Page 63 of Paranoia

WE STARTED HEADING south from the Bronx. I felt a little more nervous now that we were out of the warehouse. There was a different, more professional aura about Deason’s guys than the gang members back at the clubhouse. No one spoke. The driver focused on the road, and Antonio Deason kept an eye on us.

Even if I weren’t strapped into the back seat with my hands cuffed behind me, the doors had safety locks on them. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the person sitting in the row of seats behind us when they shoved us into the SUV. Deason made a phone call I couldn’t hear very well, but he was clearly annoyed. That didn’t bode well for us.

My hope that these guys might somehow give us an opportunity to escape seemed far-fetched.

I started asking my questions out loud. “Why aren’t we tied upon the floor in the back? Why even bother putting seat belts on us?”

Deason turned in his seat to more directly look at me and Trilling. “Because you’re both fucking morons.”

I said, “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s an accurate assessment. We gave you guys every opportunity to back off. But you’re too stupid to pick up the hints.” Deason opened the glove compartment in front of him. I felt my stomach tighten as I wondered what he was retrieving.

Trilling was starting to lift his legs and draw them close to his body. I realized he intended to try to kick the back of the driver’s seat. I tried to think what I could do to support him once he made his move. I moved my hands as far over as I could, wondering if I could release my seat belt, but my fingers couldn’t even get close to the latch.

Deason held whatever he had grabbed from the glove compartment in his right hand. I tried not to flinch as he leaned toward me. Trilling got ready to make his desperate move.

It was a wallet. Deason held up his hand, then let the wallet fall open. The first thing I noticed was the gold badge. And the official ID.

Deason said, “I think you guys are morons because we’re with the DEA and you’re screwing up one of our biggest cases.”

CHAPTER 93

I WASN’T SURE I fully believed Antonio Deason until he led us into an off-site DEA office in Midtown. They took the cuffs off us, but no one offered us our handguns back. We walked in silence down a hallway. The offices didn’t look much different from our own at Manhattan North Homicide. There were a few people working at desks who showed little or no interest as we walked by.

I realized the counter-surveillance we’d come up against recently was actually DEA agents covering Deason during his undercover work. That’s why they’d brought the Porsche Taycan to his apartment. It was probably a seized vehicle. The person who had been in the back seat of the SUV turned out to be the woman we’d seen delivering the Porsche to Deason the day we got burned so badly. I also realized the SUV we’d just ridden in was the same blue Tahoe that had blocked us on our firstsurveillance. Now all that seemed obvious. Maybe Deason was right. I might be a moron.

They took us into a comfortable conference room where the Black man we’d seen Deason meeting with at the Italian restaurant was seated at the end of the table. He gave us a grin as we shuffled in.

We all sat around the table. Another woman joined us. She wore a blue pantsuit and sat on the opposite side of the table. Her eyes gave us a stern appraisal. She was clearly management. But she was letting Deason handle the meeting.

I didn’t intend to give them the satisfaction of asking a ton of questions. I just stayed quiet. I knew I didn’t have to warn Trilling to keep his mouth shut. He did that on his own most of the time. He didn’t seem too confused by the entire episode.

Antonio Deason sat directly across from Trilling and me. He looked a little more frazzled than in the past. He flashed his brown eyes at me, then over to Trilling. No one said anything.

Finally, Deason said, “You don’t have any questions?”

I said, “I’m waiting to hear what you have to say.”

“We know your reputation. That’s why we brought you in here. We’d like to ensure that you don’t tell anyone about our investigation.”

“You mean don’t tell my bosses.”

“I mean don’t tellanyone.” Deason paused, then glanced around the table. The woman sitting on the other side of the table nodded her head. “I’m sure you know who I am, and that this group we’re investigating worked for my father years ago. The NYPD conducted extensive investigations and made a lot of arrests back then. The NYPD unit, the Land Sharks, were the only ones who ever stopped him. But it also appears that someone in the NYPD took a lot of money as well.”

“Hang on a minute. Are you saying you didn’t notifyanyoneabout your investigation because you don’t trust the NYPD?”

“Yes.”

The answer was like a slap in my face. “How did you end up investigating the same people your father used to work with?”

Deason said, “That’s a smart question. I kinda didn’t expect it.”

“An insult and a compliment at the same time. Very impressive.” That earned a chuckle around the table.

“I won’t go into the details. But in my last year at the University of Miami, some DEA agents wanted to ask me questions about my father. Once they realized I hadn’t spoken with him for years, we just started to chat. Next thing I knew, I applied, was hired, went through the academy, and found myself working in Manhattan. We all agreed we might be able to use my connection to my father to finally break some of the drug gangs that have plagued the city.”

I said, “So you joined the DEA as a reaction to your father.”

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