A Man's Partner: A Detective Jericho Single Page 9

  Zambada rushed him, thrusting viciously with his icepick. Jericho sidestepped, but the point of the icepick pricked his thigh. He jumped back and avoided any real damage.

  Zambada began to laugh. “You suck at this, don’t you, Detective?”

  Jericho made a body feint. Then, focusing on the gang boss’s throat, he lurched forward and swiped at him. Zambada skillfully blocked the move with his forearm, knocking the switchblade from Jericho’s hand.

  “Don’t worry,” Zambada said. “I won’t kill you. I’m saving you for “death by a thousand pricks!”

  Jericho backed away, moving off to the side. He noticed Zambada’s right eye was following his movement, while his left eye, the glass one, stared straight ahead.

  He’s got a blind spot.

  Zambada let out a yell as he charged at Jericho, his icepick pointed straight at him.

  Jericho bent his left leg slightly, at the same time launching a karate kick with his right leg. His heel crunched into Zambada’s left cheekbone; the force sending his glass eye flying from its socket.

  Zambada tumbled backwards onto the floor, dropping the icepick. His hands covered the gaping eye socket. Howling in pain, he writhed helplessly, then turned over and curled up in a fetal position.

  Seeing Zambada was no longer a threat, Jericho looked around till he found the roll of duct tape on the floor. He picked it up and crossed to the disabled gang boss.

  Kneeling down, Jericho wrenched Zambada onto his back and pulled his arms forward. He opened the roll of tape and fastened his wrists firmly together in front of him.

  He grabbed Zambada’s head by both ears, and pulled his head up so he could look directly his face.

  The gang boss was groaning. “Please...my eye. Call for a doctor. I’m begging you.”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Detective Michael Aaron Davis,” Jericho said. “You have the right to remain silent...”

  There was a muffled gunshot. Zambada’s skull and brains exploded into Jericho’s hands.

  He looked over and saw the smoking gun lying in Cristóbal’s open palm. The punk’s death rattle reverberated briefly, then stopped.

  Jericho went over and checked Cristóbal’s his pulse. There was none.

  With a wry smile, the detective spoke under his breath. “You also have the right to remain silent.”

  CHAPTER 21.

  Jericho called Detective Reardon at the Two Five and told him he was in a hotel room with two dead bodies.

  “Who are they?” Reardon asked.

  “Bad guys.”

  “Gimme your address. I’ll be right over.”

  “Better bring a CSI crew.”

  Reardon arrived twenty minutes later. While the forensics team processed the crime scene, Jericho told him to check the IDs in the pockets of the two dead men.

  “Zambada! ...El Picador!” Reardon said. “We’ve had him in our sights for years, but we couldn’t nail him.”

  “He’s the uncle of this other joker.”

  “I know him too,” Reardon said. “He’s got a long rap sheet — second degree theft, marijuana possession with intent, agg assault.”

  “These two scumbags tried to kill me and ended up killing each other.”

  “Public service homicides,” Reardon said, smiling.

  When Reardon and Jericho entered the station house, Danny Santos was at the reception desk. He looked at Jericho quizzically. Jericho gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up sign and Danny nodded.

  “Hey, Reardon,” Jericho said softly. “Santos has been a big help to me. He may have detective potential. Will you keep your eye on him?”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  Up in DI Babatunde’s office, the Chief of Detectives grilled Jericho intensely.

  “...So you weren’t involved in the shooting?”

  “No. They shot each other,” Jericho explained calmly.

  “How did that happen?”

  “I turned them against each other,” Jericho said. “Psychological manipulation.”

  Babatunde gave him a dubious look.

  “Their prints will be on the gun,” Jericho said. “Mine will not.”

  “We’ll have the print lab confirm that, but I’m sure you’re in the clear.”

  “I’m so-o-o glad you think so.”

  “No need to get snarky, Jerry,” she said. “You know an investigation is required whenever a police officer...”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  After answering a few more routine questions, Jericho took out his laptop and showed Babatunde and Reardon the photo of the abandoned 76th Street subway station. “Gotta be at least ten million bucks’ worth of narcotics stashed down there.”

  They were truly stunned.

  “And they’ve got their own meth lab,” Jericho went on. “This storehouse is a main drug distribution point for the whole area. I’d guess most of it comes in from the Sinaloa cartel.”

  “This is huge,” Babatunde said. “Congrats, Detective.”

  “Don’t congratulate me,” Jericho said. “Detective Mickey Davis did all the dirty work and compiled the facts. All I did was follow up on his investigation.”

  “I thought he was on desk duty,” Babatunde said.

  “He was,” Jericho replied. “He did this on his own time. Guess he wanted to prove he still had his detective chops.”

  “Tell me something, Jericho,” Reardon said. “Why do you think he killed himself, when he was functioning on such a high level?”

  Jericho paused for a few seconds before speaking.

  “He didn’t kill himself!”

  Reardon and the DI looked at him quizzically.

  “He was forced to write a suicide note and then shoot himself.”

  Jericho went on to explain how El Picador caught Mouse investigating the underground subway station, and the subsequent threat he made regarding Mouse’s wife and children.

  “It was the one threat Detective Davis couldn’t fight. He knew Zambada was a monster.”

  “Oh, my Lord,” Babatunde said.

  Jericho had a moment picturing his ex-partner sitting in his car, holding his gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

  Then he spoke emphatically, summing up Mouse’s sacrifice. “DETECTIVE DAVIS DIDN’T TAKE HIS LIFE. HE GAVE HIS LIFE. TO SAVE HIS FAMILY.”

  For a while nothing was said. Finally, Babatunde spoke up.

  “Jerry,” he said. “I need you to...”

  “Jericho.”

  “I’ll need a complete report of this investigation by tomorrow.” she said. “Meanwhile I’ll alert ESU, so the moment we get a warrant we can raid that storehouse.”

  “I’ll e-mail my report to you in the morning,” Jericho said. “Oh, one other thing —

  Detective Davis uncovered a money laundering operation at the Happy Day manicure parlor. Apparently Zambada’s gang was using them, and possibly other manicure salons, to wash cash.”

  Babatunde nodded.

  “Plus, those manicure salons exploit women…”

  “Put that in your report. We’ll hand off both those issues to the Feds,” Babatunde said. “They have special units to handle ‘em.”

  “One request,” Jericho said. “Please don’t use my name, or credit me in the press for this investigation. Detective Davis is the hero here and he deserves the commendation. All of it.”

  Babatunde nodded. “You still have to make yourself available if we need you.”

  “Of course.” Jericho went on. “But in the end —I’m sure you want the credit to go to the Two Five and NYPD, not to some interloper from the East Hampton Police Department.”

  Jericho’s wisdom was not lost on DI Jenifer Babatunde.

  On his way back to Montauk, Jericho stopped at Mouse’s home in Ridgewood and sat down with his wife and sons.

  He wasn’t sure if telling them the truth about Mouse’s death would make them feel better or worse. But he realized they had a right to know.


  They were all sitting on the couch across from Jericho when he spoke.

  He laid it out in simple language. When he was done, they sat there in devastated silence.

  After a while, Keisha reached out and drew both boys close to her. Although they were teenagers, in that moment they looked like little children, huddling close to their mother — as if they were afraid of the dark.

  Keisha began to weep, and soon her kids were crying as well.

  Jericho got up and knelt down in front of them.

  “He was the bravest man I ever knew,” he said. “You guys were all that really mattered to him.”

  Jericho lay his head down in Keisha’s lap and reached his hands out to the boys. Suddenly he was part of them; a bereaved family sharing grief and loss and love. They all hugged for a long time.

  Finally, Jericho stood up.

  “A few years ago, when I spoke at my Dad’s funeral,” Jericho said. “I recited an old poem I’d memorized for the occasion. I hope I still remember it.”

  He said the words haltingly, as they filtered back into his memory:

  Death is nothing at all.

  It does not count.

  You have only slipped away into the next room.

  I am I, and you are you,

  And the old life that we lived so fondly together,

  Is untouched, unchanged.

  Whatever we were to each other,

  That we are still.

  EPILOGUE

  Ten days later, in his Montauk home, Jericho awoke on a Sunday morning and reached for Rainbow. But she wasn’t in bed next to him.

  As he sat up, she appeared in the doorway carrying a tray.

  “Rise and shine, sleepy-head…” she said. “Oh, you’re awake.”

  “…What time is it?”

  “Almost noon. I let you sleep in.”

  “I must’ve needed it.”

  “I brought you breakfast…I mean brunch in bed,” she said. “OJ, coffee, and toasted plain bagels with cream cheese. Your favorite.”

  She set the tray down on a nightstand. “Sit up and let me fix your pillows.”

  She plumped the pillows and arranged them behind his back.

  “Wow,” Jericho said. “The last time I had breakfast in bed I was about eight years old. I’d just had my tonsils out, and the next morning, when I woke up — my mom brought me a dish of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.”

  “This is a little healthier.”

  “What made you decide to do this?”

  “Does it really require an explanation?”

  “Dumb question,” Jericho said. “Guess I’m just not used to somebody... taking care of me.”

  “Me neither,” Rainbow said. “But last night, you showed considerable skill in… taking care of me.”

  “You mean...?”

  “Yep.”

  They both laughed.

  Rainbow showed Jericho a copy of Long Island Newsday. “I saw the paper on the porch,” she said. “I think you’ll find the headline quite interesting.”

  She held up the tabloid’s front page.

  12 MILLION DOLLAR QUEENS DRUG BUST

  Deceased hero cop’s final investigation

  uncovers major Mexican drug ring.

  Jericho’s face was radiant with joy. “Rainbow, this is all I could’ve hoped for. And it’s what Mouse gave his life for.”

  She sat down on the bed and put her arms around him.

  “And think how many lives he saved,” she said. “Twelve million dollars worth of life-destroying drugs that’ll never reach the streets.”

  The ring-tone on his laptop sounded, alerting him to a Skype call.

  Rainbow got up, fetched Jericho’s computer from his dresser top, and handed it to him.

  The screen told him his ex-wife was calling. He clicked on answer with video and her face appeared.

  “Hi.”

  “What’s up, Sarah?”

  “Katie wants to talk to you.

  “Great.”

  Sarah moved off camera and was replaced by a floppy-eared beagle. It was the plush toy doggie Jericho had sent to his daughter.

  The beagle bounced up and down, while Katie, off camera, spoke in a funny, squeaky voice.

  “Hi. My name is Bagel. Bagel the Beagle.”

  “Hi, Bagel.”

  “Katie knows you love bagels, that’s why she named me that.”

  “How’s Katie doing? Is she over her measles?”

  “Oh, yes. Her face was all swollen and splotchy. She looked like a creature from outer space.”

  “But she’s better now?”

  “Definitely. As a matter of fact, she’s gorgeous.”

  “Gee, I’d love to see her.”

  The dog on the screen was replaced by Katie.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Katie — you do look gorgeous.”

  “Who’s that behind you?”

  “Oh, that’s my friend Rainbow.”

  “Rainbow? Like in somewhere over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool name,” Katie said.

  “You know the rose tattoo I have on my neck — with your name on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Rainbow did it. She’s a tattoo artist.”

  ”Can I talk to her?”

  Jericho looked back at Rainbow. She nodded.

  “Um, yeah,” Jericho said. “Hang on.”

  Rainbow sat down in front of the screen.

  “Hi, Katie.”

  “Wow!” Katie said. “Y’know, when I said I was gorgeous, I was, like, kiddin’ around. But you — you really are gorgeous.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “You know my dad a long time?”

  “Just a few months.”

  “Do you, uh... spend a lot of time together?”

  “A fair amount.”

  “Are you two guys, y’know, in love?”

  “Um...,” Rainbow said. “Why don’t you ask your father?”

  She dragged Jericho over to her.

  “Daddy,” Katie said. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s none of my business.”

  “No. It’s a good question.” Jericho took a deep breath. “Rainbow and I, we’re really good friends. There’s a saying that love is a friendship turned to music. I guess we’re just now starting to hear that music. How long it’ll last — well, only time will tell.”

  Katie was replaced on the screen by Bagel.

  “That’s enough with the mushy stuff,” the dog said. “I just hope you guys keep having a good time.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” said Jericho.

  “And me,” said Rainbow.

  “‘Bye, Rainbow. ‘Bye Daddy.”

  “‘Bye, Bagel.”

  The computer screen flickered, then faded to black.