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He answered with alarm in his harsh whisper. “Bennett, where the hell are you? The guys got bolt cutters from somewhere. They’re about to cut the outside padlock on my rear door.”
“I’m out front. Sit tight. I’ll check out the rear of the building.”
Ronald sounded scared. Who wouldn’t be? I jogged around the corner of the building and down to the rear alley, where I noticed a blue Cadillac XT5 parked. I could hear voices.
I peeked around the corner. A security light cast an eerie yellow haze across the alley. I saw three men huddled near the rear door to Higdon’s Pawn and Jewelry and recognized two of them from our earlier encounter at the pawnshop. The third man was older, in his early fifties. He was short and stout, with graying hair, and held a pair of bolt cutters. There was a baseball bat leaning against the wall of the building, but no one appeared to have any other weapon on them. That was good news for me. Guns led to hassles. Maybe the older guy with them had a calming effect.
If I’d had any common sense, I would’ve called for backup. I certainly would’ve felt more comfortable with a couple of uniformed patrol officers behind me. But sometimes you have to play the hand you’re dealt.
I stepped around the corner of the building. I purposely left my gun in its holster on my right hip, where my dark red, all-weather jacket covered it. I stood there for a full thirty seconds and still no one looked up to notice me. I decided they weren’t particularly effective burglars.
Finally, I cleared my throat and said in a loud voice, “Business hours are from nine to six.”
All three men’s heads twisted toward me. The two younger men recognized me instantly. Then I looked at the third man, his face now fully illuminated by the security light. I swallowed hard.
I recognized him too.
Chapter67
I SAID, “YOU’RESal Ventri, aren’t you?”
The older man stood up straight. He brushed off his jacket like he was about to meet a fan asking for an autograph. Sal Ventri was hardly any sort of organized crime kingpin. He was well known and didn’t mind the publicity, but for the most part he was a low-level member of a peripheral organized crime family.
Then he said with a thick Brooklyn accent, “This ain’t none of your business. Who the hell are you?”
One of the punks said, “He’s a cop. He’s a friend of Ronald’s. We saw him the other day when the gang attacked us.”
I laughed out loud at that. “Is that what you told people? That a gang attacked you?” One of the younger men still had a black eye and a couple of cuts on his face. “I was there. It was mostly a woman who didn’t like their manners.”
Sal looked at me. “What kind of cop are you?”
“I like to think a pretty good cop.”
Sal was not in a bantering mood. “Like I said, this ain’t none of your business, smart guy.”
I cocked my head and didn’t say a word.
Sal looked irked. “What the hell you staring at?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve read articles about you. I like the one inEsquirewhen they called you the ‘Ivy League Don.’ What I’m saying is, you’re supposed to be educated. You went to Dartmouth, for God’s sake. Why do you talk like you dropped out of school in tenth grade and hang out on the street in Flatbush?”
Sal took a couple of steps toward me and lowered his voice. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. Please explain to me why you care if we solve our differences with Ronald privately.”
“Because privately doesn’t meanlegally. You’re still burglarizing a structure. I’m sure if you found Ronald somewhere, you’d assault him. So, if you prefer, I can call a couple of patrol cars and let them deal with you.”
The younger men looked ready to bolt, but Sal had been threatened too many times. It had absolutely no effect on him. “We’re just collecting a debt. Trying to avoid clogging up the court system.” He took a few steps closer to me.
I started to tense for a fight.
Sal looked at me and said, “What’s your name?”
“Michael Bennett.”
He stopped in his tracks. Sal said, “The homicide detective?”
I just nodded.
He gave me a strange look but stayed in place. “You arrested Joe Paltrice for the hit on Jimmy Vale.”
