He felt a gun pressing in the small of his back. A man yelled, “Hands up!” into his ear.
“I’m a cop!” he shot back, and reached for his shield.
“I know who you are,” the voice said. Hands reached for his gun and slid it out of his holster. He felt the sweat slide down his sides. Now he was naked.
“I’m a cop!” he said again. The same hands spun him around.
“I know who you are,” the man repeated.
Frankie’s eyes flew open. “Captain Goatfucker!” He winced at his own stupidity. “Er — ah — I mean, Captain Williams. How the hell are you?”
“Better than you, Frankie, m’boy,” the captain said as he snapped the cuffs around Frankie’s wrists. “Better than you.”
“Hey, Williams, whadaya doing here? It’s me, Frankie. From the Fearsome Foursome, remember? I’m on your side. One of the good guys.” He tried a weak grin.
“Oh no, Frankie. You done crossed over to the other side a long time ago.” Williams shook his head. “My Organized Retail Crime Task Force has been watchin’ you, m’boy. We got videotapes, still photos, receipts with your fingerprints on ’em — you name it, we got it. Your ass is fried.” He made a kissing noise. “You can kiss that pension goodbye.”
Frankie felt dizzy. “But — but my kids. My wife...”
“Tsk, tsk. You should have thought about your family while you were committing fraud.”
Frankie wanted to throw up. The cops were hustling the wailing women out the door. He was gratified to see Mohammed trussed up like a chicken in ankle cuffs and handcuffs — the guy should have known better than to fight a cop, Frankie thought. Meanwhile, he was standing there with his hands behind his back like some two-bit perp. “Come on, Williams. We can work this out. You’re a cop, I’m a cop...”
“Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong, Frankie. You’re no cop. Not no more. Least, not when we get through with you. I’d say you were the next candidate for protective custody.” He squinted at Frankie. “’Less you wanna go straight into population and spend your days playin’ Drop the Soap with the Bloods and Crips.” He grinned sorrowfully.
Frankie scrambled frantically for the magic words that would get him out of this mess. “No, hey, look, you came in here to make a bust, I’m a cop, I’m helping you out...” he tried.
Williams shook his head. His voice became businesslike. “No good. You’re caught, Hernandez. Game over.”
“Williams, please. For old times’ sake?” Frankie was disgusted with himself for pleading, but he was out of options.
Williams gave Frankie a pitiful glance. “I’ll tell you what I can do. For old times’ sake.” Frankie looked at him eagerly. “I’ll let you ride in the back of the RMP instead of the van with the rest of the perps.”
Williams handed Frankie over to the small female officer with the vest. “Guzman, bring this one in. Let ’im ride in the back of your car.”
Officer Guzman wrinkled her nose as though smelling something rotting. But all she said was, “Yes, sir.”
As she shoved him out the door, Frankie turned back and yelled, “Fuck you, Goatfucker! Chinga tu madre!”
Guzman clucked her tongue at him. “That’s no way to talk. Captain Williams would never do that to his mother. He’s a very religious man, you know.”
“I want my delegate!” Frankie snarled. “Call the PBA and tell them to get my delegate down here pronto.”
“Don’t worry,” Guzman said. “We’ll make the call once we get to the precinct.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “Although the way I hear it, the delegate’s not gonna be able to do much for you. Your wife’s already down there, singing like a canary.” She glanced sideways at him. “Course, if you wanna tell me about it, I can maybe work out a little something for you.”
Frankie wanted to cry and scream and throw up, all at the same time. How could she think he’d fall for that trick? He’d used it often enough himself — get a perp to talk by pretending his confederate was giving him up. But what if it was true? What if María was selling him down the river even while he was being hustled into the backseat of the RMP? He wouldn’t put it past her. The blood of generations of corrupt Mexican politicians ran through her veins. She had probably learned how to sell out her partner while other kids were playing hopscotch.
Within ten minutes, Frankie was being hustled toward an interrogation room in the 115th Precinct. Jackson Heights was just a stone’s throw from Woodside, so it didn’t take long. As he passed one of the other interrogation rooms, he glanced inside and saw his wife sitting at a table, chatting with a bunch of detectives. Her jacket was draped over her shoulders in defense against the air-conditioning, and she warmed her hands around a steaming paper cup of coffee.
“María, you bitch!” he screamed as he passed the window.
Guzman shoved him into the next room and plunked him into a hard chair. “You wanna tell me about it?” she asked, pulling out a notebook.
“You bet,” Frankie said. “It was all her idea.”
Guzman held up her hand. “You sure you don’t want to wait for your delegate before you talk to me? You don’t want me to Mirandize you?”
“Hell no!” Frankie replied. He missed the small smile that curled up at the corner of Guzman’s mouth for a fleeting moment.
“Okay, then,” she said. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Officer Guzman opened the door to the neighboring interrogation room. “Thanks for coming down and waiting, María,” she said. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t look too good for Frankie. He’s confessed to a lot of crimes, and he didn’t wait for his delegate before he talked.”
María shook her head. “My father told me not to marry him, but I thought I knew better. What am I going to tell the kids?”
Guzman patted her hand. “I know it looks tough now, but you’ll make it through. Can you take your children to your parents’ house tonight? It’s only a matter of time before the press comes knocking on your door.”
“That’s a good idea, thanks. Does Frankie want to see me now?”
“I don’t think that would be for the best. You can see him once he’s booked.”
María stood up. “Well. Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome. And it will all work out. You’ll see.”
You bet it will, María thought.
As she slid behind the wheel of her car, she mentally ran through the contents of her home office. She had packed up the laptop, scanner, and printer and stashed them in the trunk of her car as soon as Roberta Guzman called. She’d had a mental escape plan in place since the day she and Frankie had gotten involved in what she thought of as “refunding for profit.”
Her family and Roberta’s had been close for at least two generations, but the two women hadn’t seen each other very often since Roberta went on the job. She had let María know that she would have to take a step back because she was going to play it straight. (Roberta’s family had treated her like the proverbial black sheep — What’s wrong with the girl that she isn’t open to taking bribes? How could we have gone so wrong?)
María only pretended to understand her friend’s choices. She heard about Roberta’s successes in the department through her parents and aunts and uncles, but like her relatives, she always puzzled over why her longtime friend would work harder than she had to.
Well, no matter. She’d held Roberta’s marker from when they were teenagers. María held the key to a moment of youthful indiscretion on Roberta’s part, and Roberta owed her for keeping her mouth shut. She knew she’d collect on it someday, but she’d always hoped it would be for something bigger than this harmless little scam.