Four Walls

23

DETECTIVE DON FLACK WAS looking forward to getting a new prescription bottle.

It had been a couple of days since he took the last pill, the morning after the double at RHCF, and since he dropped the bottle off to be refilled. With everything going on, he hadn't gotten around to picking up the refill. He'd been spending the intervening days dealing with the paperwork on the RHCF killings, and also coordinating with the Department of Homeland Security to organize a drug raid. One of Flack's confidential informants-a reliable one-had said that the Wilder gang had been moving cocaine through a particular warehouse for over a year now, and Flack had spent the past two months setting up the bust. They had to be careful-Gavin Wilder was a slippery bastard, and they couldn't afford any mistakes. The raid was scheduled to go down tomorrow, with a full contingent of NYPD and DHS personnel. Narcotics wasn't Flack's usual bag, but it was his CI who put them onto it, so he got to lead the raid.

And Flack really couldn't afford to screw this up by writhing in agony on the floor.

So he left his apartment on the way to work and stopped at the small family-run drugstore on the corner. He didn't know how they stayed in business. There was a Duane Reade a block away and a CVS around the corner, yet somehow, Alda Pharmacy, which was run by two old brothers named Sal and Carmine and their respective daughters, managed to thrive, despite being smaller and having a less complete selection.

Flack always went there for aspirin and Band-Aids and condoms, only resorting to the chain drugstores when Alda didn't have something. When he got the scrip for the Percs, it wasn't even a choice in his mind: he gave the small piece of paper they'd handed him at the hospital to Sal Alda's cute daughter Vicki.

"Hey," she had said, "I heard you're the big hero."

"I wasn't a hero," he'd replied. "Just got caught in the blast. My buddy Mac, he's the one who found the nutjob who planted it."

"Phooey," Vicki had said back. "I saw your picture on the front page of the Daily News. That makes you a hero."

"Lindsay Lohan's on the front page of the Daily News. That doesn't make her a hero."

Today, it was Carmine Alda's daughter behind the counter. "Hello there, Detective Flack."

"Hiya, Ginny. How's Ty doin'?"

Ty Wheeler was Ginny's boyfriend. As always when Flack asked about him, she rolled her eyes. "He's such a dork. He actually bought me tickets to the Mets game Sunday for my birthday. Like I care about baseball. He just wants to see Pedro Martinez pitch."

"Pedro's on the disabled list," Flack said with a smile.

"Whatever. Like I know from baseball. Maybe it's Roger Clemens."

"He's on the Yankees. So are you gonna go? 'Cause if not, I'll take your ticket."

She tilted her head, causing her blonde hair to fall to the side. "Very funny, Detective." She went to the back, where a shelf contained several large plastic boxes labeled with letters. One said E-F, and that was the one Ginny pulled out and started rummaging through, eventually pulling out a bag with a receipt attached to it. As she walked back to the front, she said, "This is, like, months old."

"Yeah-didn't go through 'em all that fast."

"Okay." She shrugged. "That's ten bucks for your co-pay."

He nodded, pulling out his wallet and handing over one of the funky new brown ten-dollar bills. "Here you go. Have fun at the game."

"Yeah, right."

Grinning, Flack left the small pharmacy, pushing past an old woman in the too-skinny aisle.

He walked toward the lot where he paid stupid amounts of money to keep his car parked, since street parking in the city was insane. Some days Flack wanted to find the guy who invented alternate-side-of-the-street parking and beat him until he bled. He had to work triple OT just to keep up with the parking lot payments.

At least the pain wasn't that bad today.

As he walked, he pulled out his phone and flipped it open, then dialed Mac Taylor.

Mac answered on the third ring. "Morning, Don."

"Hey, Mac. Listen, I just wanted to tell you-thanks."

"For what?"

"For askin' about me and the Percs. I appreciate the concern, y'know?"

"No problem, Don."

"As it happens, I just refilled them. Oh, and let Sheldon know, will ya? I'd rather have both of you off my back."

Mac chuckled. "Listen, Don, after work today, Stella's organizing a little field trip. Want to come along?"

Flack shrugged. "Sure. Where to?"

"She said it's a surprise."

When Stella got to her desk, she found the usual large collection of e-mail waiting for her. Amidst the interdepartmental memos, the digests from the various listservs she subscribed to (most relating to the latest in forensic techniques; Mac had insisted that they all subscribe to them so they could keep up, but the signal-to-noise ratio was not optimal, which was why Stella stuck with the digests), and notes from friends was one from Jack Morgenstern.

"This should be good," she muttered. She had no idea how Morgenstern had gotten her work e-mail address; then again, it wasn't exactly a state secret, either.

There were no attachments, which relieved Stella. She would half expect Morgenstern to send her a virus, and in fact she ran her entire in-box through a virus scan before opening the e-mail.

Once that was done-it took a while, but Stella had to finish up the paperwork on the Campagna case in any event-she opened the e-mail.

Detective Bonasera:

I hope this e-mail finds you well. Yes, you read that right. I realize I came across as something of an ass, but look at it from my perspective. When you and Detective Angell rang my doorbell 1) you woke me out of a sound sleep and 2) I had no idea that Maria had been killed. And the goons at the 52nd Precinct didn't exactly endear me to the NYPD or your methods. Yes, I was defensive, but I'd been falsely accused of a particularly hideous crime based solely on the length of my hair. That's the sort of thing that makes you defensive.

However, all things considered, I don't blame you for suspecting me. Annie saw me go into Belluso's at closing. Of course, you'd look at me. I've boned up on what you do for a living since my false arrest, so I know that you guys do your job on the basis of where the evidence and the eyewitness accounts lead you. In this case, it led you to me.

I'm glad, however, that you and Detective Angell kept an open mind. You examined the evidence, and when it didn't point right at me (nor should it have, since I didn't actually do anything), you looked elsewhere-and found your killer.

Everybody wins.

You two have filled me with a respect for the NYPD that I didn't have a week ago, Detective Bonasera, and I thank you for that. I hope the next time we meet, if we ever do, it's under more pleasant circumstances.

All the best,

Jack Morgenstern

Stella stared blankly at the screen for several seconds. That was entirely the last thing she had expected.

It took her a few moments to realize her phone was ringing. Pulling it out of her pocket, she saw that it was Angell.

"Hey, Jen."

"I just got the craziest e-mail."

Stella laughed. "Let me guess-Morgenstern?"

"Yeah. You got one, too?"

"Yup."

"God, Stell, I thought he was gonna ask me out on a date, the way the letter was going."

Again, Stella laughed. "I don't think he's come around quite that much."

"Even if he has, I haven't. The man flirts with teenagers."

"Hey, listen, Jen, while I've got you here-you doing anything when your shift is over?"

"Was gonna finally get my bangs trimmed, but do you have a better offer?"

"Kind of," Stella said with a grin.

As soon as he entered Belluso's Bakery, Mac understood why Stella had been eager to come back here to people-watch. Yes, she wanted to see if she could find another lead to Maria Campagna's killer, but her desire to be in this place went beyond that.

The place was bright and cheerful, even as night was falling over the Bronx. Colorful pastries, cookies, and cakes filled the two long display units. An old-fashioned cappuccino maker sat atop the counter, along with the usual assortment of straws, stirrers, plastic silverware, and napkins.

Most of the tables and chairs were occupied. Looking at Stella and then at their party-which numbered seven-Mac said, "I'm not sure we fit."

"Upstairs," Stella said, heading toward the wooden staircase in the center of the floor that led to the balcony-style second level. "Get me a cappuccino and a large cannoli while I set up, okay?"

One of the women behind the counter looked at Angell. "Hey, Detective-Angell, right?"

"Yup," Angell said with a smile. "And you remember Detective Monroe, right?"

Lindsay smiled and gave a small wave. She was, Mac noticed, standing very close to Danny. "You're Jeanie?"

Jeanie nodded. "Decided to bring the whole crew, huh?"

"Most of it," Lindsay said with a look at Mac.

Mac just shrugged. Both Sid and Peyton had been invited by Stella, along with Sheldon, Danny, Lindsay, Flack, Angell, and Mac himself. But Sid had plans with his family, and Peyton had to work the late shift. "We'll talk tomorrow, though," she had said, and Mac had sworn that he saw a twinkle in her eye when she'd said that.

Everybody ordered something-Mac went with an espresso and one of the cannoli that Stella had been raving about-and brought it upstairs.

On the second level, rather than the high tables and regular dining-room-style chairs of the ground level, Belluso's had big comfy chairs and lower tables. Stella had rearranged several of them so that three of the tables were abutting each other and seven chairs were in a circle around them. Mac also noticed that there was a giant clock in the center wall, but something about it was off.

After a second, he realized what it was. "That clock has no hands."

"Cheap symbolism," Stella said. "The owner told me that he wants people to stay as long as they want. Time doesn't matter in here. So he took the hands off the clock."

"Clever," Mac said as he took a seat on one of the oval of chairs Stella had set up.

Angell looked at Flack as she settled down with her tea and raspberry tart. "So, Don, tomorrow's the big day, huh?"

Flack shrugged as he sat next to her. He'd gotten a double espresso and chocolate-dipped cookies. "Hope so. Wilder's a cagey bastard, so there may not be much there. Still, my guy hasn't let me down yet. Figure we'll nail one of his storehouses at the very least."

"Sounds good. Maybe if you bag some of Wilder's guys, one of 'em'll flip. I've got a double from two months ago that I know was a hit Wilder called, but I've got nothing."

Smiling, Flack said, "I'll keep you posted."

Everyone settled in before long. Mac took a bite of his cannoli and did not have cause to regret it. He'd had several cannoli in his day-almost all in Stella's company-but this was the first one where the shell hadn't gone stale and the filling tasted almost whipped-cream-like in its fluffiness. "Nice," he said.

"Did I not tell you?" Stella said with a huge grin.

"Yes, you did. And, as usual, you were right."

"Damn skippy," Stella said. "I think the world would be a better place if people just did exactly what I said at all times."

Sheldon chuckled as he took a bite of his large cookie. "Can't argue with that."

"Hey, Sheldon," Flack said, "how'd it feel to be in prison on the outside for a change?"

Mac noticed that Sheldon flinched when Flack asked that, but he recovered quickly. He also noticed Stella flashing him a look of concern.

"It was…weird," Sheldon finally said. "And the COs at RHCF were a bunch of jerks just like they were at Rikers. But I liked being able to walk out on my own without having to fill out eight tons of paperwork."

"No," Mac said, "we only had to fill out four tons as visitors."

That got a laugh from several people. Lindsay almost choked on her tea, but Danny gave her a comradely slap on the back. "Careful, Montana-don't try to walk and chew gum at the same time."

Recovering enough to elbow Danny in the ribs, Lindsay said, "I can do that just fine, thanks."

"Speaking of COs," Mac said, "I've got a call into the DA's office about Officer Ciccone. He's already been suspended, but I want to see if criminal charges will stick."

"Which one's Ciccone?" Lindsay asked.

Flack said, "He's the schmuck who let Mulroney sneak the razor blade out."

"At the very least," Mac said, "we should be able to get him on negligence."

Angell was regarding Flack with an amused expression. "'Schmuck'? Since when do you bring the Yiddish?"

Grinning, Flack said, "I'm a lifelong New Yorker; that makes me an honorary Jew."

Lindsay's eyes grew wide. "Really?" She looked at Danny. "Is that really how it works?"

Danny smirked. "Oy vey, you're askin' me?"

That earned him a second elbow in the ribs.

"Anyway," Mac said, "let's hope he pays for his role in Barker's death."

"Speaking of paying," Stella said with a mouthful of cannoli, "who do I owe for this?"

"Nobody," Angell said. "Jeanie said we could pay when we leave."

"Not quite," said an accented voice from the stairs.

Mac turned to see a large older man coming up the stairs. He had many a liver spot and thinning white hair that he'd combed neatly.

"Good evening, Mr. Belluso," Stella said.

"Apf," he said, waving his hand. "You may call me Sal. You find the man who kill my girl, you put him in jail where he belongs. You eat for free."

"That really isn't necessary," Mac said. "Besides, we can't be seen to be taking-"

"It's my place, Mr., uh…?"

"Taylor-I'm Detective Bonasera's supervisor, and I-"

"This is my place, Mr. Taylor, and if I wish to give you food and drink for free, that is my right as a citizen of your fine country, no?"

Mac hesitated. "Sir, we really can't-"

"Apf! Do I go to your police station and tell you how to solve crimes? No? Then do not come into my bakery and tell me how to serve food and drink. Now enjoy! Enjoy!" Those last two sentences were uttered while he raised both arms in a U shape, as if he were trying to lift something.

With a grin, he went downstairs.

Looking at Angell, Stella said, "I guess we're not polas anymore?"

Mac frowned. "Polas?"

Danny took that one. "It's slang-means female cops. Usually, it isn't meant as a compliment." He looked at Stella. "He called you that?"

Stella nodded. "It was when I was taking blood and DNA. He was muttering in Italian, figuring I couldn't understand a word he said."

Smiling, Mac said, "You must've enjoyed that."

"Oh yeah."

They continued to sit for some time, gossiping, laughing, exchanging stories. Lindsay told some amusing tales of her time in Bozeman's crime lab; Flack-probably inspired by his recent reunion with his childhood buddy-told some stories of his teenage years; Angell talked about growing up with a detective for a father; Sheldon regaled them with some of his wilder emergency-room cases (including the story of the person who had most of a raccoon up his rectum, a story Mac had already heard six times but that neither Lindsay nor Angell had heard; they were appropriately disgusted, which was why Sheldon loved telling the story); and Danny shared some anecdotes from his abortive career as a minor-league baseball player.

Mac even got into the act, describing the time when he was a young Marine and a four-star general showed up to give a talk. "Afterward, he invites us all to the O-club for 'a few drinks.'"

Flack grinned. "How many is a few?"

"I honestly lost count."

Everyone laughed at that.

Mac continued: "Thing is, this guy's a four-star. You don't leave before he does. And he kept buying more rounds and buying more rounds, and if you didn't keep up, he noticed and started yelling." Mac lowered his voice to try to match the general's stentorian tones. "'I've gone drinking with sailors, son,' he said to this guy Martin-he was trying to nurse a drink. 'They're pansies who can't hold their damn liquor. Are you a sailor, son?' Nothing insults a Marine more than saying he belongs in the Navy, so of course, Martin drank down the entire glass in one shot."

Danny stared at him. "Glass of what?"

"Jack Daniel's."

"Ow." Danny winced. "That's alcohol abuse."

"The best part, of course," Mac said, "was the next morning, we still had to fall in at oh-six-hundred, and we didn't even get back to the barracks until oh-five-hundred. The general was on a plane out at oh-seven-hundred, and he probably slept it off in the jet. The rest of us, though, had to act like it was a normal day." He shook his head. "Martin turned a color green that I'd never seen before or since."

"Oh, c'mon, Mac," Stella said, "what about that guy who turned green?"

"What?" Sheldon asked.

"Oh, God," Flack said, "I remember that one."

"Tell us," Lindsay said.

So Stella shared that story, and more were exchanged as the night wore on.

Eventually, though, it had to come to an end. Holding up the dregs of his espresso, Mac said, "Before we all head out, I'd like to propose a toast. To Stella Bonasera for dragging us all out to have fun together."

"Hear hear!"

"Yeah, Stella!"

Stella smiled. "Thanks, Mac."

As the party broke up, Stella and Angell said their good-byes to Belluso and Jeanie. Soon they were all standing on the Riverdale Avenue sidewalk.

Lindsay looked up at Danny. "I'm in the mood to shoot some pool."

"Oh yeah? I know a place, has a great table."

"Well, let's go, then," she said with a smile.

"Don't forget," Mac said, "you're on at nine tomorrow, Lindsay."

"I know," Lindsay said as she and Danny headed toward the latter's car.

Mac shook his head and headed toward his own car, then stopped when Stella called, "Hey, Mac!"

She ran to catch up to him, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the toast."

He smiled. "You earned it. And good work on the Campagna case, by the way. It would've been easy to just go after Morgenstern. But you stuck with it and followed the evidence. I'm proud of you, Stella."

Stella grinned. "Well, I had a good teacher. And nice catch on figuring out how Washburne died. That was a clever bit of detective work."

"Thanks. But I got a good reward."

"Oh?"

Looking back at Belluso's, Mac said, "Best cannoli in New York."

"Damn right."