TOMMY MONROE ENTERED THE JAY Street Bar and looked around suspiciously. It was a Tuesday evening and the crowd was light, just a few regulars and a couple of people he didn’t know. These he looked over carefully.
One was a young Hispanic guy sitting at the bar, dressed in a long wool coat and beanie cap with a New York Knicks logo, and drinking a beer. He glanced at Monroe and went back to minding his own business. A large black man in a leather coat and black beret sat at a back table with his eyes closed, nodding his head to whatever music was playing into the earplugs he wore as he sipped a glass of wine. Across the room a youngish couple cozied up with their heads together; the man’s hand was beneath the table and he appeared to be stroking her leg, from her giggles and mild protest noises.
He nodded to a big, rough-looking guy in a Yankees letterman’s jacket slouching on one of the seats at the bar. The guy wasn’t a regular; he was a New York City cop on Brooklyn DA Olivia Stone’s payroll who’d been sent on ahead to look out for any traps and provide muscle if needed. His unconcerned facial expression comforted Monroe.
The person he’d come to meet was sitting at the back table where Monroe usually sat. Micah Gallo spotted him and raised his chin to acknowledge he’d been seen, but didn’t bother to get up or shake his hand when Monroe approached the table, carrying a briefcase and a laptop. He set the device on the table and the briefcase on the floor, then took a seat.
“Micah.”
“Tommy.”
“New glasses?” Monroe said, pointing to Gallo’s face. “They look good. Sort of Clark Kent, only stylish. Must have cost a bundle.”
“Quit with the small talk, Tommy; you could give a shit about my glasses or how I look. Is that my money?” Gallo said, nodding toward where Monroe set the briefcase.
They both fell silent as a buxom, middle-aged waitress approached. “What can I get for you?” she asked with a heavy Brooklyn accent.
“You’re new,” Monroe said to her, turning on the charm while his eyes flicked to her chest. “Where’s Julie?”
“Yeah, honey, just started tonight,” the waitress replied, making sure he got a good look at her assets. “Julie’s off till tomorrow. The name’s Gail. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m sure you could, baby, but in the meantime I’ll settle for an Old Forester, make it a double,” Monroe said.
“Be right back with that, sweetie.”
Monroe watched her sashay away with a smile. But his frown returned. “Your money? You’re blackmailing us, you little son of a bitch, and you’re calling it your money?”
Gallo shrugged. “Turnabout is fair play. You’re a fine one to talk; you ruined my career; bought me off, and you’re calling me a son of a bitch?”
Monroe sneered. “It wasn’t that hard, pretty boy. Don’t tell me you don’t like the fancy cars, the nice digs, and the pricey girlfriends.”
“I’m not denying that,” Gallo said. “But I didn’t sign up for killing anybody.”
Monroe’s face hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Rose Lubinsky. The other two women. I didn’t sign up for that shit, and I want out.”
“I still don’t know what you’re implying,” Monroe said. He looked around again. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. “Let’s go have a little talk in my office.”
“Your office?”
“The restroom. You go first, I’ll follow.”
Gallo smirked. “Didn’t know you got freaky, Tommy.”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m going to check you for a wire.”
“A wire? You’ve been watching too many gangster movies, but okay.”
Gallo got up and walked off toward the men’s room. Monroe stood. The dirty cop was watching and got up, too. They both followed the younger man.
“Who’s your friend?” Gallo said when the other man entered.
“None of your business, pal. Turn around,” the cop said as he quickly made sure no one was in the stalls. He looked at Monroe. “Stand against the door so no one comes in.”
No sooner did Monroe do as he was told but someone tried to enter the restroom. “Hey, what the fuck,” a Spanish-accented voice said from the other side. “You pendejos can play with your dicks some other time, I got to take a pee.”
“Go away, asshole,” the cop yelled. “Official NYPD business.”
“Fuck off,” Gallo added, then turned around as ordered.
The cop shoved him roughly against the wall and began patting him down. He then removed Gallo’s belt and took a pen from his shirt pocket and the cell phone from his pants. The cop walked into one of the stalls and dumped it all in a toilet.
“Hey, what the fuck!” Gallo yelled. “That’s my phone, you son of a bitch.”
“Can’t take any chances that someone is listening in on your cell,” Monroe replied with a smile. “You’ve also heard of pen microphones, and I’m assuming there’s the same concern with your belt. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to buy a new phone with ‘your money’ later.”
“Give me your shoes,” the cop demanded.
“You’re not going to flush them!” Gallo said with alarm, though he removed the shoes. “They’re five-hundred-dollar Guccis.”
“Nah,” the cop replied. Instead he whipped out a butterfly knife that he opened with a flourish and then pried the heels off the shoes. He looked them over and then at Monroe. “He’s clean,” he said, and handed the shoes back to Gallo.
“Damn right I am, you fucks,” Gallo said angrily as he put the ruined shoes back on his feet. “I should make you give me an extra thousand for wrecking my shit.”
“Cost of doing business,” Monroe replied. “Besides, there’s a hundred grand in the briefcase. And I already saw that you transferred your money from your ‘school’ accounts. Way I figure it, you’re worth two million easy and that’s a lot of phones and shoes. Let’s go back to our seats.”
As the men left the restroom, the young Hispanic who Monroe had noticed at the bar shoved his way past them. “You girls done powdering your noses?” he said.
The cop continued back over to his place at the bar while the other two returned to their seats. As they sat down, the young Hispanic man exited the restroom, and when he passed by their table, he reached down and placed a flash drive in front of Gallo. “I got your stuff out of the toilet,” he said quietly, then continued on his way and left the bar.
Monroe noticed the bandage on the young man’s hand. “Your partner in crime,” he said to Gallo. “That was a pretty bold move on your part, but I knew it was you on the security tapes.”
“I wanted you to know it was me,” Gallo retorted. “Otherwise you might have gone to the cops about a ‘break-in’ and fucked the whole thing up.”
Monroe nodded. “I thought maybe that was what you were doing with that,” he said, pointing at the flash drive.
“What? And spend the next eight years, at least, in the pen for stealing union funds?” Gallo said. “I may be a coward, but I’m not stupid. I’m also not going to hang around and get indicted for murder. That was fucking stupid to kill Lubinsky.”
Monroe’s lips twisted. “Look,” he said, leaning forward, “it wasn’t my idea either. But we were all going down if that charter school bill goes through with the audit clause. You don’t want to go to the joint and neither do I. She’s crazy, but I went along with her shit because there was no other way out. Lubinsky couldn’t be bought and the bill was going to pass. She had to go.”
“I hear you,” Gallo said. “But it’s over the top to me, and I’m getting out. Give me my money.”
“Not so fast,” Monroe said, turning on the laptop. “I want to make sure I’m getting what I’m paying for.”
“No problem,” Gallo replied, shoving the flash drive across the table.
Monroe inserted the drive into the laptop and pressed a few buttons. He looked at the screen and nodded. “How do I know this is the only copy?” he asked.
“You don’t,” Gallo said. He nodded at the cop who was sitting at the bar watching them. “But you got the Kings County district attorney in your back pocket and at least one crooked NYPD cop, so I’m sure if you want, you can make life very difficult, if not impossible, for me. Like I said, I’m out of here and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Yeah, where you heading? Your place in the Keys?”
Gallo laughed. “Sold it. And you think I’m going to tell you? Nah, farther south, Costa Rica, maybe Ecuador, but I won’t be sending you a postcard. Two million plus will buy me a new name and a lot of fun. So adios, Monroe.”
Monroe took a large sip from his bourbon as he watched Gallo walk out the door. He was taking a second sip when there was a sudden flash, followed by a muffled explosion. Car alarms began going off as people inside the bar yelled and ran for the door.
Except not everybody did. The large black man who’d been listening to his music stood and drew a gun from beneath his leather coat. He pointed to the lovey-dovey couple, who were also cops and had jumped to their feet, guns pulled. “I got this. Move!” he yelled.
As the couple ran for the door, the crooked cop at the bar at first seemed confused. Then he began to reach for his gun until Gail, the waitress, who’d been standing behind him, pressed her service revolver against his head. “Drop the gun, scumbag, and don’t move,” she hissed. “NYPD, and you’re under arrest.”
“What the—” Monroe exclaimed as he started to panic.
“On the floor,” the large black man demanded.
“Who are you?”
“NYPD Detective Clay Fulton. You’re under arrest for murder, and you better pray to God you didn’t just add to the body count.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Well, let’s go have a little chat with my boss and see about that.”
“Who?”
“My boss, Butch Karp, the district attorney of New York County. Let’s not keep him waiting. Now put your hands behind your back while I read you your rights.”