Apartment of Mike Logan
New York City
7:03 p.m.
Shoulders slumping wearily, Mike dumped his coat
on the couch, pulling off his holster as well.
Sullivan was really turning up the fire under
his investigation, and Mike was intensely aware of
his colleagues' scrutiny. They knew about the
suspensions at the two-seven, and they were
wondering about him.
The message light was blinking on his machine,
and he punched the play button on his way to
get a beer. Cassi's voice filled the room, and
he stopped, regret tugging at him. "Logan, this is
Cassi," she said, her voice hard. "I think I've
found something. Call me when you get this
message."
Punching in her number, Mike listened to her phone
ring and ring, unanswered. Shrugging, he
replaced the receiver and gulped down his beer.
He needed a shower, and he headed for the
bathroom, pulling off his clothing as he went.
He'd call Cassi later, he thought. Maybe even try
to convince her to have dinner with him to discuss
what she'd found. It shouldn't be that hard to
get back in her good graces.
Dinner and maybe breakfast, too.
Stepping under the hot spray, he let it beat down
on him, washing away the incredible tension
of the past few days.
**
West 46th Street
New York City
7:31 p.m.
"It's too dangerous," the well-manicured man said
sternly, his steely gaze pinning Hiram
Sullivan like a butterfly on a mounting board.
"It has to be taken care of."
For the first time, Sullivan faltered. "I don't think-"
"That's right," another man spoke. "You didn't
think. You let your ambition blind you to your true
task."
He exchanged a glance with the well-manicured man.
In the corner, a fourth man watched,
smoke curling up from the cigarette in his hand,
a package of Morley's on the shelf beside him.
"It's time to call him," the well-manicured man said, nodding at the smoking man.
The smoking man merely nodded and left the room,
the scent of cigarette smoke lingering
behind him.
For the first time since he'd entered into this
unholy partnership, Hiram Sullivan felt an icy finger
of fear slither down his spine.
As the smoking man left, an unexpected encounter
was taking place at Bianchi's Cafeteria half
a block away.
Atlanta Willow was busy at the cash register. A
stocky man with a face she knew was ready
to pay for his selection of take-out chili dogs,
bagels, and coffee. He was Detective LaMotte!
Atlanta had met him at the 27th Precinct the night
she'd saved Chelsea.
Atlanta started to speak, but checked herself on
seeing LaMotte's blank expression, the kind
that cops on the job often have. Instead, she
worked the keyboard and read the total. She
blushed at the thought that she'd almost given
LaMotte away.
Morris LaMotte remained expressionless as he carried
his food out, but his mind was turning
with anxiety. For one horrible second it looked
as if Atlanta would shout his title and name.
She'd caught herself in time, but Morris was reminded
that the little things like a surprise
meeting or an overlooked detail could ruin an
operation. Or worse, get people killed.
So far, Force Plodder--created nine hours ago by
Oromocto and Schurz--was having a good
day, but it would need a whole series of these
to make much headway against the Sullivan
crisis.
Cragen, Deitz, Schurz and the Plodder waited for
Morris and watched the meeting from their
darkened office across the street. Schurz worked
a tripod-mounted telephoto camera. Deitz
held binoculars and grinned at the sight of Judge
Sullivan on the defensive.
Then Deitz reminded himself that a Judge under
duress might be even more dangerous. And
there were the other men in that room to consider.
Force Plodder had to find out who they
were and what they did--fast.
Ben met Cassi by the lake in Central Park.
"Hello, Cassi, it's been a long time. You're looking
good as always," Ben said as he kissed her
on the check.
"You're not looking half bad yourself, Ben. Thank
you for coming out to meet me," Cassi
answered.
"Why did you chose such a public place?" Ben asked.
"You know you have no reason to be
afraid of me."
"Actually, it's more for you protection than mine."
Cassi answered. "If Judge Sullivan caught us
together, you'd be dead meat. You're in for a
long grilling as it is."
The wind whipped through the park causing Cassi
to shudder. Ben's quiet blue eyes took her
in. "Cassi, what's wrong? I know you wanted to
warn me about Judge Sullivan, but there's
definately something else on your mind." He plodded
gently.
Cassi took his hand into hers. "I guess you coming
here has me confused. But, in a good way.
You were always my rock, Ben. When my world comes
apart, you are always there helping
me make sense of it." She smiled shyly, feeling
a bit like a school girl with a crush on an older
teacher.
Ben gently reached across and pulled strsy strand
of hair from Cassi's face. He had missed
her. THing were crazy when he left the DA's office.
Felling guilty over the witness's death, he
had closed everyone off, including Cassi. Now
he felt her desperation. Ben knew Cassi was
strong but something had Cassi bugged.
"Is everything working out for you Cassi?" Ben
knew that she had started to date Mike Logan
recently and though he was against it, he felt
he had no say in her life anymore.
"No. Everything is not ok." Cassi laughed bitterly.
"I thought I knew what I was getting into
when I started to go out with Mike. He's everything
I had heard about. And more."
Silence lapsed filling in voluminous voids that
separated them. "I have to go, Ben. I have to
meet Mike." At his alarmed face, she explained
quickly. "I have to give him some information
he asked me to get. I have to go." Hurrying quickly,
before she stayed there, confessing too
much, she ran a few paces but stopped. Something
made her stop. Like a giant hand lifted
her, she felt compelled to go back to him.
"Thanks, Ben." Quickly, she kissed him softly.
Opening her eyes, meeting his shocked but
pleased gaze, she grinned. "We can talk later."
Cassi ran out of the park feeling better then she
had before. She had her foundation back.
*****
Eugene Masucci met Hiram Sullivan for lunch at
Hoffmann's, a small diner near the northern tip
of Manhattan.
"My dad built this place," Eugene said. "Bought
the lot in '64 and put up this building. Named
the restaurant after *his* dad--Alcide, the man
who brought him to this great country."
The Judge said, "I take it the reason you brought
me here has something to do with its name
change?"
"Exactly," said Masucci. "The change of name and
ownership was carved in stone--Ben Stone.
He put my dad in prison nine years ago, and that's
where he died."
The Judge had studied Stone's career and knew that
Eugene was talking about Frank
Masucci, who'd been imprisoned in early 1991.
Cancer claimed him just before Christmas that
year.
Eugene went on. "Our family was practically ruined.
It's taken us all this time to claw our way
back."
A fat waitress brought their meals--typical American
diner fare. Hoffmann's chicken-fried steak
was edible enough, but if Eugene had his way the
place would serve Mediterranean cuisine
under his dad's name.
Right now the best that could be said of Hoffmann's
was that it had a nice view of Inwood Hill
Park. The freshly-fallen snow formed a pretty
tracery on the bare branches and twigs. Eugene
thought he saw movement within the woods, but
the falling snow was playing tricks with his
eyes.
Eugene handed a thick envelope to the Judge. "This
should help you against Mr. Stone. And I
trust it's not too early for a political contribution."
"Not at all." The Judge widened his smile by a millimeter or two.
Eighty feet away, the camouflaged Major Schurz
watched the transaction through a telephoto
lens and heard the satisfying noises of his camera
at work as he kept a finger on the button.
At 2:20, the Judge's attorney Duncan Porteous received
former detective Ted Parker, his son
Kevin, and their lawyer Ross Fineman. The four
went into Porteous's office, where a thick
folder waited on his desk.
Porteous opened the folder and said, "Let's go back in time, gentlemen. Destination 1994."
The meeting lasted an hour and a half. The men
talked about the death of 14-year-old Angel
Ramirez, Kevin's subsequent trial, and the suspicious
death of a witness named Ricky
Morales.
Porteous accused Kevin of violating Angel's civil
rights and said he had enough evidence to
bring both Parkers to trial for the murder of
Morales. Detective Briscoe either knew of the
conspiracy against Morales or shot the man himself,
said Porteous.
In the end, a deal was reached in which the Parkers
would stay free and testify against
Briscoe. By 4:00, the warrant was ready: Lennie
Briscoe was to be arrested for the murder of
Ricky Morales.