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Chapter 57
Instead of taking Julio Laza to a comfortable café or a McDonald’s to sit and chat over a drink, I put him in the passenger seat of my police car.
He was shaking and sweating as if he were working a coal furnace. We drove to a parking lot several blocks away so no one would notice us. But Julio didn’t care. He figured he was going to jail shortly—if I didn’t shoot him before that.
Hell, he’s the one who pointed a machine gun at me. And at a priest! When I mentioned that, I thought his eyes would pop out of his head.
He said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was just business. And I didn’t even realize the other guy was a priest. I never shot at him. I hope my mom doesn’t find out.”
“Your mom is the least of your concerns. You shot at a New York City detective. And then you were stupid enough to be caught almost right away. Not only are you looking at a shitload of jail time, any kind of street cred you had is ruined.”
Julio was about thirty and average in every possible way. His brown curly hair could’ve used a shampoo, and the acne on his chin and nose made me think he didn’t wash as often as he should. I said, “You’re sweating. That doesn’t do much to recommend a hit man.”
“Hit man! Hit man! You can’t be serious.”
“You tried to shoot me yesterday. I can only assume you did it for money, since we’ve never met and I never made a case on you.”
“Look, man, I don’t think I want to talk to any cops right now.”
It was time to get serious. “You’re already talking to a cop. Your options are very simple. You talk to me and tell me what the hell is going on or you end up in Rikers Island. And I spread it around that you’re a snitch.”
“What?” He yelped like I’d slapped him across the face.
“The inmates will hate you because you’re a snitch, and none of the cops will help you because you tried to kill a cop. I’ve never met anyone who was stuck between such a rock and a hard place.”
I saw him consider exactly what I was talking about. I sat back and let him think up the worst possible scenario himself.
After almost two minutes, he looked at me and said, “Okay, what sort of information are you looking for?”
“Who hired you to kill me and why?”
“I don’t know all the details. It was my cousin who hired me. He needed someone to drive. I pulled out my old MAC-10 when I saw you were kicking his ass. I swear to God I was just trying to keep you away from them so they could get away.”
“Who’s your cousin?”
“Willie. Willie Perez. But he was hired by someone else. I swear I don’t know who.”
“What did Willie say about who hired him? C’mon—I know he had to talk about it to get you to help.”
Julio stared at me like I was a witch who could read his mind.
He looked down at the stained upholstery of my police-car seat and mumbled, “It was a chick.”
“What?”
He spoke up. “A woman. It was a woman who hired Willie.”
“What did she look like?”
“I don’t know. He just said she was beautiful. That was all he said, I swear.”
“Where’s Willie now?”
“I don’t know. He lives in the same apartment as me, but I don’t see him that much. He’s got girlfriends. Lots of them.”
I said, “I’ll tell you the truth. I’m not sure how much of this is bullshit.”
“None. I swear. I’m just sorry I shot at you.”
