THE NEXT DAY
“What’s there?” I asked.
“A crime scene,” the chief said, and then he ended the call.
Less than thirty minutes later, me and Pearl were gazing down at the battered and bruised body of Zeke Jeffries. He was facedown under a park bench. The upper half of his body was resting on the cracked pavement, his legs stretched out under the slabs of the bench, his sneakered feet at rest on the edges of a small pile of mulch. His body was rigid and thick; dark patches of blood had formed under his head, chest, and stomach. A paperback copy of Pimp by Iceberg Slim rested a few inches from his right hand.
There was yellow police tape closing off the area around Zeke’s body and a full boat of cops, CSU technicians, and detectives scanning the area. Chief Connors stood next to me and Pearl, a cold container of coffee clutched in his right hand.
“He was beaten to death,” I said, my eyes still on Zeke. “It had to have happened at night, when he was alone. Zeke had too many friends in these parks for anybody to come at him in daylight hours.”
“That’s my guess, too,” the chief said. “The medical examiner will make the final call, but it has all the markings of a beatdown.”
“And it had to be more than one primary,” Pearl said. “Zeke might have slowed up some, but one-on-one he could be a handful. Bad knees and all.”
“He always had a cane with him,” I said. “Had a switchblade hidden at the base. All Zeke had to do was tap on a button near the handle to flip it out. That turn up anywhere?”
The chief nodded. “One of the techs found it in the brush, past that tree to your right. The blade was out and there was blood on the knife and the lower portion of the cane. We had it bagged and sent to the lab.”
“This doesn’t have the feel of a mugging gone south,” I said. “Go up a few blocks and you have your pick of the tourists heading to a Broadway show. Go down and you got a sold-out concert going on at the Garden. The pickings in this park, especially at night, are pretty slim. Even for a street junkie looking for a quick score.”
“Zeke was targeted,” Pearl said. “And they didn’t come looking to warn him. They came to kill.”
“And who would ‘they’ be, if you don’t mind my asking?” the chief said.
I glanced at Pearl and he nodded. “Eddie Kenwood and his crew,” I said.
“You got anything to back that up?” the chief asked.
“We talked to Zeke a few days back,” I said. “Asked him to keep an ear out for anything worth a listen. You know how plugged in he was to what was going down on the street. It’s not a stretch for Kenwood or one of his bunch to get wind of that.”
“You’re going to need more than that for me to send two cops knocking on his door,” the chief said.
I gazed out at the crime scene. “You’re not likely to find any of Kenwood’s prints around here. Even the blood results won’t come back pointing in his direction. But Zeke’s murder has his mark on it. I’d bet my life on it.”
Pearl nodded his head toward the paperback. “He wouldn’t touch Zeke,” he said. “Kenwood’s too smart for something that stupid. But he might have grabbed that book. Be a good idea to have the techs bag it and check it for prints.”
The chief flagged down one of the CSU technicians and pointed at the book. The young man pulled a clear bag from his gear and picked up the book with gloved hands. He placed it in the bag and zipped it shut.
“I need those prints soon as you can get them,” the chief said to him.
Pearl looked at me and then back down to Zeke. “Seeing that book brings back many memories,” he said. “It was old Zeke here that turned me and Tank on to it in the first place.”
“How so?” the chief asked.
“There was a brief time, in between our stints in narcotics and homicide, that me and Tank got assigned to the vice squad,” Pearl said.
“It was known as the ‘pussy posse’ back then,” I said. “And me and Pearl had no idea how to tackle the job. We weren’t looking to bust hookers. They have it tough enough as is. We were eager to take down some of the higher-volume pimps. But those guys had their own lingo, you know? And it was one we didn’t know.”
“We were talking to Zeke about it one night, and he thought the best way to learn the language was to read Iceberg Slim,” Pearl said. “Slim was a pimp himself. And the book not only had the terminology down, it had the street lingo me and Tank needed to make us sound like we knew what the hell was what.”
“How did he get the name Iceberg Slim?” the chief asked.
“That’s a story in itself,” Pearl said. “Seems Iceberg was sitting in a bar late one night, knocking back a few, when a guy stepped up to him and held a pistol to his head and put a bullet right through his skull.”
“And Iceberg didn’t even flinch,” I said. “Instead, he sat on that barstool and he finished his drink.”
“Of such tales, legends are made,” Pearl said. “Iceberg was one. Zeke was another.”
“Did Zeke give you anything about Kenwood?” the chief asked.
“He gave us a name,” I said. “A muscle head working as a bouncer at a club in the Meatpacking District. We talked to him already. He’s got ties to Kenwood and has agreed to snitch for us. He hears anything worthwhile, he’s to bring it our way.”
“You figure him for this?”
I shrugged. “He might have been called in on it,” I said. “But it’s not something he would have done on his own. He’d only be here if Kenwood told him to.”
“What’s his name?” the chief said.
“J. J. Livingstone,” I said.
The chief looked at me and then at Pearl. “I know you would love for me to bring in Kenwood for questioning,” he said. “But I don’t have an inch of proof he was involved in this, and, let’s not forget, he’s a decorated ex-cop.”
“Nothing would make me happier than to see that bastard sweating under the lights of an interrogation room,” I said. “But I know it’s a tough call. I got him to cop to one murder. And if his prints pop on Zeke’s book, then we got him on a second. That would be reason enough to slap cuffs on him and haul his ass downtown. If he’s still alive by then, that is.”
The chief stayed silent as he stared at both me and Pearl. “I hate the prick as much as you do,” he said. “But death isn’t what a guy like Kenwood fears the most. In fact, if given the choice, hard time or a coffin, the easy money puts him under the ground.”
“I’m not looking to end him, Chief,” I said. “If it comes down to him or me, then that’s a choice I’ll have to make. But I agree, behind bars is where he belongs and where I’d like to put his sorry ass.”
“He won’t be lacking for company on any of those prison tiers, that’s for damn sure,” Pearl said. “All those young guys he put away long ago are now hardcore convicts. They’ll welcome him with wide smiles and open arms.”
“Not to mention a few of those hand-carved wooden knives and knuckle-wrap bed springs,” I said.
“Nothing would please me more,” the chief said.
I bent down and rested one hand on top of Zeke’s bloody head. I reached for his left hand with mine and held it tight. I stayed that way for several moments. The chief and Pearl circled closer to Zeke’s body, the three of us mourning the loss of an old and trusted friend. “The ones who did this will pay, Zeke,” I said, my face streaked with tears. “That’s not a promise. It’s a blood oath. They will pay.”