Sleepers

I moved further into the hall, trying to keep the folders dry, trying to absorb all that Michael was telling me. He had waited twelve years for this moment, planned for it, somehow knowing it would happen and, when it did, he would be prepared.

He insisted that John and Tommy be told nothing of our plan, that it would play better in court if they didn't know. There was to be no jury tampering. The 'not guilty' we sought had to be a verdict that no one would dare question. Danny O'Connor was to remain as the defendants' attorney. We needed to keep him sober and alert and, since he was going to be as deeply involved as we were, too scared to tell anybody what we were up to.

Michael would relay the information I needed through a system of messengers and drop boxes. I would pass information back to him in a similar manner. He pulled three keys out of his coat pocket and handed them to me. They belonged to lockers at the Port Authority, the 23rd Street YMCA and a Jack LaLanne Health Club on West 45th Street. Once I had the packets in hand I would pass them on to O'Connor. I would make sure we weren't seen.

For the plan to succeed, we needed total secrecy and the involvement of only people we completely trusted. My first step was to get to King Benny. He would be our weight, our muscle and could get us through doors we didn't even know existed. He would put enough fear into Danny O'Connor's heart to gently seal his lips. King Benny would also call off the West Side Boys, who were sure to be gunning for Michael the minute they knew he had taken the case against John and Tommy.

I also needed Fat Mancho to turn over some rocks and Carol Martinez to open some more files.

After this night, Michael would not be available to any of us. The only time we would see him would be in court.

It was a foolproof plan in one respect. If it worked, we would avenge our past and, in the process, bring down the Wilkinson Home for Boys. If it didn't work, if we were caught, people would want to know why we did what we did. Either way, information would get out.

Michael's way, however, insured that John and Tommy would walk with us and share in the victory.

'Is that it?' I asked, gazing down at the folders in my arms. 'Is that all you need?'

'Just one more thing,' Michael said.

'What?'

He sighed, leaving the best for last. 'We've got four witnesses who say they saw the shooting and are willing to testify. We need to knock that number down.'

'I'll work on it,' I said. 'But if you lose more than two, it might get some people nervous.'

'I'll take two,' Michael said. 'If you can get us one for our side.'

'One what?' I asked.

'One witness. A witness who'll put John and Tommy somewhere else the night of the murder. Anywhere else. A witness they can't touch. Strong enough to knock out whatever anybody else says.'

'Don't they have a name for that?' I asked.

'A judge would call it perjury,' Michael said.

'And what are we calling it?'

'A favor,' Michael said.

FOUR

King Benny stood behind the bar of his club, drinking from a large white mug of hot coffee, reading the three-page letter I had written and left for him in a sealed envelope on the counter. When he had finished, he laid the letter down and walked to the edge of the bar. He looked out at the streets of Hell's Kitchen, the mug cradled in both hands.

'Tony,' King Benny said to one of four men sitting around a card table, sorting early morning betting slips.

Tony dropped the slips from his hands, pulled back his chair and walked over.

'Bring Danny O'Connor to see me,' King Benny said, his eyes never leaving the window.

'Danny O'Connor the lawyer?' Tony asked.

'You know more than one Danny O'Connor?' King Benny said.

'No, King,' Tony said.

'Then bring me the one you know,' King Benny said.

King Benny turned from the window and moved further down the bar, stopping at the empty sink next to the beer taps. He put down his coffee mug and grabbed a book of matches from the top of the bar. He took one final look at my letter and then dropped it into the sink. He lit a match and put it to the letter and stood there, in silence, watching as it burned.

Then, for the first time in many years, King Benny laughed out loud.

FIVE

'You got time for me, Fat Man?' I said, standing in the middle of Fat Mancho's bodega, watching him as he bent over to open a carton of Wise potato chips.

'I'm a busy man, fucker,' Fat Mancho said, standing up, hugging his bulky pants above his waist, a smile on his face. 'I got a business. Ain't like you paper boys, with time on my fuckin' hands.'

'This won't take long,' I said, grabbing a pack of Wrigley's Juicy Fruit gum from one of the racks. 'I'll wait for you outside.'

'You gonna pay me for that, you little prick?' Fat Mancho asked.

'I never did before,' I said, putting two pieces in my mouth and walking out into the cool of the day. 'Why ruin a good habit now?'

Fat Mancho came out carrying two wood crates for us to sit on and a cold, sweaty Yoo-Hoo for him to drink. I sat down next to him, leaned my back against his storefront window and stretched my legs. I pointed to the fire hydrant in front of us.

'Kids still use that in the summer?' I asked.

'It still gets hot, don't it?' Fat Mancho said. 'That pump's the only beach they know. Just like you fuckers. You all cut the same.'

'I need your help, Fat Man,' I said, turning to look at him. 'A big favor. It would be easier for you to say no. A lot smarter too. And there's no problem if you do.'

Fat Mancho downed his Yoo-Hoo in two long gulps and wiped his mouth with the rolled-up sleeve of a green shirt dotted with orange flamingos.

'I bet you would like me to say no,' Fat Mancho said, laying the bottle by his feet. 'Then you can tell your buddies that the Fat Man don't stand up. Don't back his friends.'

'Are you callin' me your friend?' I said with a smile. 'I'm touched, Fat Man.'

'I ain't callin' you shit,' Fat Mancho said. 'I'm just tellin' you I'm here. You fuckers can't pull off anything alone. You ain't got the brass and you ain't got the brains. There's two of you in jail right now. Ain't lookin' to make it four.'

'I guess King Benny's been around to see you,' I said.

'Some fuckin' team we puttin' together,' Fat Mancho said. 'A drunk lawyer on one side, fuckin' kid lawyer on another. A paper boy makin' like Dick Tracy. Four eyeballs swear they saw the whole thing. And the two on trial killed more people than cancer. That motherfucker Custer had a better shot at a walk.'

'Nobody's expecting it,' I said. 'That's the biggest card in our favor.'

'This ain't no fuckin' book, kid,' Fat Mancho said. 'You best remember that. And this goes bad, it ain't a fuckin' year upstate in a kid jail. This is real. You get caught on this, you lookin' straight at serious.'

'There's no choice,' I said. 'Not for us.'

'They were good boys,' Fat Mancho said. 'That little fucker Johnny give you his shirt he thought you need it. That other prick, Butter, always chewin' on a mouthful of somethin', his lips covered with chocolate.'

He turned to look at me. 'But they ain't good boys anymore. They killers now, cold as stone.'

'I know,' I said. 'I know what they were and I know what they are. It's not about that.'

'Ain't worth throwin' away a life just to get even,' Fat Mancho said. 'You and the lawyer got a shot. You can make it out the right way. You ready to flip that aside? Just to get even with three fuckin' guards?'