Ciro and Manny sat in Ciro’s Escalade parked about a half block from Edward Remsen’s house on Hull Avenue in the Norwood section of the Bronx. Manny’s cell phone rang.
“Yo.”
“It’s me,” said Ricky Bolo. “We’re about five, six minutes out heading your way. Coming down Mosholu Parkway. Where are you?”
“Parked at a hydrant a half block from his house.”
“Good. Looks like this useless drunk will be home soon. You set?”
“Yes. He’s got his own parking area. A driveway leads up to it from the street. Nice little gate and all. He pulls in there, it should be easy.”
“I’ll leave it to you. We’ll tail him until he turns onto his block and then be on our way.”
“Good.”
“Over and out, sweetheart. Have fun.”
Manny hit the End button on his phone and turned to Ciro.
“He should be here in about five. How you want to play this?”
Ciro squinted at Remsen’s house down the block. Night had fallen. Five-story apartment buildings occupied the north side of Hull Avenue except for two small houses, one of which was Remsen’s. The other side was mostly modest two-flat houses. Only three streetlights illuminated the long block, so there were plenty of shadows under the trees and between houses.
Ciro stepped out of his car and looked down the block. He came back and said, “I can’t get between his house and the one next door. Gate is blocking the way, so I’ll wait in the doorway across the street. What’d Ricky say he’s driving?”
“New Lexus. Dark blue.”
“Okay, you get behind the wheel. Fall in behind the Lexus. When he turns into his driveway, you pull in and block the driveway. I’ll do the rest.”
Ciro pulled a two-pound, nineteen-inch fish bat made of molded glass-filled polypropylene from under his seat.
“Don’t kill him, Ciro.”
“I’ll just give him a tap.”
“Make it half a tap. And don’t hit him in the stomach. He’s been drinking. He’ll puke all over himself. I don’t want to haul away a stinking mess.”
“Jeezus, maybe I should give him a fucking written invitation to come with us.”
* * *
Ten minutes after the Bolos ended their tail on Remsen, Ricky Bolo’s cell phone rang.
Ricky said, “You get him?”
“It’s me, Beck.”
“Oh, we just left Ciro and Manny. They were doing that thing.”
“I know. They called me. It’s done. Listen, I have a safe needs opening.”
“Cool. What kind?”
“A Diebold.”
“With a dial or a touchpad?”
“Touchpad.”
“You have the model number?”
“Uh, no, you need it?”
“Not really. Where is it?”
“In the Bronx. On Crotona near 178th Street.”
“Is that a house?”
“Yes. The safe is in a closet. A fairly big one.”
“The closet or the safe?”
“The closet. Safe isn’t very big. Two by two by three.”
“Good. In a closet will help cover the noise. If it matters.”
“It does. We have sleeping babies here.”
“What?”
“Just hurry.”
* * *
Demarco joined Amelia downstairs keeping watch.
Beck and Queenie roamed the second floor, making sure doors were closed and the babies and children were sleeping.
Jonas did most of the work. Ricky changed drill bits; handed him tools; adjusted the chain holding the frame that kept the drill in place. It took thirty-eight minutes to remove the touchpad, drill a hole, and set up an electronic box that made the connections to open the lock.
The safe turned out to be a bonanza.
It contained eighteen thousand dollars, fifteen ledger books going back over a period of ten years, and a Western Digital one-terabyte external hard drive, along with three more handguns and six boxes of ammunition.
Beck said to Jonas and Ricky, “Get those guns and ammunition out of here. And the weapons downstairs on the dining room table. Do what you want with them.” Beck handed Ricky Bolo six thousand dollars. “Here’s your share. After you take care of the guns, head back to Red Hook. There’s more to do.”
“On it.”
Beck turned to Queenie, who had been napping in a large wingback chair in the bedroom. He tapped her on the shoulder.
Queenie cleared her throat, took a moment to get her bearings, and stood up.
“What?”
“Gather the women in the living room downstairs. I want to talk to them.” Beck handed Queenie three thousand dollars. “Here’s your cut from the safe.”
Queenie looked at the money, said nothing, and shoved the cash into her bra.
Beck went downstairs and asked Demarco, “Those guys squared away?”
“Yeah, I put them in three different rooms.”
“Good. Time to get out of here.”
Demarco left to get the Mercury. Beck found Amelia in the front room with the other women. He motioned for her to step out in the hallway.
“What?”
Beck handed her three thousand dollars. “This is yours. We found it here.”
Amelia took the cash without comment.
“We’re leaving now. You take Queenie out to the car when Demarco pulls up. Get in the backseat with her. Keep an eye on her. I know she’s not your favorite person, but try not to show it.”
Amelia nodded and went to wait by the front door.
Queenie came out of the front room. “They all here.”
“Good. Thanks. Queenie, go with Amelia please. It’s time.”
Beck waited for pushback, a comment, but Queenie just looked around once and left.
Beck walked into the front room. Six women looked at him, perfectly willing to let him be in charge. Some stood, some sat. Some were dressed for bed, others were in street clothes. Beck stood at the dining table, quickly counting the remaining money into one-thousand-dollar piles. Beck found himself a hundred dollars short for the last pile. He wasn’t sure where he’d miscounted. He didn’t have time to recount. He added the difference from his own pocket, picked up the piles, and handed them out to each of the women.
Beck wasn’t sure how he felt as each woman looked at him and took the money. None of them asked any questions. None of them said anything. After he handed the last pile of cash to the last woman, Beck said, “When Jackson’s men come, hide that money. Tell them I took it all. I’m sorry for the disturbance. Good-bye.”
Beck turned and hurried out, unable to count all the things he was sorry about.
He closed the door quietly as he left so as not to wake any of the children.