we could come up with a better theory together,” Vera said. “But yes, that’s where my mind went first. They are good at dirty tricks, they are crazy enough to mess with cartels and less cocaine means better prices for their heroin. That puts them way up there on my list of suspects. In particur, I hear a lot about this Boris Dolzhikov character.”“Oh, Djedushka,” Sean said.“…excuse me?” Vera said.“You haven’t heard enough about him, then,” Sean said. “That’s, uh, that’s what they call him when he’s not listening. It’s Russian for ‘grandpa’.”“I see,” Vera said.“He knows better than to move on cops,” Whitton threw in, “and the Russians all answer to him, from what we know. Seems like asking him can’t hurt. If nothing else, it’ll be quick.” He looked to Vera. “So, that’s a whole lot of good thinking here, now let’s get us some facts. I want you to hit the ground running, Detective. Whoever killed Morrison already has a half-day headstart. The trail’s only getting colder from here.”“Uh, alright,” Sean said. “Do you want me to call Detective Berkovitz here or —”“Yeah, send him in when you see him,” Whitton said. “This is the big one, Detective. Make me proud out there.”“I'm…ready, Captain,” Sean said. He didn't believe it and thought his ck of faith was blindingly obvious from the way he said it, but apparently the words themselves were enough.“Great,” Whitton said. “I think we’ve kept you long enough, Carmen. I'll keep you posted.”“Thank you, Captain Whitton,” Vera said. “Good luck, Detective. If anything comes up with the case, you can call me any time. I'm usually at work.”

  Sean smiled. Vera didn't. He shook hands with her again and Vera walked out, undoubtedly in the process of advancing another case. When the door closed, Sean turned to Captain Whitton.

  “Sir —” Sean said.“We’re barking up the wrong tree,” Whitton said. “But it’s our tree, Detective. Anything you can turn up on Dolzhikov while you’re chasing Carmen’s phantom will help us, long-term. And coming after him for what he didn’t do, well, that’s a new angle. We might catch him ft-footed on this one.”“No, uh,” Sean cut in. “Why me?”“Why you?” Whitton said. He put on a little smile. “Because this is one of three things. One, it’s a dead end and I need someone with time to waste on it. Two, it’s a puzzle and I need someone who’ll lose sleep over it until they prove they’re smarter than the crooks. Or, three…” He gave a shrug, as if apologizing. “It’s a goddamn mess and I need someone I can live without. I don’t think that’s much of a shock to you, is it, Detective?” He shrugged again, less apologetically. “Take care of it and I’ll take care of you.”

  Sean set his teeth.

  “Is that all, Sir?” he asked.“That's all,” Whitton said.

  Outside Captain Whitton's office, Sean found Berkovitz waiting with a glimmer in his brown eyes. Sean couldn't help but briefly close his eyes and smile a little, which served as an invitation for Berkovitz to put his hand on Sean's shoulder and gently pull him along.

  “Come on, kid,” Berkovitz said. “I saw Carmen leave a minute ago. What's the word?”“Is my head still attached to my neck?” Sean said.Berkovitz pretended to check Sean’s neck from multiple angles. “Looks like,” he concluded.“Then we're not getting sued,” Sean said. “Captain wants to see you now.”“So we do have a case?” Berkovitz said.Sean considered it. Maybe it wasn’t too te to back out, but... “We have a case,” he said.Berkovitz nodded. “Lay it on me,” he said. “Come on. Just a little preview for the main event.”“Well, long story short, they’ve got a dead guy in Newark and no evidence to go with him,” Sean said, “so naturally Carmen thinks his death might be connected to Dolzhikov. Little Odessa25A nickname for the Brighton Beach neighborhood in southern Brooklyn, so named because it houses a rge community of people of Russian descent, having received rge numbers of actual Soviet expats during the 70s and 80s, many from the southern stretches — hence ‘Little Odessa’, after a major Bck Sea port in Ukraine instead of, say, ‘Little Moscow’.(Also, it’s Ukraine, not the Ukraine.) is our turf, so here we are.”

  Berkovitz turned away and ran his left hand through his hair.

  “That’s a waste of time,” he said.Sean nodded. “That’s what I said. But hey, theirs not to reason why26Theirs but to do and die.. Carmen wants it so the Captain wants it and that makes it healthier if we want it, too. Now what about my seat?”“As warm as it's going to get today,” Berkovitz said. “ I think I’ve actually got an angle on this we can run right now. Why don't you go ahead to the pool and check out a slick top27Another name for an undercover patrol vehicle, so named because they don’t have a lightbar or other external equipment that would give away that they’re cop cars. In practice, of course, the realities of fleet management meant slick tops were retively standard across police agencies and remained easy to spot for those in the know. for us?”“Sure,” Sean said. “Catch you in front.”“Don't get a bck one!” Berkovitz called, back already turned. “Grandpa hates bck cars!”28As do many other people who grew up in the Soviet Union and other Warsaw Pact nations, since the various secret police forces (most notably the KGB) were quite fond of their bck squad cars.

  When Sean pulled up in front of the precinct with a metallic blue LTD Crown Victoria, Berkovitz was already waiting for him outside, wearing a coat with a dark Burberry tartan ripoff pattern and a crooked hat on top of his suit. His head swiveled from side to side a few times while he made sure the traffic wouldn't swallow him. He rushed past the idling car to its passenger side and climbed in, marshaling his coat fully inside before smming the door closed.

  “Where are we going?” Sean asked. “Anywhere particur or just a general cruise around the block?”“Field trip,” Berkovitz said. “Fifty-first avenue. I'll tell you where exactly when we get there.”

  Sean didn't question it. He put the car in reverse and backed up to the motor pool exit he’d just come out of, where he swung the wheel and pumped the brakes for a j-turn. Berkovitz yelped in surprise, and a shift into ‘D’ ter, they were on their way.

  “Watch the curb, Mario Andretti!” Berkovitz said, after a dey of a few seconds to strain for a quip.“Tell me what the Captain told you,” Sean said, his eyes fixed on the road.“Same thing he told you,” Berkovitz said.“Really,” Sean said.“He gave me the short version, Newark, Dolzhikov, fat lot of nothing to connect the dots,” Berkovitz said, “oh, and he mentioned your business pn, something about hiring a serial killer to help you take over cocaine trafficking along the Eastern Seaboard.”“It's gotta be better than my pension,” Sean said. “Of course, I’d have to kill you. You already know too much.”“Not even gonna offer me a bribe first?” Berkovitz said. “Think that through, kid. You’d need some help to take out the Captain and Carmen.““No thanks,” Sean said. “I know the stats on criminal conspiracies. Two is better than four but sooner or ter we’d cross each other. I mean, I could take you —““Only if you shot me in the back,” Berkovitz threw in.“— and frankly all that’s starting to sound like work,” Sean continued, “and you know how I feel about that.”

  Berkovitz chuckled.

  “What I meant is,” Sean said, “what did he tell you that's got us heading away from the man I’m going to charitably refer to as our lead?”“Yeah, that’s the thing and I’d appreciate it if you don’t spread this around,” Berkovitz said. “I got a hot tip. Russians are moving something today. My source says it’s drugs, so, probably H. I was gonna suggest we follow up on that anyway, but hey, two birds with one stone.”“And today of all days,” Sean quipped. “Don’t they know they killed a guy? The nerve!”“You know what I also heard?” Berkovitz said. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”“But the highest form of intelligence,” Sean finished. “You don’t even know that’s Oscar Wilde, do you?”“I guess I don’t,” Berkovitz said. “Lucky I got you for that. So, I'm thinking, we go there and we talk to them.”“…we talk to them?” Sean echoed. “You want to community police29The policy of assigning patrol officers on a dedicated beat, where they get to know people in the community and gain their trust. Gosh, that sounds nice, doesn't it? a drug deal?”“I want some leverage,” Berkovitz said. “When you go talk to Grandpa, you don’t want to show up empty-handed.”“I wouldn’t think of it,” Sean said. “I’d have full hands. One with my badge, one with a search warrant.”“I don’t know what’s funnier,” Berkovitz said. “You thinking you could get a warrant or that you could execute it and keep breathing.”“Just saying, that’s textbook,” Sean said.“And I’m saying, we'll get nowhere if we drag this to his doorstep the loud way,” Berkovitz continued. “It’s a power move, kid. We show up. We say it without saying: we could bust you, we’re not gonna, tell the big guy we’re watching. Give it an hour to get back to him and he’ll come calling all on his own to ask what bee we got in our bonnet.” Berkovitz snorted. “Maybe he ordered the hit, maybe he didn’t. But I’ll bet you dolrs to donuts he knows more about it than we do. And he’ll tell us if it makes us somebody else’s problem.”“Pretty cheap trick, if it works at all,” Sean said.“Yeah, but we gotta start somewhere and it ain’t the worst pce to start, is it?” Berkovitz opined. “Dolzhikov likes to know everything that happens, so he can pretend he’s got it all under control. The Thieves act all high and mighty, as if they’re the criminal royalty around here. But they’re just as petty and at each other’s throats as everyone else.”“So you keep telling me,” Sean said. “But you can’t shut up about Dolzhikov’s suits, either.”“Good clothes don’t make good people, that’s the takeaway,” Berkovitz said. “Same old organized crime, just with an extra yer of ceremonial woo-woo on top. You’ll see when we talk to him. Well, when I talk to him, anyway. Not to slight you, kid, but this is going to be a finesse type of operation. You start in with those characters, you’ll want to keep your eyes on the prize and not say a damn thing more than you have to.”

  Sean kept quiet during the rest of the drive, letting Berkovitz's musings about the intricacies of the Russian mob hit him like a trickle that wasn't worth getting his umbrel out for. In any event, Sean's eyes were on the road and his mind on the case. Murder wasn't exactly newsworthy these days, despite all efforts to clean up the mess that had settled in over the st decades. Yeah, the isnd30What you call Manhattan when you don’t live in Manhattan. was getting safer, but that didn't do shit for the other boroughs, where nothing moved forward while the criminals fought each other for every inch of turf. Sean’s coworkers kept the lid on the pot and tolerated some simmering, as long as it didn't boil over, and Sean thought he was better off not knowing a lot of the details. Then again, trillions had been thrown at a rger Russian problem with not much to show for it. Perhaps the current détente, here and in D.C., was the best anyone could do.