Later, a little after nine o’clock, Rizzo left the schoolyard, photo album in hand, and returned to his Camry. Frankie, like the victims, had not been able to I.D. a suspect.
Rizzo glanced at the face of his Timex. He sighed. No use putting it off any longer, he was already out, it wasn’t that late, it was as good a time as any. He started the car and headed for his last stop of the night.
In the sparse weeknight traffic, it didn’t take long to reach the battered, litter-strewn block in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn. Rizzo parked under a streetlight, tossing the NYPD vehicle identification card onto the dash, hoping it’d be garlic to any vampires roaming the darkened, cold streets, searching for a car to boost.
He crossed diagonally to a dimly illuminated storefront, its painted windows opaque. From above the door, a bloodied and pained Christ gazed down at him from a two-foot-long wooden crucifix. The words “Non-Combat Zone,” in military-style stenciling, were emblazoned with dark red lettering on the plain gray metal door. Rizzo reached out a hand and pressed the doorbell.
Father Attilio Jovino, although considerably older than Joe Rizzo, still cut an impressive figure. He had come into the priesthood only after a bloody and violent tour of duty in the jungles of Vietnam, and he still carried the hard-edged, flinty-eyed look of a U.S. Army Ranger.
Now, sitting at the desk in his office in the rear of the youth sanctuary he had founded more than fifteen years earlier, Jovino smiled across to his visitor.
“So, Joe,” he said, intertwining his fingers and leaning forward across the desk. “I always look forward to your visits. And even more so since I usually get to share a cigarette with you.”
Rizzo reached into his coat pocket, extracting a crumpled pack. “Yeah, well, there’s a story there, Tillio, but that’s for another visit.”
Jovino shrugged as he dug out an ashtray from his desk drawer. “As you wish, my son.”
They smoked in silence for a few moments, Rizzo’s eyes occasionally rising to the huge crucifix hanging on the wall behind Jovino’s desk.
“Is it Jesus making you uncomfortable,” the priest asked, “or is there something on your mind?”
“Yeah, well, a little a both, I guess,” Rizzo conceded. “I stopped by ’cause I needed to talk to you.”
Jovino nodded and sat back in his seat. “I’m listening,” he said, letting smoke trickle from his lips. “And we’re alone here.”
“Yeah, well, relax, Til,” Rizzo said. “I ain’t confessin’ nothin’ here.”
Jovino smiled. “All right,” he said. A moment passed, Jovino drawing on his cigarette. Then, again leaning forward, he asked in a soft voice, “But, if you were, would it perhaps have something to do with that twelve-thousand-dollar cash donation you recently bestowed upon my sanctuary? You know, you never did satisfy my curiosity about that.”
“Well, that’s okay, Father,” Rizzo said with a shrug. “All you need to know is the money was clean. Clean as any money can be, anyhow. I hope it’s being put to good use.”
Jovino nodded. “Twelve grand saves more than one life around here. Considerably more. These runaway kids don’t need all that much. Food, a little doctoring, kindness. Concern. And a good deal of faith and hope.” He paused here and smiled warmly at Rizzo. “Wherever that money originated, it was delivered to these kids by Christ. That’s good enough for me.”
Rizzo took in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said, expelling slowly. “Christ.”
Again Jovino nodded. “Christ appears in many forms. Sometimes even in the guise of a Brooklyn cop. A cop, I should add, who looks tired, seems uncharacteristically unsure of himself. What’s the problem, Joe? You can tell me.”
Rizzo tried to lighten his tone. “Not exactly a problem. Just a… a situation, that’s all.”
Jovino sat back in his seat. “Ah, yes,” he said, “a situation. Of course. I experienced a few situations myself before I came to the priesthood. One involved the lovely young sister of my best friend. Another a small incident of mayhem in the highlands outside of Hue. I can assure you, my friend, I know something of ‘situations.’ ”
Rizzo shook his head, dropping his eyes to the red tip of his burning Chesterfield. “It ain’t quite that dramatic, Father.” He raised his eyes slowly to meet Jovino’s.
The priest spread his arms. “So, tell me, then.”
Rizzo cleared his throat. “Remember back in August, when I stopped in? After me and Mike had found the Daily kid? I told you that I might be comin’ across something, something very detrimental to Councilman William Daily?”
Jovino nodded. “Yes. Of course I remember. I agreed to deliver this hypothetical ‘something’ to the authorities, the federal authorities, as I recall, under the guise of its having appeared here at the shelter, presumably left by one of the runaways. It would have been problematic for you to go to the authorities without jeopardizing yourselves-you and Mike, that is.”
Rizzo nodded. “Correct.”
Jovino continued. “And then, shortly thereafter, you reappeared at my door, twelve thousand dollars in hand. You know, last year the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce donated five thousand to the Non-Combat Zone, Verizon Corporation eight thousand. So you, sir, are now my biggest single supporter.”
Rizzo grinned. “Good for me.”
“Yes,” Jovino said with a nod. “Good for you indeed.” The priest paused, taking a last drag on his cigarette, then very deliberately crushing it out in the ashtray.
“It was at that point that I assumed this material, this incriminating material concerning Councilman Daily, had at last made its way into your possession.” He paused once more. “And yet, no such material has been presented to me to date.”
He reached across the desk, shaking a second cigarette loose from Rizzo’s pack. Lighting it, he raised his eyes through the smoke to Rizzo’s.
“I wondered about that, Joe. I must say, I still wonder about that.”
Rizzo nodded. “Yeah. I figured. Well, you can stop wonderin’. I have the material you’re referrin’ to. In fact, I’ve had it all along.” He leaned forward and stubbed out his own cigarette. “That’s why I’m here now. See, Daily just got himself reelected, and if a certain tape had already gone to the feds, that never woulda happened. I know that’s my responsibility, my fault. And I can live with it. I just need you to know that it ain’t over yet. I just need some more time. For a couple a different reasons. Just a little more time.”
Jovino responded. “Well, originally, you had said something about six months or so. Of course, my understanding at the time was that you didn’t yet have this… ‘material.’ Now I’m learning that isn’t exactly so. I’m learning that I’ve been misled.”
Their gazes locked. Rizzo noted a hardness begin to form in the priest’s eyes.
“Is there anything else I need to know, Joe?” he asked in a low, flat tone. “Because if there is, now would be the time to tell me. Not next week, not next month, not six months from now. Now.”
Jovino let out a sigh, releasing some of the tension that had come to his body.
“Now, Joe,” he repeated softly.
“There’s nothin’ else,” Rizzo said wearily. “I’ve been sitting on some evidence. The twelve grand, that was just something fell into my hands along the way. It has no rightful owner; it’s better off where it is, helpin’ these kids of yours.”
Jovino pursed his lips.
“Is ‘falling into your hands’ similar to something ‘falling off a truck,’ Joe?”
“Not exactly,” Rizzo said. “I swear to you, that cash was orphaned. Totally. Like I said, no rightful owner. It was as much mine as anyone’s.” He shrugged. “And I chose to give it to you. End of story.”
Jovino leaned forward, frowning. “Except for this tape you continue to sit on. You know that I share no warm regard for Councilman Daily, but, personal feelings aside, there is a right and there is a wrong. You need to make a decision, Joe.”