EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
“Some of the old iron awnings are still left,” Bruno said. “Only instead of beef, they’re fronting shops moving high-end clothes and restaurants selling grilled cheese for what a pair of pants used to cost. Things are meant to change, Tank. Whether we like it or not.”
I looked at him and nodded. “I used to come down here with him some mornings during the summer months. It was like walking into another world. There were all these lights blaring down, and lines of rusty barrels, holes poked into their sides, were set up three deep on each street. They were packed up with the remains of wooden crates and lit to burn.”
“What for?”
“For breakfast,” I said. “Around sunup, the workers took a break. Tables were set, filled with fresh-baked Italian bread, sliced red onions, tomatoes. Then one of the guys would start slicing thick hunks of meat off the hanging hindquarters. They would jam them onto skewers and grill them over the fires. Once the meat was cooked, you grabbed yourself a slab of bread, put the steak on it with all the fixings, and you chowed down.”
“Great way to start a day,” Bruno said.
“I’ve never had a better breakfast than I did back in those days on these streets,” I said.
The street was partly deserted, a few late-night stragglers making their way home after too many drinks and possibly drugs if they hit the right after-hours clubs. Down a side street, just off the corner, a thick door swung open; through the haze of smoke that filtered out, I saw three women emerge, led by a tall, muscular man in a black tank top and leather pants. “There’s our guy,” I said.
Bruno and I ditched the containers in a nearby garbage can and headed toward the door. The muscular man helped each girl into a waiting sedan and watched as it moved away from the curb, turned at the corner, and headed uptown.
He spun around when he heard me and Bruno approach. “You’re too late,” he said in a harsh manner. “We’re closing up. If you want to see the girls dance, you’ll have to come back tonight.”
“We’re not here to see anyone dance,” I said. “We’re here to see if you might be able to help us out.”
“Help you out how?” the muscular man asked. He was in solid shape, upper body like chiseled stone, both hands closed into tight fists as he walked slowly toward us.
“Some straight answers on a few questions,” I said. “Nothing more.”
He looked at me and then turned his attention to Bruno, staring at him for a few moments. “You were a fighter, am I right?” he asked him. “Not small time, either. You were a main-event guy. Or am I thinking of somebody else?”
“I fought in the Garden a few times,” Bruno said. “Other places, too.”
“You were pretty good, if I recall,” the muscular man said.
“Good, yes,” Bruno said. “But not good enough.”
“And who’s the guy with you?” he asked. “Your trainer?”
“My name’s Tank,” I said. “You seem to know Bruno here. And unless I’m way off base, you’re J. J. Livingstone. We came to talk to you about Randy Jenkins.”
“Randy Jenkins?” Livingstone said. “Man, I haven’t heard that name in the longest time. Last I heard, he was still eating his meals off of tin trays.”
“Still is,” I said. “But word is, before he got roped into a murder rap you and him ran with the same pack of friends.”
“Maybe so, maybe not,” Livingstone said. “Either way, why do you and the wannabe champ here give a shit?”
“Because I don’t think he did what they say he did,” I said. “And I think you might know a little more about that situation than we do.”
“The dude confessed, did he not?” Livingstone asked. “And a jury agreed. There ain’t much more to speak about beyond that.”
“Every CI I had on the streets got cut loose from something they could have got prison time for,” I said. “It’s part of the deal. They give me information I wouldn’t otherwise get, and I clear them of a crime they might have got sent away for.”
“Figured you for a cop,” Livingstone said. “You got the look and the manner. But why you telling me this?”
“Because you were one of Eddie Kenwood’s CIs,” I said. “So I’m just curious what information you passed his way to give him enough rope that he cut you free on something you might have done.”
“We’re done talking,” Livingstone said. “I got nothing to say to either of you two sad sacks.”
“Randy Jenkins was a friend of yours,” I said, stepping closer to Livingstone. “But you let a lowlife like Kenwood jam him up.”
“And you did it to a brother,” Bruno said. “Which makes it that much worse.”
“But maybe you had your reasons,” I said. “You were pissed. After all, Rachel had her eyes on Randy and never glanced your way. It’s enough to make a guy jealous.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Livingstone said, his voice taking on harsher tones, his body twitching and bracing for action, the short leash he had on his temper about to snap.
“Or maybe you decided to go down another street,” I said. “If you couldn’t be with Rachel, then no one could. She was either going to be yours or be nobody’s. So maybe you’re the one who iced her. Then you ran to your pal Kenwood and snitched out Jenkins.”
“Kenwood didn’t give a damn who he put away,” Bruno said. “One black guy in jail is just as good as the next to him.”
Livingstone stepped closer to me and Bruno and started to circle us both. I watched as he crouched down and raised his fists to chest level. “You can turn and walk away,” he said through clenched teeth. “Or you can stand your ground and bleed. I’ll leave it up to you.”
“Think it out, Livingstone,” I said. “You might be able to take me. Been a while since I’ve been in a street brawl. But if you did indeed see Bruno in the ring, you know your chances with him are slim to none at best.”
“I said I saw him fight,” Livingstone said. “I didn’t say I saw him win.”
Bruno stepped away from me and toward Livingstone. His hands were at his sides, his body poised, relaxed. Livingstone lunged and swung a right fist toward Bruno, who leaned back and dodged the blow. Bruno then landed two powerful punches, short and contained, to the sides of Livingstone’s right shoulder. The blows made his knees buckle.
Livingstone took a deep breath and then bum-rushed Bruno, landing against the front of his stomach. Bruno braced for the hit, his knees bent, and held Livingstone at bay by throwing two brutal uppercuts. One landed against the front of the bigger man’s chest, the second caught him in the throat. Both punches were enough to send Livingstone to his knees, gasping for breath.
“I think you’ve had enough,” I said to Livingstone. I walked over to him and helped lift him to his feet.
“Take deep breaths,” Bruno told him. “The pain will fade in a minute or two.”
“Now that we got that out of the way,” I said, “I figured how you can help us and, at the same time, help yourself.”
Livingstone gazed at me through glassy eyes, rubbing at his chest and throat. “And how’s that?”
“One more question for you first,” I said. “Does Kenwood still stay in touch with you? Look to you for information?”
Livingstone nodded. “He comes around once or twice a month,” he managed to say between gasps for air. “He still likes to keep his nose in what’s going on. Talk is he’s the bag man for a couple of active units that take from dealers and pimps, and he pockets a share of the profits.”
“That makes it that much easier for me and for you,” I said. “You don’t know us yet, so you’ll have to take our word you can trust us. Now, we don’t know you well, either, but I’m willing to give you a chance. But if I even get a hint you were the doer of that girl and let Randy take the rap, I’ll jam you in ways you didn’t even think existed. That come through to you?”
Livingstone nodded. “What do I have to do?”
“Simple,” I said. “From this second on, you’re no longer Eddie Kenwood’s confidential informant. You’re mine. You pass on to me anything he tells you and we’ll tell you what to pass on to him. Clear?”
Livingstone caught his breath and looked at me and Bruno. “I didn’t kill Rachel,” he said in a low voice. “Yeah, I had a thing for her. Shit, everybody did. She was sweet as sweet could be. And I knew she wouldn’t make time for a guy like me. But I wasn’t the one to bring harm to her.”
I patted Livingstone on the shoulder. “I believe you,” I said.
“One more thing before you go,” Livingstone said.
“What is it?”
“Randy Jenkins didn’t bring harm to her, either,” he said.