“Chr-C.D.’s father-in-law.”
“You know more about this than you’re letting on.”
“No, I don’t know anything about these events. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Yeah, Benedetto was C.D.’s father-in-law. So we figured that C.D. went in and divided up the spoils between him and his father-in-law. You know, as a gift to the old man. Except three months later, C.D. and Benedetto’s cow of a daughter are no longer wedded in holy matrimony, and suddenly C.D. is gone. Like vanished off the face of the earth. The old man-Benedetto-he’s got all the territory. So we figured that Benedetto muscled out Donatti, that the kid was either lying six feet under with dirt in his eyes or implanted in a foundation of one of the Camden, New Jersey, rejuvenation projects. The other possibility, of course, was that the guy was in hiding, deciding on his next move. If he’s laying low, we figured-oh boy, another war. So you know what happened?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, that’s what happened. So we think he’s dead. Then maybe twelve months later-this was about three or four years ago-C.D. pops up out of nowhere. He’s livin’ uptown not too far from here, taking beaver shots of teenage girls-”
“Kiddie porn?”
“Nah, they’re all over eighteen. How do I know this? I’ve tried to bust the guy no less than ten times. His girls are all righteous-for now. He’s got some Supreme Court decisions pending that may put him down for a while, but the guy is a weed. He’ll pop back with something new. For the time being, we know he’s pimping his girls, but we can’t find the chink in the armor. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because C.D. don’t talk.”
“He and the old man still in contact?”
“Yeah, sure. Since he’s surfaced, we see him visiting Joey every now and then. Nothing too heavy. Outta obligation, I think. Joey adopted C.D. They’re not related. You probably know that.”
“I know that.”
“C.D.’s got no blood family, no friends, no nothing in the way of social connections. What he does have is one of the seediest rags in the business. A twenty- to thirty-page glossy pictorial of young girls-all of them barely eighteen-dressed up as even younger girls who play out every middle-aged guy fantasy known to mankind. You know-teacher/student, patient/candy striper, making it with your daughter’s best friend-”
“Lovely.”
“I don’t know who the fuck he’s selling this shit to, but he must have some kind of market. What started as a cheap, homemade job has blossomed into something with high-quality photographs and advertising. I’m not saying he’s ready for prime-time magazine space, but there are buyers out there.”
“American enterprise.”
“Wanna know what I think?”
“What?” Decker asked.
“I think Donatti gave Benedetto Wash Heights as payment to get out of the Family. The guy is too much of a loner to take orders from higher-ups. Not that he’s exactly come up in the world. If he’s living the good life, he’s hiding it well.”
“Don’t he own the building, Bri?” Novack popped in.
“This is true. He owns quite a bit of real estate around a hundred thirty-fifth in what’s called the Shona Bailey area. The neighborhood has all these brownstones-nice babies, but in serious disrepair. The Bailey was doing real well for a while. It was the darling of the dot-coms. Then the economy tanked and September eleventh hit. Last I heard he’s been picking up the buildings for a song.”
Novack shook his head. “No one ever accused the kid of being brainless.”
“So if I were to look for him, I’d find him uptown around a hundred thirty-fifth?” Decker asked.
“Yes, I suppose, although I don’t know if he’d be in at nine forty-five, Sunday morning. Why would you want to look for him?”
“Because you said the hit looks like one of his. And if he preys on young girls, a desperate fifteen-year-old may be just his kind of meat.”
“I don’t know why he’d mess with underage girls when he has lots of legit babes doing his bidding. Guy’s a pussy magnet-always has been. The kind of bad boy that stupid girls love.”
Not just stupid girls. Decker thought for a moment. “You have his address?”
Cork eyed him. “What are you going to do, Decker? Go over and ask him about it? If you want to go after Donatti, you don’t just pop in and announce yourself. You go over there with warrants. Otherwise, he don’t talk to you.”
“I don’t have time for subtlety,” Decker said. “I just want to ask him a couple of questions.”
“Want me to come with you?” Novack offered.
Decker’s heart sank. He wanted to talk to Donatti alone. “Sure.”
“You gonna be a party to this nonsense, Mick?” Cork made a face.
Decker said breezily, “You know, Novack, he’s probably not even in. I’ve got your cell. If I get anywhere, I’ll call you. Unless you want to come.”
Novack shook his head. “Not with the Knicks playing this afternoon. I promised the missus I’d clean out the garage. I’d like to get it done so I can watch the game in peace.”
“Go home, Mick. I’ll be fine.” To Cork, Decker said, “The address?”
“You really want to do this?”
Decker nodded.
“I’ll look it up for you,” Cork said. “My notebook’s in my car. Hold on.”
Cork disappeared. Novack regarded Decker, staring at him before he spoke. “Where are you going with this, Pete?”
“Beats me. But I’m not having luck going the traditional route.”
“It’s not wise to get too involved in other people’s business.”
Don’t tread on me. Decker said, “Hey, if you object, I won’t go.”
“Just don’t mess up anything, all right? Vice don’t like to look stupid.”
“I hear you.”
But the tension held fast. Neither spoke until Cork came back several minutes later holding a piece of paper. “It’s not too far from here, ’bout fifteen blocks uptown. I forget if it’s between Riverside Drive and Broadway or just east of Broadway.”
“I’ll find it.”
Cork handed Decker the slip of paper. “Something’s not computing. You know more about Donatti than you’re letting on.”
“C.D. spent some time in California. We crossed paths.”
“Ah!” Cork said. “History or no history, you’re wasting your time. Even if he’s there, he won’t talk to you.”
That very well could be the case. Except that Decker had a weapon that obviously the cops didn’t know about. “Maybe one of his girls will talk.”
“Pshhh.” The detective waved him off. “Nah, they don’t talk. I know ’cause I’ve tried. Whatever hold Donatti’s got on ’em is a choke hold.”
11
Rina would have killed him; Novack-if he had known the entire story-would have blasted him for going it solo. It was irresponsible; it was dangerous; it was just plain stupid. It was all those things because C.D. was a stone-cold psycho, C.D. was a killer, and C.D. hated his guts. Yet Decker gave himself a pat on the back for being a trusting soul, facing the kid without so much as a nail file for defense. But it was more than trust. After seven years of serving as a lieutenant, directing his charges, and pushing paper rather than solving crimes, Decker was buzzed with the thrill of action. Except for several exceptional cases, he had been a prisoner of his own success, trapped behind a desk, his reflexes slowed with age and atrophy.
What kind of reception he would get, Decker didn’t bother to contemplate. As long as Chris didn’t shoot him on the spot, anything else would be okay.
Going by foot, he discovered that the area looked closer on the map than it did in person. By the time he found the place, it was ten-thirty in the morning. C.D.’s building was uptown, six stories of dilapidated brick material several blocks away from potentially lovely brownstones. But it had a lobby with the entrance door locked tight. There were buttons that corresponded to the various units-twenty in all. The fifth and sixth floors were taken up by one tenant: MMO Enterprises. Since C.D. supposedly owned the building and used it as his studio, Decker tried that button first. It rang several times; then to his surprise, a woman responded over the intercom, “MMO.”