Dirty Deeds

By Tony Longfield

Daniel (Danny) Holster is a man with nothing to lose. The only person in his life that means anything to him is his best friend Tommy Lorraine. Tommy brings Danny some unfortunate news about his younger brother Martin (Marty), who was kidnapped three years before Danny received this new discovery from his best friend. Danny isn’t shocked about the surprising news of his brother as he knows he’s no longer alive. But is shocked to hear that his best friend received this information from reports that led back to the mob group the both of them used to deliver newspapers for in their adolescence. Marty was a straight arrow and had no ties with the mob. Now Danny is fixated on going back into the mob and finding out just what happened to his little brother, but the picture seems to be much bigger than he could have ever anticipated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669873587

Tony Longfield

to be followed

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I T WAS SEVEN o’clock in the evening. I was standing by my living room window in my second-floor apartment. Through the blinds, I was looking down on the streets of Queens. It was a filthy sight. A whole lotta shit happened here at night. Not even the light from the streetlamps shone bright enough to scare the darkness away. It always kept coming back.

Ever since I started living in this place two years ago, I’d seen just about everything you wouldn’t want to see happen outside of the place you call home. Armed robbery and carjackings happened regularly. Killings happened, but it was a rare sight when I witnessed them, and believe me—I wished I never did.

Things weren’t all too bad inside my place, however—just the occasional noisy college kids throwing a party two doors down—but it still wasn’t a great place to live either. When I first got here, I had roaches and mice all over the place. It was terrible, but I put a lot into the place, which I was proud of, and I could actually live comfortably.

I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out a cigarillo and some matches. I let it rest on my lip and sparked the match. I always loved witnessing the flame roar and glow and then settle to a quiet, elegant burn before shaking it away. I puffed on my cigarillo and watched the smoke dance around my face and then shifted my eyes back to the street.

Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I was wearing a coat inside of my own home, and well, I was waiting for someone to arrive. I held up my right wrist and checked my watch once more. They were three minutes late now, but I had expected this to happen. The person coming to pick me up was a friend of mine. His name was Tommy Lorraine. We’d been best friends since we were in the fourth grade. He was a police lieutenant, and we occasionally grabbed coffee around this time. Yes, he worked nights, so he was going to need it—me, not so much, but I indulged anyway.

He finally pulled up out front in his police car. I sucked in on my cigarillo once more and then blew the smoke toward the ceiling and headed for the door. Once I was in the car, I saw that Tommy hadn’t been dressed up in his uniform. He was in regular clothes, which made no sense to me. I didn’t even get to bitch about him being five minutes late, as I usually did. He looked like a college kid on his way home from class. He wore a Mets cap and a Syracuse University hoodie. He had bright blue jeans on and sneakers. When I looked up at him, he wore a serious face. It had a look of concern, anxiety, and worry. I’d never seen him like this before. It was like I was in the twilight zone.

What’s with the getup? I asked.

He looked at me, his eyes looking sad. Look, Danny . . . we need to talk, he said.

I raised an eyebrow at him. If this was a joke, he wasn’t being funny; Tommy never pulled good pranks, and his acting sucked, so I knew something was up. Yeah, I said. That’s what we always do when go out like this. We talk.

His eyes grew even sadder. He pulled off, and we sat in silence, but I was growing impatient. It was only a five-minute drive to the diner where we usually talked, but this felt like forever. I didn’t know if Tommy was driving slower or if everything made it seem slow, but we finally arrived and sat where we usually sat in the window booth. We could see the parking lot and the entire venue. Everything was in sight, and for some reason, I felt as if I was being watched, but that was the least of my worries. I didn’t want to be kept in the dark any longer.

All right, cut the bullshit, I said. The hell is the matter with you? You’re all dressed up like you’re in college, and what’s with that look? You look like your grandmother just died.

He didn’t say a word, just kept his eyes on the table. He shifted uncomfortably and then finally spoke. Something’s come up . . . about your brother, he said. He raked his wavy brown hair in frustration and then looked me in the eye. His name’s been floating around in the darklands.

My eyes grew wide with horror and disbelief. Now the darklands were what I, Tommy, and another childhood friend of ours, Jimmy, called the streets. That was where all the fucked-up shit happened in this part of town. For everything bad that came to mind, that was where it all went down.

Now as kids, we hung around gangs and other mobs. We delivered the newspapers to some of them. We’d get paid well too. You see, mob guys had people on their payroll at the newspapers, so of course, they needed to check up on the guys writing articles to see if they were staying in line, so to speak. Many articles had brought things to light that many mob members didn’t want getting out there. It was a real hassle for them and a lot of work for them to straighten out sometimes. However, Tommy and I and our other friend, Jimmy, always called the bad part of town the darklands because they weren’t places you wanted to be. So hearing that my little brother’s name had been floating around wasn’t something I liked hearing—but mostly because that was impossible.

You see, my little brother, Martin, had been kidnapped three years ago. He was ten years younger than me. He was sixteen at the time of his kidnapping and hadn’t been heard from since. I had given up hope in trying to think he was alive, but this changed things. Still, I most certainly wasn’t hopeful about anything. It was either someone was using my little brother’s name for clout, like an alias of some kind, or he was being held hostage by the mob and wanted money for his release. Still, it made no sense. I couldn’t possibly believe that he’d been kept alive for three years just to be traded over for money.

When did his name start making headway? I asked.

About a month and a half ago. There’s been some shifts in the power structure of certain gangs.

So what does it have to do with Marty?

This new gang has been on the rise the past two years called the GT-5. They’ve been raising hell against the other mob groups and families for quite some time. Their flame can’t be snuffed out, it seems, and they’ve been targeting the Barazzi Group’s territories.

Now the Barazzi Group was the mob group we primarily delivered the papers to. Their boss, Nolan Barazzi, was caught in a huge narcotics bust last year and had been out of the picture since. So naturally, everyone would want a piece of what he originally had, but the idea must’ve gone to their heads because they didn’t fully gauge just how powerful the Barazzi Group was. I mean, no one ever fucked with those guys—ever—and if you did, the price you paid was something worse than death. That was what I’d always heard as a kid.

Apparently, someone had taken up the mantle in the Barazzi Group because they’d managed to defend quite a lot of territories that held many of its major operations. The Lombarzone family and the Fannix Troupe were the other top mob groups that held most of the territories in New York. Dorian Lombarzone had been a big name in the public eye because of his political connections and whatnot. He was the don of the Lombarzone family and had been in power for forty years. However, he had died ten years ago, and ever since then, his son Gustav Lombarzone had taken his place.

The Fannix Troupe was shrouded in mystery. No one knew who the boss of the Fannix Troupe was, and their operations were rarely ever busted. Many people argued that they were the most powerful because so little was known about them. In fact, no one ever mentioned them in the papers. The only article I could find about them was six years ago, back in ’84, when a shipment of narcotics and weapons was found, supposedly belonging to them. It made a lot of headway, and that was what pushed them directly to being a part of the big three—but this whole shit about these new upstarts was something else.

The GT-5 was something that took the whole city and the darklands by storm. They were extremely ruthless and brutally beat and murdered innocent civilians and small business owners. Many had to move locations because they were so merciless. They gained territory by violence, and that was their driving force. In the recent months, they’d put many small gangs six feet under and had been gaining an abundance of territory fast, much quicker than people expected. Of course, during their uprising, all the cops blew them off as some smalltown upstarts, but whenever one of their people was arrested, they’d grow even larger. It was like the head of a hydra—when you cut one head off, two more grew back. That was how these guys were, and it wasn’t something the police or the other gangs liked either. These guys consisted of regular street thugs, and they formed a group, but it was like they’d pick anybody off the street, and automatically, they became a member. One thing that made people nervous was that they couldn’t find any information on who the boss of the GT-5 was or if they had one at all. If they did, then that meant that whoever was pulling the strings wasn’t your average street thug.

So you’re saying that the GT-5 has some connection to Marty?

No. They don’t seem to have any connection whatsoever to Martin. But the Barazzi do.

My mind was racing with scenarios on how the Barazzi had any connection to my little brother other than myself. I had never drawn attention to myself when I delivered papers and most certainly never gave up anything on my family. Marty was still a kid at the time. Now he could’ve been dealing with the mob, but I was around almost 24/7 back in the day. I worked as a typesetter for the newspaper called the Eastside Bulletin. It was a block’s walk to get there, and my brother was living at home with Mom and Dad. It wasn’t until after he had gone missing that I moved to the other side of town. Mom and Dad were heartbroken once they’d heard of his disappearance. He had perfect attendance at school, so it made no sense that he would be dealing in that line of work. To be honest, I thought he had been killed in a mugging, and then whoever mugged him had hidden his body where no one would find it—dark way of thinking, I know, but after he’d been gone for a month and with no word from anyone, that was how I came to my conclusion.

Okay, so is that all? Or did you find more on this?

Tommy held a frustrated look and sat silent for a few seconds before saying, Look. I’m not entirely sure, but all I know is that ever since Nolan Barazzi got sent to the can, their whole organization has changed. They’ve been taking new territories in Jersey—and small ones at that. It’s like they’re trying to expand their operations, but there’s been no action at any of those locations they took over. But worst of all, they might start conflict with the gangs in Jersey.

But that makes no sense with the GT-5 hot on their ass, I said.

I know. They’ve been acting weird ever since their new boss took over, and the worst is we don’t know who that is either, said Tommy.

So what’s with this whole getup then? Are you going into work or what?

No, he started. They want me to go undercover. The chief wants someone to get inside so we can figure out what the hell is going on. My partner is arriving in three days out of state.

Whoa, wait a minute. Officers never go undercover. Why the hell are they having you go in? I knew what I was saying here. Police officers never went undercover because they were unsuited for it, and Tommy was a police lieutenant. There was no way that they could risk him going in.

It’s because of my connection when we were kids. They know about the newspaper dealings that we used to do.

But still, they should send guys in who are suited for this kind of thing, I replied.

They have, but no one’s heard back from anyone. They’ve sent in three undercovers already, and they’ve all gone missing.

This was making me worry a lot. First, I lost my brother, and now my best friend was going to investigate because Marty’s name was being thrown around by the gang we used to deliver papers for, and worst of all, the guys they had sent in to investigate hadn’t come back yet. Nah, that’s some fuckin’ bullshit. You remember what happened to Jimmy, right? He was killed because he got in too deep, and now you’re about to go in because they don’t have anyone else for the job? That’s ridiculous, I said.

Tommy was obviously distraught, and I knew that he didn’t want to go on this mission.

After Jimmy had gone missing, we tried calling one of the crew members in the gang about Jimmy, and they said they didn’t know who that was. Once we heard that, we cleaned up our act and stopped delivering them papers—and every other crew, for that matter. That was our wake-up call to get out of there while we still could. It didn’t matter how much they were paying us; I wasn’t gonna risk getting whacked by those guys. Also, since that moment, Tommy started pursuing law enforcement, trying to shed light on Jimmy’s incident. I started working at the papers because I wanted to investigate the mob dealings and bust operations in the past. I also wanted to bring things into light and find out who was on the mob’s payroll so I could then root out those guys and rid the place of bad apples. I already knew they had people working for them at the bulletin, so I started there, naturally, and had a few on my tabs list.

Okay, I said. There has to be another way to do this without risking your life.

Tommy looked down at the table, hopeless. He probably thought this was going to be the last conversation we’d ever have. I kept thinking, but with my brother’s name being thrown around by the Barazzi, I had to get involved myself. I was not the type to sit idly by and have my best friend’s life get thrown away.

So I said, How about you let me go undercover?

Tommy’s eyes darted up, and he looked at me like I was crazy. I probably was, to even suggest something like that.

What are you, fuckin’ nuts? he shouted. You’re an innocent civilian, Danny. There’s no way in hell they’re letting you go undercover. Let alone a civilian. Could you imagine the outrage the department would get if the public found out? It would be madness, not to mention the mobs would look at us and see how powerless we are.

His face became a tomato. I mean, I had seen Tommy furious, but he looked like a psycho.

Not only was he concerned about his life, but also, he had a lot resting on his shoulders. The lieutenant was going undercover to get something useful to bring back to the force, but not only that—he had a wife and kids to look after. I felt horrible bringing them up, but that’d be the only way he’d reconsider.

Think of your kids, Priscilla and James. Think of your wife, Mary. You’d be leaving them behind. There’s no one here for me, I said.

Irritation washed across his face. I’m here for you, he said.

Even though he said that, I didn’t feel much. Under different circumstances, I probably would’ve felt grateful, even overjoyed inside, from his words, but this was different. Even if my brother was dead, his name was being thrown around for clout or for some other bullshit reason, and I thought of this as a family matter. I didn’t want anyone else getting involved in this.

Now my chances were slim of getting the okay from the chief to do this, but I had to try this way first before I did anything else. I had no experience with police work—that much was obvious—but I knew a lot about the streets, and with working for the bulletin and doing all that digging through old articles, my knowledge of each group’s history was greater than it had been before.

I chewed on my cigarillo, trying to find a way to convince him to at least talk with the chief. Whenever I, Tommy, and Jimmy got into a tight spot with the mob, I’d find a way to get us all out. Jimmy had other plans because he wanted to earn more. He did other jobs that Tommy and I never could’ve imagined us doing. Jimmy wasn’t smart in the classroom, but out on the streets, he was smarter than me. He knew what territory belonged to which gangs and knew what people to go to for favors and such. He had made many connections during his short-lived career as a gangster, but that wasn’t enough. Even though he was knowledgeable about the streets and territories and who to make friends with, whenever shit hit the fan, he was a sitting duck.

I was the type who could think on his feet. I could think quickly while under pressure and stress. There were so many close calls where we could’ve lost our lives—not that we had anything to do with them, of course, but the people we were with at the time had a lot of beef with other members of different mob groups. So when we were caught with them, they’d go after us too. When we got caught, I’d be able to make up a good bullshit story that sounded believable, and they bought it, so we were let off the hook.

I puffed on my cigarillo once more and watched Tommy as he continued to think. I could tell I was getting to him, but I had to convince him to at least recommend me to the chief. Look. Think about it like this. When things go south, the chances of me finding a way out of dangerous situations and surviving are much higher than if you were to do it. You and I both know this. Plus, if my little brother is involved, you know damn well I’ll do this by myself.

I know, he said. But nothing is for certain, he warned, his face growing stern. It was like he was trying to convince me not to do this, but he knew he had no chances of swaying me, and so he sighed. All right. I’ll put in a recommendation to the chief about having you go undercover, he said. However, you’re not going—

Alone? Wasn’t planning on it. I never interrupted Tommy, but my mind was in other places now. In fact, I was going to request to be partnered up with the guy they were sending from out of state. I don’t know who I’m going to be working with, but it needs to be that guy arriving in a few days, I said.

Great minds think alike. He smirked. That was probably the one time I would see him with an enlightening expression the rest of the night.

The waitress brought over some coffee for the both of us. I grabbed one of those mini creamer cups to pour in my coffee. They had three different flavors to choose from. French vanilla was my go-to, but I had tried the original and hazelnut flavors as well. They weren’t bad, but it wasn’t the same. Tommy always drank it black with sugar. I couldn’t stand tasting such an awful concoction.

We weren’t two happy friends going out to chat, and we certainly weren’t having a good time, but the small talk made it easier to deal and process all the shit I heard. It was actually quite peaceful. I occasionally puffed on my cigarillo and took a few swigs of coffee while listening to Tommy tell me what his new favorite TV programs were that he was watching. I didn’t really watch many TV programs unless they were sports. I was a sucker for baseball and college football. Tommy and I would catch a Mets game when we were both free, and it would be the best. Those memories almost seemed like fairy tales now that things were different, and I had a feeling we wouldn’t be doing something as normal as getting coffee again for a long while.

The diner door opened, and a police officer walked in. He was in uniform, and he pointed at Tommy and gave him a smile.

I’ve been looking for you, Tom, he said.

He strolled up to our booth, all cheery and easygoing. I frowned at him. He didn’t pay me any mind, of course; he was here for Tommy. He was a tall thin man with a lot of acne on his face. His eyes were bright, but his shaggy blond hair made him look a little crazy. He had a pointed nose so that whenever he smiled, he looked like he was up to mischief. He was about six or so years younger than me and Tommy. I’d say he was about twenty-two or twenty-three, give or take. I had no doubt this guy was Tommy’s partner whenever he worked nights.

What is it, Craig? Tommy said with an annoyed tone.

Chief wants to see ya, he said.

I don’t start for another fifteen minutes, Tommy responded.

I checked my wristwatch, and sure enough, it was fifteen minutes ’til eight o’clock.

Yeah, but he said he wants to see you now for, you know . . . Craig paused.

I knew what he was referring to, and I eyed Tommy, nodding to him, reminding him of what we had talked about.

He nodded back, showing he understood, and then looked back at Craig. All right. I’ll meet you at the station in ten. I gotta give my friend a lift back home.

Craig shook his head. I’ll give him a ride back. The chief doesn’t want to be kept waiting.

Tommy glowered at Craig, but Craig simply shrugged as if there was nothing he could do about it.

Fine, Tommy said reluctantly.

He took one more sip of coffee and then got up. I got up with him. We shook hands and brought each other close and patted each other on the back.

When we broke off, he grabbed my shoulders firmly and said, I’ll convince him. His face was intense and serious.

I nodded, and we all headed for the door.

***

Craig must’ve loved exercise because he parked on the far side of the parking lot. By the time we reached his police car, Tommy had already pulled out of the lot and passed us by down the street, giving us a slight wave. Craig’s car was nice and warm still since he hadn’t been inside the diner for long; it was a smooth ride home. None of us spoke to each other.

He just smiled happily at the road while he drove. Once we finally pulled up to my apartment, I got out, and he wished me a good night and then headed for the police station.

***

Once I turned on the light to my apartment, I realized just how messy it was. It wasn’t a pigsty, but there were a helluva lot of outdated newspapers on the coffee table and counters and my couch. Whenever sports weren’t on, I’d always be looking through old articles— murders, drug busts, muggings, the whole nine yards. There was nothing to watch. Baseball and college football weren’t going on because it was winter, so I wasn’t watching much TV as of late. I was feeling much too tired to do anything, even reading. It was like the coffee I had drunk might as well have been hot water—didn’t taste like it, but there was no buzz from the caffeine. It was probably from all the depressing news that Tommy told me about.

I snuffed the life out of my cigarillo and turned out the lights; finding my bed through my dark, messy apartment was like second nature—terrible, I know, but honestly, even if it had been clean, I felt that my body was a magnet being drawn to its other half. When I finally sank into bed, my head resting on the pillow, all the depressing things I had heard today from Tommy and about my brother melted away as I drifted into a serene sleep.

***

I dreamt about Marty. He was just as I remembered him—a sixteen-year-old kid with a bright future ahead of him. He had long black hair and olive skin just like me. His hair was shorter in the back but longer in the front. It hung around his eyes. He almost looked emo if it wasn’t for his happy-go-lucky attitude. He’d always tried to imitate my hairstyles, but he always made it look messy, as if to add his own style to it. I liked a more refined look— short in the back, long in the front while having it parted in the middle. He had light brown eyes, while mine were hazel.

He would always want to do stuff with me now that he was old enough to. He would always get so sad when he was little because my friends and I would go out to places while he always was at home. I felt bad because I hated the fact that I’d be so annoyed when he would ask if he could go with me when he always knew my answer would be no, but now that he was older, we’d go see movies together and go out to eat.

He would always talk about his favorite movies. He always talked about mafia movies. I knew he was interested in the genre, but I for sure knew he would never partake in the mob seriously. The Godfather was his favorite mafia movie.

How you doin’ in school? I asked.

As, as usual, he responded. How’s working at the papers? You should finish school and get a job you actually want to do.

Don’t worry about me. And I do want to work this job. You don’t know the half of what I’m trying to do.

Like trying to figure out who killed your friend Jimmy?

My eyebrow twitched. I remembered this moment. I didn’t like how he was smarter than his own good. Smarter than his own good, huh? It made me think for a second. Then I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. Perhaps I had never thought about it until now. What if the reason he had been kidnapped wasn’t because he was involved but because he knew something that the Barazzi didn’t want getting out? That would’ve made sense—even the ringing in the air. Danny, you okay? Riiing!

What? I said.

Riiing!

Was it something I said? he asked. I looked at him funny. What do you mean? Riiing!

What the hell is that ringing? I asked.

Marty looked at me, confused, and said, I don’t hear anything.

Riiing! It felt like I was fading in and out of reality.

The telephone, I said.

I don’t hear a telephone, said Marty.

Finally, I snapped awake and reached for the phone.

Hello? I said. My eyes were still groggy, and it was still dark out. I checked my wristwatch, and it was three thirty in the morning.

Is this Daniel Holster I’m speaking to? the voice asked. It was a man’s voice. It was deep and sounded like an older guy. If I were to guess, he sounded like he was in his late fifties.

Yes, I responded. Who is this?

This is Gerald Foster. Chief of police, he said.

Now I was listening intently. I had never thought the chief himself would call me, but nonetheless, I was anxious. My heart started beating faster. I was eager to hear what he had to say, but he stopped after introducing himself.

Yes, I said. Go on.

Well, you see, I need to talk with you in person. Would you mind coming down to the station . . . now?

It’s three thirty in the morning, sir.

You think I don’t know that? That’s exactly why I called you at this time. If you’re serious about wanting to do this ‘thing,’ then I need to see you right away, he finished.

I sighed and raked my hair. All right, sir. I’ll see you in ten. I heard a grunt of approval, and then the line clicked dead.

***

I pulled up to the station in my 1970 Chevy Impala. It was supposed to be bright red but needed a car wash. The parking lot was empty except for three police cars, one of which I could see was Tommy’s. When I walked into the station, it smelled like cigarette smoke. I didn’t see anyone smoking a cigarette, so the scent probably just saturated the walls. I’d imagine many criminals asked for a smoke while they were detained, but who knows?

I glanced to my left and saw Tommy walking toward me. He looked exhausted, but then again, he’d been working for seven hours already, and it was police work. I couldn’t imagine being delighted to be working at this hour and knowing you might lose your life one day. Then again, what I had requested was something beyond crazy, and it seemed Tommy wasted no time getting into just that.

The chief’s in his office. We’ll talk there, he said.

We walked down a long narrow hallway. The lights were dimmed, and the smell of cigarettes faded the further along we got. We finally reached the end of the hall, and the place smelled like a regular office. We turned right, and the place had quite a few people in it—I’d say about fifteen to twenty people at desks answering phone calls and doing paperwork. I looked to my right and saw two guys chatting at a water cooler, smiling and laughing, making small talk. To my left were a row of offices stretching all the way to the far side of the room.

The chief’s office is at the end of the room, said Tommy.

I simply gave a nod, and we went on our way. When we approached, the door was shut, and the blinds were closed. It was almost as if the chief was gone and at home.

Tommy knocked, and we heard a voice say, Come in.

Tommy opened the door. As I walked in, I felt a feeling of comfort when standing in the chief’s office. It felt homely. It was small and looked cozy. To my left was Gerald Foster, sitting there with a reading lamp on. Behind him were two file drawers and a mini refrigerator. Two armchairs sat in front of the desk, and he motioned for us to have a seat.

So, the chief said, I’m assuming you’re Daniel Holster? That’s me, I replied.

Hmm . . . Mmm-hmm. Foster tilted his head, eyeing me up and down as if he were examining me.

I sat there and waited for him to finish his assessments.

Finally, he said, Tommy’s saying you want to work this case going undercover. I nodded and said nothing.

Foster stroked his thick gray beard thoughtfully. So tell me, he said. Why in the hell would you want to do something so crazy as this?

I told him the story about my brother and about how the Barazzi Group was throwing his name around. I told him about how he had been kidnapped three years ago, and his eyebrows were furrowed. He looked down at his desk, full of shame. He must’ve felt ashamed that he couldn’t solve my brother’s case, but then I mentioned the possibility that he might’ve known too much or could have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and that seemed to grab his attention.

You’re saying he might’ve witnessed a deal with the Barazzi and some other group? he asked.

I’m not entirely sure, but I do know that he was never involved with the mob. I know because he was always at school, got good grades, and was always home before ten at night. He was more the favorite child between me and him. I laughed. I used to deliver newspapers to the Barazzi and a few other smaller gangs, I said, and the chief’s eyes darted from me to Tommy and then back to me again.

Yes, Tommy’s told me of all the wonderous adventures you lot went on back then. He frowned. However, that’s not the reason you’re here. Tommy said you’re a good problem solver and you can think on your feet when you’re in a tight pinch. That’s exactly what interested me in you from the start, he said. So let’s cut to the chase. What can you offer me that would make me want to give you this not-coveted job? he asked.

Well . . . I started. That depends on the guy I’m going to be working with. I know undercover guys aren’t stupid, but I’m gonna need to assess my future partner, I finished.

The chief raised an eyebrow. He didn’t like my answer—that much, I knew—but this undercover guy had most likely never dealt with the Barazzi. Then I made a demand. I’ll also need to take the lead in this case. When I said that, the chief’s face grew red with anger.

How about a no? And get the fuck out of my office, he said with a cold, low voice.

I sat there quietly and then leaned back in my chair. Sure, I said. You’ll lose your lieutenant in the next week though. Are you really willing to make that sacrifice? Not to mention you’ll probably lose the guy who’s coming from out of state. Tommy’s a smart guy, but he can’t think like I can. I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I’ve saved his ass more times than I can count, and he knows that. It’s why he talked to you, I finished.

Tommy nodded and said, He’s right, Chief. There’s no one else like him that this department even has, and I know for certain this guy who’s coming in even knows jack shit about the Barazzi.

Foster looked at Tommy, wide-eyed. It made me happy to hear that Tommy didn’t take any insult in what I’d said but even more so that he had absolute faith in my abilities.

Look, sir, I started, what I have to offer you is information. I can give you a shit ton of information about these guys, and working from experience, I know how these guy work. That’s why I want to take the lead in this case. I work for the Eastside Bulletin. And I’ve been keeping tabs on guys who are under the Barazzi’ and other mobs’ payroll. We’ll walk into this just delivering papers, like how I used to, but then gradually get deeper into things as time goes on.

The chief was listening intently now. Go on, he said.

However, before I could, there was a knock at the door. It opened, and a female officer stood there.

Chief Foster? There’s a man on the phone for you. It’s man from out of state. He’d like to speak with you, she said.

I looked at her and then turned toward Tommy and the chief. We all had the same thought.

Thank you, Veronica. You may leave, said Foster.

Veronica nodded and closed the door. Foster held up his finger to me and Tommy and picked up the phone.

He spoke. Hello?

Tommy and I sat in silence as the chief was in conversation with the guy.

He nodded and said, Hmm, every once in a while. However, their conversation was short, and then he said, Yes, he’s sitting across from me at the moment. He handed the phone to me, and I held it up to my ear.

Hello? I said.

Hi. Is this the lieutenant I’m speaking to? the voice said.

No, I replied. I’m the guy you’ll be working with.

He responded disappointedly, I wasn’t made aware of this change in things.

Well, they were made just a few minutes ago, I said. We’ll discuss more in detail when you arrive.

May I ask your name? he said.

Daniel Holster, I replied.

Okay, Daniel. I’ll arrive in two days, he said.

Sounds good, I said, and then I gave the phone back to the chief, and he hung up.

So, Foster said, you were saying? He leaned in attentively.

Right, I said. So we start off small and get bigger later on. Now obviously, we won’t be moved up right away. This operation could take six months to a year, especially if were trying not to draw attention to ourselves, I finished.

So? Foster wanted me to continue.

Basically, what I’m saying is that we might need to do things differently from the book.

The chief raised his eyebrows. What’s that supposed to mean?

Getting our hands a little dirty, I responded. Stealing, participating in big heists, moving dope around, etc.

The chief looked at me inquisitively. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. It was as if his dark brown eyes were staring into the depths of my soul. What are you truly after? he asked.

The truth about my brother, I replied.

Foster chuckled. That much, I can see, he said. But it’s what you’re going to do after you find out that truth. I know a desperate man when I see one, Mr. Holster. One minute, he’s set out to find the truth, and then the next minute, he sets out on a path of vengeance. I know all too well of those people, he finished.

It got me thinking. I had never really thought about what I’d do after I found out the truth about my brother. What would I do, especially if the guy who had kidnapped him was in front of me? What if I found that out before completing the main objective? I hated to admit it, but I was stumped for a moment but then gathered my thoughts.

That comes after the main objective, sir, I replied. I’m only here to gather information on the mob. If that information includes info on my brother, I’ll have to put it on hold then, I finished.

Foster laughed and said, "Well, I’ll be damned. You sure know how to say the right things.

I’ll give you that."

Yeah, the real test is if I can abstain from doing what I said I wouldn’t while in the field, I said. I knew that I’d have to stick to the agenda, especially If I was leading it. I couldn’t afford to endanger another life because of some reckless decisions made out of personal grudges or interests.

The chief sat back and looked at me approvingly. Well, Mr. Holster . . . You should go home and get some rest. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll start preparing for your assignment. Understood?

I nodded and replied, Roger that, Chief.

Chief Foster grinned and motioned me and Tommy for the door, and we took our leave.

Tommy and I walked all the way to my car. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. I had gotten a decent amount of sleep, so I wasn’t thinking of going back to bed. However, I had a feeling I’d be doing a lot of preparations for this event as well as a lot of thinking. As I got into my car, Tommy told me to get some rest before saying goodbye, which I was grateful for. It showed that he really cared, but I decided not to tell him about my going to bed early, so I said I would.

***

When I got home, I immediately put some coffee on—not that I really needed it but because I was going to do a lot of thinking today. I decided to call in to work and tell them I might not be showing up for a few months. I called them, and the editor-in-chief answered. His name was Aidan Ridley. He usually never answered the phone. I knew there would be people there at four in the morning, but I never expected him to be there.

This is Ridley, he said.

Hey, Aidan. It’s Danny, I said.

He held silent for a moment and then encouraged me to go on by saying, Yeah?

I decided to get straight to the point. I’m calling in because I won’t be able to come to work for the next few months.

This definitely didn’t please him. He asked why, and I told him only a few details, but I basically said that I was helping in a police investigation and told him to call Chief Foster to get more details. His voice was gruff and irritated. He had a rather masculine voice, a voice that wasn’t perceived as annoying or dry, but his tone was what always made people listen to him and what made them not get on his bad side.

He always sounded serious at work, but whenever he was off, he was quite a