Page 76 of Paranoia

“You think my own cousin might shoot me?”

“Until today I thought your cousin was one of the most stand-up cops I’d ever met. I’m not taking any chances. You need to wear the shirt.”

By this time there was no one in the office except us and Walter Jackson. We waited while Doyle stripped down. I noticed a number of scars and at least three bullet wounds on his torso. I didn’t ask about them right now. But I was curious how much combat he had seen.

I raced ahead to check out the restaurant, and I found a table where I could sit in the back of Mama Rosa’s near a three-piece band. I could tell by looking at the serving staff and probably one or two members of the band that it really was all one big family here. A pillar with plaster effigies of Cupid and a chariot laced across the top stood next to my table. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. The pillar would hide me but would also block my view.

We were using our phones for communication. No need to make this operation obvious over the radio. I let Trilling know I was set up. The plan was simple. I was far enough away that hopefully Cantor wouldn’t notice me. Trilling would wear a Mets cap and sit at the bar in sight of the booth where Kevin Doyle would sit, since Cantor didn’t know Trilling well. We had already decided that Dennis Wu would be our outside surveillance member. Part of it was because Cantor might notice the Internal Affairs detective sergeant. Part of it was just me being a little bit of an ass to him. I sort of liked the feeling.

CHAPTER 113

I ORDERED A Chicken Parmesan so as not to seem suspicious to the surly waiter. He looked like he was probably related to the family who ran the place. It was something about his deep-set dark eyes and Roman nose. I guessed it was his sister or cousin playing guitar in the band. The drummer and bass player had crooked noses and healthier complexions.

A young man, around sixteen years old, joined the group with a handheld microphone. As the band started playing the opening to “Crimson and Clover,” the teen with a microphone strayed too close to the speaker and caused a horrendous feedback squelch. This seemed to be a pretty common occurrence. None of the staff even acknowledged it. That’s what clinched it for me that the band was part of the family. No restaurant owner would put up with that otherwise.

I got a text from Wu saying Doyle and Trilling were headedinto the restaurant. At almost the same time, the front door opened, and Doyle spoke to the hostess for a moment. When she led him to a booth, I saw Trilling move on to the bar and take the last stool. I felt confident there was no way anyone would notice me in the corner. I decided that the cover the column provided was a plus as well.

About fifteen minutes later, right on schedule, Wu texted me from the outside that Inspector Celeste Cantor had just parked her car down the street and was walking toward the restaurant. Until that exact moment, I had doubts that Doyle had been telling us the truth. Something inside me wanted Cantor tonotbe involved. But that’s not how real life happens.

Cantor walked directly to the booth, leaned down, and kissed her cousin on the cheek. Then she slid into the booth across from him.

It was a shock to see my friend of twenty years strolling into the restaurant to meet a hit man she’d hired to kill numerous former colleagues. It didn’t matter that the two of them were related. Cantor was part of this scheme, and there was no way I was going to let her get out of this restaurant unless she was under arrest. I felt like I had to make this right for all the dead retired cops.

I casually slipped an earpiece into my right ear. I could hear everything that was said in the booth. So could Trilling and Dennis Wu. We had a small transmitter in Doyle’s front pocket. The others would key off of whatever I did. When I made my move toward the booth, Trilling was to join me from the bar. Wu’s job was to secure the outside in case Cantor tried to run. It was a simple plan. But every cop knows a plan can go sideways awfully fast. Or as the old saying goes, everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face. I was hoping to avoid anything like that.

CHAPTER 114

I HAD A good position behind the column. I was tucked away but could still see Celeste Cantor and Kevin Doyle at their booth. I had an earpiece to listen in. Any time someone’s conversation is being monitored and recorded, I get anxious, waiting to hear if the suspect will incriminate themselves. It was no different tonight. Even with the distracting band a few feet from me, I could hear the conversation clearly over my earpiece.

I listened to them chat for a minute, catching up about family and their childhood memories. It was like any normal conversation between two adult cousins. Then Doyle switched the conversation to business. He said, “I’m done with the job you gave me. All the retirees as well as the drug runners.”

Cantor didn’t answer immediately. Finally, she said, “What happened with Bennett?”

“We never really got a chance with him.”

“I haven’t heard from Joe. He’s not answering his phone. How was it working with him?”

Doyle shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since we bailed on catching Bennett at his office. But I gotta tell ya, you shouldn’t associate with those kinds of guys. He’s a disgrace.”

“Because of what he does for a living?”

“Because of what comes out of his mouth.”

That seemed to satisfy her. The waiter came over, but Cantor dismissed him quickly, telling him to bring two waters and two glasses of house red.

Out of the blue, Doyle mumbled, “I didn’t like killing cops.”

Cantor reached across and patted his arm. “I know. I didn’t like it either. But we have to look toward the greater good. Think what I can accomplish on the City Council. Think where that might lead. We both grew up here. It’s not the same city that we knew. I can change that.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No, no, it doesn’t. But it was necessary. I’m sorry you had to be involved, but you’re the only one I could trust.” She looked at Doyle for a moment, then said, “Is there any chance Bennett knows anything?”

Doyle shrugged. “How would I know?”

“When, exactly, did you plan on leaving the city?”

“Like I said, tomorrow morning.”

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