Reprisal

Manhattan

Detective Sergeant Renny Augustino found a note on his desk that the chief wanted to see him right away. He didn't have anything better to do at the moment so he headed for Mooney's office.

"What is it, Lieu?" Renny said as he dropped into one of the chairs opposite Mooney's puke green desk. A tiny plaster Christmas tree—a product of Mrs. Mooney's ceramics class—sat atop one of the filing cabinets, its lights twinkling chaotically.

Midtown North's chief of detectives, Lieutenant James Mooney, a jowly, fiftyish bulldog, looked up from a paper he was holding in both hands. The fluorescent ceiling lights reflected off his balding scalp.

"Got a message from the PC, Augustino," he said in his whiny voice. "He wants you on his new task force to get that serial killer."

"You sure you got the right Augustino?"

Mooney smiled. He didn't do that often.

"Yeah. I'm sure. Because I checked to make sure myself."

Renny was shocked. The police commissioner wanted him!

"Well, ain't that a kick in the head."

"It's your chance, Renny. Handle yourself right with this one and you can get yourself back on track."

Renny looked at Mooney and saw that the chief genuinely wished him well. Suddenly his opinion of Mooney turned around. He hadn't liked the man much; he was competent but had struck

Renny as too concerned with paperwork. He didn't really inspire his detectives. His men had to be self-starters if they were going to be anything better than paper-shufflers. Fortunately there was a fair number of self-starters at Midtown North. But maybe he'd been too hard on Mooney. And maybe that was because he resented anyone with a detective lieutenant's badge, something Renny should have had long ago.

"Yeah," Renny said, rising and extending his hand. "Maybe I can. Thanks, Lieu."

Mooney shook his hand and passed him his papers.

"They want you down at Police Plaza at one sharp. Try not to be late."

Back in the squad room, the other detectives congratulated him as he passed through. Sam Lang, dressed in green corduroy wrinkles, was waiting at Renny's desk, a coffee cup in his left hand, his right thrust out in front of him.

"Some Christmas present, ay, partner?"

"What is this?" Renny said, shaking Sam's hand. "Am I the only guy in the joint who didn't know about it?"

"Maybe if you weren't late all the time you'd be au courant."

Renny glared at him. He hated when people threw in foreign expressions—unless they were in Italian. Then it was okay.

"I got one question, Sam. Why me?"

"Because you're tenacious."

Renny peered suspiciously at his partner over the tops of his reading glasses.

"'Tenacious'… 'au courant'… you been dipping into How to Increase Your Word Power again?"

"Let me put it another way," Sam said with mild annoyance. "You're a fucking bulldog when you get started on something."

"And how would the PC know that?"

"How else? The Danny Gordon case."

"Yeah. Sure. And where was he when I got busted back to second grade because of the Danny Gordon case?"

"Who cares? What matters is the commish has your name on his list of heavy hitters."

"Would've been nice if he'd asked me if I wanted the job first."

"You mean you don't?"

"I don't know, Sam."

"You're kidding, aren't you? This could get your career back in gear, Renny. I mean, you know they're gonna have to bump you up to lieutenant when the task force catches this guy. How bad can that be?"

"Could be awful. The whole thing could turn out to be another nightmare."

Just like the Danny Gordon case.

Another serial killer on the loose. Zodiac had spawned a bunch of imitators since the summer of '90. The mayor and the police commissioner had been making a big deal out of forming this new hotshot task force to hunt down this latest loon who had frightened most of the city''s good-looking women—as well as those who mistakenly thought themselves good-looking—from the streets.

But what if they failed? What if Renny got himself wrapped up in this case and they never found the killer?

He couldn't go through something like that again. Not being able to resolve the Gordon case had torn him apart. Even now, five years later, not a day went by that he didn't think about that kid—or his killer.

"You're not going to turn them down, are you?" Sam said after a big slurp of coffee.

Renny managed a smile.

"'Course not. Just 'cause I'm crazy doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Good. You had me going there for a while."

Potts walked up then, a glossy sheet of paper in his hand.

"Fax for you, Sarge."

Sam laughed. "Probably the mayor."

"No," said Potts. "From Southern Bell. Something about—"

Renny was suddenly tense.

"Give me that."

He grabbed the sheet and scanned through it.

Another one of those calls. And in the same town as the last time—Pendleton, North Carolina. That bulletin he'd put out five years ago—to watch for reports of a certain kind of prank call: a strange ring, a child screaming for help. Someone at Southern Bell must have put it in the computer.

Bless you, whoever you are.

"This is it! Son of a bitch, this is him! It's Ryan! He's in North Carolina—Pendleton, North Carolina."

"Who's in Pendleton?" Potts said. "And where's that?"

"I don't know," Renny said as he slipped into his suit coat. "But I'm going to learn a lot about the place real quick."

"You're not heading for the library now, are you?" Sam said.

"Yeah. I'm going to find a book or two on Pendleton to read on the plane. Not going to waste a minute this time."

Sam's face went slack. He dismissed Potts with a wave of his hand. His voice became a tense whisper.

"Plane? What do you mean, plane?"

"Going down there. Have to practice man drawl. Noath KehLAHnah—that sound like I'm from the South?"

"Yeah. South Bronx. Look, buddy boy, are you out of your fucking mind? You ain't goin' nowhere."

Renny had difficulty meeting Sam's troubled eyes.

"I've got to go, Sam. You know that."

"I don't know no such thing! What the hell have we just been talking about? You could get a lieutenant's badge out of that task force."

"That just became a sucker bet," Renny said. He straightened the papers on his desk into two neat piles in no particular order and pushed his chair into the knee hole. "Because I feel the flu coming on and it's going to be a bad case. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling feverish already."

Sam's face broke into a sickly grin.

"You're putting me on, aren't you. That's it, isn't it? Another one of your put-ons."

"Look at this face," Renny said, knowing he must look pretty damn grim. "Is this the face of someone who's kidding?"

"Jesus, Renny! The PC just asked for you personally. You can't walk out now!"

"The Danny Gordon case takes precedence, Sam. You know that." He could feel the heat rising in him. "I've been after this fucker for five years and I'm no closer now than when I started. Christ, you know what this thing has cost me! Now I get my first solid lead in God knows how long and you think I'm going to file it for later? No way, Sam! No fucking way/"

And that was enough of that. Renny was out of there and into the cold, late-morning grayness before Sam could try to lay any more common sense on him. He hurried down the subway steps and hopped the near-empty F train that was just pulling in. Thoughts of Danny Gordon hovered around him and hounded him all the way to Queens.

When he' reached his stop and climbed back up to street level, he saw that the clouds had lowered. Snowflakes swirled among the tiny droplets that sprinkled his face. Sleet. He had no raincoat or umbrella, but he didn't mind. Besides, the grim weather matched his mood perfectly. He lit a cigarette and quick-walked the two blocks to his second-floor apartment.

Renny called American and charged a ticket to Raleigh. He packed quickly, throwing a few clean shirts, a couple of pairs of polyester slacks, and some toiletries into a battered old Samsonite suitcase, then dumped his drawer of socks and underwear on top of everything. He removed his shoulder holster and Smith & Wesson .38 and laid that in among the Jockey shorts. Then he grabbed his raincoat and headed back down the stairs. He could catch the R train and take it to LaGuardia.

But first he had to make a little detour.

Outside it was all snow now. He pulled up his collar and walked south a few blocks, then east until he came to an old boarded-up building. As the snowflakes sifted through his thinning hair and melted on his scalp, he stood and stared up at the facade. The sign to the left of the door was still visible:

ST. FRANCIS HOME FOR BOYS

This wasn't the first time he'd stood before the place where Danny Gordon had lived. He came here regularly to renew a vow he had made here five years ago.

It was snowing then too.

Danny Gordon was dead. Even though his body had never been found, there was no doubt of that in Renny's mind, no doubt that the priest had killed him. Ryan couldn't hide and travel with a child injured like that. No. He'd finished what he had begun, and then he'd faded away. A perfect disappearing act.

Until now. After all these years, a lead had finally surfaced. Renny was ready to follow it to the ends of the earth.

For Danny.

I don't know where you are, kid, but I know you're dead. But just because you've got no folks, no family, don't think there's no one alive who cares about what happened to you. There is. Me. And I'm going to get the guy who did it. That's Renaldo Augustino's promise.

He turned and walked away through the falling snow toward the subway station, whispering another promise to someone else.

And when I find you, Father Bill Ryan, I'll bring you in… but not before I give you a taste of what you did to that poor kid.