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by Joe
Rated: 18+ · Book · Crime/Gangster · #2036807
This is the second novella in the Jack Conley Crime series


 

    THE RECKONING
    By Joseph W. Larsen




























Dedication
            I dedicate this book to Michael L. Hughes
                You were one of the good guys, and my friend.
                I’m sure they shoot pool in heaven so Rack-um-up
              Mike it’s your game. You will be missed














Chapter-1


To a cop, losing a partner is like losing a member of your family. So after the violent death of Detective Sergeant Anthony (Tony) Ragu at the hands of Erik Varga, and then losing two of his closest colleagues Detectives Michael Hughes and Van Johnson to the same maniac before he could be stopped, it wasn’t hard to see why Detective Jack Conley had lost all interest in police work.
After their funerals, he tossed his gold shield onto Lieutenant Felker’s desk and said. “That’s it. I’ve had it; I’m putting in for retirement at the end of the month.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want, Jack? You have a lot of vacation time you haven’t used and a hell of a lot of sick time accrued,” Felker said. “Why don’t you use that time to decide if that’s really what you want to do? Either way, Jack, I’m one hundred percent behind you I just don’t want you to make a quick decision you may regret later.”
Felker picked his gold shield off her desk and offered it back to him. “Please, Jack take this back and take the time off. You owe it to yourself to be sure.”
Conley took the gold badge from the Lieutenant, thumbed the raised surface for a moment, gave a boyish grin to the Lieutenant and returned the badge to its usual place of residence on his belt. “Maybe you’re right Lieutenant. At any rate, I’ll give you to the end of the year. Then I’m out of here. There’s got to be more to life than investigating murders and living with the daily mayhem.”
As he was leaving the squad room, Conley noticed several uniformed patrolmen were struggling with a mountain of a man high on Angel Dust and they appeared to be getting the worst of it. He grabbed a night stick from the belt of one of the patrolmen and cracked the drugged out giant across his massive forehead. He dropped like a hundred pound sack of potatoes and lay motionless on the squad floor. “Well boys, I’d say he’s going to be a lot easier to work with now, what do you think?”
One of the veteran patrolmen Mike Boudreau rolled the big man onto his stomach, but was still having trouble putting on the bracelets. He looked up at Conley and said, “I think you’re right. Thanks a lot Detective, he was a handful.”
Conley handed the baton back to its rightful owner, grinned down at Officer Boudreau and said. “Just doing my job sir.” And then added, “You may need to use two sets of cuffs Mike; he’s a monster, I don’t think one pair will do it.
“Yeah, I think your right about that too. Thanks again.”






















Chapter-2


Ann was applying her lipstick at the dressing table as Jack stepped out of the shower. He caught her staring at him through a small circular makeup mirror. It made him smile and he asked if she liked what she saw.
At nearly six foot three, Jack Conley was an impressive man. And although he was now approaching the big 50, he had the body of a much younger man. His abs were still rock hard and his well chiseled chest tapered down to a thirty four inch waist.
Yes, yes I do, she thought as she continued watching him dry off in front of the half steamed bathroom mirror. “You’re a hell of a guy, Jack Conley and I’m glad your mine.” She smiled again to herself and then returned to her makeup.
Conley wiped the fog from the mirror with the bath towel and then wrapped it around his waist. As he shaved, he would alternate between looking at his face and hers. He looked down to rinse his razor under the faucet and when he looked back through the mirror, she was gone. When he had finished shaving, he rinsed his face removing the traces of shaving cream that usually clung to his ear lobes, dried off and splashed on the Old Spice. He had thought about buying one of the chic new colognes he had seem advertised with the thought it might somehow make him act, or at least feel, younger. But Ann seemed to like the scent of the Old Spice so he stuck with it.
When he walked back into the bedroom Ann was standing in the walk-in closet thumbing through a rack of dresses looking for just the right outfit for the day. She was wearing a very sheer silk robe, and as she slid the dresses on the rod, the robe separated and hung open exposing one of her breasts.
Conley knew it wasn’t polite to stare, but he found he couldn’t help himself. He just stood there like a high school boy getting his first look at a real pair of tits.
Ann must have sensed she was being watched because she turned quickly and caught him staring. She cocked her head and got that look, you know that OMG look. “What are you staring at? These,” she said taking the two sides of the robe and pulling it wide open. “There, now go to work you Irish pervert, and bring home some fresh shrimp tonight. We’ll have scampi for dinner. Oh and pick up a good bottle of wine too, ok?”
Conley pulled the towel from his waist and tossed it to her revealing, the rock hard erection her flash of boobs had created. “Your loss honey.” He turned and entered his own walk-in closet which included built in cabinets and drawers for all his socks and underwear.
The two had a light breakfast, kissed at the front door and left for their respective jobs. Dr. Ann Slater to the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital where she had worked her way up to Hospital Administrator;  and Detective Sergeant Jack Conley to the Atlantic City N.J. Police Departments Homicide Squad.

















Chapter-3


Jack was maybe a hundred yards behind the Mercedes stopped at the traffic light when the two car jacker’s came running from the curb. One ran around to the driver’s side and pulled on the door handle. It was locked. The second car jacker tried the passenger side door. When it would not open, he slammed the window with his elbow and shattered the glass. He grabbed the woman in the passenger seat by the hair and pulled her threw the window. He then drew an automatic weapon from his waist band, put it to her head and yelled for the driver to get out of the car. As the driver opened the door the car jacker hit him hard in the face and then grabbing him by the hair slammed his head into the door post several times dropping him to the pavement where he lay unconscious.
Conley couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You two ass holes aren’t really jacking a car right in front of an A.C.P.D Detective.” He hit the cruiser’s lights and siren.
The two car jackers almost came out of their skin when Conley hit the siren no more than twenty feet behind them. He had hoped it would be enough to make them just give it up, or at the least bail out of the car and make a run for it. If they did, the K-9 boys could track them down and pick them up. But no, these two ass holes decide to take off with the car.
The chase was getting a little hairy. They were blowing off traffic lights at nearly 100 mph. Conley finally decided it was just too unsafe to continue the chase at that speed in the city and began to back off the accelerator, but he did maintain a visual on the Mercedes. The two bailed out at a housing project on the west side and ran into the complex. Conley radioed his position to the dispatcher, requested backup and then pursued the two into the housing project.
“I’m too old for this shit,” he thought as he followed the two into the projects. He saw them run around the end of one of the apartment buildings. When he reached the corner of the building he stopped for a moment, drew his weapon and slowly turned the corner. The area behind the building was littered in trash and discarded furniture but there was no trace of the two car jackers. He slowly scanned the open area for any place the two could hide, but found nothing that might give up their location. Then he heard the metallic click of a heavy exit door closing. Like the kind you see at a hospital that shuts on its own from the overhead piston that pulls it closed. Conley scanned the area again and found what he was looking for. There was a heavy metal door on a landing some thirty feet away and Conley made a run for it. He took the six steps up to the landing in two leaping bounds, leaned against the wall to the right side of the door. He raised his weapon to chest height, hit the door and ran in.
He was standing in a lobby area with vending machines to one side of the room and two exit doors on either side of a coke machine. Conley slowly inched his way past what looked like an out-of-order pay phone and two candy machines. As he approached the coke machine, his thought was to enter one of the hallways and hopefully catch the bad guys. As he stepped past the soda machine, he was struck with a small covered trash bin thrown by one of the jackers.
The man was small and after he tossed the trash can he tried to run past Conley who was having none of it. He hit the jacker hard on the temple with the butt of his weapon, then spun him around pushing him face first into the coke machine. He then shoved the man through one of the lobby doors and cuffed him to the metal railing on the stairwell.
“Where’s your buddy?”
“Yo ah don ‘know what Yo’ jivin’ bout, Pig.”
“Oh, are you going all Ebonics on me now? I’m going to ask you one more time. Where’s your homey ass hole?”
“Fuck you, honky.”
Conley reached down and grabbed the man’s lower jaw squeezing it tightly, raising the suspects head until their eyes met. “One more time ass hole...” But before the man could get another word out, Conley heard that distinctive clicking sound again. It was the unmistakable pop of an exit door push bar being slammed down hard and it echoed even louder in the empty hallway on the second floor. Conley let go of the man’s jaw, smiled and said, “Don’t go anywhere homey; I’ll be back for you.” And then began taking the stairs two at a time. He burst through the second floor door into a long hallway and could see the second suspect, a tall thin man with a bushy afro running for the opposite exit door. He yelled stop or I’ll shoot, but he knew he wouldn’t and so did the second suspect as he burst through the door. When Conley reached the exit door he stopped to catch his breath and then hit the push bar and went into the stairwell. He assumed the suspect would head for the ground floor and then the street so his first action was to look down the stairwell. As he did, he heard the exit door on the third floor click shut and he took those stairs two at a time. When he reached the third floor landing, he cautiously peered through the doors small glass window and saw the suspect running down the hall towards the stairwell at the opposite end of the building.
“Shit,” he muttered, “I’m putting in for retirement today. I’m definitely too old for this crap.”
The suspect ran into the far stairwell, but then came back out and tried the door to the roof. It was unlocked and he quickly ran out looking for the fire escape. Before he reached it, Conley cut him off and yelled for him to get down on his stomach and fold his hands behind his head. Instead, the suspect climbed up onto the ledge of the building, looked down, then back at Conley, then down again and then jumped off the ledge.
Conley ran to the ledge expecting to see a bloody dead corpse in the alley, but instead, he saw the suspect inside a green dumpster. Even from the height of the roof top Conley could see his suspects arm was badly broken. The radius bone had snapped just above the wrist, and was protruding from his forearm. He was also clutching one leg as he rocked back and forth in the dumpster writhing in pain.
Conley took his time getting to the ground floor and as he passed the suspect cuffed to the stair rail he said, “You’re homey tried to fly on me but he crashed and burned. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back.”
“Who are you? “Arnold Mother Fucking Schwarzie-nigger”
“Schwarzie -nigger, that’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that.”
“You didn’t read me my rights, Pig”
“You’re right, ass hole. You have the right to shut the fuck up until I come back for you.”
When Conley got out to the alley, his suspect was still in the dumpster roiling in pain. He looked down into the dumpster and gaged at the foul odor emanating from several torn black plastic bags. “Holy Crap that’s bad. What the hell is that Homey, rotten fish?”
“I don’t know. Just get me the hell out of here.”
Conley stepped back from the dumpster to get a breath of air and looked around the alley. In a moment it was perfectly clear what was causing the stench in the dumpster. Hanging over a door on the opposite side of the alley was a large wooden sign that read Chi’s Sushi Bar.
Conley stepped back up to the dumpster to tell the injured man he would call for an ambulance, but when he looked into the large steel waste container, his suspect was unconscious. Conley stared for a moment at the comatose body in front of him, then in a very loud voice yelled. “Wake Up you Son-of-a-bitch. Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me go in there.” There was still no movement from the man lying on the torn bags of rotting fish and garbage. Conley thought to himself, “This is “Bull Shit” as he climbed up onto the edge of the dumpster and lowered himself in.
Balancing on the shifting bags, he bent down and tried to check the man’s pulse, but one of the bags tore open and his right leg disappeared up to the shin. The rotting fish and God knows what else clung to his leg like metal shavings on a magnet. He instinctively jerked his leg up and lost his balance falling backwards into the corner of the big green monster. He put his hand down to catch himself but the trash bags offered no support and he continued his fall only stopping when the back of his head cracked the metal wall of the dumpster.
Cursing and vowing again to retire, he stood back up on the stack of garbage bags, grabbed his suspect, jerked him up onto the edge of the dumpster and balanced him there as he climbed out. He then picked him up off the side of the dumpster, and slowly lowered him to the ground. As he checked again for a pulse, the injured man regained consciousness and the wailing and moaning continued until the EMT boys arrived.
Conley got to the precinct mid-morning to make out his report. He unfortunately wasn’t greeted by the usual “Morning Conley, how’s it going?” But he did get a lot of “Holy Crap, what the hell died in here?”
He marched through the precinct ignoring every barb and poke and went straight to the locker room, stripped down, showered and dressed in the spare set of clothes he always kept in his locker. His first thought was to toss his stinking wardrobe into the trash can sitting by the door, but then he just crammed everything into a brown paper grocery bag, rolled the top shut, put it under his arm and went up to the squad room. He sat down at his desk and put the bag on the floor by his feet.
         Detective Beaver came over with a file in her hand and sat down in the chair on the side of Conley’s desk.
“Jack, if you have a few minutes, I’d like to go over the Jackson file with you. I’m fresh out of ideas here. May be you can give me something to work with?”
“Sure” he said reaching for the file in her hand. Sergeant Beaver gave him the file but looked at him very strangely.
“What Beaver?”
“Did you take a shower when you came in?”
“Yeah and I put on another set of clothes I had in my locker.”
“Well, I gotta tell ya Jack, you still smell like shit.”
“Oh, that’s not me. It’s this bag of clothes here,” he said taking the paper bag from the floor and raising it to eye level.
“For the love of God, Jack, get that bag the hell out of here. It’s stinking up the whole squad room.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right I’ll put it back in my locker until I leave.”
“No, you need to get that bag out of the building NOW.”
Lieutenant Felker popped her head out of her office and said, “Conley, I need to see to you.”
“Sure thing Lieutenant, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“No, Conley, now.”
Conley extended the arm holding the brown paper bag and asked Sergeant Beaver if she would take it and put it by the back door.
Sergeant Beaver threw both hands up, palms out and said, “No friggin way am I touching that damn thing, Conley.”
Again the Lieutenant’s voice resonated through the squad room. “Now, Conley”
Sergeant Beaver grinned, “You mustn’t keep the Lieutenant waiting Sergeant Conley.”
Conley glared back at Sergeant Beaver with that, “I’ll get you for this” look and then turned and walked into the Lieutenants office, paper sack in hand.
“Sit down Conley. I’ll be with you in a minute. The Lieutenant who had been reviewing a file, closed it, set it down on her desk, looked up and said, “The District Attorney wants us to run over to Trenton this afternoon and pick up one Jarvon Davis and bring him back to Atlantic City. He’s a material witness in the… “What the hell is that smell. Is that you Conley?”
“No Lieutenant.” He lifted the paper sack from the floor. I had to pull an injured suspect out of a dumpster this morning.”
“Did you have to bring the garbage back with you?” She said staring at the paper bag. “Get that out of my office. “NOW Conley!” And take Beaver with you to get Davis.
Conley waved the sack in Detective Beavers direction as he walked by, “Let’s go, Beaver. Felker wants us to pick a witness in Trenton and bring him back for trial.”
Sergeant Beaver got up from her desk and put on her jacket. “I’m not getting into your car with that stinking bag. Get rid of it.”
“I’m not throwing out a two hundred dollar sport coat.” He lifted the bag and shook it in front of her. “I’ll throw it in the trunk until I can get it to the cleaners.”
“I better not smell that shit all the way to Trenton, Jack. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Let’s go.”
The drive to Trenton proved uneventful. The drive back was a little more taxing. The States witness was Javon Davis, and at six feet six inches and on just the short side of four hundred pounds, he was an impressive piece of work. From the moment he got into the police cruiser he incessantly went on about not getting enough to eat that morning for breakfast and continued nonstop until Conley finally pulled into a McDonalds and got him four Quarter pounders, three large fries, and a shake. “That will have to hold you until dinner Big Boy and I don’t want to hear another damn word out of you until we get to Atlantic City.”
Conley and Beaver got back to the precinct just as their shift was ending. They handed Davis over to the desk sergeant and clocked out.
“Have a good night, Laurel”
“Yeah, you too, Jack. See you tomorrow. Say hi to Ann for me.”
“You got it.”
On the way home Conley stopped at the market picked up the shrimp Ann had asked for and the bottle of wine. He was not a wine connoisseur and relied on the clerk to suggest a wine that would go good with scampi.
As he drove up the drive of his future wife’s estate, he still found it hard to believe that of all the available men in North America she fell in love with him, an unrefined Irish American Cop.
He parked the cruiser on the cobble stone drive, grabbed the shrimp and wine and got out. A few steps up the walk he stopped turned and returned to the car. “I better let those clothes air out a bit before I take them to the cleaners.” He thought as he the popped the lid and removed the bag from the trunk. Holy crap, he thought holding the paper bag out away from his body, these clothes are ripe.
As he walked through the foyer toward the kitchen he called out to Ann. “I’m home honey. I picked up the shrimp and wine. I’ll leave them in the kitchen.”
He put the bag of foul smelling clothes on the sink counter along with the bottle of wine and put the shrimp into the refrigerator then went into the bathroom.
Ann came out expecting to see her fiancée, but instead encountered a foul smelling paper grocery bag and the bottle of wine. She picked up the bag to look inside, but gagged and dropped it back onto the counter top. “Jack, these shrimp are rotten. Couldn’t you tell that when you bought them?”
By this time Jack had returned from the bathroom and was leaning against the refrigerator grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Yeah, Baby” he said. “But he gave me a really good deal on them and said we just had to cut off the bad parts and the rest would be fine.”
“Are you crazy, Jack? I’m not eating those.”
“Neither am I, Honey.” He opened the refrigerator took out the shrimp and said. “Bon Appetit” as he handed her the fresh package. “That bag has the clothes I wore to work this morning.”
“I’m sure there’s a hell of a story to go along with that bag, Jack Conley, but right now I just need you to get it out of the house.
Ann was cooking the scampi as Jack tossed a salad when he finally got around to telling her what his entire homicide squad had known for some time now. “I’ve decided to retire from the force.”
“I think that’s a good idea, Jack. You’ve certainly earned it. When’s the big day, Honey?”
“I told Lieutenant Felker I would stay until the end of the year, but I was thinking maybe after the wedding would be better.”
“What wedding?” She said while stirring the sautéed shrimp in the pan in front of her and not yet looking at him.
“Ours, if you’ll have me?”
“Is this your idea of a proposal, Jack Conley?” She turned the heat off the burner, rubbed her hands on her apron and then extended her left hand jiggling her ring finger at him. 
“Well, this isn’t how I had planned to ask you”, he said while going down on one knee. “But yes, will you marry me, Ann Slater?” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small blue velvet box. “I’ve been carrying this around with me for a while waiting for the right moment. I guess this is it” he said opening the box. He removed a two carat Emerald cut diamond in a beautiful platinum setting. He took her extended hand in his, and slid the ring onto her finger. “I love you, Ann. Will you marry me?”
He didn’t know it yet, but he had just made her the happiest woman in the world. She had been waiting for this moment for months, rehearsing over and over in her head her response to this all important question. And as she looked down at the big man kneeling in front of her, all she could muster was “Yes, yes I will.”
That night the sex was explosive. And afterward, lying next to this absolutely beautiful woman Conley thought to himself. “I should have asked her to marry me months ago. What the hell was I thinking? She’s the greatest thing to come into my life in years. She’s beautiful, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, and she actually said she loves me. I just hope I can keep up with her.”


















Chapter-4


It was almost one year to the day of the funerals of Detectives Ragu, Hughes, and Johnson, that Detective Sergeant Jack Conley and Dr. Ann Slater were engaged. Conley knew Ann was wealthy, but had no idea just how wealthy until they began to plan for their honeymoon. Jack suggested it might be nice to go down to Key West for a few days, do some deep sea fishing, lie out on the beach drinking Margaritas and in general forget about the rest of the world.
         Ann smiled at him and said, “I like the part about the beach, Jack, and the frozen Margaritas sound just marvelous. But what would you say to Tahiti rather than Key West?”
         “Sweetheart, I’m a Detective in Atlantic City New Jersey, not the Police Commissioner. A few days in Key West is about all I can comfortably handle, Honey.”
         “Jack, I told you my father left me the house right?”
         “Sure, but what’s that got to do with our honeymoon, babe?”
         “The house is over seven thousand square feet sitting on ten acres of land. The real estate tax alone is more than your annual salary. Just how did you figure I could afford to live here?”
         “I guess I didn’t think about it.”
         “My father left me a lot of money.”
         “How much?”
         “A lot.”
         “How much Ann?”
         “A lot.”
         “Ann.”
         “Two Hundred Million Dollars.”
         “TWO HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS!”  Just when had you planned on telling me you where an heiress?”
         “I’m not an heiress, Jack.”
         “Two hundred million Franklins beg to differ. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I wanted to tell you, but there was a stipulation in my father’s will, that unlike my mother, I had to marry for love, and that the man I marry has to show that he loves me for who I am and not for what I have.
         “Did I pass the test?”
“With flying colors, Sweetie. The attorneys for my father’s estate have signed off on you.”
“You know, Honey, I promised I would retire from the A.C.P.D. and I always keep my word, but quite frankly, I’m not sure how to handle being a kept man. When do I sign the Pre-Nup?”
“Funny you should bring that up. The attorney’s wanted you to sign one before the wedding. I told them that if I followed my father’s wishes and married for love there would be no Pre-Nuptial Agreement. Is that ok with you Jack?”
“Yeah, and so is Tahiti.”





















Chapter-5


Living in the mansion took some getting used to. For one thing, the walk in closet in the master bedroom was larger than his entire apartment in the City. And then there was the ribbing from the guys at the precinct. They had taken to calling him Mr. Burke after Amos Burke the millionaire Captain of the Los Angeles police homicide division in the detective series “Burks Law” that ran on television in the mid 1960’s. Burke was chauffeured around to solve crimes in his Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud II.
The guys in the precinct kept the ribbing about his wealthy fiancée light and usually in a good humor and when all was said and done; his future station in life would come with some really great perks. Not the least of which was being able to avoid eating most of his meals at the greasy spoon diners that had been clogging his arteries for years. Although he figured the occasional Italian sausage with extra onions and peppers from Uncle Vinnie’s lunch wagon could stay on his new healthier diet. He could always take the antacids he kept in the glove box of his cruiser if Uncle Vinnie got a little too spicy for him.




























Chapter-6


As Conley and Detective Beaver were clocking out from their shift, Laurel said she was going to stop by Twitty’s Tavern for a drink before going home and asked if he would like to join her.
         “Yeah, sounds good, I haven’t been by Twitty’s place in months. I need to pick up some dry cleaning before they close. I’ll meet you over there in say thirty minutes or so, ok?”
         “Sure, she said. See you there”
         Bill Twitty looked up from the beer cooler he was icing down, saw Conley and said, “Hey, Jack long time no see. What can I get you?”
         “Give me the usual, Bill.”
“You got it big boy.”
Twitty turned and took the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey from the shelf behind the bar, poured two fingers into a shot glass and set it down in front of Conley along with a cold crisp bottle of Harp Irish Lager from the iced down cooler.
“So Jackie boy I hear you may be retiring at the end of the year.”
Conley took a sip of the whiskey, set the shot glass on the bar and said. “You heard that did you, from whom?”
By the tone of Conley’s voice, Twitty felt like he may have touched a nerve on the big guy and tried to back off. “Oh hell, Jack, I don’t remember. Just one of the guys.”
Conley took another sip of whiskey this time following it with a long drink of beer. “I won’t lie to you, Bill, I have been giving it some thought, but nothing is carved in stone. You know what I mean?”
“Sure I know exactly what you mean. When I retired from the force I wasn’t sure if I had done the right thing. But then I started this bar and never looked back. The important thing is to keep busy at something. You can’t just sit at home all day watching the boob tube. You’ll go nuts. I know I tried that for a while. It almost got me a divorce. You ready for another shot?”
“No, I’m good for now.” Conley spun on his bar stool to scan the rest of the tavern. Detective Sergeant Beaver and a few of the other Detectives from the squad were playing pool on the table at the back of the room. He hadn’t picked up a stick in years, but the sight of the balls caroming around the table and the distinctive click when the cue ball made contact with an object ball piqued his interest. It got him to wondering if he still had any remnant of the smooth stroke he once possessed on the table. What the hell he thought as he pulled a five spot from his money clip and asked Twitty for some quarters.
“Are you going to give them a lesson on the table, Jack?”
“Lesson? I haven’t shot pool in years.”
“I seem to remember you being a pretty good player maybe ten years ago.”
“Ten years, ha, try twenty years ago.” He took the quarters from Twitty and swung back around to face the table. He walked up to the players and asked who was up next. A rookie patrolman he recognized but could not put a name to said, “You are Detective.” So he neatly stacked four quarters on the side rail above the coin slot and stood back.
Sergeant Beaver was bent over the table lining up a shot on the eight ball. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at Conley. “You don’t want any of this I’m hot tonight, Jack Conley. You’d just be throwing your quarters away.”
Conley smiled at her “You’re probably right, Laurel.” He slid the quarters into their slots and pushed them into the coin box. “I’ll rack.”
Conley walked over to the wall rack looking for a relatively straight cue stick with a decent tip. While most of the cues were straight, none had a decent tip. With years of play and no maintenance, the tips were as flat as a witch’s tit. On the up side, no one had a good cue so he wasn’t at a disadvantage.
Laurel broke the rack, but nothing fell. Conley looked over the table and decided the solid balls were his best option. He thought that if he could sink the five ball in the corner pocket and draw the cue back about eighteen inches he could make the four in the side pocket and from there it looked like an easy out. He got down on the five ball, stroked the cue a few times and took the shot. The worn tip would not take the English and the tip of the cue slid under the cue ball sending it into the air and off the table. Good start, he thought. Well that’s it for draw and English. If I get another shot I have to stick with center ball hits and maybe just a little follow on the ball if I need to make it roll out.
Beaver laughed as she watched the cue ball sail past her, bounce several times on the tile floor and come to rest under a couple sitting at a table on the other end of the bar.
“Nice shot, Conley, but were playing on this table, not under that one.” She pointed across the room, grinning.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said as he walked across the room to retrieve the ball and return it to the table.
Beaver set the cue ball behind an imaginary line running through the foot spot and extending left and right to the side rails. For as much as the balls were separated after the break, there wasn’t much for Beaver to shoot at. She tried to run the ten ball into the corner, but she hit it way too hard and the ball jawed the pocket but would not fall.
Realizing the limitations on the cues made all the difference in the world. Conley looked over the table again and could clearly see a pattern using the solid balls he worked backwards from the eight ball to find the easiest run. Once he had the pattern down the game was over. He ran the solids off the table then called an easy corner pocket shot on the eight and thanked Beaver for the game.
Beaver put four more quarters on the rail of the table and said, “You got a lucky break when that ten ball hung up in the corner pocket.”
“Yeah, I sure did. Lucky break for me. You’re rack Sweetheart.”
It was like riding a bicycle. You really don’t forget. The more he played, the more in stroke he got and the better he seemed to get. Or as Beaver put it, “The luckier he got with each game.” Either way, other than the first four quarters he donated, pool for the rest of the night and several beers were on everyone else. Finally he just got tired of playing and after sinking the eight ball for the umpteenth time, pointed to Laurel who was waiting her turn at the table and said “Laurel, why don’t you take my game, I really have to go.”
“Sure Jack thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Back at the bar, Bill Twitty who was washing glasses remarked about how well he had played and asked if he would be interested in playing on his APA team on Wednesday nights.
“No, I don’t think so, Bill. This was fun tonight, but I’ll be getting married soon and I have the feeling my new bride wouldn’t be real crazy about my hanging out in a bar shooting pool until midnight. And then I’d still have an hour’s drive to get home after that. I wouldn’t get home until after one in the morning and you want me to do that every week. Just not going to happen Bill. Maybe if you just needed a fill in once in a while I could do that, but every week? No way. I gotta get home. What are the damages tonight?”
“Let’s see, you had a beer and a shot, and that round of drinks you got the guys from the fire house. Call it thirty bucks even.”
Conley tossed two twenties onto the bar and started out.
“I have your number, Jack. I’ll call you if I ever need a fill in for one of my guys ok, I’ll put you in as our alternate player.”
“Yeah, that would be ok. Just don’t make a habit of it, ok.”
“Sure Jack thanks.”
It was a good hour’s drive back to the house and it gave Jack plenty of time to relive his exploits on the pool table which he did over and over. He still had a game. Even with a bad cue tip he kicked ass all night.
As he pulled up the drive to the house, the thought of Bill thinking he was good enough to use as an alternate on his pool team. It made him feel good and he now half hoped Bill would actually call and ask him to play. And the more he thought about it the more he wanted to play. He’d been smitten by the pool gods and was now hooked. His next thought was wouldn’t Ann just love a beautiful billiard table in the library.
Ann was in the den sorting through the day’s mail. She looked up when she heard him walk in. “You’re running a little late tonight. How was your day, Honey?”
“Oh, you know the usual cops and robbers stuff. I did stop off at Twitty’s for a beer on the way home and played a few games of pool with some of the guys.”
“How did you play?”
“Pretty good actually considering none of Twitty’s cue sticks has a decent tip so you can’t use any English on the ball.”
“English on the ball sounds like you know your way around a pool table. What do you credit that with, you’re misspent youth?”
“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, Twitty thought I was good enough to play on his Wednesday night pool league.”
“Sounds like fun. What did you tell him?”
“I told him I wasn’t interested in playing every week, but if he ever needed someone to fill in for one of his guys I wouldn’t mind that. So he said he would sign me up as an alternate player for his team and call me if he needs someone.”
“I didn’t know you were into playing pool, Jack.”
“I didn’t either until I got back on the table. I guess it’s like riding a bicycle. Once you’ve got it, you don’t forget.”
“How about you, Babe, ever play pool?”
“Not much. A little in collage when we went to the bars on the weekends. The guys would give us lessons but I think they just wanted to see us bent over the table with our short skirts and halter tops. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think I do and I have to tell you that things haven’t changes much. There were two young girls at Twitty’s tonight playing pool with a couple of our rookie officers. They were giving the girls lessons too.”
Ann cocked her head to the side, raised one eyebrow, smiled and said.“And I bet you enjoyed that as much as the two young officers didn’t you Jack Conley?” Conley smiled back and said.
“I’m old Honey, not dead.”
“Well, If Twitty calls, I think you should go and have some fun with the guys. If you really like it we can put a table in the library for you to practice on. I’m sure there’s more than enough room in there for one.”
“Do you really think so, honey…?”
It took a few weeks, but the call from Twitty finally came. They had an away game and would be playing at Sharks Lounge in Egg Harbor. Conley asked Ann if she would like to go with him to watch the match and much to his surprise she said she’d love to.
Twitty had told Conley the matches usually start by 7:00 PM and are over by 11:00 PM.  Jack and Ann got to the bar at a quarter to seven, ordered a couple of drinks and waited for Twitty who usually ran late according to one of his regular team players, Marshal Puckett, who was already at the table practicing for his match.
Sharks Lounge was a small seedy looking joint with a bar running along one wall. It had a small elevated stage in the center of the room separating the pool table from a small dance floor. There was also a three inch chrome pipe extending from the stage floor to the ceiling to accommodate pole dancing and several bar stools set around the stage.
Jack and Ann sat on two of the stage stools facing the pool table, watching Puckett work his way around the table. He was a pretty good player, making most of the shots he tried for. When he finished pocketing the balls he asked Conley if he would like to play a game or two to warm up before the matches started.
Puckett saw him reaching into his pocket looking for some quarters to feed the coin slot and told him not to worry about paying for each game because the table was unlocked on league night and the dues each team member paid weekly covered the cost of the table for the night.
Conley walked over to the wall rack and picked what he thought was the best of some really poor sticks. He found a broken piece of chalk on a ledge running the length of the wall, chalked the worn tip as best he could and broke the rack. He had a miscue, missing the rack completely and scratched into the corner pocket. He looked over at Ann who gave him one of those what the hell was that looks followed by her lip sinking the words. “You can do it baby.” And then she blew him a kiss.
He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and then smiled at her and went to the string line to break again. This time he made clean contact on the cue ball with the flattened tip and sent the balls exploding in every direction. Two solids and a stripe fell and he ran the rest of the solids off the table and sunk an easy eight ball for a win. He walked over to Ann, picked up his beer, took a long swig and said, “See baby, just like riding a bike.” She looked up at him, smiled and gave him a playful pat on the ass. “I knew you could do it, now go kick some butt for mama.”
“You got it sweetie!”
Twitty finally showed up at seven thirty with the score sheets and handy cap records for each player on his team. Players were rated by their skill level from 2 to 9. Conley not having played before and not having a ranking was assigned a skill level of 4 for his first week playing in the league. Each team has five players and each player plays three matches for the night. Conley’s first match was against the other team’s captain, a stocky man in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore his baseball cap backwards and during his practice game he moved around the table like the old pool hustler, Minnesota Fats.
The two men lagged for the break with Conley winning the lag by leaving his ball closer to the foot rail than his opponent. After the break Conley had no shot and decided to play a safe. The Captain of the other team also tried to play a safe, but left Conley a tough long cut on the two ball. He made the ball, ran out the rest of the solids but had no shot on the eight ball. He called safe, hit the eight ball and froze the cue ball up against two of his opponent’s balls, not allowing him a good shot at any of his balls. He tried another safe on Conley but left him a long bank shot into the corner pocket. He stroked his cue a few times and then sent the cue ball hard into the eight ball sending it into the head rail and back into the left hand corner pocket for the win.
After the game Conley walked over to him and while extending his hand, said “Good Game”
Rather than shaking his hand like a good sport, Mr. Backwards cap gave Conley a condescending look, tossed his cue across the top of the pool table, turned away from him and mumbled “yeah, right, good game.” As Conley turned to go back to where his team was sitting he also heard the man tell a woman sitting at the other teams table that Conley “Was just a lucky old fuck.” Conley took a drink from his beer and asked Twitty what this guy’s problem was.
“I’ll tell you Jack. You just beat the guy who won the APA world nine ball tournament in Las Vegas last month. I guess he doesn’t take losing very well.”
With that devilish Irish grin Conley said, “And especially to a lucky old fuck I guess.”
Conley won his other two matches and Twitty’s other players won their matches as well, knocking Mr. Las Vegas team out of a tie for first place and into third place in the overall league standings.
The high light of the evening were the two pole dancers. The first was a one armed pregnant pole dancer with obvious movement restrictions and the other was an unattractive overweight woman in her late forties who told Ann she would have to move from her seat because the seat she was sitting in was reserved for her tipping audience. Ann looked up at the dancer, smiled and told her to go fuck herself then went back to watching the pool matches and never gave the woman a second thought.
On the way home Ann kept remarking on how good Jack was on the table. Then closed the conversation with, “We definitely need to get you a pool table for the library.
Jack smiled to himself and then looked down at the woman gently resting her head on his shoulder, and said, “We’ll see, Baby, we’ll see.”


















Chapter-7


“Hey Collin, the boss wants you in the office.” Collin had heard that one before and knew it wasn’t a good thing on a Friday afternoon. He looked up from the cutting table and saw Mr. Smith waving through the glass window of his office in the loft of the packinghouse.
         As he made his way up the stairs Collin thought of the other jobs he’d lost in the past several months since the lay off at the assembly plant.
         He knew the coming speech well: “Sorry kid, I got to let you go. Business is down and we’ve got too many guys for the work we have. You know the drill, last in first out. Here’s your final check. Good luck I know you’ll find something. You’re a smart kid and you’ll do well. Bla, bla, bla, bla, bla.”
         Working at the packing plant wasn’t Collin’s idea of a dream job but it paid most of the bills and kept food on the table for him, Katy and Collin Jr. How would he tell Katy there were more food stamps in their future?
         Collin walked to his car at the back of the plant, got in, opened the pay envelope and stared at the check. He realized at that moment he didn’t have the heart to tell Katy he was out of work again. Maybe a beer or two at the Shamrock would bolster his courage.
         It was two in the afternoon when Collin got to The Shamrock. The large number of people there surprised him. Were there really that many guys out of work?
         He eased his way to the back of the bar and saw Tommy O’Farrell shooting pool with a biker type who looked more than a little pissed at the way the game was going. Just off to their right, sitting on a stool at the bar was Jimmy Boyle, the third member of the 5th Ave Boys as they were lovingly known on the block in Hell’s Kitchen where they grew up. Collin hadn’t seen these two knuckleheads in years, but it was too late now to leave.
         Tommy looked up from the table as Collin dropped his ass on the stool next to Jimmy.
         “Hey Collin, what the hell you doing here at 2 o’clock on a Friday afternoon, slumming?”  Collin just smiled and ordered a beer.
         The three had spent most of their teens at the Pool Hall and all had gotten pretty good with a stick, but Collin was always the best and not by a little, by a boatload. Watching Tommy clean house on the biker made Collin wonder if he still had it. He finished his beer, ordered another, walked to the table and put his quarters on the side rail and proclaimed. “I’m next, Asshole.”
         Tommy stopped in mid stroke, looked up from the table at the biker and said. “He must be talking to you, Asshole.”
         The biker lost it, pulled a blade from his boot and got within arm’s length as the butt end of Tommie’s cue slammed home across the big man’s mouth spraying blood, spit and teeth across the table like a 4th of July rocket display. The biker stood there dazed. Blood was pouring from the big man’s mouth. His eyes, glazed and unseeing stared obliquely across the room. Jimmy casually slid off his stool and ended the fight with a pint of Guinness to the side of the big man’s head. Jimmy then looked over at Tommy and said. “You owe me a fucking beer. He then dragged the biker to an exit door at the back of the bar, and dumped him into the alley
         Collin racked, Tommie broke and Collin ran the table just like when they were kids at the pool hall. Nothing much had changed in their game over the years other than Tommy losing some of his touch and Collin still in dead stroke. He still had it. He moved like a ghost on the table. Effortless in his stroke, dead on in his feel for the table.
“One more, Collin I promise I’ll kick your ass this time.”
“No, that’s it Tommy I gotta get home. You play him Jimmy. I’ll see you guys around, try to stay out of trouble.” 
         Collin had parked in the alley behind the bar and had never given a thought to the huge biker dumped back there after the fight. As he entered the alley, he saw the biker to his left sitting on the ground, back against the building wall, his head cradled in his forearms resting on his knees. He heard Collin’s footsteps and looked up to see if another beating was on the way. His mouth, lower jaw and a huge section of his neck were turning black from the trauma. Blood still oozed from the sockets where his teeth had been earlier that night.
         Helping a biker was not on Collin’s short list of things to do that night, but as he walked past the big man, he heard a horrific moan he could not ignore. He knelt down in front of the biker just out of arms reach and asked if he was OK. The big man raised his head, stared at Collin for a moment and then said, “Yeah man help me to my bike.”
“You need to get to a hospital man.”
“No just get me to my fucking bike dude.” The big guy got to his hands and knees, grabbed Collin by the belt and pulled himself up. With some effort they made it to his Harley. The biker sitting on that Hog made it look small. He cranked up the bike, gave it a few throttle twists, turned his head toward Collin and asked if he knew the assholes that jumped him. Collin said no and then added, “You still need to get to the hospital man.”
“Your right dude and I owe you one.” A few more pumps on the throttle, followed by that familiar Harley rumble and he was gone leaving Collin in the alley wondering what he was going to tell Katy when he got home.










Chapter-8


Collin pulled up in front of the apartment building; shut the engine down and still had no idea what he would tell Katy when next week’s pay check didn’t come. He turned the key in the deadbolt, turned the door knob, took a deep breath and stepped into the foyer. He pulled off his jacket, opened the hall closet and as he reached for a hanger the case caught his eye.
It was a custom made Jack Justice pool cue case his brother Jack had given to him as a high school graduation present. His senior year was a tough one and he was pretty sure there was no cap and gown in his future. But with the fatherly advice and prodding of his older brother Jack and the carrot he held in front of him in the form of that fine leather cue case and the Meucci cue inside, he made it through his final year and graduated with the rest of his class.
         Katy walked into the living room and saw Collin staring into the closet. “Honey, are you ok?” Collin did not response to her inquiry, his eyes transfixed on the cue case and his mind in another time and place. She put her hand on his shoulder; he pulled back sharply, with a startled look on his face.
         “Crap, Katy, you scared the shit out of me” then he began to laugh. She looked up into those haunting blue eyes of his and smiled.
         “Dinner’s almost ready why don’t you wash up and I’ll get you a cold beer.”
         “Thanks, Babe,” he said cupping his hands around the nape of her neck and gently kissing her on the forehead before walking to the bathroom to clean up. In the instant it took to reach for the towel on the rack, Collin knew what he had to do and it certainly did not include telling his wife he lost another job. As he sat down to dinner he told her the first serious lie of their six year marriage.
         “How was work today, Baby?”
          How the hell could she know he had been laid off? Panic and adrenalin surged through his body as he searched for an answer to her question, then just as quickly he realized she was just being polite. “They need a man on the night shift and that asshole Smith put me on it. Starting on Monday I have to work the 6 to 3 shift.”
          “Why you, Collin? Can’t they find a single guy with no family who would like to work the night shift?
         “It’s the same old shit, Katy it’s called seniority and I’ve got the least.”          
“Well I don’t think it’s fair” she said. 
         “Fair has nothing to do with it” he replied.
         The rest of the dinner hour was mostly quiet giving Collin time to plan his new career hustling pool. He thought that if he could play just a little better than he did this afternoon against Tommy he could make at least as much as he did working in the plant and Katy would be none the wiser.
         Monday night Collin kissed Katy and his son at the door and headed out to his nonexistent job. He was clearing $500.00 a week at the packing house so he figured he needed to win at least $100.00 a night to make it work.
         His first thought was to go to The Shamrock for some $5.00 eight ball. He figured if he spent the night winning three games then losing one he could make fifty bucks in a few hours then move on to another bar and do the same. As he pulled into the parking lot he realized that if Jimmy and Tommy were inside he’d be stuck with them for the night and anything he made on the table would be lost buying drinks.
Without giving it a second thought, he swung out of the parking lot and headed for Garvey’s on 45th Street. When he arrived, he parked his car on a side street and left his cue in the trunk.
Being a Monday night there wasn’t much of a crowd but there were two guys shooting pool in the back and a few others watching. He sat down on a stool at the end of the bar closest to the table and ordered a beer. He paid for the beer with a twenty dollar bill and asked for some quarters in change. He watched the two at the table for a while, tipping his beer glass in an “Atta boy” kind of way whenever the better of the two made a shot one might consider tough and each time the guy would cock his head and smile as if to say, “No Biggie”.
The taller of the two wearing an old tank top and raggedy ass jeans played like he had never seen a table before and would jerk his stick up and spin in a circle every time he made a good shot. The other guy, the shorter of the two, the “player,” was well dressed in an expensive pair of slacks and a long sleeve dress shirt that said “Don Reid Ford” above the pocket so Collin figured he was probably a car salesman with an “I’m the best” attitude and a few bucks in his pocket. He had a pretty good stroke but not good enough to keep his cash if Collin could get him to play for it.
         Every couple of racks a new challenger put his quarters on the rail and waited his turn to be beaten by the better of the two original players at the table. It didn’t appear to Collin as though any of the other players knew the little well-dressed man who was winning all the games, so about thirty minutes into his first beer he slid off the bar stool, walked to the table and put his four quarters in a neat stack of four on the rail above the coin slot. The little guy stared at him as he laid the coins on the table. Collin returned his stare and said, “The table’s open isn’t it?”
         “Yea, he said. “The table’s open. I’ve been playing free all night might as well let you pay for a while. Marty here has been paying for the last hour and a half and won’t even play me for a beer. How about it, pal. You want to play me for beers? Collin looked at the little man, smiled at him and said, “The beers in here are $5.00 a pop.”
         “Is that too stiff for you, pal?”
          “No, I just don’t drink that much. But I’ll play you for the cost of the beers. How does five bucks a game sound?” The little man leaning against the table with his cue pressed between his legs said, “Ten a game sounds better to me.”
The fish had been hooked. Time to reel him in.
         When Collin pulled up to his apartment building it was after 3AM. He thought the timing was just about right. He had told Katy the new shift ran six to three, he looked at his watch again it was 3:40 in the morning. “How good am I” he thought. Six to three plus travel time. Yep, 3:40 is just about perfect.”
He put the car in park turned off the ignition and reached for the door handle then abruptly froze in his seat staring down at his hands. He reached into the side packet of his leather jacket and slowly pulled out a fistful of cash, $350.00 in all. Pretty good he thought for his first night back on the tables. He squared up the rumpled stack of bills, folded it neatly in half, and tapped the wad to his lips a few times; he then put it to his nose and breathed in deeply. I love the smell of money he thought and this is just the beginning.
One of Katy’s hair bands on the rearview mirror caught his eye; Collin pulled it off the mirror and wrapped the cash with it then tossed the wad into the glove box. No way could he bring it into the house where Katy might find it.
         He hung his coat in the hall closet and then quietly entered the bedroom. Katy was sleeping soundly as he undressed and slipped into the bathroom. He washed his face and hands as he did every night after work. As he dried his face, he stared into the mirror and smiled. I got this covered he thought to himself. He hung the towel back on the rack and smiled again at the thought of how easy the money had come tonight and wondered why he had not done this sooner. He gingerly slid into his side of the bed, trying his best not to wake his sleeping wife. He thought he had succeeded as he laid his head on the pillow.
         “How was your first day on the night shift, Honey” she asked.
         “It was ok, but I’m tired as hell. I guess I’m not used to the late hours yet.”
“You’ll get used to it. It’ll take a few more days and you’ll be fine. You smell like beer, Collin. Did you stop somewhere on the way home?”
         Collin’s heart nearly stopped. The adrenaline flushed through his body like a bursting dam. “No, the guys on the loading dock had a six pack and offered me one when the shift ended”
         “That’s nice” she muttered as she drifted back off to sleep.
         Collin lay motionless on the bed, almost afraid to breathe. “I gotta watch that. That was a stupid mistake, no more beer.”
         The next few months seemed to fly bye. Collin had hit most of the local bars and was forced to go farther and farther to find new action. His first bad incident occurred when he drove into Yonkers looking for a game. He pulled up to Duffy’s Tavern stopping for a moment at the entrance and then circled the block looking for an out of the way place to park. He found an open space on the south side of the building near the side exit door, parked and went in. He noted the location of the pool tables at the back of the bar and their proximity to the fire exit. He didn’t expect any trouble but it was always better to have an exit strategy than not in a strange bar.
         “What’ll ya have pal?” asked the bartender.
         “Coke” said Collin. “I’m on some prescription meds and have to stay off the alcohol for a couple of weeks.
         “You got it,” no need to explain anything to me. The bartender grabbed a glass and filled it with Coke from a tap behind the bar.
         “Are the tables open?” Collin asked
         “Yeah it’s open if you got the balls to play with those two sharks; they have been winning all night.”
         “What’s the game?”
         “Eight ball. They’re playing for ten bucks a pop.”
         Collin tossed the bartender a ten to pay for the beer saying. “Give me some quarters in change ok?”
         “Your funeral pal” said the bartender as he took the ten and made change for him.
Collin watched the two men on the back table, both were strong players, and after four or five games neither seemed to have an advantage over the other and no advantage over him as far as he could see. He walked up to the table setting a stack of four quarters on the rail above the coin slot. The bigger of the two men looked at Collin and said, “Were playing for ten bucks a game. You up for that?”
         “Sure, what the hell” said Collin sitting back on a stool at the bar. “I’ll donate for a while.”
         “Damn straight you will” said the bigger of the two men. “I’m on tonight!” We’ll see, thought Collin.
         In Collins first game, the big man broke, sunk the one ball in the side pocket then ran out the remaining low balls and pocketed an easy eight ball for the win. Collin tossed a ten spot on the table along with another four quarters on the rail next to the coin slot and returned to his bar stool.
         The big man who Collin eventually learned was named Big Ray snatched the ten from the table, looked over at Collin and with a grin said, ”Hurts don’t it?” Collin just smiled back saying nothing to irritate his meal ticket. His next go at the table went better and he beat Eddy, the smaller man. The next two hours went pretty much the way he had planned; win three and lose one. He figured he was up maybe a hundred and fifty bucks between what he had gotten from Big Ray, Eddy and the  few odd players who came to the table feeling lucky but weren’t. All in all things looked pretty good and Collin thought it was about time to lose again, slip out of the bar and head home.
         As he was playing Eddy; Big Ray went to the bar for a beer. A tall lanky guy at the bar asked how it was going and Big Ray said, “I’m down a little Jimmy, but I think I can beat him.”
“Not likely,” said Jimmy. “I saw him playing at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen a couple of weeks ago. He’s really good.”
         “So you think he’s hustling me?” asked Big Ray.
         “If he’s not, he sure missed his calling in life.”
         “Thanks for the tip, Jimmy,” he then walked back toward the table.
         Without warning Big Ray hit Collin just above the left eye, splitting open his eyebrow and spewing blood in a torrent across his face. The second punch caught Collin behind the ear and sent him to his knees.
“We don’t like shark’s coming into our bar hustling us for our money do we Eddy?”
         “No, we don’t Big Ray,” Eddie cracked the butt of his cue stick across the back of Collin’s head sending him face first into the floor. He tried desperately to crawl under the table to get away from the continued kicking by the two men. Big Ray grabbed Collin by the ankle and dragged him out from under the pool table, hit him again then pulled the wad of cash from Collins pocket and stuffed it into his own. The bartender seeing what happened yelled over to Big Ray.
         “Get that piece of shit out of my bar. I don’t need any more trouble with the cops.” Big Ray nodded in agreement with the bartender and then grabbed Collin by the arm and dragged him over to the side exit where Eddie was waiting by the open door and two men jerked Collin to his feet and tossed him bodily through the doorway and out onto the sidewalk. “That’s how we take care of hustlers, Eddie.” He could hear Big Ray boast as the two returned to the bar.
Collin, fearing the two would come back out and the beating would continue, crawled across the sidewalk and hid between two parked cars. He propped himself up against the front fender of one car and sat there on the pavement until he felt strong enough to make a run for his own car.
He slumped into the driver’s seat, closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto the head rest. He remained still for several minutes hoping the pounding in his head would stop. It didn’t. He opened his eyes and looked into the rear view mirror. There was a deep ugly gash where his eyebrow had been a few minutes earlier. Shit he thought, I can’t go home like this.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, pressed it against the open wound and drove until he found a convenience store. Avoiding the cashier he went straight to the restroom, tossed the handkerchief, washed the blood from his face and packed a wad of toilet tissue into the gash. Before he’d gotten a few feet from the restroom, the blood had soaked through the tissue and was freely running down the front of his face where it lingered for a moment on his chin before hitting the floor.
Collin walked down an aisle toward the cashier who, seeing his condition began pointing to a shelf on the next aisle where he found a package of bandages, some tape and a bottle of peroxide.
The old man behind the counter took one look at Collin and the wad of oozing toilet paper and said, “You need to get to a hospital. That’s going to need some stitches, son.”
“Maybe tomorrow, but right now this will have to do.” he said as he put his purchase on the counter.
The old clerk seemed entranced by the horrendous gash above Collins eye and then after a moment of shared silence between them. Collin said, “Yeah I know, it looks pretty bad, but there’s not much I can do about it tonight.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad kid but I’ve seen worse. Collin cocked his head slightly and gave the old man that “Oh Really” look.
I used to be a cut man for professional prize fighters. I’ve closed up many a boxer over the years. Would you like me to take a quick look at it? I think I can at least stop the bleeding for you.”
Collin stared across the counter at the old man for a moment and then said. “Sure, why not.”
“I’ll need a few things,” the clerk said stepping around the counter. He went down one isle taking this and another taking that then returned to the register. 
“Come over here.” He pointed to a wash basin next to the microwave oven. “Put your head over the sink.” He dabbed cold water over the tissue paper to loosen and remove it from his brow where it had stuck like wallpaper to the dried blood. He then cleaned it out with the peroxide and packed it with Neosporin.
“That was the easy part; this next step is going to hurt like hell.”
         Collin looked up at the clerk. “Go for it old man!”
         “Yeah, you’re right about the old man part kid, I’m seventy two years old. I had to lie about my age just to get this job. “Now don’t move. I don’t want to get the glue in your eye.” He squeezed the tube of crazy glue around the edge of the gash and pinched it shut.
         Collin yelled an audible “Fuck Me!” as the old man continued pressing firmly on his aching brow.
“There, that should do it,” he said finally releasing the pressure on Collins eyebrow. “It’s going to burn for a while but the bleeding has stopped. You won’t be as pretty as you were yesterday, but it doesn’t look too bad.”
Collin thanked the old man and reached into his pocket for some cash to pay for the things the old man had used. His hand came out the way it went in, empty. I’m sorry mister, they took my money too.
         “Don’t worry kid, come back and pay when you can.”
         Collin thanked the clerk again for his kindness and promised to come back. Now he had a new problem. “How do I explain this to Katy?”







Chapter-9


As he approached the apartment, Collin pulled up to the curb; cut the head lights and sat there in the dark trying to gather his thoughts. He looked again into the rear view mirror. “Crap that looks bad.” His eye was black and swollen with an exceptionally large knot over the eyebrow where the clerk had applied the crazy glue.
“I was getting gas at the seven eleven and two guys jumped me. Yeah that’s what happened.” He fumbled with his keys at the front door and finally, with the use of his disposable lighter, found the key slot and opened the door. There she was in all her glory wearing that old pink robe she cherished.
         “Oh My God, what happened to you Collin?”
         “I stopped on the way home to get gas at a convenience store and two guys jumped me”
         “Come into the kitchen and let me look at it.”
         Collin slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and dropped his head as if studying the flaws in the aging linoleum floor not really wanting Katy to fiddle with his aching head.
         She gently placed her hand under his chin and raised his head tipping it back so she could see the damage his attackers had done. “That looks terrible; did you call the police to make a report?”
         “No, I hit them both a few times and I guess they had a change of heart because they both took off without getting anything.”
         “What’s that gob of crap in your eyebrow Collin?”
         “Crazy glue” he said.
         “Are you insane” Why would you put Crazy Glue in an open cut?”
         “I didn’t. The clerk at the convenience store did. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. The old man said he had been the cut man for several boxers and knew how to stop the bleeding. He put some antiseptic in it and then he glued it shut. The bleeding stopped immediately. How’s it look, Babe?
         “It’s hard to tell with all the swelling, but surprisingly enough it doesn’t look too bad. There is just a small pinch in your eyebrow. It probably won’t be too noticeable when the swelling goes down, but you should really go to the hospital and have a doctor look at it.
         “There’s nothing a doctor can do for it now without slitting it open again, scraping off the Crazy Glue and sewing it back up. I think I’ll wait for the swelling to go down and see how it looks. If it’s too gnarly or looks like it’s getting infected I’ll go, I promise.”
Collin spent most of the next day with an ice pack over his eye and eating Excedrin’s like they were Tic Tac’s. By late afternoon the swelling had begun to recede, but his eye socket was black and the white of his eye was a hideous blood red. Katy came in with a bowl of warm water and a face cloth and gently cleaned around the cut. When she finished, she tossed the wash cloth into the bowl, picked it up off the nightstand and headed for the kitchen. At the bedroom door she turned and said. “I’ll call Mr. Smith at the plant and tell him you won’t be in tonight”
         The adrenaline shot through Collin’s body like a cocaine rush. “No, Katy, you can’t do that.”
         “You can’t go to work like that, Honey; you need at least a few days to recuperate. I’ll just call Mr. Smith I’m sure he’ll understand.”
         “No”
         “What’s wrong with you? You can’t go to work like that. Why won’t you let me call him?”
         “You just can’t Katy.” He felt like his life was flashing before him.
         “Why?” She said again.
         “Because they’re laying people off every day at the plant and I’m not one of Smith’s old buddies. If I give him any excuse at all, he’ll cut me loose and we can’t afford that now, can we?”
         “I guess not, but it’s not right. If you have to go in, at least let me put a clean bandage on it and please be careful”
         “I will,” he said with a sheepish smile that was brought on more by the fact he had just dodged a bullet rather than Katy’s concern over his injury.
         Collin spent that night at Starbucks, nursing a café latte, playing internet games on his mobile device and planning his next move. It was a good thing he was able to build up a small bankroll as it took nearly two weeks for the swelling to subside and most of the bruising to fade. But now the money was running low and he had to make some cash. No more bars, he thought. Too dangerous for the return on his money.
         Pool Halls he thought to himself. “I’m good enough now to play better players for the cash, I’ll start slow maybe some $50 nine ball and work my way up from there.” When he got home that night he checked the stash of cash he kept in an old tool box and quickly counted it up.  “$850 bucks” he said to himself. “I thought I had more. By the time I deposit my phony job money in our bank account there’s only $350 left to play with. I better forget the $50 a games for now and get some $10 or $20 action to get this bank roll back up. Then I can play with the big boys for the cash.”
         Collin arrived at Steinway’s in Astoria, Queens N.Y. just before 8:00 PM. He parked the car, popped the trunk and took out the Justice case, slid his fingers along the exquisite leather finish and smiled. “You’re gonna make me some cash tonight baby aren’t you?” Collin spoke to the Meucci cue as though it were a living breathing thing. “Let’s get to work Baby. Daddy’s got to pay the rent.”
It had begun to rain and Collin made a dash to get under the green canopy at Steinways front entrance. He pulled the glass door open and walked in. It had been a long time since he played at Steinway’s and figured no one would remember him. He was wrong.
As he approached the counter, Manny the manager looked up from a newspaper spread open over the counter and said, “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch, Collin Conley, how the hell are you kid? Looking for some action?”
         “Yeah, but nothing too heavy, maybe some $10 or $20 nine ball” he said.
         “I’d stay away from the guy on table 6. That’s Earl the Pearl. He’ll take everything in your pocket with a smile. He’s the best nine ball player in the country.”
         “Yeah, I know who he is. Anyone else you can recommend?”
         “Why don’t’ you just take table nine over there.” He handed Collin a tray of balls. “Shoot a few racks. One of these guys will ask for a game, I can promise you that. Everyone in here thinks he’s an Earl the Pearl.
         Collin tossed the balls onto the table in no particular order and began pocketing them like they were laser guided. Even the very tough cuts were dropping way too easily. He realized he needed to back off if he was going to get a game with a chance to turn some cash. After several more carefully orchestrated racks, he was approached by a tall thin man with a bad complexion. “Looking for a game?” the man asked.
         Collin had been eying the talent in the room while he was moving the rock around the table and had noticed this one guy with his buddy playing nine ball a few tables over. He was pretty good, much better than his buddy, but no Hustler. Like Manny had said, “Everybody thinks he Earl the Pearl, at Steinway’s. Collin would make that work in his favor.
         “Yeah, maybe, what do you want to play for?” said Collin.
         “How about a little $5 nine ball.”
         “How about some $10 nine ball?” asked Collin?
         The tall skinny guy walked over to his buddy as if needing his permission to play and hunched over him like a vulture on a road kill. After a minute or two he turned back to Collin and said OK, but for $20 a pop. “And I need a spot.” Collin smiled at him and began to unscrew his two piece cue.
         “What are you doing, I thought we had a game?”
         “So did I,” said Collin, but it looks like you’re just trying to hustle me. I saw you playing over there before, your good; I’m not giving you shit.”
         “Just spot me the break and I’ll play you a ten game freeze out for $200. Collin opened his case and gently slid his cue in it. Before he could snap it closed skinny boy said, “Ok, ok, even up race to ten for $200.” Collin had set the hook, now he just needed to reel the fish in.
         Collin didn’t want to just blow this guy out so he played him like a fine fiddle with the hope of possibly getting another game with him in the future. He figured the less he beat him by, the less he would have to spot him the next time around. So he played the old bar room game. Win two lose one. It worked just fine and ninety minutes later he left with skinny boy’s two hundred dollars.




Chapter-10


Jack Conley had more than twenty years on his younger brother Collin, and was more of a father figure than a brother. The Conley’s were a large Irish American family from Hell’s Kitchen Manhattan, NY. The head of the family was an iron willed Catholic mother named Mary Elizabeth Conley. Her husband, Jack Senior, a foreman for Consolidated Edison Inc. (Con Ed Electric Co.) was killed on the job just months after the last child was born leaving her to raise the Conley brood on her own. There were fifteen Conley children in all. Jack being the oldest and Collin the youngest.
The fact of the matter is that Jack was actually Collin’s uncle. Jacks sister Marie was married to Joseph Redmond, who was an Army Ranger killed in action in the Battle of Mogadishu, Somalia. Collin was five when Joseph left for his tour in Somalia. He returned home in a body bag on Oct 4, 1993. Marie died eighteen months later from a drug overdose.
Mary took Collin, raised him as her own and nothing else was ever mentioned. Collin often thought of the huge age difference between himself and his older brother, but it wasn’t until his thirteenth birthday when he finally heard the truth about his mother’s death. Collin was hurt and although he was deeply loved by the entire Conley clan, he still felt like an unwanted orphan. He began skipping school and hanging out with a bad crowd staying out late and sometimes staying out all night. When Mary had come to the end of her rope, she called her eldest Jack for help to get the kids head straight as she put it so he could make something decent of his life and not end up like the low life hooligans he had been running around with.
         Jack caught up with Collin at O’Grady’s the local neighborhood pool hall and numbers headquarters for Hell’s Kitchen. He was in the back of the room with Jimmie Boyle and Tommy O’Farrell, just the two that Mary was trying to keep him away from.
         “Hello Boys” Jack said with a voice that commanded silence. “No school today? What Holiday are we celebrating? It must be National Fuck Education Day”
         Jimmy Boyle sitting in a plastic chair against the back wall squirmed in his seat and half giggled at the remark.
         “So you think that’s pretty funny do ya, Jimmy boy?” Conley gave a look that quickly whipped the smirk from the face of the young Mr. Boyle. “Get the hell out of here before I kick the crap out of you. That goes for you too Tommy O’Farrell. If I ever see either of you in here again on a school day I won’t report you as truant but I will take you to the plant where both your fathers work and turn you over to them for a beating you won’t soon forget.”
         As Tommy and Jimmy beat it out the back door of the pool room, Jack turned his attention to Collin. “What the hell are you doing with those two knuckleheads?” Don’t you even have the sense you were born with? Those two are going nowhere. You’re better than that, Collin. You’re smarter than both of them combined. All you have to do is apply yourself in school and the sky’s the limit. I don’t want you hanging out in here anymore do you understand?”
         There was silence as Collin stared at the floor.
         “Do you understand me?”
         “Yeah, I understand Jack, I understand you’re not my father and you can’t tell me what to do.”
         “Your right about that, Collin. I’m not your father. He was a hero who died for his country”.
         “Hero? That’s bullshit. He died over there for no good reason and left me and my mom with nothing. He was an asshole.”
Jack smacked Collin in the mouth sending him reeling into the row of plastic chairs along the wall. “Sit there, and don’t you say another damn word. Let me tell you what kind of man your father was and how he died you ungrateful little shit.”
“You know your father was stationed in Somalia. Well, while he was there military intelligence planned to seize two high echelon Lieutenants of the president of Somalia, Mohamed Farrah Aidid while they were in a meeting in the city of Mogadishu. The mission should have taken no more than an hour or so, but two of the Blackhawk helicopters were shot down by the Somali Militia. Your father was part of an Army force consisting mainly of US Army Ranges from Bravo Company. They were sent in to secure and recover the crews of both helicopters. They came under heavy fire by a Somali militia unit and a large group of armed civilians in a heavily populated part of the city. The ensuing battle turned into an overnight standoff between 160 US military men and 4,000 - 6,000 Somali militia and armed civilians. When morning came in Mogadishu, an estimated 1500 to3000 Somali’s and 18 Americans had been killed. Your dad was one of those 18 who gave his life that day. He was shot several times while carrying a wounded member of his unit from the street to safety.
You might remember a movie called Blackhawk Down. That was your father’s story. 
Collin looked up from the floor. His eyes were tearing over. “I didn’t know that,” he said.
         “I know, Collin, and when you’re a little older mom will give you the medal they awarded him and the flag from his coffin. Jack laid his big hand on the boys shoulder. Now let’s go home.”
         When they reached the house, Jack told Collin to be ready for him at 7:00 AM sharp, that he wanted to show him something.
         “What?” asked Collin with a puzzled look on his face?
         “Don’t worry about it now, Collin. It will all be clear to you tomorrow.
         Collin was already up and out sitting on the stoop of his mother’s apartment building when Jack pulled up to the curb, lowered the passenger window, leaned over and shouted, “Come on kid we don’t have all day, I want to beat the traffic.”
         Collin got into the passenger side and shut the door with a pronounced slam. Jack gave him that look, the one that says “You shouldn’t have done that.”
         “You know, I would have gone to school today. You didn’t have to drive me.”
         “We’re not going to your school today.” I asked mom to call in sick for you. But I expect you to be in school tomorrow and every other day until you finish high school and get that diploma.”
         “If I’m not going to school, where are we going?” asked Collin.
         “You’ll know soon enough. Do you want some coffee, there’s some in the thermos there”
         “No, I don’t much care for coffee”
         “Pour me one would ya kid? I need the caffeine to get the heart going in the morning.”
         Collin unscrewed the lid and used it for a cup, handed the smoking brew back to his brother who gingerly sipped at it trying not to burn his lips.
         They left the city and took the tunnel into New Jersey.
         Again Collin asked “Where are we going?”
         “In time, in time,” Jack replied, but said no more.
         Jack pulled up to the main entrance of the Atlantic City Detention Center and parked in the area reserved for law enforcement vehicles.
         “Shit, Jack, you’re not going to pull that scared straight crap on me, are you?”
         “Not really. But I do want you to see how the really cool guys spend their days and let you get a feel for what it’s going to be like if you keep on the path you’ve been on.
At the reception desk a guard checked their ID’s. Jack unloaded his weapons, a Glock in his shoulder holster and a .38 caliber revolver from an ankle holster and laid them in a tray which the guard set on a shelf behind the counter. 
They were escorted into a waiting room with a large barred window overlooking the entrance gate. As they sat waiting for the next corrections officer to issue more instructions, a white bus with barred windows and the word SHERIFF stenciled in large letters above the windshield pulled into the lot with the next batch of future residents who were being transferred from the Atlantic County jail. Twenty six boys of various ages, color, and ethnic background filed off the bus and stood in a disorganized group in the parking lot. Possibly the largest man Jack Conley had ever seen came out of the building and through the double gate where he stood towering over the motley group of boys. He addressed the new arrivals in a bellowing voice Conley could clearly hear through the barred window of the waiting room.
“Get you sorry asses lined up in a row and don’t say another damn word unless spoken to.”
         One particularly disrespectful bad-ass-want-to-be’s took a cigarette he had behind his ear, put it in his mouth and with a smirk said to the immense guard. “Got a light Sarg?” The guard walked over to him and smiled. “Sure thing kid” he said and then put the palm of his big right hand under the boys chin and squeezed both cheeks until the cigarette dangled from his lower lip where it now seemed to be glued in place. He picked it off the boys lip and pushed the entire cigarette into the wise guys mouth which was still agape from the force of the big man’s hand on his jaw. “This is a smoke free facility,” he said. “So that can’t be a cigarette. It must be a cookie, and since there isn’t enough to share with your fellow inmates, I suggest you eat it quickly before someone else tries to take it from you. And I don’t want to see one fucking crumb from that cookie littering this parking lot. You got that tough guy?” Still up on his toes and in the grasp of the corrections guard he nodded his agreement and then quietly eased back into the line of new inmates.
         With the toughest of the new bunch now quietly eating his cigarette, there were no further comments from the rest as they marched silently, single file into the detention facility.
         “I get it Jack. Can we go home now?”
         “Not yet, Collin. I have something else I want you to see,” Jack said.
         Another guard escorted them to an area where the new arrivals were stripped and forced to stand naked while each was searched for contraband.  They were then run through the showers, given uniforms, sheets and a blanket and made to stand at the end of the cell block waiting to be taken to their assigned cells. Jack and Collin stood by a guard post on the outside of the cell block listening to the prisoners describing what they were going to do to the new arrivals as each walked by a cell.
         Jack looked down at Collin and said, “That’s what you have to look forward to if you don’t get your act together, straighten up, and finish school. Every one of those boys will either get it up the ass every day by the general population or take a daily ass whipping trying to avoid the inevitable. If they are not killed first, they’ll offer themselves to the biggest meanest mother fucker they can find and become his bitch. You know what that means right?”
         “Yeah, I know Jack. Can we go home now?”
         “Sure kid, I think we’ve seen enough for one day.”
         “Thanks for caring, Uncle Jack. I’ll try, I promise”
         “What’s up with calling me Uncle Jack? You never did that before.
         “You are my Uncle aren’t you?”
         Jack hesitated for a moment then said, “Yes I am, Collin. Your mother was my sister and when she died; your grandmother adopted you as her son. So legally speaking, I’m also your brother. Which do you prefer?
         “I think I like Uncle Jack better. You’re too old to be my brother”
         I’m not that old.”
         “Yes you are.”
         “Ok then, Uncle Jack it is”
         They smiled at each other then drove home mostly in silence. When they arrived at his mother’s apartment building, Collin got out and started up the front steps.
         “Hold up a minute, Collin. I want to show you something.” Jack threw the car in park, cut the engine and walked back to the trunk popping it open.
         “No, Uncle Jack I’m not getting into the trunk, Fuck that.”
         “Really! After all we did today, you still think I would throw you in the trunk, and then what?”
         Jack reached down into the trunk and came up with something wrapped in a bath towel. He looked at Collin with a grin as he sheepishly approached the rear of the car. “You’re a damn good pool player, maybe one of the best in the city from what I hear. I’ve had this a long time,” he said handing the towel to Collin. If you graduate this year, it’s yours. Collin slowly opened the towel, when he saw the case he said. “It’s your Meucci cue.”
         “Yeah, I’ve had it a long time. It’s the one they call the Airplane Cue, and that’s a handmade Jack Justice case.
         “I can’t take your cue, Uncle Jack”
         “You’re not going to take it Collin; you’re going to earn it. There’s a difference.” Jack took the case from Collin, rewrapped it in the towel and gently laid it back in the trunk. “It’ll be waiting for you. Earn it.”













Chapter-11


Collin hadn’t been to the Amsterdam in a few years, but knew there was action there if you had the cash and the balls to take on a higher caliber of player. He came into the Amsterdam with $1000 in his pocket, and planned on leaving with a lot more.
         The room wasn’t overly busy, maybe five or six tables being used. As Collin approached the counter, an older gentleman looked up from his paperback book, smiled, gave Collin the once over, noticed the expensive case and asked him if he was looking for some action. “Yeah, maybe” he said.
         “What’s your game?” Nine ball, one pocket, straight pool?”
         “Nine ball,” said Collin taking a tray of balls from the counter man.
         “Take table ten over in the corner. I’ll see if anyone wants a game. What did you have in mind?”
         “I don’t know? Twenty or thirty bucks a pop.”
         Collin tossed the balls from the tray onto the table, took the Meucci form its case and began pocketing balls. It didn’t take long for the first hustler want-to-be to move in on the table like a Tiger shark looking for easy prey.
         “So, Scotty up front says you want a game. Give me the eight and I’ll play you for twenty a rack, Ok”
         “No, I don’t think so,” said Collin. “Twenty’s Ok, but no spot.”          
         “Ok, then give me the break.”
         “I’ll give you shit. Do you want to shoot some pool or yank my chain all night?”
         “All right, twenty a game. How about a ten game freeze out? That’s two hundred to the winner.” Collin could feel the fish taking the bait so he set the hook. “Ten games, shit, that will take forever. Make it three hundred and were on.”
         A tall skinny man in a cheap polyester leisure suit straight out of the Disco era approached the table and sat on a wooden viewing chair that was placed against the wall closest to table ten. The fish turned away from Collin and now faced the man in the chair who had heard their conversation and gave his nod of approval to play for the three hundred dollars. He turned back to Collin and said. “You’re on, let’s do it.”
Collin knew the pecking order in a typical pool room. A guy didn’t start with the house pro; he started with the bottom feeders and worked his way up, so he didn’t see any point in delaying the inevitable outcome for this guy and his backer, Mr. Polyester, sitting against the wall. Collin decided after the first break to shut this guy out as soon as possible and use the three hundred he’d win on the next player in the houses hierarchy of wanna be hustlers, at least one of which was sure to make a game with him before the night was over.
         “You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch,” said Mr. Polyester as he counted out the three hundred dollars. “Must be the Irish in me” Collin said with a smile as he folded the cash and slid it into his jeans pocket. He then gently unscrewed the two piece cue and reverently returned it to its leather case. “See ya around boys. We gotta do this again sometime.” The backer looked up from his chair and said, “Not without a fucking spot he won’t.” Collin touched the end of the leather case to his forehead in a quasi-saluting fashion, smiled at the two again. “I’ll get the table guys.” And then he walked away in the direction of the front counter.
         “What are the damages?” he asked the clerk.
         “If you’re paying for their time as well, it’ll be twenty two fifty.”
Collin tossed the clerk two twenty dollar bills and said. “Keep the change, and thanks for setting up the game.”
         “Profitable night?” asked the desk clerk.
         “Yeah, pretty good,” replied Collin.          
         “That’s good; I never liked those two assholes anyway.”
         Collin took one last scan of the pool hall before leaving. He turned back to the clerk and inquired about the guys in the back corner who seemed to have some game.
         “I don’t think you want to fuck with those three. The younger guy is Little Pauley Falcone. His father is a Capo in the Moretti crime family. He’s a mean one with a bad temper. The other two are Bruno Vincente and Geno Argo; they’re both soldiers working for Big Pauley and they’re probably here to keep an eye on his hot headed son.
         “Say, what’s your name kid?”
         “I’m Collin Conley,” he said extending his hand across the counter.
         “I’m Scott Roberson. Call me Scottie,” the clerk said taking Collins hand and shaking it firmly.
         “Thanks for the heads up on those three guys over there. I just want to shoot a little pool; I don’t need any more drama in my life”
         “I hear that,” replied Scottie followed by, “You should stop back in on Friday night. There’s usually a pretty good crowd and there are always a few money players looking for some action.
         “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind” said Collin as he turned and walked to the door.
As he turned the key in the ignition he thought to himself that the old counter clerk was probably right about getting into a money game with Little Pauley Falcone. But on the other side of the coin if he could make one good hustle on the kid, he’d have enough to cover the house bills for a month, or two. Certainly long enough for the Mafia brat to cool off and recover his losses on a less skilled stick.
















Chapter-12


         Collin woke up to the feel of something hitting him in the face. As he opened his eyes, Katy stood over him with a look that could kill. “I was doing the laundry and when I checked your pants, I found a fist full of cash in both pockets. Where did you get all that money and don’t lie to me because you know I’ll know if you’re lying.” Collin sat up in the bed, staring down at the pile of cash lying around him on the blanket. He should have stashed it away with the other winnings, but he was tired when he got home and forgot.
         He looked up at Katy, her expression was all business. He looked back down at the cash, knew the jig was up and said. “I won it shooting pool”
         “How could you win that much money? When would you even have the time to play pool? You work all night and… Ah shit Collin you lost another job didn’t you. What was it this time?”
         “Mr. Smith said that their business was off and they had to let some guys go.”
         “Why does it always have to be you who gets laid off? Why not one of the lazy bastards that hang around the loading dock all day and do nothing.”
         “They won’t let those guys go because they’re union men and they have seniority. Like Mr. Smith said, he would like to keep me but it’s always last in first out.”
         “What are we going to do for money now? How will we cover our bills?”
         “I wasn’t fired today, Katy, I was let go over two months ago and I’ve made enough playing pool to cover the bills, haven’t I?”
         “Yes, Collin, but that’s not a job with a steady income. That’s gambling and you could lose just as easily as win.”
         “I’m good, Katy, really good, maybe one of the best in New York City and I play smart. I’m very careful about who I play so I don’t get hustled. Just give me a chance to prove it to you. If I can’t bring in enough to cover our bills and then some I’ll quit and look for another job, I promise.”
“Oh, do you mean smart like the night you came home with your eyebrow glued shut?” She shot back.
         “That was different. Honey. That happened in a bar in Yonkers and I stopped looking for bar games after that.”
         “Ok, I’ll go along with this for now, but I don’t like it. And if you can’t cover the bills, you need to quit pool and get a regular job. And don’t tell your family what you’re doing. Promise me Collin.”
         I Promise, Babe and everything will be ok, you’ll see.”
Collin had felt a great weight had been taken off his shoulders now that Katy knew the truth. He didn’t like lying or keeping secretes from her. Now that it was all out in the open he could focus all his attention on his pool game.



















Chapter-13


The cell phone rang twice before Collin could get it from his jacket pocket. The screen read caller unknown, so he let it go to voice mail. Within a minute or so there was the familiar ring tone indicating he had a voice message. He went to voice mail, pulled up the message from the unknown sender and hit play.
         “Hi, this is Corey Nordmann from Soho Billiards. I was having a beer with Jimmy Boyle last night over at Shamrock’s bar and he said you play high stakes pool. Anyway, if you’re interested in a money game call me at 754-6562.”
Collin hit Return Call and immediately hit end. He thought. “I don’t know this guy. I need to talk to Jimmy before I call him. I don’t need any more shit right now. For all I know Jimmy was drunk and mouthing off again and the guy figures I carry cash and he and his buddies could jump me for it. Yeah, I need to talk to Jimmy first.”
         Collin pulled into the Shamrock parking lot just after 3:00 PM and as usual, Jimmy and Tommy were there knocking back Guinness drafts and were well on their way to getting wasted.
         Jimmy saw Collin approach the bar and in his best mock Irish tongue said, “Collin me Boyo, sit and have a pint with us you little Irish Prick.”
“How’s it going Jimmy?” was his response to the request. Collin then looked over at Tommy O’Farrell and repeated the question. “How’s it going?” Tommy held his beer mug up, tipped it toward Collin, along with the usual head nod indicating all was good with the world, or at least not bad enough to be a concern. He then downed the rest of his mug and waved to the bartender for another.
Collin turned back to Jimmy and asked, “Do you know a guy named Corey Nordmann from Soho Billiards?”
“Yeah, sure, Collin. He was in here last night. We had a few beers and shot some pool. Why?”
The bartender handed Collin his pint of Guinness. He took a drink, wiped the foam from his mouth and then said to Jimmy, “What did you tell him about me?”
“Not much, I was kicking his ass on the table and I told him that if he really wanted an ass kicking he should play my buddy Collin. He said he wasn’t a money player, but that he knew someone who was if you were interested. So I gave him your number. Did he call you?”
“Yeah, I got a voice mail from him.”
“Did you call him back?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
         “Good” said Jimmy, “and when you clean his guy out, don’t forget who put you on to him.”
Collin gave him that, who are you shitting look and then said. “Yeah right, Jimmy I’ll be sure to do that.” He finished his Guinness, got up from the bar stool and said, “I’ll see you two hooligans around.”
“Yea, see you around, Boyo” Jimmy replied with that boyish grin of his. Tommy just nodded. The Guinness had already taken control of his body and mind and a nod was the best he could manage.
On his way home he replayed the voicemail over in his mind and thought about how he would approach this money player. He finally hit recall. On the second ring Nordmann answered. “This is Corey, who’s calling?”
“Yeah, Corey, this is Collin Conley, Let’s get together.”









Chapter-14


It was late when Collin got back to the house. He looked in on Collin Jr. before quietly slipping into bed trying not to wake Katy. He lay there on his back staring at the ceiling, trying to picture how this money game would unfold.
         Katy rolled over, laid her arm across his chest and said. “It’s late, where were you? I held dinner as long as I could. It’s in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.”
         “No, Babe, I grabbed something earlier. I think I may have a game that will put us in good shape for a while if it happens. I got this tip from the counter man at Soho Billiards about a guy who lives in the Dakota Apartments and likes to play for the “cash” as he put it.
“Collin, just how much cash do you need to get in this game?”
“I don’t know yet I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Katy picked her head up off the pillow and stared at Collin through the darkness. He could feel her stare, and finally said. “What?”
“Collin, the rent is due this week, and we need groceries, so don’t even think about asking me to give you that money to play pool.”
Shit. There goes that plan.
“I only need a few hundred to get started with this guy.”
“No.”
“Ok, ok, don’t worry about it, I’ll just find a backer.”
“Who? Those two idiot friends of yours Jimmy and Tommy?”
“No, maybe, I don’t know.”
After a mostly sleepless night, Collin came to the realization that even if he had the talent to beat this guy at the Dakota, he didn’t have the cash to play. He thought he’d better get over to the pool hall, meet with this Nordmann guy and find out exactly what he would need to make the game.
Collin got to Soho Billiards a little after 4:00 PM, walked to the counter and asked for Corey.
“You’re looking at him. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Collin Conley. I’m here about the game at the Dakota.”
Nordmann leaned forward on the counter, resting his forearms on the glass top separating the two men. “His name is Thurston Grey. He fancies himself an expert pool player. He only shoots straight pool and likes to play for a $1000.00 a game. Can you handle that kind of action kid?” Collin didn’t have enough money to cover the first game, but told Nordmann it was no problem, and to set it up and let him know when.
“You got it. Oh and my cut is $100.00 up front for setting it up.”
Collin smiled and said, “I’ll give you fifty for setting up the game. If I win, you’ll get another $100.00. Fair enough?”
“Yeah sure, fair enough”
Collin figured he needed $2000.00 minimum for the game. He had about $200.00 and no good prospects for the other $1800.00. So it was off to the Shamrock and his two idiot buddies, as his loving wife had described them, to see if they could help.
Jimmy and Tommy were at their usual bar stools and again half crocked when Collin pulled out a stool and sat next to them. He ordered a Guinness and told the bartender to bring two more for the two hooligans sitting next to him.
“I got with Nordmann over at Soho Billiards about that guy he said is a money player. I could probably make a killing on this guy but I need at least $2000.00 to set it up and I’m a little light.”
Jimmy, who had been watching a girl with a short skirt at the pool table in the back of the room, turned and asked, “How light are you?”
“About $1800.00”
Jimmy took a drink from his fresh Guinness and said. “No Problem Boyo”
“You got that kind of money Jimmy?”
“Hell no!” But I know someone who does.” He took another drink from the mug of Guinness, and then said, “Let’s go.”
“Yeah, let’s go then” echoed Tommy slapping his hand hard onto the bar as he stood up.
The three left the bar, got into Tommy’s car and drove out of the city.
Collin sitting in the back seat leaned forward and asked, “Where are we going Jimmy? And who do you know with that kind of money that’s willing to give it to us for a pool match?”
Jimmy pointed his finger through the windshield and said, “There he is Tommy. He pointed to a Lincoln parked near an intersection. “Pull over here.” Collin stared through the windshield to see what they were looking at but could only see a few prostitutes on the far corner with what appeared to be their pimp. He slapped one of the girls and took a fold of cash from her cleavage and then returned to his car.
The three followed the tricked out Lincoln for several blocks as it made two more pickups and finally pulled onto a side street and parked. Tommy blocked the car in and both he and Jimmy pulled pistols and ran to the car. Jimmy grabbed the door handle but the car door was locked. He pointed his weapon at the driver who was reaching for a weapon of his own when Tommy fired through the passenger window hitting the pimp in the shoulder. Jimmy broke the driver’s window with his elbow, opened the door and grabbed the pimp by the neck pulling him from the car.
“Take what you want, mother fucker” the pimp said pulling cash from his billfold and an additional wad of cash from his now bloody coat pocket. Jimmy grabbed the money, spun the pimp around, pushed him against the car and hit him hard in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The pimp hit the ground hard and didn’t move. As Jimmy and Tommy were getting back into the car the pimp came to and fired a shot from a small caliber revolver he kept strapped to his leg. He missed his mark and Jimmy fired three shots. Two ricocheted off the pavement, the third hit the pimp in the chest. He slumped back against the front wheel of the Lincoln and died there.
“What the hell was that Jimmy. You just killed that guy!”
Jimmy twisted around in the front seat to face Collin and yelled, “He’s a fucking pimp, don’t worry about it. No one’s going to miss that son-of-a-bitch.” He then laid the wad of cash on the front seat, opened the billfold, removed the cash, added it to the stack on the seat and tossed the wallet out the window.
“Fifteen hundred,” said Jimmy. You’re almost there. “Hey Tommy, pull into that Haji Mart. I need a beer.”
Jimmy got out of the car, walked into the convenience store, took a six pack of beer from the cooler and walked up to the counter.
“Will there be anything else?”
Jimmy pulled the pistol from his belt and smiled. “Yeah, empty the fucking register and give me the surveillance tape. When the clerk had complied, Jimmy hit him in the side of the head with his gun and left him lying unconscious on the floor behind the counter.
“Ben Laden in there just donated another $400.00. It looks like you’re good to go for your game at the Dakota.”




                      Chapter-15


Collin got the call from Nordmann at Soho’s. The game was set for 10:00 PM Friday night. He figured to take Jimmy and Tommy with him as he didn’t know Nordmann or Thurston Grey and if this was a scam to get his cash, he’d feel a hell of a lot better off with his two oldest friends watching his back.
As parking was scarce in that area, the three took a cab to the Dakota Apartments. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk they were met by the doorman. “May I help you gentlemen?”
Collin spoke up. “Were here to see Thurston Grey.”
“Please wait by the gate, I’ll tell Mr. Grey you’re here.”
The doorman opened the door to his guard station, stepped in and phoned Thurston Grey’s apartment. He listened intently to the voice at the other end of the phone and then replied. “Yes Mr. Grey, I understand completely.”
Stepping back out of the guard post, the doorman approached the three men and asked which gentleman might be Mr. Conley.
“I’m Conley.”
“Mr. Grey is expecting you. He is in apartment 33. You may use the elevator just beyond the entry gate on your right.”
“Thank you, Jason” Collin replied having taken note of the doorman’s name tag which was pinned to his lapel. As the three turned to head for the elevator, the doorman stepped in front of the entry gate blocking their way. “I’m sorry, Mr. Conley. I cannot allow your companions in. Mr. Grey was very specific, only you may go up to his apartment.”
          Jimmy was more than a little pissed and began to show his ugly side to the doorman. Collin laid his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and said it was ok and for him and Tommy to go back to the Shamrock, have a few beers and chill out while he was with Grey.
“Really Jimmy its ok, look at this place. I don’t think I need to worry about being ripped off here. If things go well, I’ll call you and you can come by for me later and we’ll celebrate.”
Tommy flagged a cab and he and Jimmy left for the Shamrock bar.
Collin took the elevator to the third floor. As he stepped out into the hall, he faced two enormously huge ornate mahogany doors. A brass plate to the left of the doors was inscribed with the number 33. Well, he thought, that wasn’t hard to find. He raised the gothic looking brass door knocker on the right hand door and gave it a few good raps against the striker plate and then took one step back. In a moment, the door opened with a subtle creek. A tall gentleman in a black three piece suit and thin black silk tie stepped through the door holding it open behind him. Collin smiled and extended his hand. “Mr. Grey?”
“No sir, I’m Stephen, Mr. Grey’s valet. You must be Mr. Conley.”
“Yes, I am”
“Please follow me sir, Mr. Grey is expecting you. May I take your jacket and cue case?”
“No, Stephen, I’m good, thank you.”
“Very well sir. This way please.” The valet pointed to another set of heavy mahogany doors. As they crossed the foyer there was a pronounced click each time his heel came down onto the dark green granite floor. His eyes fixated on the grout work. It wasn’t a cement grout. The grout lines were filled with what appeared to be a bright silver metal. Stephen caught him staring and said,
“It’s quite rare to see sterling silver used for grout lines. That floor is over a hundred years old and the grout lines are polished four times a year to keep them looking like that.”
They passed through the second set of doors into an even more opulent living room. Collin looked around the room in amazement. He was pretty sure this room was bigger than his entire apartment. Stephen ushered Collin to the far end of the room where a rather distinguished looking man was sitting in a leather wing back chair facing a huge stone fireplace with a blazing fire that popped and crackled continuously. It made him think of Basil Rathbone in The Hound of the Baskervilles.
“Mr. Conley, this is Mr. Grey. Will there be anything else, sir?
Thurston Grey smiled, stood up and asked Collin if he would like a drink.
“I wouldn’t say no to a cold beer.”
“Then a cold beer it is. Stephen, I’d like another Scotch and Mr. Conley will have a cold beer. Will you please bring them to the billiard room?”
“Yes sir, right away.”
“Thank you, Stephen”
Thurston Grey was a little over six feet tall, of average build and appeared to be in his mid to late forties. He had a shock of thick black hair that was neatly parted on the right side and beginning to gray out at the temples. Collin found himself staring at this distinguished looking man who he thought had more than a passing resemblance to the actor George Clooney and wondered what kind of man would put up a thousand dollars on one game of pool and give it no more thought than your average Joe Blow laying down a two dollar bet at the local OTB.
Thurston put one hand on Collin’s arm and with the other pointed to a third set of heavy wooden doors to their right. “Shall we”
“Sure,” said Collin and they entered the billiard room.
This room was even bigger and more magnificent than the living room. It was nearly forty feet long and at least thirty feet wide. The walls were all exquisitely wood paneled and the ceiling was recessed with ornate plaster molding enclosing each of the sixteen squares that made up the massive ceiling. In one corner of the room was an L shaped bar with eight expensive looking leather high back stools each with uniquely hand carved backs and arm rests. To the left of the bar was a book shelf that ran floor to ceiling and was at least twenty five feet wide with several hundred books and had a beautiful antique ladder attached at the top and bottom by two sets of wheels locked into tracks that ran the length of the shelf. The other side of the room was dedicated to the game of billiards. A vintage Brunswick nine foot pool table sat two feet below the floor level in a twenty square foot pit with spectator chairs on the four corners looking down onto the playing surface of the table. Three large copper pendant lights hung from the ceiling to illuminate the pool table.
Collin tried to imagine what kind of money it would take to live in a place like this, but came up blank. One thing was for sure. Thurston Grey wasn’t your average millionaire. An average millionaire couldn’t afford this lifestyle. Collin finally decided Thurston Grey was a billionaire and probably many times over.
“Your beer, sir”
Collin turned his attention away from the pool table and turned back towards the bar where Stephen had set a bottle of beer and a cold pilsner glass. He then dropped three ice cubes into a Baccarat tumbler, added two fingers of Macallan 1926 and set it on a cloth coaster to await its owner Mr. Thurston Grey.
Collin laid his cue case on the bar and sat down on one of the bar stools. He picked up the cold frosted bottle of beer leaving the pilsner glass sitting where it was and took a long drink. Staring at himself in the mirror behind the bar, he found it hard to believe he was here to play pool for a thousand dollars a game with a billionaire who thought no more of a thousand dollars than Collin thought about ten.
“Collin, there’s someone I’d like you to meet before we get started.”
Collin looked around the room but saw no one.
“Dave, have you got a minute?” Thurston said in a voice somewhat louder than he had been speaking.
“Sure, Mr. Grey” was the reply from an equally vociferous voice coming from another large wing back chair that was facing the fireplace. The man in the chair got up and walked across the room to where Collin sat at the bar.
“Collin, I’d like you to meet Detective Sergeant Dave McCranie. Dave moonlights as a bodyguard for me on occasion. I hope you don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t mind, but why do you feel the need for a bodyguard?”
Grey walked behind the bar, leaned down and came up with several stacks of banded hundred dollar bills and laid them on the bar top. “That’s fifty thousand dollars Mr. Conley. I don’t mind losing it, but I’ll be damned if I’ll get ripped off in my own home. Detective McCranie makes sure things like that don’t happen.”
Collin looked at the money, then at Detective McCranie and finally his eyes settled on Thurston Grey and with a now agitated voice said, “Anything else I should know?”
“Just one more thing” said Detective McCranie. “I need to pat you down.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. I came here to shoot pool, not get felt up by an off duty cop.”
“I hear you kid, but all the same, I frisk you for weapons, or there’s no pool match tonight.”
Collin shook his head in disgust, but then hopped off the bar stool and stretched his arms out to shoulder height. “Like this, or would you rather like this” he said interlocking his fingers behind his head. Or maybe you’d like me spread eagle on the floor.”
“Don’t fuck with me kid; it’s been a long day. Just hold your arms out to your sides and we can get this over with.”
Collin did as the Detective asked and then with a sarcastic smile added. “Have at it, Detective.”
“He’s clean.”
“Great, now that we have that out of the way, are you ready to play some straight pool Collin?”
“I prefer nine ball or one pocket.”
“I bet you do. I shoot 14.1 straight pool, one hundred points, for one thousand dollars a game. Are you up for that?”
“Sure, I didn’t come here just to drink your beer and play grab ass with Detective McCranie.”
Detective McCranie looked over at Grey and said. “I know how to play eight ball and nine ball. I’m not familiar with straight pool.”
Grey swirled the ice in his scotch glass holding it at eye level. He smiled at McCranie and said. “Straight pool is to the game of billiards what this rare whiskey is to scotch. It’s the game of champions. It’s the purest form of the game. You can shoot any ball on the table but you must call the ball and the pocket it goes into. One ball, one point. You continue to shoot until you miss. You shoot fourteen of the fifteen balls on the table, leave the fifteenth ball where it is and rerack the other fourteen. If you have the skill, you can sink the loose ball and break open the rack with the same shot and continue to run balls. The first one to one hundred points wins. No one remembers a game of eight ball. But run a hundred balls and it’s the stuff of legends.”
Thurston Grey pulled ten crisp hundred dollar bills out of one of his stacks and handed it to Detective McCranie. If you have no objection Collin, the Detective will hold the bet for each game.
“I have no problem with that.” Collin peeled off a thousand from the wad of bills in his pocket. No he thought to himself, I don’t have a problem with that. The problem he thought is that Grey can lose all night and it’s no big deal. But if he lost the first two games, he’d be tapped out, and if he came home broke, it might just be the straw that broke the camel’s back with him and Katy. No, losing wasn’t an option tonight.
Grey took a small silver key from a shot glass behind the bar, unlocked a cabinet on the wall and selected a two piece cue from among several stored in the display case. “I just love this Balabushka,” he said as he screwed the shaft to the butt end of the cue. Look at the splices, and inlay work on this cue. The man was an artist. I paid three grand for this stick and I wouldn’t take ten for it.”
Collin took his own stick from its case, screwed it together and said. “Yeah, that’s great, lag for break?”
He didn’t need to hustle Thurston Grey. The Billionaire was more than willing to part with his cash, so Collin figured to take it to him and make it an early night. What he didn’t figure on was the ability of grey to run balls. Collin lost the lag and had to make the opening break shot. Two balls and the cue ball had to hit the rail to avoid a foul. On the break, Collin hit the right corner ball sending it to the head rail. At the same time the left corner ball came straight out and hit the left long rail with the cue ball hitting two rails and nestling itself near the foot rail. The two corner balls after contacting the rails slowly returned to their original positions in the rack and looked as if they had never left.
Grey walked slowly around the table studying the rack. “Nice break kid.” “Yeah, I didn’t leave you much did I?”
“No, you didn’t, but you left enough” he said as he chalked his cue.
“One ball in the side pocket” he declared hitting the left side of one ball which was sitting at the front of the rack and sending dead square into the center of the right side pocket. The impact also sent several balls out of the rack and left him an easy second shot. He ran that rack and the next five racks and Collin could only sit in the spectator chair overlooking the table and hope he would get another shot in the first game. He didn’t. Grey had just run a hundred and out on him and now he wondered if maybe he was the one being hustled.
Grey took the two thousand dollars from Detective McCranie, pulled a thousand from the stack and handed the balance back to him.
“Go again kid?”
“Yeah, let me just grab a smoke out on the terrace first.”
“Sure kid, you want another beer?”
“Yeah, and stop calling me kid ok!”
Collin stood on the terrace searching for an answer to what had just happened and whether or not it might be better to cut his losses and leave with the thousand he still had in his pocket or go after the three packets of hundreds that Thurston Grey cared so little about. In the end, he figured he earned nothing last week. If he could turn it around he’d have a small fortune, and if he lost the other thousand, he was no worse off than he had been except for another disappointment for Katy. He finished his cigarette and the last of the beer, went back in and handed Detective McCranie his last thousand.
“Rack em up.”
The second game played out with a lot of cat and mouse moves, both men being a little overcautious playing several safes on each other and not wanting to give the rack away. Finally with the score sitting at eighty seven for Collin and forty five for Grey, Thurston went for another safe and set the cue ball inside the edge of the right hand corner pocket on the head rail. There was no apparent good shot at a safety and he was already on two scratches, a third scratch would evoke a fifteen point penalty and probably cost him the game. The four ball was sitting very close to the left hand corner pocket on the same head rail but balls at the other end of the table would not allow for a carom shot off the foot rail into the four ball.
“I think I got you on that one, son”
“Yeah, Mr. Grey, you put me in a pretty tight spot.”
“Tight? You’re not tight Conley, your screwed.”
“Could be, but maybe not” said Collin. He jacked his cue up and said, “Four ball in the corner.” Then hit down vertically on the cue ball with a hard masse shot sending the cue ball about half way up the center of the table. When the English took hold, the cue ball arced to the right and then spun back toward the pocket occupied by the four ball. It gently tapped the four and sent it into the pocket with a soft clicking sound. Thurston Grey sitting in one of the spectator chairs thumped the butt of his cue on the wooden floor and said, “Bravo, Bravo Well done.”
Collin ran the rest of the rack, and had his thousand back, and his confidence.
“Let’s take a break Collin. Are you hungry? I can have Stephen fix us some sandwiches if you like.”
“I’m not very hungry, why don’t we just keep playing.”
“That’s fine, but I’ll have Stephen whip up something anyway. You never know. How about another beer?”
“Sure said Collin, a beer sounds good.”
The rest of the night was pretty much give and take. By four AM Collin was up three thousand dollars, had had a few too many beers, and was getting very tired. He wanted to leave, but needed to leave the door open for any future sessions with Mr. Thurston Grey. If he just said, that’s it; he may be killing the golden goose. Finally he said. “One more game if you like, then I have to go.” Thurston shifted in his seat, took another drink of his scotch and said. “That’s fine Collin. What shall we play for, I’m down three thousand?” 
Without hesitation Collin said. “Five thousand”
“Five thousand sounds good give the money to Dave over there. I believe it’s your break Collin.”
Collins break shot was almost a mirror image of the break shot in their first game, and Grey called the same shot for a second time. “One ball in the side pocket.” The one ball jumped towards the side pocket as it had done in the first game, but this time instead of splitting the side pocket, it hit the proverbial tit of the pocked and bee lined up the side rail and into the corner pocket. Thurston pulled the one ball out of the corner pocket and placed it on the head spot and then remarked “I didn’t see that coming.”
Collin gave him a puzzled look, then laughed and said. “Your shitting me, right? I mean what were your chances of making that shot, five percent, maybe less.”
“I’ll tell you what Collin. Forget the straight pool game. Five thousand says I can sink the head ball on the break three times in three shots.”
“No, let’s just finish the game we started.”
“What, no balls? I have less than a five percent chance of making the first one isn’t that what you just said. What the hell are the odds of making three in a row, a million to one?”
Collin thought about it for a moment, then figuring the odds were tilted heavily in his favor said. “You’re on Grey.”
Thurston racked the balls, walked to the foot of the table and set the cue ball on the string line six inches right of center. He chalked the Balabushka and hit the right side of the one ball using low left English on the cue ball. On impact the one ball fired out of the rack, and split the center of the side pocket.
“That’s one,” he said with a pronounced grin on his face, and then added Rack-um-up kid. On his second try, the one ball split the pocket again.
“That’s two.” As Collin was racking the balls for the third time, Grey turned to Detective McCranie and asked. “What do you think Dave, can I make this last million to one shot?”
“I hope so Mr. Grey. I’m tired, and I would like to go home.”
“You got it” he said and then hammered the Balabushka into the cue ball while still looking up at the Detective. As with his first two attempts, the one ball tracked into the side pocket like a laser guided missile. “That’s three Collin. Are you up for another game of straight pool?”
“No, Mr Grey, that’s it for me tonight. I’m tapped out.”
“It’s been fun Collin; we’ll have to do this again sometime. My door is always open to you.
“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll play again.” said Collin as he unscrewed his cue, laid it back in its case and took his coat from Stephen. He thanked Grey again for the game and then walked out to the foyer.
If nothing else, Thurston Grey was a generous man. He took the cash that Detective McCranie was holding, peeled off a few crisp hundred dollar bills and said.
“Give that to the kid for cab fare home. No one should go home broke.”
Detective McCranie caught Collin going out the door. “Hold up a minute kid.” He said while pushing the cash into Collins coat pocket. “He likes you kid, and he doesn’t want you to leave tapped. You’ve got stick kid. You’re better than Grey; you had him by the balls. What you don’t know is how to read people. He can make that break shot six out of ten times. There’s no way you could have won that bet. Even if he missed once, he would just have continued to double the bet until he did. You should have seen that and just stayed with shooting pool.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll be a lot smarter next time.”
“You figure there will be a next time?”
“Hell, yeah!” he said under his breath as he stepped into the elevator.





Chapter-16


         The following Friday night Collin stopped in at the Shamrock bar before heading out to look for a game. He found Jimmy and Tommy sitting at their usual spot at the end of the bar and sat at the stool next to Jimmy.
         “Don’t you two ever go anywhere else, every time I come in her, you’re both sitting right here.”
         Jimmy grinned and said, “You know Collin, I was just telling Tommy here we should catch a Broadway play, but then he reminded me that we can’t, because you lost all our fucking money to that rich son-of-a-bitch over at the Dakota.
“Broadway Play, Really, I don’t think so!”
Well, maybe we should just go back over there, beat the shit out of Mr. Thurston Grey and get our money back.”
         “Don’t worry about Thurston Grey, Jimmy. The next time I play him, he won’t trick me in with a sucker bet and I’ll get all out money back with interest. And anyway, you two are broke because you haven’t had a job in years. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever had a job.”



“Were working now Collin” Tommy shot back. “We work for one of Moretti’s crews. We’re waiting for a call now from Pauley Falcone to go out on a job.”
         “Are you two crazy? What kind of work do you do for Moretti?” Collin asked.
         “Pretty much whatever the fuck they ask us to do” Said Jimmy. “But it’s mostly collection work, you know, getting the money from the assholes that don’t pay their gambling debts. We find them, take what money they have, beat the shit out of them and threaten them with a worse beating if they don’t come up with the rest of the money. Hey, if you’re still out of work, and don’t mind a little manual labor, come along with us tonight and make a couple hundred bucks for yourself.
         “No thanks guys, I’m not into that gangster shit. I think I’ll head over to Eastside Billiards and look for a game. I’m a little better at nine ball than hardball. Jimmy nodded in halfhearted agreement and then pulled the ringing cell phone from his jacket, answered it with a few ok's and then hung up. He looked over at Tommy and said, “Were on, gotta go. Sure you don’t wanna come with us Collin? It's easy money."
         "No thanks, Jimmy"
         Jimmy threw a twenty onto the bar and he and Tommy left leaving Collin to wonder what kind of crap they had gotten themselves into for the night and grateful he had not taken them up on their offer to join them.
         It was a little after nine when Collin arrived at Eastside Billiards. He walked up to the counter and asked for a table. The clerk asked if he was looking for a game and he said yes.
         “What kind of action are you looking for?”
         “Nine ball, for whatever.” The counter man looked towards a table on the far side of the room and said he could get a game there. Collin looked where the counterman had indicated, and saw a familiar face. It was Little Pauley Falcone and two of his father’s soldiers. Shit he thought to himself.
“There has got to be an easier game in the house.” He scanned the room, mostly kids and some blue collar types. No serious money to be seen. He knew Little Pauley would have cash so he thought what the hell and approached their table.
         Collin stood back from the table, but well in sight of the trio and waited.
         “You fucking lost?” asked the biggest of the three.
         “No, the guy at the counter said one of you may be looking for a game.”
         Little Pauley put his hand on the big ones shoulder and said, “Take it easy Bruno; he’s just looking for a game.” And then looked at Collin and said. “Do I know you, you look familiar"
         “No, I don’t think so” replied Collin.
         “So you want a game. Are you up for a little fifty dollar nine ball?”
         “Sure, sounds good.”
         The hustle was on. The arrogance and Italian macho of Little Pauley wouldn’t allow him to ask for a spot, so they played even up making the game a shoe in for Collin. He just needed to win more games than he lost and keep Little Pauley thinking he was just a stroke away from taking Collins cash. After a couple of hours of win two, lose one, Collin was up maybe eight hundred dollars and Little Pauley began to show the mean streak he was known for. After losing another game, he slammed the cue onto to table, and said, “You’re pretty fucking good.  Are you hustling me you Irish Prick?”
With both hands resting on the end rail, Little Pauley craned his neck back and gave a nod to Bruno who jumped out of his seat, grabbed a break stick leaning against a concrete pillar and came at Collin.
He reared back and swung the cue like a baseball bat. Collin saw the cue coming out of the corner of his eye and rocked back on his heels just barely avoiding a very painful experience. Bruno stepped forward and swung the cue at Collin again. This time he couldn’t avoid contact. He threw up
his hands to protect his face and the cue sick shattered across his forearm sending an eighteen inch piece of cue stick spinning across the
pool table like a majorette’s baton on steroids. The jagged end of the broken shaft pierced Little Pauley’s neck, severing the carotid artery. He stood there in amazement clutching his throat and the shattered cue shaft imbedded in it, his eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling.
Bruno stopped his advance on Collin and turned back to his boss’s son. “Pauley, you ok?” he asked. Pauley just stared back at him with a look of sheer terror and disbelief in his now glazed eyes. He was still clutching the jagged cue shaft as he dropped to his knees.
Geno came up, knelt beside him and said. “Here, let me help you” as he pulled the shaft from Little Pauley’s neck. With nothing left to pinch the artery shut, blood began to spray uncontrollably from the gaping puncture in his neck. His body convulsed violently as he bled out on the floor, with every beat of his heart bringing him closer to death. Finally the terrorized look in Little Pauley’s eyes was replaced by the vacant blank stare of death. 
         “You fucking idiot, why did you do that Geno?” Bruno yelled
         “I just thought….” said Geno.
         Collin stared down in an almost trance like state at the three men on the floor and the horrendous amount of blood that had pooled around them. Little Pauley had bled out. His heart had stopped and so did the blood spraying from his neck.          
         Geno cradling his boss’s son on the floor stared up at Collin with a cold venomous look that said, “You’re dead mother fucker”. He then yelled to Bruno. “Get him.” Bruno took a step towards Collin, but slipped on the blood pooling around the dead body and fell on his side. He sat up and grabbed a pistol tucked into his belt, but before he could aim and fire, Collin kicked him in the side of the face. The impact sent Bruno to the floor unconscious.
Collin then turned his attention to Geno who had laid Little Pauley back down on the floor and was reaching for a gun he kept tucked in the small of his back. Collin grabbed the butt end of the broken pool cue and cracked Geno on the side of the head sending him stumbling to the floor. With no one else in close proximity, Collin saw his opportunity and made a run for the exit. As he hit the door, he was glad he had parked his car on a dark side street and not out in the open under the street lights. He got to the car and lay down on the front seat, catching his breath and hoping no one had seen him getting in.
He heard the sirens first and then when he sat back up in the seat, he saw the flashing lights of a patrol car and then a fire truck and finally an ambulance. He turned the key in the ignition, put it in drive and slowly drove past the emergency vehicles.
As he approached the front of the pool hall he could see that the EMT’s had already gone in and he thought to himself you’re too late boys.
Collin drove for an hour or so trying to clear his head before pulling into a convenience store, parking on the side of the building next to a dumpster. He needed time to digest what had just happened and figure out what to do next. Looking through the rearview mirror, he could see white smoke coming from his exhaust pipe and immediately shut the engine off. As he sat there in the dark getting colder and colder, the adrenalin shot through his body like a bolt of lightning when he realized he had left his leather jacket on the back of a seat at the pool hall. He didn’t care much about the jacket, but he did care about the wallet with his driver’s license and home address on it. All he could think of was. “Shit I can’t go home now; they’ll probably be waiting for me on the street in front of the apartment. I have to let Katy know what’s going on. But I don’t want to scare the hell out of her in the middle of the night. I’ll call her in the morning.”
Deciding he had at least a half assed plan, he laid his head back on the car seat, closed his eyes, and tried to think of a way out of the mess he was in.
Around six thirty, a clerk from the convenience store emptying a trash container into the dumpster saw Collin asleep in the front seat and rapped on the window.
         “Hey buddy, you can’t sleep here. You gotta go now.” Collin opened his eyes, stared at the clerk for a moment then got out of the car.
“Sorry, man” he said. “Guess I had a little too much to drink last night. I pulled in to get some coffee, but I must have dozed off. I just need to make a phone call then I’ll be out of here.”
         He reached for his jacket to get his cell phone then remembered it was still at the pool room. So he got out of the car and walked to the far end of the building where two pay phones were hanging from the wall. One had no receiver, but when he put a quarter into the second phone, he got a dial tone, and called the apartment. The phone rang at least a dozen times with no answer. Maybe I dialed it wrong? he thought and then replaced the phone on the cradle, heard the coin drop and retrieved the quarter from the coin return slot and redialed the apartment.
God Katy, how dead to the world do you have to be to sleep through a phone ringing twenty or thirty times? he thought as the phone continued to ring unanswered. Then a cold dreadful chill ran down his spin. As the reality of his situation finally set in. “Shit” he thought. “If they have my coat and wallet, they have my address.” He threw the handset against the phone body; it dropped, and swung like a man on the gallows as he ran for his car. 
         It took almost thirty minutes for Collin to get across town. It was the longest thirty minutes of his life. As he pulled up to the apartment, he saw two familiar faces and knew it wasn’t good. Tommy and Jimmy rushed to the car and leaned against the door so Collin could not get out.
         “You gotta get out of here Collin, Little Pauley is dead and most of the Moretti crew is out looking for you.”
         “I have to get to Katy” Collin said.
         “She’s not there, Collin. There was an explosion and fire in you apartment. I’m sorry man but she’s dead.”
         “Katy’s dead? Where’s my son, Is he ok?”
         Jimmy put both hands on the open window frame and bent down to meet Collin’s eyes .“Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where we can talk, Maybe Tommy’s place.”
         Again Collin asked. “Is my son ok?”
         “No, I’m sorry Collin; your son was killed in the fire too.”
         Collin made another attempt to get out of his car, pulling on the door lever and yelling for Jimmy to get the hell out of his way. Jimmy punched through the open window hitting Collin high on the temple. He fell back across the front seat and lay there unconscious. Jimmy looked back through the driver’s window at Tommy who was staring down at Collin through the passenger window and said, “Tommy, take him to your apartment before that fucking Italian dago Bruno finds him.”
         Tommy reached through the window and pulled Collin to the passenger side and then went around to the driver’s side. “He’s gonna be really pissed when he wakes up,” said Tommy.
         Jimmy put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he got into the car and said “Yeah, but he’ll still be alive.”
         Collin came to on the ride to Tommy’s apartment. He rubbed his hand on his swollen temple and said. “Where did they take them?”
         “I don’t know” said Tommy “but probably to the morgue.”
         “Take me there, Tommy,” said Collin still rubbing his aching head.
         “No can do buddy, it’s not safe. They’ll be waiting for you there; Jimmy said to take you to my apartment until things cool off a little. At least wait a day or two until we can find out what those goomba’s have planned for you.
“All right, I’ll stay the night at your place, but tomorrow you take me down to the morgue.

         
































Chapter-17


Ann wiped off her hands on a kitchen towel and caught the phone on the second ring.
“Hello, Ann. Its Mary Conley”
         “How are you Mary, is everything all right?” she asked as it was 6:45 AM, not a time of day that Jack’s mother would call for a pleasant chat.
         “No Ann it’s not, there’s been a terrible accident at Collins apartment.” Ann could sense Mary had been crying and her voice seemed stressed. “Was anyone hurt?”
“There was an explosion and fire. The police said there must have been a gas leak in the apartment that ignited. The fire rescue men recovered two bodies. It had to be Katy and Collin Jr. I’m just not sure and I don’t know what to do. No one has seen Collin and I don’t know where to start looking for him. Something is terribly wrong; I can feel in my heart. Is Jack there, can I please speak to him?
         “Sure, Mary. He’s in the bathroom shaving. Let me get him for you.” Ann rushed down the hall with the phone in her hand. Jack saw her standing in the bathroom door through the half steamed mirror. “Who’s on the phone?” he asked, turning to face her somber gaze at the door.
         Ann lifted the phone to eye level and said. “It’s your mother Jack; there’s been an accident at Collins apartment.” Jack grabbed a towel from the rack and ran it across his face, taking the phone from Ann in the same moment.
“Mom what happened?”
         “I believe Katy and Collin Jr. were killed in a fire at their apartment” she said, her voice now beginning to tremble and crack. Please, Jack, can you come right away. Collin was not at the apartment and no one has seen him. Something is very wrong I just know it.”
         “I can be there in about two and a half hours if the traffic isn’t too bad mom. Please try to stay calm until I get there.”
         Jack threw on some clothes, grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Ann grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter in mid stride saying. “I’m going with you Jack. I’ll call the hospital from the car and let them know I won’t be in today.
“Thanks, Babe” he said as they bolted out the front door.
         “Buckle up, Babe. Next stop Hell’s Kitchen.” They tore out of the drive. He hit the switch and the cruisers red and blue lights began to dance behind their heads.
“Do we really need the lights?” Ann inquired.
“One of the perks” he replied. “It will cut our travel time by at least twenty five minutes.”
          “Yeah, if we don’t have an accident on the way.” She murmured under her breath.
         “I’ve been doing this a long time, Honey, relax,” he said with just the hint of a smug smile on his face.
         “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying Jack”
         Conley took the Jersey Turnpike north, then the Holland tunnel into the city. Thank God the traffic was only moderately slow. Most of the Conley clan had already assembled at his mother’s house by the time they arrived in his old neighborhood. The trip took them just under two and half hours. The house was packed solid with three generations of Conley’s. Jack worked his way through the maze to the kitchen where Mary Conley, the clan matron, was sitting at a kitchenette table overlooking a small communal backyard.
         “Oh, thank God you’re here Jack. I don’t know what to do. No one has heard from your brother and the police are acting like this tragedy was not an accident and that Collin is somehow responsible for the deaths of Katy and little Collin.”
         Jack sat down next to his mother and taking her hands in his said. “He would never hurt them. He lived for his family. There has got to be another reason for this and we’ll find out what it is. But first we need to find him. When was the last time you saw him, mom?”
         “It was a week ago Sunday. He was here with Katy and little Collin and they stayed for dinner. Everything seemed just fine.”
Jack stood away from the table, putting his hands gently on his mother’s shoulders. “I’m going to check on a few things. Ann will stay with you until I get back. Will you be Ok for a while?”
         “Sure Jackie, I’ll be fine. I’m just worried that something horrible has happened to your brother that’s keeping him away.”
         Ann walked Jack to the front door, kissed him, gave him a tender hug and said “Everything will be Ok here until you get back. Go find your brother.”
         Conley’s first stop was his brother’s apartment. He entered the building and walked back to the gaping charred doorframe now crisscrossed with strips of yellow caution tape where the door had once been. He thought it must have been blown out by the initial gas explosion. As he entered under the caution tape, the smell in the burnt out shell of an apartment was almost unbearable. The pungent smell of charred wood and burnt electrical wiring filled the apartment. But there was more and he had smelled it before. It was the lingering odor of burnt flesh and it overwhelmed the apartment. He had come in contact with it in the past on the job, but the smell of death in his brother’s apartment was almost too much for him. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, held it over his nose and continued to inspect each room looking for anything that would explain this horrendous tragedy.
         “Can I help you?” The sudden voice in the darkened room unnerved Conley who instinctively reached for his weapon, but stopped when he saw the uniformed fireman standing in the hallway.
         “I’m Jack Conley; this was my brother’s apartment.”
         “You don’t remember me do you Jack. I’m Tommy Kennedy; I grew up in the old neighborhood. I was the kid who was kidnapped by that crazy bastard Orville Culpepper.”
         “My God, I remember you Tommy. I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. Do you still live in the old neighborhood?”
         “Yeah, I live just a street over from your mother’s place. Actually, that’s how I heard about the fire. I stopped at the corner grocery and heard one of her neighbors talking about it.
         “What are you doing here Tommy?” asked Conley.
         “I’m the Fire Marshal for this area. Whenever there are deaths involved they call me in to investigate and submit a report of my findings. What’s up with the gun Jack?”
         “Oh Christ, Tommy I’m sorry.” Conley said while showing his police ID and flashing his Gold Detectives badge to the Fire Marshal. “I’m a Detective with the A.C.P.D in Jersey.”
         “You’re welcome to stay around while I make an inspection of the area, but be careful and don’t touch anything ok?”
“I got it and thanks, Tommy”
         Tommy worked slowly and methodically, putting samples he scraped from various surfaces into small plastic bags. When they reached the kitchen he knelt down beside the badly damaged gas oven which was lying on its side several feet from its normal position against the wall. He picked up the gas line and fingered the connecting nut. “That’s odd” he said to himself and then walked over to the black gas pipe protruding from the wall and inspected the brass valve.
         Jack felt Tommy’s concern and questioned what he had seen.
         “It just seems to me that if that oven was blown across the room, the gas line should have been either torn off the oven, or torn from the valve at the wall. Look at the nut on the gas line and the threads on the valve. They’re pristine, not a mark on them. It’s like they were unscrewed not blown apart from the explosion.”
         Conley inspected the gas line and valve and had to agree with Kennedy. It sure looked like someone had disconnected the line.
         “I think we may have a case of arson here,” said Kennedy. “Was your brother having any marital problems that you’re aware of?”
         “No. He and Katy were very happy together. It just doesn’t make any sense, Tommy.”
         “I’m going to run these samples back to the lab. You can check back with me in a few days and I may have something else for you. In the meantime, you need to find your brother.”








Chapter-18


         Jack left Collins apartment with more questions than answers. His next stop was the packing plant to see if any of the guys he worked with knew anything that would help. He entered the plant looking for an office and saw the wooden stairs leading to a room with a large plate glass window overlooking the plant. This must be it, he thought to himself as he scaled the stairs two steps at a time. He knocked on the door and stood on the landing waiting for a response.
         “Come in” came a gravelly voice from the other side of the door.
“What can I do for you?”
         Conley approached the desk and extended his hand. The plant manager immediately stood and accepted the hand shake. I’m Larry Smith, the plant manager. “Please sit down Mr…”
         “Conley, Jack Conley, I’m looking for my brother Collin. He works here, and I was hoping you, or one of his friends can tell me where to find him.”
         “I wish I could help you Mr. Conley but we had to let Collin go a few months ago and I have no idea where he might be working now. But you’re welcome to ask the men on the floor. Maybe one of them has seen him. Have you tried his house?”
         “Yes, that’s why I’m here Mr. Smith. Thank you for your time. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask some of the guys on the floor on my way out. If you hear from him, please give me a call,” he said handing Mr. Smith one of his business cards.
         “Detective Jack Conley A.C.P.D. Well Ok then Detective. If I hear anything, I’ll call you. Hope everything’s ok, I always liked Collin. It was tough having to let him go.”
         “I’m sure it was, thanks for your time Mr. Smith and have a good day.”
         This just gets better and better he thought as he returned to his car.
         When Conley returned to his mother’s apartment, he went straight to the kitchen bypassing everyone including Ann and his mother. He took the bottle of Jameson Whiskey from the cabinet above the sink and a tumbler from the dish strainer on the counter, poured a double shot, belted it down and poured another. He dropped his head for a moment, then looked up at Ann and then his mother and said. “Did you know Collin lost his job?”
         “No,” said Mary. “I spoke to Katy a couple of days ago and she was saying how they put Collin on the night shift so they wouldn’t have to lay him off like a lot of other workers at the plant.”
         “Well, he may have left the house every night, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to that plant. I spoke to his boss today, who said he had to let him go three months ago. I also went by his apartment today and bumped into Tommy Kennedy. You remember Tommy mom, he’s the kid that was kidnapped in front of the house. He’s a Fire Marshal now and he went through that apartment with a fine tooth comb today. He thinks the fire may have been set intentionally. And you know what, mom, I think he’s right. He also said I had to find Collin and get to the bottom of this before he turns in his report and they issue a warrant for his arrest. If Collin was involved in some way with this fire he’s probably hiding somewhere. Do you know any of his friend’s? Someone I can talk to?”
         “Not really Jack. For the last couple of years since Collin Jr. was born, Collin has been a real homebody. And anyway, the money was always tight. They just barely covered their bills each month. I think a big night out was taking Katy and Collin Jr. to McDonalds. There was certainly no extra money for him to party on. And I think Katy would have said something to me if he were running round. She was not the sort to keep things bottled up.”
         “There has got to be someone out there who knows something.  Think about it for a minute mom, who does he know?”
         “The only ones that come to mind are those two hooligans Jimmy Boyle and Tommy O’Farrell that he went to school with. I still see them around the neighborhood from time to time.”
         “I’d forgotten about those two.”
          “That sounds like a good place to start, Ann said. Oh, and by the way, I called Lieutenant Felker this afternoon. She said to take all the time you need, and she would cover for you, but to please be careful with your New Jersey police cruiser in New York City.”
         “Thanks honey. I still have to call Sergeant Beaver and fill her in.”
         “I called her too. You’re covered.”









Chapter-19


It was a little after 2:00 A.M and the street was empty when Bruno Vincente and Geno Argo got to Collins neighborhood. They parked one block down from his apartment building, cut the engine and sat in the darkness. Bruno pulled the 9 mm Glock from his shoulder holster and chambered a round into the barrel. Geno hearing the sound of the slide being pulled back looked up from the racing form he had been intently studying and said to Bruno, “You know, I been thinking about it and I don’t think we should hit this guy in his apartment. We could wait and nail him on the street, throw him in the fucking trunk and drive out of the city where we can fuck him up at our leisure.”
Bruno stared at Geno for a moment, returned the Glock to its holster, grabbed the racing form from him and tossed it out the window.
“Pauley don’t pay you to think, he pays you to do what the fuck he tells you to do, Capeesh, you fucking knuckle head?” We’re not going to kill this guy tonight. Pauley wants us to find him and bring him back to the bar and keep him in the basement until he gets there.
         “Yeah, I understand Bruno, I’m just saying.”
         “Geno, did you even hear what I just said.
Yeah Bruno, I heard you, I’m just…
Just get the fuck out of the car, keep your mouth shut and do what the fuck you’re told.”
         The two walked up the front steps and entered the building. Bruno ran his finger down the row of apartment buzzers and stopped at Conley. Apt 209B. They bypassed the elevator and used the stairwell to get to the second floor. Apartment #209B was at the end of a long narrow hallway. Bruno rapped on the door and the two waited for a response. From behind the door, a soft voice said. “Who’s there?” Bruno replied
“Detectives Smith and Jones, NYPD”
         “What do you want?” Katy asked.
         “We need to talk to you about your husband” came the reply from the hall. And then. “There’s been an accident. May we come in?”
         “Oh, My God,” she said as she cracked the door open, leaving the chain attached. “Let me see your ID.” 
“Sure” said Bruno as he slammed his shoulder against the door snapping the chain off the door frame and knocking Katy to the ground.
         “Where’s your fucking husband,” said Geno grabbing her by the hair and lifting her to her feet.
         With a defiant gaze Katy said, “Who the hell are you?” Then, “Get the fuck out of my apartment you sons of bitches.” Geno held her by the hair at arm’s length and hit her hard in the mouth sending her careening off the hall wall onto the floor. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed a baseball bat that Collin kept in an umbrella stand by the door. She hit Geno full in the rib cage and as he lurched to his right; she hit him again, this time on his knee cap sending him to the floor squirming in pain where he lay moaning in a fetal position. As she reared back to crack him again, Bruno grabbed the barrel of the bat with one hand and punched her in the back of the head with the other, sending her across the room where she hit her forehead hard on a radiator and fell unconscious on the floor.
         Bruno looked at his partner on the floor in disgust and said. “Get up you fucking idiot, Conley’s not here.” Geno with the help of the wall made it to his feet, still groaning in pain. He looked down at the woman lying in a pool of blood on the floor. “What about her?” he said.
Bruno looked at him with the usual blank stare and then said. “No witnesses. We need to make this look like an accident. I got an idea; see if you can find me a candle.” Bruno walked into the kitchen, looked behind the gas oven and found the main gas valve then rifled through the kitchen draws until he found a pair of pliers and a crescent wrench. He pulled the oven out from the wall and turned off the gas at the valve. He then used the wrench to disconnect the gas line from the main valve. Geno limped back into the kitchen carrying a large candle in a glass canister and held it out to Bruno.
“I don’t want it you idiot. Light it and put it over there on the counter,” he said, pointing to the other side of the kitchen. Geno shook his head in agreement and staggered over to the counter, lit the candle and hobbled back to Bruno who had just turned the gas back on and pushed the oven back to its original position against the wall.
“We gotta get the hell out of here before the gas gets to that candle.”
“Oh shit!” said Geno as he made a gimpy but hasty move for the door.
As they opened the apartment door, they heard a small voice crying Mommy! Mommy! Geno looked back into the hallway to see a small boy standing over the woman on the floor. “Shit.” He said “She’s got a kid. What are we gonna do Bruno?” With dead eyes Bruno looked at Geno and said. “No witnesses” as he pushed the limping man out of the apartment and shut the door behind him.
They returned to their car, sat in the dark and waited. When the gas finally ignited it blew a huge fire ball through the window. “That’s that” said Bruno as he turned the key in the ignition and they drove off with no more thought than ordering a slice of pizza.





















Chapter-20


Conley’s first stop was to check in at Precinct 18, Midtown West. It was the Precinct responsible for all activities in Hell’s Kitchen. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Precinct Chief who was bent out of shape because a Jersey cop was nosing around on his turf.
         As he entered the stationhouse there was a moment of Déjà vu followed by an immediate flashback of a childhood memory long forgotten. He was nine at the time. His mother had gotten him a Lone Ranger lunchbox with a glass insulated thermos. He was so proud of it that he wanted to show it to the O’Connor twins, his two closest friends at school. Barry O’Connor grabbed the thermos and tossed it to his brother Larry who tossed it back to Barry before Jack could get to it. Long story short, Barry dropped the thermos on the concrete sidewalk in front of the school and the glass liner shattered. The three decided it was worth the risk to steal a thermos from another lunch box at the drugstore rather than face the wrath of Jack’s Irish mother.
Jack switched his broken thermos with a new one from a lunchbox on the shelf not realizing that he was being seen by the clerk. The clerk confronted him and took him into the office where he called the police. Barry and Larry made good their escape. Mary Conley had to make good for the thermos and Jack got a good beating.
         An overweight forty something desk sergeant was busy filling out a report, so Conley waited patiently until he eventually looked up and asked. “How can I help you sir?”
         “I’m Detective Jack Conley of the A.C.P.D...”
         “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction aren’t you Detective?”
         “Yeah, Sergeant, I sure am. But I’m not here on police business. There was an explosion and fire at my brother’s apartment. His wife and son were killed in the fire. My brother is missing and I had hoped I could speak to the detective assigned to the case.”
         “That would be Detective Sergeant McCranie. If you would have a seat over there, I’ll see if he’s available.”
         “Thanks, Sergeant”
         The desk sergeant picked up his phone, dialed an extension, spoke to the person on the other end of the line for a moment then replaced the phone on its carriage. “Sergeant McCranie is in a meeting with the watch commander, but he said he would like to speak to you and will be out to get you in a few minutes.”
          Conley was reading an APB posted on the bulletin board just to the right of the desk sergeant’s counter when Detective McCranie came out. “Detective Conley, how can I help you?” Conley turned to meet the voice. Sergeant McCranie was about the same age as Conley but was much shorter, and built like a pit bull. Not at all like what the soft mellow voice he heard might indicate.          
Conley extended his hand and said. “Detective Jack Conley A.C.P.D. I’m not here in any official capacity, but I was hoping you might be able to help me out.” 
Detective McCranie looked up at the big man in front of him. “That depends on what you mean by help. Why don’t we go back to my desk and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”
         “The fire the other night in Hell’s Kitchen, that was in my brother’s apartment.”
         “Yes, I’m familiar with it. A young woman and her son were killed in the gas explosion and ensuing fire. It’s my understanding that is was a very tragic accident. Do you have any reason to believe otherwise Detective?”
         “Yes and please call me Jack. Like I said, I’m not here in any official capacity.”
         “Ok then, Jack, what do you have for me?”
         “I met the Fire Marshal at the apartment yesterday and followed him room to room. When he got to what was left of the kitchen, he thought it very odd that the fittings and threads from the gas line and the valve were in pristine condition. They should have been torn apart if the explosion was accidental.
         “So what are you saying Jack? Do you think your brother killed his wife and son?”
         “No, no I don’t,” said Conley.
         “Have you spoken to your brother?”
         “No, no one’s seen him since before the fire.”
         “Don’t you find that just a little bit odd?” said McCranie.
         “I know what you’re thinking Detective, but my brother could not have done this. He and Katy have been together since elementary school. She was the love of his life and so was Collin Jr.”
         Detective McCranie looked up from his doodling on a notepad. “Then we have to find your brother and see what he knows.” He then resumed his doodling and without looking up asked, “Does your brother shoot pool?”
         “Yes, he’s a very good player. But what does that have to do with anything?” he asked.
         “Well, I don’t know.” But the same night as the fire in your brother’s apartment, Little Pauley Falcone was killed in a fight over a pool game at Eastside Billiard. He’s the son of Big Pauley Falcone a Capo in the Moretti crime family. So I’m just throwing something out to you. If your brother was involved in the death of Little Pauley, it’s not likely Big Pauley Falcone would let it slide. It wouldn’t matter who was at fault. It becomes a vendetta with these mobsters. Anyway, you need to find your brother.” McCranie stood up shook Conley’s hand and said. “Good luck Detective. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
         Conley said. “Thanks Detective” and then turned and left the precinct. As he got into his car, he wondered just what kind of crap his kid brother had gotten himself into and he knew just who to ask. Those two knucklehead friends of his. Tommy O’Farrell and his buddy Jimmy Boyle.
         Conley pulled into the parking lot of the Shamrock Bar. He figured it was as good a place as any to start and he was right on the money. Sitting alone at the back of the bar was Jimmy Boyle. He was nursing a beer and looked like he had taken real bad beating. Jimmy took a long drink from his pint of Guinness, put the mug down on the bar and casually looked towards the front door. That’s when he saw Jack Conley no more than thirty feet away. “Shit” he said as he hopped off the bar stool and made a run for the back door. Conley saw him bolt and broke into a run himself, catching Jimmy as he was going through the door. He shoved him into the side of a dumpster in the alley.
         “Where are you going in such a hurry Jimmy boy?” Conley grabbed him with both hands by the front of his leather jacket and held him against the dumpster.
         “You can’t fuck with me. You’re a cop in New Jersey, not New York City. Get your fucking hands off me.”
         Conley smacked him twice then asked again. “Where were you going in such a hurry and where the hell is my brother?”
         “I was on my way to work and I don’t know where your brother is.”
         “Ok Jimmy we’ll do it the hard way.” Conley still holding Jimmy with one hand hit him hard in the forehead with the other. Jimmy’s lights went out immediately. Jack threw him over his shoulder and carried him to the car where he dumped him into the trunk and drove away from the bar.
         When Jimmy came to, he was hanging by his feet from a bridge beam with a wonderful view of the East river. His hands were tied behind his back, his mouth was duct taped. He frantically alternated between looking down at the river rushing several feet below his head and over to Conley. Both views were equally intimidating and were beginning to produce the results Conley was looking for. Conley pulled the stiletto from his jacket, hit the button, the blade shot out and he said. “This is what we’re going to do Jimmy. I’m going to ask you again where my brother is and if you tell me again that you don’t know, I’m going to cut this rope and drop you in the East river. Now, where the hell is my brother? Oh, I’m sorry Jimmy, I can’t hear you.” Jack said reaching out and pulling Jimmy close to him by his long greasy dark hair. When they were at eye level, Conley tore the duct tape from his mouth and stuck it on Jimmy’s forehead. Jimmy let out a wail as the tape came off along with most of his thin ratty mustache. 
         “I swear to God, Jack, I don’t know where Collin is now, but Tommy took him to stay at his apartment last night until things cool off.
         “What things?” Conley asked.
         “Collin was shooting pool with Pauley Falcone’s kid last night at Eastside Billiards. There was an argument and then a fight started and Little Pauley was killed. Now the Moretti crew is looking for him.”
“What’s Tommy’s address?”
         “He lives on 10th avenue above Sonny’s Meat Market, number 412, but they’re probably not there now.”
         “Why wouldn’t he be there now, Jimmy?”
         “Because last night Bruno Vincente and Geno Argo beat the shit out of me and made me tell them where he was. I’m sorry Jack, they were gonna kill me if I didn’t.”
         “You and Tommy were his two best friends. The three of you were like brothers, how can you live with yourself you piece of shit?” Conley yanked the duct tape from Jimmy’s forehead and slapped it back over his mouth. He then walked over to where he had tied off the rope, undid the knot and wrapped the rope around his fist. “This is your lucky day Jimmy,” he said as he pulled him back over the railing and dropped him to the ground using the stiletto to cut the ropes from his hands and feet. “Now tell me again where Tommy lives.”
         It was early evening when Conley arrived at the address Jimmy had given him. Tommy lived in apartment 412, so Conley walked straight to the elevator only to find it out of order. Great, he thought to himself, just fucking great, as he started up the stairwell. Apartment 412 was at the far back corner of the fourth floor. The overhead lights were out and Conley wondered if the lights and the elevator were both on the same circuit. It took a minute or two for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He had gone no more than ten or twelve steps down the hall when he heard the sound of glass crushing under the weight of his feet. He knew instantly there wasn’t a problem with the electrical circuit. Someone had broken the overhead bulbs to keep the hall dark and Conley figured he knew who. He drew his weapon, and continued down the hall.
         When he reached apartment 412, he put his hand on the knob, gave it a slight twist and it opened just a crack. Conley leaned against the door frame, took a long deep breath and thought to himself “Fuck it, we all gotta go sometime” and entered the apartment. He pressed himself against the wall and began to feel for a light switch. When he found it, he took another deep breath, hit the switch, dropped to one knee and fanned his Glock across the room from left to right, then right to left. The one room apartment appeared to be empty. As he stood back up he could see signs of a struggle. A coffee table and an end table were turned over and there was a lot of blood smeared on the couch and floor and what appeared to be bloody hand prints on a wall near the kitchen area.
As he reached down to pick up a phone that had hit the floor along with a lamp that had been on the end table, he saw the body behind the couch. It was lying face down in a pool of blood. Anger, rage and an overwhelming sense of sadness overcame Conley as he peered down at the badly ravaged body on the floor. He knelt down and rolled the body over by the shoulder expecting to see the battered remains of his young brother. To his surprise and relief, it was not Collin. Even in its almost unrecognizable state, Conley could tell that it was Tommy O’Farrell. He pulled Sergeant McCranie’s business card from his wallet and dialed the number.
         “Sergeant McCranie. How can I help you?”
         “It’s Jack Conley. Your hunch was right Detective. I’m at the apartment of a friend of my brother’s, he’s been murdered.”
“Your brother was murdered?”
“No, His friend, Tommy O’Farrell”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a building on 10th Ave, over Sonny’s Meat Market. Apartment # 412.
“Is your brother there?”
         “No, I still haven’t found him”
         The phone was silent for a moment then Detective McCranie said, “You know Conley, the more you tell me, the worse it seems to get for your brother. What is his connection to Tommy O’Farrell?”
“Tommy O’Farrell, my brother and a kid named…”
         “Wait don’t tell me, Jimmy Boyle, right”
         “Yeah, that’s right, Jimmy Boyle. The three have been friends since grade school.”
         “This just gets better and better, Conley. Those two thugs do collections and God knows what else for the Moretti family. I think it’s time to put out an arrest warrant for your brother. If he’s innocent, we can protect him from Moretti. If he’s not, then we got another bad guy off the street. I’ve got units on the way to your location. Take your weapon out and leave it in plain sight with your badge and ID. I’ll be there in twenty minutes to take your statement.”
         Conley took one last look around the apartment, being very careful not to touch anything, or do anything to contaminate the crime scene, but could not find anything to give him a clue as to his brother’s whereabouts.
         He could hear the police sirens in the distance getting louder and knew it was time to leave. He did not want to waste any more time with Detective McCranie and the hours of interminable questioning that the Detective would hammer him with that he did not have answers to. No, he thought, this is time best spent looking for Collin. There will be plenty of time later to sit and chat with Detective McCranie.























Chapter-21


         By the time Collin came to, they were in front of Tommy’s apartment building. His temple throbbed and he was just a little more than pissed at Jimmy for the sucker punch. He picked his head off the passenger side window where it had been resting, looked over at Tommy and said, “Remind me to kick Jimmy’s ass the next time I see him. And you, you son-of- bitch, get me over to the morgue. I have to be with my wife and son.”
Tommy lowered his head, then looked back up at Collin and said. “They’re gone, Collin. Another day or two won’t matter. But it may be enough time for Falcone to cool down and realize you were not responsible for Little Pauley’s death. Like you said, it was an accident. And if that fucking animal Bruno hadn’t taken a swing at you with a cue stick, Little Pauley would still be here. Maybe in a few days Big Pauley will realize that and drop his vendetta with you.”
         “Maybe you’re right, Tommy, but I want to call my brother Jack, he’ll know what to do. He always does. Do you have a phone in your apartment?”
“Yeah sure Collin, I got a phone. What the hell, why wouldn’t I have a phone?
         “Forget it Tommy. Let’s just go up so I can call my brother.”
         “Sure and I’ll order in some Italian for us.”
         “Yeah, that sounds fine Tommy.”
         Tommy got out of the car first and had a nervous look about him, repeatedly looking up and down the street. Finally he looked back through the driver’s window and said, “It’s ok Collin, there’s no one on the street. Let’s go.”
         “I gotta go down to the drugstore and get a pack of cigarettes” Collin said. “You need anything”
         “No, I’m good,” Tommy said.
         “Go up and order the Italian. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
         The owner of the neighborhood Italian restaurant thought it odd that Tommy would order two Italian subs, a large pizza, and two cream sodas since he had been ordering the same thing every week for years, one Italian Sub, extra peppers, and a cream soda.
The Moretti crew had gotten the word out on the street that they wanted the Irish kid that killed little Pauley and as it happened the owner of the restaurant was a cousin of Geno Argo. A call went out to Geno who thanked his cousin and told him to hold the order and that he would make the delivery himself.
There was a knock at the door and Tommy got up to answer it.
“Who’s there” he asked.
“Rocco’s Pizzeria” came the reply from the hall.
         “Just a minute” Tommy slid the chain off the latch and turned the deadbolt. As he reached for the knob, the door burst open throwing him across the entry way and onto the floor.
         “Pizza Man” Geno chimed with a sinister smile as he entered the apartment with Bruno and four other Falcone soldiers in tow wielding both automatic weapons and ball bats. Geno dropped the paper bag with the subs down onto Tommy’s chest. “Extra Peppers, Right!” The bat made contact with the side of Tommy’s head. The thud was both dull and sickening. “Fuck, Bruno, did you hear that? It sounds hollow.”
Tommy, now nearly unconscious crawled on his hands and knees out of the foyer and into the living room. He reached up, grabbed the arm of the couch and began to lift himself up. Geno took another swing with the bat, this time catching Tommy on the back of the head. He fell onto the coffee table knocking it over and then tried to stand again. Geno walked around the upturned table and said. “I got to give it you Tommy you fucking Mick’s are tough to put down.” Tommy got to his feet again; he was bleeding profusely from both the side of his face and the back of his head. He looked at Geno and said, “Is that the best you got you, fucking dago?”
         “No, I got this too” he said raising his hand from his side, revealing a revolver with a silencer screwed into the barrel. He fired two rounds. The first hit Tommy in the shoulder causing him to spin like a top. The second shot entered just below his left cheek bone, and blew out the right side of his mouth. The impact of the two shots sent Tommy tumbling over the end table and he fell behind the couch. Geno then put one insurance shot into the back of Tommy’s head.
         Falcone’s crew had just gotten back out onto the street as Collin approached the building. He was no more than a few yards away when his eyes met Bruno’s. Bruno pointed in the direction of Collin and said. “Get that son-of-a-bitch.”
Collin had only a second or two for the fight or flight response to kick in. With the odds at six to one the decision didn’t take very long. With no further thought Collin uttered one word. “Shit” and ran for his life.
At the end of the street, he took a hard left around the building and started up the block. He ran all out for almost a hundred yards and darted into an alley looking for an unlocked door or a place to hide. There was none on both counts. He thought about climbing into the dumpster then realized that would be a trap for sure. He then jumped up for the ladder on the fire escape. The ladder slid down and he climbed for his life, hitting the first landing just as Falcone’s crew entered the alley.
         Geno pulled his weapon and leveled it on Collin who had crouched behind the railing in hopes of not being hit. Bruno grabbed Geno’s wrist and pulled his gun hand down saying. “What are you doing you fucking idiot. Pauley said he wants this guy alive.” Geno pulled his hand away from Bruno and said, “He’s only twenty feet up the fire escape. I was just gonna wing him, Bruno, you know, to slow him down.” Bruno looked down at Geno, “You’re the worst shot I’ve ever seen. You couldn’t hit a city bus from twenty feet. What the hell would you tell Pauley if you put one in the kid’s head?”
         Collin grabbed a large flower pot sitting on the landing and dropped it over the railing hitting one of the Falcone soldiers flush on the top of the head. He then began taking the stairs two at a time again, stopping on the third floor landing for a moment to catch his breath. He had a few more floors to make it to the roof, but had no idea what to do after that.
         Bruno yelled at two of the men staring up at the fire escape. “Get the fuck up there and get him.” He then barked more orders at Geno and Tony D’Amato. “You and Tony go up from the inside of the building, and make sure he doesn’t get by you, Capeesh?”
Collin climbed the remaining few flights of stairs and then went up another fifteen or twenty feet on a ladder bolted to the wall and reached the roof. He climbed over the parapet and sat on the roof with his back against the exit door trying to catch his breath. When he stopped panting, he cautiously looked back over the edge of the building and saw his first pursuer reaching the top floor landing. He knelt back down behind the parapet and waited. As the first man stepped up over the edge of the roof Collin grabbed him by his jacket lapels and hurled him over his head and out onto the roof deck. Before he could react Collin kicked the Italian in the side of the head, causing him to roll onto his back. He then stomped down on his throat, crushing the wind pipe and snapping his neck all in one movement. He rolled the man over, pulled up his jacket and removed an automatic weapon from the small of his back. He quickly checked the magazine, replaced it and slipped the weapon into the waist band of his pants and headed for the exit door.
He ran through a hallway and finding the stairwell slid down the metal hand rail never touching the steps. On the landing for the third floor he looked over the railing and saw Geno and Tony rushing up. He opened the third floor exit door and ran down the hall shattering each overhead light he passed with the butt of his gun and trying each apartment in turn for an unlocked door. But finding none and now at the end of the hall with nowhere left to run, he accepted his fate and crouched in the darkness to await the end of his life.
In just those few moments in the darkness of that hallway, Collin had two thoughts flash through his mind. The first was the account his uncle Jack had given about the death of his father in that firefight in Somalia. He thought about how frightened his father must have been. Was he as terrified then as I am now he wondered?” Then he remembered his uncle Jack telling him his dad was a hero and that it was normal to be afraid of being hurt or killed, but what sets the hero apart from the coward is a rare commodity called courage and all heroes possess it.
The second thought was that of his wife and son and as he thought of their pain and suffering, the fear left his body, replaced by anger and rage. I don’t know if I have the courage of my father he thought but if this is my last day on this earth, I’m going to take a few of those bastards with me. And with that thought, he stood straight up in the darkened hall, took a deep breath and started back toward the other end of the building.
Midway down the hall he came face to face with Geno and Tony. Collin pulled the slide on the automatic weapon, aimed it at Geno and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened, he looked down at the pistol in his hand, and there was a round jammed in the slide. “Shit,” he said as he threw the gun at Geno and turned to run. There was a searing pain in the back of his head and then all went black.
Bruno took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped Collins blood off the butt of his Glock and returned it to his shoulder holster.
He looked over at Geno and Tony and said. “Get this piece of shit downstairs, throw him in the fucking trunk, take him back to the bar and dump him down in the basement.”
The two mob soldiers dragged Collin down the stairs and out into the street. Geno held Collin up against the side of the car while Tony popped the trunk open, then wrestled Collin to the rear of the car where Tony hit him twice in the gut and once in the mouth, then pushed him into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. The two got into the Cadillac and as they drove off Tony looked at Geno and said, “I wouldn’t want to be that poor son-of-a-bitch when Big Pauley gets ahold of him.
         


















Chapter-22


Conley knew time was running out for his brother. If he didn’t find him soon, Pauley Falcone would and that would be the last anyone would ever see or hear of Collin.
         He was tired and hungry. It had been a very long day and he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night. He needed to get back to his mom’s place have something to eat, take a hot shower and get some sleep or he’d be no good to anyone.
         It was late when he got back. The only light in the apartment was that from the glow of the television set in the far corner of the living room. As he walked by he could see his mother and Ann asleep on the two recliners that faced the TV set. Without stopping he continued to the bathroom, started the shower and got undressed.
         The hot water felt great as it poured over his face.
         “Here, let me do your back for you.” she said. Her voice startled him for a moment as he never heard her step into the shower, but he quickly calmed as her soapy hands worked wonders on his neck and shoulder muscles. As he turned in the shower to rinse his back, she began to lather his cock which became erect almost immediately. Ann looked up into the big man’s deep blue eyes and said. “You’re so easy, Jack Conley. You could get an erection reading the back of a pickle jar.”
         “Yeah,” he said. “I sure have my share of medical problems, but thank God I never had a need for Viagra.”
         Ann cupped her hands, catching the shower water to rinse the soap off his erection, and then put her arms around his neck and pulled herself up onto it. He pressed his hands up under that beautiful ass and they made love until both came. As they toweled off he smiled to himself as he watched her drying off through the steamy mirror and thought, “God, she’s so beautiful. What the hell does she see in me?”
         Conley’s cell phone rang at 6:30 AM. It was Detective Laurel Beaver of the A.C.P.D. “Hi Laurel what’s up” he said.
         “I hope I didn’t wake you Jack. I was just on my way to the precinct and thought I’d see if you need anything?”
         “No, I’ve been up for a while. I think that I’m good for now, but thanks for the call. I’ll get back with you if I do.”
         “Learn anything new on your brother?” She asked          
         “All I really know right now is that he started hustling pool in the city and got into some really deep shit with the Moretti mob. “Now that I think of it, there is something you can do for me, Laurel.”
         “Anything, Jack, you know that.”
         “See what you can find out about Pauley Falcone. He’s a Capo for the Moretti family.”
         “Yeah, I’ve heard of him, he’s the muscle for Moretti and a very bad guy Jack. Please be careful. I’ll get whatever I can on him and get back to you.”
         “Thanks Laurel. I’ll talk to you later”
Conley hit the end button and put the cell phone back on the night stand. Ann rolled over, snuggled up to him and rubbed her hand gently on his chest. “Who was that?” She said in her sleepy morning voice.
         “Sergeant Beaver.”
         “A bit early isn’t it?” She felt him getting out of bed. Come back to bed, Jack. It’s too early. Let’s snuggle a little and then I’ll get you some breakfast later before you go out.”
         The thought was very tempting to him as he looked down at the beautiful redhead wrapped loosely in the sheets. There was nothing he’d rather do than lay with the woman he loved, but there was too much to be done if he was going to find his brother before Falcone. He smiled at her. “Hey, Babe, you know what they say; the early bird catches the worm. I’ll try to get back here before dinner and thanks for last night, I needed that.”
         Conley’s first stop was back to the 18th precinct and Detective McCranie. He wasn’t just sure how to explain to the Detective why he slipped out of Tommy O’Farrell’s apartment before he could question him.
         As he entered the precinct, he prepared himself for an ass chewing and possibly worse. He approached the desk sergeant and asked to see Detective McCranie. The Sargent looked up and said. “Have a seat over there,” pointing to a row of plastic seats on the far side of the room. “Detective McCranie will be with you in a few minutes. He’s been expecting you.”
         Conley looked across the counter at the desk sergeant and said half-jokingly. “Is that good or bad?
“That depends on whether you pissed him off or not.”
         Shit, I’m fucked.
Detective McCranie came out and waved for Conley to come to him, then turned and walked back to his office without saying a word. Conley complied with the request in much the same manner as a school boy being summoned to the principal’s office. Silently, with his head slightly bowed he walked into McCranie’s office. Conley stood in front of McCranie’s desk, hands crossed and head still hanging low in submission. McCranie ignored him for a minute then looked up and said. “Don’t give me that “I fucked up look. We know you fucked up, now sit your ass down and tell me what you know about the killing.”
“I know it was a hit and whoever killed Tommy O’Farrell was looking for my brother. I believe Tommy was collateral damage”
“Your brother was the kid at the pool hall who got into the fight with Falcone’s son wasn’t he?”
“I believe so,” said Conley. “But I’m sure it wasn’t premeditated murder.”
“Oh, you mean like the homicide you ran from yesterday?”
There was silence for a moment as the two Detectives stared each other down, then Detective McCranie spoke. “We know it was an accident. We questioned several witnesses at the pool hall who saw the fight and they all said a guy they could not identify hit your brother with a pool cue and a splintered piece caught Little Pauley Falcone in the throat severing the main artery. He bled out on the floor before EMT’s arrived. That’s good and bad for your brother. Good because it was an accident. Bad because it’s Pauley Falcone’s kid and he won’t give a shit that it was an accident. “Look Conley,” he continued. “I should have your badge for leaving that crime scene yesterday, but I know what’s going on in your head and I want to help you find you brother. But you have to be straight with me and no more bullshit. Are we on the same page Detective?”
Conley smiled at Detective McCranie. “Yeah, were on the same page and thanks.” Conley got up from his chair, shook McCranie’s hand and assured him he would keep him up on anything he learned. McCranie promised the same.
Conley’s next stop was Eastside Billiards. As he entered, he thought to himself. This place is awfully busy for a weekday afternoon. I guess people will always be drawn to the shady ambiance of a mob related killing like a moth to a flame. At least until the novelty of it wears off.
An older man behind the counter smiled at Jack and handed him a tray of pool balls and pointed to an empty table near the far corner of the room. “You can take table ten.”
Conley set the tray of balls down on the glass counter top and said. “I don’t have time right now, maybe next time friend.” He pulled his jacket open, and flashed his Atlantic City Detectives badge and then quickly let the jacket drape back over the badge before the old man could focus his eyes on it. “Tell me about that fight the other night with Pauley Falcone’s kid.
“I already told your other guys all I know.”
“Humor me and go through it again.”
The clerk shook his head and gave Conley one of those looks that said What the fuck? But then reluctantly gave his recount of the incident that night though still unable, or unwilling to give the names of the two men who were with Little Pauley that night.
“Like I told the other cops, there was an argument over a game of nine ball and a fight broke out. One of the guys with Little Pauley took a pool cue and swung it at the kid that was winning. The cue stick shattered on the kids forearm and a piece of it stuck in Little Pauley’s throat. Then one of the guys with Little Pauley pulled the stick from his neck and blood sprayed all over the fucking place and the kid died on the floor before the ambulance arrived.”

“What about the other kid, the one he swung the cue at?” Conley asked
         “Oh, he took off like a bat out of hell through the side door. He didn’t even bother to take his cue, or a pretty expensive looking case he came in with. He left his leather jacket too. I still got them here. I guess I should have given them to the cops that were here that night. The guy who cleans the place at night must have picked the stuff up and put it under the counter here. To tell you the truth, I had forgotten all about them until now. The clerk reached under the counter and retrieved the leather jacket and pool case laying them on the glass counter.
         As Jack began sifting through the jacket pockets the clerk said, “If you’re looking for some ID you’re out of luck; one of Little Pauley’s friends took the wallet from the jacket and left with it.
Jack laid the jacket over the cue case he had given to his brother as a graduation gift and pushed them both to the side. Looking down at the little man he said, “You keep saying this guy swung the stick and that guy took the wallet. I need some names, old man.”
The clerk gave Conley another look that said. “Do I look that stupid?”  And then he said, “I don’t know their names; they were just two guys with Little Pauley.”
         Conley reached over the glass counter, snatched the clerk by the shirt and pulled him half way across the counter top. He then lifted him higher until their eyes met. “I’m going to ask you one more time, old man and if you give me the same answer I’m going to rip out your throat and shit down your neck. Now, do we understand each other?”
The clerk silently nodded his understanding and Conley repeated the question pulling the clerk even closer to his face.
“They were Bruno Vincenti and Geno Argo and for the love of God, don’t tell them it was me that told you.”
Conley set the old man’s feet back down on the floor behind the counter, thanked him for his cooperation and assured him no one would know his source. He then picked up the jacket and cue case. “I’m taking these items into evidence,” he said then turned and left the pool hall.
         Well, he thought to himself as he got into his car. Now we know who’s responsible for the death of Katy and little Collin.


                                                                                                                   
















Chapter-23


Big Pauley got to the bar around 2:00 PM. He had a drink with Bruno and Geno, and asked if the Irish kid was in the basement. Bruno looked up from his drink, laughed, and said, “Oh yeah, we got him Pauley, and he ain’t going nowhere.”
Pauley finished his drink and got up off the bar stool. “Let’s get to it.”
He walked to the basement door followed by Bruno, Geno and several members of his crew.
Collin was tied securely to a wooden chair sitting in the center of the basement. He had been beaten badly. He was slumped oven, unconscious and bleeding profusely from a gash in the back of his head. Pauley looked at him and then over at Geno. “Is this fucker dead? I told you guys I wanted him alive, didn’t I?”
“He ain’t dead boss, he’s just passed out,” said Geno who picked up a mop bucket sitting by the stairwell and dumped the filthy water over Collin’s head, reviving him. He raised his head and struggled against the ropes binding him to the chair.
“Give it up kid. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” Bruno said as he punched Collin in the side of the face.
“Bruno, get me the bolt cutters. Geno, do we still have that steam iron down here?”
“Yeah Pauley, it’s over in the closet.”
“Go get it, plug it in and get it hot.”
Pauley stood in front of Collin, grabbed his chin and raised his head saying. “So, I hear you’re a pool hustler. Do you use an open bridge, or a closed bridge? Collin continued to struggle against the ropes. The duct tape stretched across his mouth made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak.
“Oh, I’m sorry, kid.” Pauley said ripping the duct tape from Collin’s mouth. “Is that better?”
Collin pled with Pauley to listen to him, hoping that the distraught father would understand that the terrible accident with his son was just that, an accident, and nothing more.
“I asked you a question kid. Do you use an open bridge or a closed bridge?”
“Both”
“Righty or Lefty?”
“Mr. Falcone, please listen to me…”
“Righty or Lefty kid?”
“I’m right handed. Please Mr. Falcone don’t do this.”
Pauley motioned to Bruno who was holding the bolt cutters. He stepped behind Collin. (Now pleading desperately for mercy) and wedged the open jaws of the blot cutter between the thumb and index finger of Collins left hand. He looked over at Pauley who gave a nod and then clamped the jaws shut severing the thumb. Collin screamed as Pauley slapped the duct tape back over his mouth.
“Get that friggin iron over here Gino and slap it on that stub. This Irish pig is bleeding all over the floor.”
Gino pressed the hot iron to the severed joint. It immediately stopped the flow of blood. It also caused Collin to pass out.
“Wake that prick up I’m not through with him yet.”
Geno took the mop bucket over to the sink, filled it half full and dumped the bucket over Collin’s head.
Pauley ripped the duct tape from Collins mouth again and as he came too, he looked around the room and said, “Just kill me you sons of bitches and get it over with.”
Pauley grabbed Collin by the hair pulling his head back and said, “What’s your rush kid? Were just getting started. You know, you can still shoot pool Lefty.”
“Fuck you, Falcone!”
“Yeah, you probably wouldn’t enjoy the game as much that way anyway. Bruno, take the other thumb.”
Bruno locked the bolt cutters on Collin’s remaining thumb and severed it from his hand. As it hit the floor, blood sprayed from his hand onto Bruno’s silk shirt.
“Fuck, see what you’ve done now you little prick. You ruined my fucking shirt. Geno, is the iron still hot?”
“Yeah, I left it plugged in.”
“Get it and do your thing.”
Geno got the iron and pressed it against Collin’s stub. Again he screamed in anguish and passed out. Geno doused him once more with the mop bucket to bring him around.
Collin looked down at his thumb lying on the floor, then up at Pauley and the others. The look of terror in his eyes had left him and in its place was the look of a man resigned to the fact he was about to die. A calm came over him and he began to think of all the things he could have done for Katy and Collin Jr. but didn’t. He could have stayed out of the pool rooms and gotten a better job with more security for them. He could have been more honest with Katy and been more open with her about his failings. But most of all, why didn’t he go right home that night. He thought if he had, Falcone would still have gotten him and he’d still be tied to this chair, but at least his family may have been saved from these animals. But he didn’t and now they’re dead and he would soon be with them.
As Pauley stared at the young man in front of him, he saw a change in the man’s expression, so he grabbed him again by the hair, pulled his head back and asked. “You got any last words kid?”
“You killed my wife and son isn’t that enough you Ginny bastard?”
Without another word, Pauley took Bruno’s pistol from its shoulder holster and fried one round into Collin’s forehead. “Get rid of the body and clean up this fucking mess,” he said as he left the basement.
















Chapter-24


Jack and Ann sat at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. It was just after 6:00 AM. And they both looked like they needed more sleep time. Jack took two china cups and saucers from a glass cabinet over the sink and set them down on the table. Ann stared at the cups for a moment and then said to Jack. “These cups are beautiful, they look very old. Maybe we should use one of the mugs in the cupboard instead. I would really hate to break one.”
Jack took the glass carafe from the coffee maker, walked over to Ann and poured coffee into the two cups. “If fifteen kids couldn’t break one in fifty years, I think we’re good to go. These cups have quite a history in my family. My grandmother gave my mom these china cups as a wedding gift when she married my dad, just as her mother had done and her mother before her. They were given to Collin’s mother, my sister Marie, as a wedding gift. But after her death, they were returned to mom until she decides which of my sisters will be the next custodian.  I couldn’t say just how old they are, but I know my great grandmother brought them with her from Ireland in the mid eighteen hundreds and they have been passed down from mother to daughter, ever since.
There was a loud knock at the door. Jack took another sip of coffee and then quickly returned the cup to its saucer, looked at his watch and said, “Who the hell could that be, it’s not even six thirty yet?” Ann peered at Jack over the rim of her coffee cup and said, “Maybe it’s Collin, Jack?”
“Damn, you’re right honey. It could be him.” Conley quickly rose from the kitchen chair and went to answer the door.  He looked through the peep hole and saw Detective McCranie somberly standing there with his head bowed. McCranie would have used his cell phone to give him the usual updates, so Conley knew that for him to be at the front door at half past six was not good. He took a breath, unlatched the chain, turned dead bolt, opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
“Jack, they found a body in the Staten Island landfill. It may be your brother. I need you to come to the morgue with me and take a look at the body.”
“Sure, let me get my jacket and I’ll be right with you.” Conley stepped back into the apartment, walked into the kitchen and found his mother standing next to Ann. She was holding the two cups and saucers and had just turned to put them in the sink when Ann asked who had been at the door. Jack shook his head at her, a sign that she should say no more, but it was too late, his mother had heard the request and repeated Ann’s question. “Who was that at the door, Jackie?”
“It’s Detective McCranie.”
“What did he want?”
“He just had some general questions about Collin and whether I knew where he might contact any of his friends. You know mom, the usual cop stuff.”
Mary Conley turned away from the sink still holding the two cups and said. “You can’t bullshit an old Irish mother, son. I can see right through you. Now tell me, what’s going on here?”
Conley looked over at Ann, and cocked his head as if to say. “See what you’ve started.” He then turned to his mother. “Detective McCranie is waiting in the hall. He said they found a body in the Staten Island landfill.”
Ann put her hands up to her mouth and spoke through her quaking fingers. “Oh my God, Jack is it Collin?” Tears began to well up in Mary’s pale blue eyes and her hands began to tremble. One of the cups rattled off the saucer and exploded on the kitchen floor. Jack quickly stepped forward and took hold of the other cup and the two saucers before they too hit the floor and laid them down in the sink. He then gently put both big hands on his mother’s cheeks and bending down to meet her at eye level he said. “They don’t know that it’s Collin, mom. It’s probably not, so don’t worry yourself over it yet. He then retrieved his coat from the back of the kitchen chair. “I have to go with Detective McCranie now.” He kissed his mother gently on the forehead then walked around the table and kissed Ann good bye.



















Chapter-25


Conley and McCranie arrived at the City Morgue a little before 8:00 AM. Detective McCranie showed his ID to the receptionist and gave her the case number for the John Doe found in the Staten Island Landfill. The receptionist made a phone call and after a short wait the two men were escorted by a technician to the storage room. The Medical Examiner matched the numbers on their paperwork to those assigned to the corpse and then he pulled the body from the cooler and peeled back the sheet exposing the head area of the lifeless body.
“Is this your brother, Detective Conley?” asked the Medical Examiner. Conley nodded his assent and then pulled the sheet completely off his brother’s cold dead corpse. He stared at Collin in disbelief at the unspeakable condition of his brother’s body.
The Medical Examiner took hold of the corner of the sheet and began to pull it back over the corpse. Detective McCranie, who had not seen the body prior to entering the morgue took hold of the Medical Examiner’s arm and said. “Hold up a minute Doc.” He stared down at the young man’s face and even with the grotesque facial trauma caused by the tremendous beating he had taken, McCranie still recognized the face as that of the talented young pool player he had met at Thurston Grey’s apartment just a few weeks earlier. Why he didn’t connect the dots earlier he didn’t know, but there was one thing he was sure of; the man on the metal slab in front of him and the one he met at Thurston Grey’s were one and the same person. He took the sheet from the Examiners hand and laid it back over the body and then said to Conley. “I knew your brother, Jack. I didn’t realize it until now. I met him at an apartment in the Dakota building a few weeks ago.”
“What the hell would Collin be doing at the Dakota?”
“He was playing straight pool for a thousand a game with a New York City billionaire who took him to the cleaners.”
Did you get a good look at his body, McCranie?”
“Yeah” said the Detective. “Whoever did this was one sadistic son-of-a-bitch. They didn’t want him to die too quickly. My guess is they kept this poor kid alive for hours before he finally died from a bullet to the head. Look at where the thumbs were severed; the joints have been cauterized to stop the bleeding. Your brother suffered unimaginable pain before he finally died. I’m sorry for your loss, Conley. We’re going to find the sorry bastards that did this and put them away for a long time. 
As the two detectives left the morgue Conley lit a cigarette, took a long drag, blowing smoke into the air above McCranie’s head.
“What they did to my brother? That wasn’t just a killing; they tortured him, and then butchered him like an animal. My family can never see him like this.”
McCranie put his hand on Conley’s shoulder. “I’ll take you back to your mother’s place, Jack. You need to be with your family now. Don’t worry, we’ll find the bastards that did this to your brother.”
Conley took another deep drag on his cigarette, looked hard into McCranie’s eyes, and said, “We both know who’s responsible for this and we both know no one will ever be prosecuted or go to prison for it. This has gone beyond being a police investigation. What we have here now Dave is a Reckoning.
McCranie cocked his head slightly and repeated what Conley had just said. “A Reckoning? What the hell do you mean by a Reckoning?”
Conley took one last drag on the cigarette, dropped the butt to the sidewalk crushing it under his shoe. “You know exactly what I mean Detective. A reckoning, a settlement of accounts. Will you help me McCranie?”
Detective McCranie looked up at the big man in front of him. “Settlement of Accounts, what the hell are you talking about, Conley? Are you telling me you’re going after the Falcone crew on your own without due process of the law? What the hell, Jack, that’s not a Reckoning, that’s a Vendetta. I need to take you back to your mother’s place and you have to think about what you’re saying.”
Neither Detective said a word on the drive back to Mary Conley’s apartment. The silence was almost deafening. They simply stared ahead through the windshield as though looking for an answer to an impossible question. Finally as McCranie pulled up in front of the apartment building he broke his silence.
“My father and his father before him were cops. I have two brothers and a brother in law on the force. You’re asking me to do something that goes against the grain for me, Conley. But it brings to mind something my father told me the day I graduated from the police academy. He said, Dave play by the rules until the rules no longer apply. Then do the right thing.”
McCranie put the car in park, cut the ignition got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side; he bent down, and tapped on the glass motioning Conley to the rear of his cruiser. Conley got out of the car and walked back to McCranie who was putting a key into the trunk lock.
“I have to be out of my fucking mind to do this, Conley.” He popped the trunk lid open, pointed down at a gray metal box sitting in a larger cardboard box on the left side of the trunk and said. “Take it.”
Conley took the metal case by its handle, removed it from the cardboard box, and laid it back down on the floor of the trunk. He looked up at McCranie who was staring back down at him with a grim haunting gaze.
“Open it, Conley” he said, “And Merry Christmas.”
When Conley opened the metal box, he found two large objects each wrapped in a soft flannel cloth. When he picked up the first, there was no question in his mind that it was a weapon. He was however very surprised to find out they were a pair of¬¬¬ Glock 9mm’s with silencers. The grips and triggers were taped, so fingerprints were not an issue.
Detective McCranie picked up the second Glock, removed it from the cloth wrapping and gave it an almost loving kiss on the end of the silencer. “I’ve had these for quite a while Jack; I’m going to miss them. When you’re done with them, drop them where you stand and walk away. That’s the best I can do for you Conley.”
Conley thanked him and slid the two pistols under his belt and buttoned his jacket to conceal them. As he turned to go up the steps to the building entrance McCranie called him back.
“Conley, hold up” he said reaching back into the trunk; he came out with a second pair of loaded magazine clips. “You’ll probably need these.”
Conley took a deep breath, nodded in agreement, took the clips from McCranie and thanked him again.
         “Don’t thank me Conley. Just settle your accounts, and get the hell out of my city in one piece.”
“That’s the idea Dave”
As he watched Detective McCranie drive away. He wondered if he really had what it took to take on Falcone and his crew alone and whether another dead Conley served any useful purpose in the larger scheme of things. He was just now getting his life back together after the death of his wife and son during the September 11th terrorist attacks. He was now engaged to a beautiful woman who loved him for who he was and he now found he had doubts as to whether or not he wanted to give it all up for an almost certain trip to the morgue.
Conley opened his jacket, thumbed the grips of the two Glocks and thought to himself. “If I don’t, one, or all of my brothers will and although they all have courage and want to do what they feel is right, they’re not ready for something like this.” He then buttoned his jacket back up and entered his mother’s apartment building.
 







          

         
         






Chapter-26


Conley rang the bell on the wall in the lobby. He heard his mother’s voice over the speaker. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Jack.”
In a moment the inner door in the lobby buzzed and Conley pushed it open. As usual, the elevator was out so Conley used the stairs. He knocked on the apartment door and the door opened a crack straining against the security chain. The face peering through the crack was a familiar one. It was his sister, Marion. “Hi Jackie. Give me a sec to get this chain off.” She opened the door, kissed her brother on the cheek and hugged him tightly.
         Conley gently pulled back, smiled and said. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
         “Francis and I were able to get an earlier flight out of Atlanta.” She took him by the hand. “Come on in Jackie, everyone is here. Then with a coy little smile looked at him over her shoulder and said. “Your fiancée is gorgeous and smart too. What the hell does she see in you, you big Irish lug.”
“You know sis, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I think she just goes for men with big guns.” They both laughed and Marion pulled on his hand to lead him into the living room. Jack hesitated, looked at his sister and said. “They found Collins body this morning.”
Marion’s eyes teared up. “Are they sure it’s him Jackie. Maybe they’re wrong?”
“No, sis. It was Collin; I identified his body at the morgue”
“Oh my God, Jackie. How could something like this happen? Collin was a good kid. What could he have done to make someone want to kill him, Katy and his son too?”
“I don’t know Marion, but I’m going to find out. Go get the family together. I’ll be right in. I just have to use the bathroom first.”
Marion walked into the living room and Jack walked down the hallway passed the bathroom and entered the spare bedroom where he and Ann were sleeping. He removed his coat and tossed it over a chair in the far corner of the room, then removed the two 9mm’s with their silencers from their resting place under his belt He opened the closet door and tucked the two weapons under a blanket on the shelf above the clothes rack.
As he walked past the bedroom dresser, he stopped and stared at an old photograph of himself taken the day he graduated from the police academy. His mother had it framed and displayed with pride. He had not realized until he saw the photograph, just how much he and Collin had looked alike. It also made him think about his nephew lying on that metal slab in the city morgue and the more he thought, the angrier he got.
It was at that precise moment he affirmed what both he and Detective McCranie new had to be done and he was ready to accept responsibility for it. He also knew that the only way to settle all debts was to go way beyond the letter of the law. There would have to be a reckoning. Blood for blood he thought. Whatever Collin did, he didn’t deserve to be butchered and dumped in a landfill like so much garbage by that son-of-a-bitch Big Pauley Falcone and the other calloused brutal animals who work for the Moretti family.
Marion had gathered everyone into at tight group in the living room. Conley worked his way through his brothers, sisters and their families to his mother sitting on the sofa with Ann. He sat down next to his mother taking her hands in his. He could see the sorrow and heartache in her eyes. He took a deep breath, looked over at Ann, then back to his mother. “Mom, they found Collin today. He’s been murdered.”
         The room went silent. Mary Conley’s eyes welled with tears, but she managed to maintain her composure. She looked into her oldest sons deep blue eyes and said with no uncertainty. “Prison is not enough for those who did this terrible thing to my boy, his wife and their precious son. You need to find them Jackie. You need to find them and kill them all. Do you hear me, son. All of them.” Then she stood and silently walked to her bedroom, went in and shut the door behind her.
Once the family had dispersed to their own homes for the night, Jack and Ann retired to the spare bedroom. Jack sat on the end of the bed, slid his shoes off and fell back onto the mattress staring at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face.
Ann took his jacket from the back of the chair and walked to the closet. She opened the door and hung the jacket on an old wooden hanger. As she was closing the door, the rumpled blanket on the shelf caught her eye. When she reached up to straighten it out, she felt the reason for the bulge. Lifting the blanket she saw the two automatic weapons. Very gently she lifted the blanket and its contents from the shelf and laid them on the bed next to Conley.
“What are these, Jack?”
Conley turned his head to the side and looked at the two guns with their silencers and said. “What do they look like Ann?”
“Well, they sure as hell don’t look like something the A.C.P.D. issues to their Detectives! Those are the kind of guns used by gangsters and hit men, Jack. Where did you get them and for the love of God, what are you planning to do with them?”
Conley sat up on the bed, took a deep breath and said. “It doesn’t really matter where I got them, Ann, does it? And as far as what I’m going to do with them, I think we both know the answer to that. These guys didn’t just kill my brother. They butchered him and murdered his wife and son. Do you remember the terror Erik Varga put into your heart and how in the end you knew he had to be stopped permanently. Well, Honey, these guys are worse because unlike Varga, they’re not insane, they’re just bone mean with no soul or conscience. If I have them arrested, they’ll come after the family and they won’t stop until everyone who could possibly cause trouble for them is dead. This is something I have to do, Ann to protect us all.”
Ann sat down next to him and cupped her hands around the sides of his face.  Looking deep into his eyes she said. “Jack, I’m scared to death. If anything happened to you I don’t know what I’d do.
Jack took Ann’s hands from his face and laid them down on her lap and held them there. “I’m not going to get hurt, Babe. This isn’t my first rodeo. Believe me, Ann, I know how to handle the problem.
“You don’t even know who’s responsible for these murders. Do you?”
“Your wrong, Ann, I know exactly who did this. Members of the Moretti crime family.”
“Jesus, Jack, you’re telling me you’re going after the Mafia?”
“Not all of them, just the ones responsible for the murder of my brother and his family.”
“Can’t you just have them arrested?”
“They would walk in less than twenty-four hours, Ann. There’s no hard evidence.”
“Then how can you be sure it’s them?”
“The son of one of their Capo’s, Little Pauley Falcone was playing pool with Collin the night they killed Katy and Collin Jr. There was an argument over a pool game and Falcone’s son was accidently killed. So, tell me Ann, who do you think is responsible for Collins murder?”
“Are you crazy, Jack? You can’t go after all of them by yourself.”
“I don’t have to go after the entire mob. I only need to take out the one who gave the order. Big Pauley Falcone”
“I don’t want my brothers involved in this, Ann, they’re not prepared to handle the heat that’s coming down and they’ll only get hurt, or worse. We have three dead now and I don’t want to see any more family at the morgue. I want you to promise me you’ll say nothing to them and I want you to go back to Atlantic City until this is over and done. Promise me.”
I can’t do that Jack, and I won’t. I’ll stay right here where I belong and we’ll get through this together. Just promise you’ll come back safe to me.
There wasn’t much sleep for either of them that night. Conley’s mind raced from thought to thought as he tried to plan a strategy that would bring him through the hell fire he was about to walk into to serve up his brand of Irish justice. Ann was just as restless with the terrifying thought that the man she loved so deeply and wanted to marry might possibly be taken from her before their new life together could begin.
In the morning, Conley was up early; he made a pot of coffee and returned to the bedroom with one of his mother’s prized china cups steaming with the fresh brew. As he walked past the dresser, he picked up the folder Sergeant Beaver had left with the information on the Moretti crew. He stood staring out the window for a moment, tapping the folder on his chin and then sat in the stuffed chair by the window. He set the cup and saucer on the window ledge beside the chair and began thumbing through the folder looking for anything that would help him make it through this reckoning alive. 
Ann began to stir as the morning sun beamed through the window warming her face. “What time is it Jack?”
He closed the file, laid it in his lap, looked over at Ann and said. “It’s still early, Honey, go back to sleep for a while. I’m just reading some files.”
She rolled back over on her side burying her face in the pillow. She sleepily opened one eye and said. “Give me another twenty minutes and then I’ll get up and make some breakfast for us.”
         “Sure, Babe that would be great.”
As he stared at the beautiful woman on the bed, he flashed back to his first wife Angie and their son Jackie Jr. who were passengers on American Flight #93 on Sept 11th when it was hijacked by Al-Qaeda and crashed over Stonycreek Township Pennsylvania killing all onboard.
God forgive me Angie it gets harder each year to see your face.
I met a wonderful woman, and have fallen in love again. Her name is Ann. she’s a Psychiatrist and works with troubled children. I think you’d like her Angie, she’s a lot like you, always upbeat and ready to go.
Ann opened her eyes to find Conley staring down at her. It was as if he were trying to read her thoughts. “What’s wrong, Jack, you look so distant?”
“It’s nothing, Honey; I was thinking what a tragic waste all this has been.”

Then Ann’s psychiatric side kicked in. “You and I and the family will get through this and life will go on.”
Jack smiled at her. “You’re right, sweetheart and we’ll move on.”
Conley got up and laid the file on the dresser and then sat on the bed next to Ann. He cupped his fingers under her chin, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Catch a few more zees,’ Honey. I’m going to take a shower and get cleaned up. Then I think we should all go out to breakfast. You don’t need to be cooking for us.”
When Conley had left the bedroom, Ann got up, walked over to the dresser and picked up the file.
“Let’s see what you’re up against, Big Man.” She sat on the end of the bed and leafed through the folder with its case files, mug shots and photos of living mob members and morgue photos of both dead gang members and their victims. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and her hands began to tremble as she read the horrendous things they had been charged with and or convicted of. When she could take no more, she closed the file and dropped it back onto the bed
“Oh my God Jack Conley, what have you gotten yourself into?”







Chapter-27

When Conley walked into the living room, his brothers who were sitting around the coffee table like a pack of Irish Wolfhounds suddenly come to life; as though Sister Mary Thomas, the Mother Superior at their catholic elementary school had just caught them with their hands in the poor box.
Finally Jack’s brother Gene put his coffee cup down on the table in front of the couch, stood up, smacked his open left hand with his clinched right fist and said,
“Ok Jack, what’s the plan? How are we going to get the bastards that killed our brother and his family?
Jack looked down at his short stocky little brother, smiled and said, “How are We going to get those bastards? Gene, you’re a butcher. Buddy over there is a cook; Ray, you’re a cab driver and Jimmy’s a stock broker. We’re not going to get anyone. I appreciate your concern and desire to help, but it would be too dangerous to drag you all into what’s coming down. I’m better off going this one alone. I’ll have enough to worry about without having to worry about your safety, too.”
Sean, one of the middle brothers got off the couch, walked over to the window, stared out for a moment and then turned to his older brother.
“That’s Bull Shit, Jack. And I’m not having any of it. We’ve looked out for each other our entire lives and it’s not going to stop now because the going gets a little tough.”
“A little tough? Sean we’re talking about the fucking Mafia, Buddy. You’re a fireman. What are you going to do? Smack them with your hose or chase them with your fire axe?”
“Whatever it takes big brother. Whatever it takes.”
“And you, Roy, you’re a plumber with nine little mouths to feed. What does your wife think of all this? Has she figured out how she’s going to raise nine kids on her own after you’re gone? No,probably not.”
Another brother Cliff, the quiet one finally spoke up.
“Listen Jack, it’s very admirable of you to sacrifice yourself to keep the rest of us safe, but we’re the Conley’s and were sticking together. So stop the shit and tell us how were going to handle this mess.”
Conley seeing no advantage in arguing any further with his brother’s, shook his head. “Ok, we’ll take this on as a family. But I’ll need a day or two to work things out so just sit tight until then.”
As he turned to walk to the kitchen he looked over to Ann and gave her the look.
“What!” she said.
“Don’t give me that” he said. “You know what you did. You ratted me out to my brothers. I don’t want them involved in this. They have no idea how bad this could get. They have big hearts and would do anything for me, but they’re not mentally or physically capable of doing what has to be done. They will only get hurt or worse if they get involved. You should have just left it alone and let me handle it Ann.”
“You can’t handle it alone Jack. You’re not talking about giving out a traffic ticket; you’re talking about killing members of the New York Mob. Have you lost your mind?”
Conley stared at Ann for a long disapproving moment and then walked into the kitchen. He took the bottle of Irish whiskey from its resting place in the glass cabinet above the counter, grabbed a glass from the strainer, poured a stiff shot, downed it quickly and then poured another. Fuck, he thought. What do I do now? 




Chapter-28


There wasn’t much of a plan. The bar where Pauley held court was located in the center of the block with two small café tables out front. Conley had driven past the bar on two separate occasions and both times there were four or five of Falcone’s soldiers out front sitting at, or standing around the tables reading their racing forms and sipping expresso. Getting past them to Falcone would not be easy.
After a third drive by he picked up on something that he thought may tip the scales a little in his favor. He noticed that three of the soldiers standing near the table closest to the door were wearing wife-beater tank tops which probably made them feel real macho but also showed that they were unarmed. The two sitting at the table wore leather sport coats and probably were armed. Those two would be his first targets, followed by the three wife beaters and then whatever he found in the bar. He figured there could be another four or five inside that he would need to take out to get to Falcone. He didn’t like the odds, but he knew what had to be done and his years on the job had hardened him and remembering Collin gave him the courage and will to go on.
As he drove back to his mother’s apartment, he wasn’t sure yet how to take his brothers out of the equation, but there were two things he was certain of. There would be no more Irish wakes for the Conley family any time soon; and that tomorrow he would settle all debts with Pauley Falcone.
The next morning Conley got up early, showered and had coffee in the kitchen with Ann and three of his brothers, Sean, Gene and Buddy.
“So what’s the plan Jack?” Asked Sean.
“Do you guys remember Jimmy Boyle?”
“Sure” said Buddy, “He and Collin and that O’Farrell kid were thick a thieves when they were young.”
“Yeah, well Jimmy Boyle says he can get us some fully automatic AR-15’s. If he comes through, we’ll hit Falcone’s crew in two days.”
“Why wait?” asked Gene.
“Because little brother it will take a couple of days for Jimmy to get us the weapons. Or did you just figure to waltz right in to Falcone’s bar unarmed and kill them all with nothing more than your handsome Irish good looks? Two days Gene. Two days, and we settle all family debts. Ok?”
“Sure Jack, two days. No problem brother.”
Jack got up from the table and said he needed to speak to Detective McCranie about something, and then walked back towards to bedroom. Ann took him by the arm and asked. “Where are you going, Jack?”
“I’m going to get my jacket out of the bedroom closet and then I’m going to have a talk with Detective McCranie about a few things. He kissed her, and left her standing in the kitchen when he went to get his jacket. He also retrieved the two 9mm’s with their silencers, laid his coat over them and walked quietly out of the apartment.
Conley parked his car at the end of the block about fifty yards from Falcone’s bar and waited. Just as it had been on his last three trips past the bar, the same five soldiers were out front. The two at the table and the three standing by the door. He watched the building for nearly an hour and no one ever went in, or came out of the bar.
If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now, He thought to himself as he got out of the car, popped the trunk and slid the two weapons down into the small of his back behind his belt. He fluffed his jacket lapels to be sure the guns were concealed and started for the bar.
As he approached the entrance, he pulled the two Glock’s and held them down behind his thighs.
One of Pauley’s soldiers, the one closest to the door, looked at Conley and said, “Yo, asshole, what the fuck do you want?”
Without a word, Conley raised the Glock and fired. Ignoring the man who had just spoken to him, he aimed the pistol in his left hand at the temple of Geno Argo who was sitting at the café table. The bullet entered the back of Geno’s head just above the level of his ears and exited through his mouth, blowing out the front teeth in his lower jaw. He fell forward onto the table smashing his expresso cup with his forehead. The second man sitting with Geno at the table began to stand while reaching for a weapon under his coat. Conley’s fired twice, the first shot entered his chest and he reeled backward looking up in disbelief. The second shot caught him in the forehead. He and the chair toppled backwards he was dead before he hit the sidewalk.
The soldier who had originally stopped him made a run for the entrance yelling “Geno’s hit! Geno’s hit!” Conley followed him into the bar and before he could give another warning, Conley fired again putting a round into the soldiers back between the shoulder blades. The soldier stumbled forward, fell over a cafe table and laid motionless on the floor.
Conley quickly scanned the room. There were three men plus the bartender staring at him in amazement. Then the bartender yelled,
“You mother fucker” and raised a sawed off shotgun above the bar. Conley put three rounds into the big man before he could cock the hammers back. He fell back behind the bar and Conley focused his attention on the next man in line. Bruno Vincente.
Bruno got off a shot but hadn’t take the time to aim and the bullet grazed Conley’s shoulder. Conley returned fire and hit Bruno in the neck. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees holding his throat with both hands, the blood pulsating through his fingers with every beat of his heart. He fell back into the flood and looked up at Conley with scorn and then said with a pronounced gurgle caused by the blood pouring into the back of his throat. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Jack Conley, You killed my brother you, son-of-a-bitch” He then put two more rounds into Bruno’s head.
The last man standing was obviously unarmed and ran to the back of the bar and down into the basement. Conley followed him to the back of the bar and slowly descended the staircase into the basement. He found a thin little man standing in the corner with a baseball bat in his hands.
Conley held both Glocks on him and said, “Really, a ball bat?”
“Fuck you” was the response as he waved the bat over his head. “I’ll fucking kill you, mother fucker”
Conley just smiled and said. “Not today son. I’m looking for Pauley Falcone. Where is he?”
“Fuck You I ain’t telling you shit”
Conley smiled again and shot the young man in the leg, putting a bullet into the center of his knee cap. The soldier fell to the floor dropped the bat and clenched his knee in agony.
“I’m going to ask you again kid. Where is Falcone?”
Even in extreme agony Falcone’s soldier refused to give him up and still managed one more, “Fuck You”
Conley looked down at the man squirming on the floor, “Have it your own way,” he said. And then fired a second round into the soldier, the bullet pierced his heart and ended his miserable life forever.
There was a searing pain at the back of Conley’s head and then everything went black. When he came too, he was sitting on a wooden chair in the center of the basement. Bound and gagged with duct tape.
The bartender, with three bullets in him still managed to make it to the basement followed by Pauley Falcone who had just arrived at the bar to find most of his crew shot to hell. The big bartender had hit Conley with the butt end of the shotgun and knocked him cold.
Big Pauley grabbed Conley roughly by the chin yanking his head up and said to him,
“You gotta be related to that Irish Bastard that killed my son. I can appreciate your wanting revenge, but it’s not gonna happen and by the end of the day, you’ll be in the same dump as your son, or brother, or whatever the fuck he was. Capeesh? And you know what; it’s gonna be one of your own kind that ends your miserable fucking Irish life.”
Falcone turned to a shadowy figure in a darkened corner of the basement and said. “Take care of this and the mess upstairs. I’ll be at the house. Call me when it’s done. You got that?”
“Yeah, I got it Mr. Falcone”
The voice was familiar to Conley and as the figure in the darkness moved from the shadows, he knew why. It was Jimmy Boyle.
“I’ll take care of things here, no problem Mr. Falcone.”
“Good, don’t fuck this up kid. Rocco’s upstairs, he’ll help you with the bodies.”
Pauley and the bartender made it to the top of the stairwell and then the big man finally succumbed to the bullets he had taken and collapsed, falling backwards down the stair well landing with a sickening thud at the bottom. Big Pauley looked down for a moment at the limp body on the basement floor then told Jimmy. “Take care of that too.”
Conley sat taped to the chair and thought it might not have been one of his better ideas to hang Jimmy Boyle from the bridge, but it was too late to do anything about that now.
Jimmy hollered up to Rocco to come down and help him with the bartender. Rocco came down the stairs, stepped around the big man on the floor and walked over Jimmy who was standing next to Conley.
“Is he the one that made all that frigging mess upstairs?”
“Yeah”
“Who the fuck is this guy, Jimmy?”
“He’s Jack Conley the brother of the guy you dumped in the land fill.”
“Well, fuck him and fuck his dead brother too. Waste him now Jimmy. We have a lot of shit to clean up and I don’t want to be here all frigging night.”
Yeah, sure, no problem” said Jimmy lifting his shirt to reveal the stub nose 38 caliber revolver tucked under his belt. He drew the weapon and pressed the barrel against Conley’s forehead. He then turned to Rocco and said.
“You know, Rocco, I only had two friends in my entire fucking life and in one friggin week, you mother fucking ginny bastards killed both of them.” Jimmy looked down at Conley, smiled and then turned the gun on Rocco putting two rounds into the mobster’s chest.
As he lay bleeding out on the basement floor, coughing up blood from his punctured lungs Jimmy squatted down next to him and said. “Hey Rocco, look on the bright side. You’ll get to see all your dead ginny relatives tonight in Goomba hell.” He then put one last round into Rocco’s head.
Jimmy pulled the tape from Conley’s mouth. He then knelt down and cut the tape binding his legs to the chair. Looking up at Conley he said. “You ok, Jack?”
Conley nodded he was and then said. “We have to get the hell out of here now Jimmy.”
Jimmy stood up and slit the duct tape wrapped around Conley’s chest and the chair, allowing the big man to stand.
Jimmy saw the hole in Conley’s jacket oozing blood. “You’ve been hit. Will you be ok?”
“I’ll be fine Jimmy, but I don’t know about you. This isn’t going to go well for you with the Moretti mob.”
“Everyone who knew I was here is dead except for Pauley Falcone. If you take out that ginny bastard, I’ll be fine.
“That’s the idea Jimmy.”
Back upstairs Conley heard a loud moan over by the upturned café table. It was the soldier who was shot in the back. Without hesitation, Conley emptied one of the Glocks into him, laid the gun on the bar and left with Jimmy.
When they got back to the car, Conley asked if he could drop Jimmy off anywhere.
“No Jack, I’m good. Just take care of that bastard Falcone.” He then turned and walked away from the car.
As Conley was getting into his car, he could hear the wail of police sirens getting progressively louder as they approached. Pulling away from the curb, he thought to himself, one to go.





Chapter-29


Pauley Falcone slipped the key into the deadbolt, opened the front door, took one step in and then stopped in mid stride. He turned and faced the street as if expecting someone. Seeing nothing, he leaned over a small hand rail and peered into the hedges lining the front of the house. Again seeing nothing, he shook his head, opened the door and went in.
Walking through the living room he entered the darkened den. Sitting in the center of the room was an expensive antique pool table he had gotten years earlier for an unpaid gambling debt. He walked around the table to a bar in the back corner of the room, flipped a wall switch and three small halogen lights under the overhead cabinet lit the bar and liquor bottles on it.
Pauley got some ice from a dispenser under the bar and tossed a few cubes into a crystal glass and poured two fingers of Johnny Walker scotch into it. He downed the shot in short order and as he poured a second, a voice in the opposite corner of the room said.
“I’ll have a shot of Jameson’s if you got it. Never cared much for Scotch I hear you have to acquire a taste for it.” 
         Pauley slammed his glass down on the bar top and reached for the gun in his waistband. Conley stood and fired one shot sending a bullet into Pauley’s forearm. “No, no, no, no guns,” Jack said as he approached Pauley and kicked the pistol the Capo had dropped, sending it sliding under the pool table. He then forced Pauley’s good arm behind his back and threw him up against the bar. 
         Pauley, bleeding profusely from both the entrance and exit wounds in his arm screamed back at Conley.
“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that Irish piece of shit Jimmy Boyle. When I’m finished with you, I’m gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch, too and dump the both of you in the same fucking land fill where I dumped your fucking brother.
“You’re not taking anyone anywhere Goomba.” Conley said pulling open his jacket to reveal the gold detectives badge attached to his belt. “I’m your worst nightmare Falcone. I’m a cop who doesn’t give a shit.”
         “You’re a cop? You can’t do this. What do you want, Money? We can work this out, just tell me how much you want and I’ll get it for you.”
         Conley grinned but said nothing. He did however pick up a pool cue that was lying on the table and rammed the butt end of it into Falcone’s stomach just below the solar plexus. Falcone gave out a tremendous groan and grimaced in pain.
         “Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch don’t it?” He then grabbed Falcone by the throat and wrested him up onto the pool table. Using cords he had cut earlier from lamps in the den, he tied Falcone’s wrists and ankles to the four corners of the pool table.
Conley looked down at Falcone who had stopped struggling with the lamp cords. He pulled the automatic weapon with the silencer from his waistband and slowly walked around the table.
“You know Pauley these silencers are terrific. Almost no noise at all. Just a little poof sound,” he said as he fired a round into the palm of Falcone’s right hand. “See what I mean? I didn’t hear a damn thing, did you?”
Pauley yelled back, “Fuck you mother fucker, you’re fucking dead. I’m talking to a dead man.”
Conley reached into the side pocket and took out two balls, a black eight ball, and the yellow and white nine ball. “This is a hell of a table Pauley. It must have set you back a bundle.” Conley held the two balls up and asked Falcone which game he preferred, eight ball or nine ball.
“Fuck You.” 
“You have a filthy mouth Pauley, did you know that?” And then said, “You look like an eight ball kind of guy to me.” He slammed the black ball into Falcone’s mouth. The ball wedged tightly between his upper and lower jaw, occupying the space where his front teeth had been just a moment before. Pauley’s ranting’s were muffled now by the pool  ball, but the pain and glaring hatred in his eyes spoke volumes to Conley who continued around the table and fired a second round, this time into Falcone’s left hand. The large caliber bullet left a gaping hole in his palm and blew the hell out a pool ball sitting in the pocket just below his hand. And just like the bullet that destroyed his right hand, the shot fired into his left was nearly silent.
         Conley continued around the table. When he reached the side pocket he stopped, looked down at Falcone and then pumped another nearly silent round into Falcone. This one into the Capo’s left knee cap.
“Hey, I bet you didn’t think they would recover my brother’s body from the landfill so quickly did you?” Well, they did and they took a blood sample from his shit and they’re running a DNA test on it as we speak. I’m guessing it will match a sample they’re going to get from either your cold dead body or one of your dead goomba’s from the bar.”
Conley laid his weapon down on the railing of the pool table and leaned over until his eyes met Falcone’s.
“I know it’s hard for you to talk right now, so just listen to me. This is your last day on earth and I want you to know what you’re dying for. My brother didn’t kill your son. One of your soldiers took a swing at him with a pool cue. The cue snapped and stuck in your son’s throat. If your guy hadn’t pulled it out, he would probably still be alive today. Here, let me show you what I mean. Conley snapped a cue stick over his knee. He tossed the butt end on the floor and stabbed the splintered shaft into Pauley’s neck and then just as quickly pulled it back out. The blood sprayed profusely from Pauley’s severed artery as he looked up in horror at a smiling Jack Conley.  See Pauley, just an unfortunate accident.
As Conley stepped out of the house, he came face to face with Detective McCranie.
“You left quite a mess back at that bar Conley. What kind of mess did you leave here?”
Conley smiled. “Well you won’t have to worry about Pauley Falcone anymore.”
“Where are the throw down’s I gave you?”
“One is on the pool table inside and the other is on the floor at the bar.”
“Good. It looks to me like the Jamaican Posse got some payback for a hit on them last year.”
McCranie scratched the back of his head and said. “We’ll run ballistics on those two weapons, but I’m pretty sure they’ll match up with slugs pulled from the bodies at a known Jamaican Posse hit.”
Conley looked at McCranie with a puzzled expression on his face and then said. “You took those weapons from a crime scene?”
“Hell, no! That would be unethical and criminally negligent, not to mention highly illegal. Now get the hell out of here so I can call this in.”
“Thanks Dave.” Conley said extending his hand to McCranie. The New York Detective took Conley’s hand, shook it and then said. “I don’t expect to see you in Hell’s Kitchen again for a very long time.”
“I can’t promise you that, McCranie I still have family here. But I will promise to behave myself when I’m in town, good enough?”
“Yeah, good enough now get the hell out of here you Irish Prick.”




                        Epilogue


The services for Collin, Katy and Collin Jr. were held at St. Michaels Catholic church in Hell’s Kitchen. Other than the immediate Conley clan and a few of Mary Conley’s lifelong friends, the church was empty.
Father O’Malley stood at the pulpit silently looking over those in attendance then said.
“We are gathered here to remember Collin, Katy and Collin Jr. who were taken from us much too soon. And while the cause of their deaths is a question we cannot answer at this time, we can take some measure of comfort knowing they are now in a better place.
“At this time, would anyone like to say a few words in remembrance?”
Jack Conley sat with his mother to his right and Ann Slater, his fiancée on his left. He squeezed Ann’s hand, looked over to his mother and stood up. He approached the podium, shook the priests hand and thanked him for his kindness.
“I would like to say a few things that have been on my mind these past few days. First of all, let me say that my brother was certainly no angel. He had his flaws, just like the rest of us and in a perfect world I think he would have been a much better husband and father. But we don’t live in a perfect world, so we just do the best we can. I believe that’s just what Collin did. He tried to do the best he could for his family.
As far as the cause of their deaths being uncertain, let me set you all straight. There is no doubt that Collin and his family were murdered. I know this for a fact and I also know that Pauley Falcone was responsible for the death of my brother and therefore also responsible for the death of his wife Katy and their son Collin Jr.
Three days ago I settled all family matters with Pauley Falcone. I have been a police officer for almost thirty years and rather than keep the vow I made to uphold the law and do my duty as a public servant. I found and killed the men who were responsible. There will be no arrests and there will be no trial.
I know my brothers are upset with me for not including them in seeking vengeance for our brother’s murder and that of his family. I do however take some measure of gratification in knowing that none of you will be prosecuted or serve prison time as I imagine I will. I did what I felt had to be done for justice to be served, but that doesn’t make what I did right. That’s why I have decided to turn myself in to the authorities tomorrow. It’s the right thing to do and something I feel we can all live with. I love you all and I would gladly do the same for any of you.
As Jack Conley stepped from the pulpit, his fiancée, Ann Slater and his mother were crying in the front pew. For that matter, everyone in the church was stunned and in awe by what they had just heard. As he walked the aisle to the rear of the church there was dead silence.
The Conley family gathered at the front steps of the church. Each brother in turn staring at the next, until Gene finally said.
“No one in this family is going to prison for killing those bastards. There were only three people outside the family and Father O’Malley who heard what you said in there. Mr. & Mrs. Mahon, you remember them, their son Michael was also found in a landfill. Mr. Mahon always figured it was a hit by one of Falcone’s men. And then there’s old Mrs. Mahoney sitting over there in the corner. She has Alzheimer’s, so you know what Jack? They heard nothing, that’s what. And Father O’Malley will consider what your said in there as your act of confession. So you see Jack no one in there heard a damn thing you said. You did the right thing to protect your family from the likes of Pauley Falcone. So you need to put this one to bed and forget about ever turning yourself in. And if you do, were all going to confess to being a part of it and we can all go to prison together. So what’s it gonna be brother?
Jack stared down at his brother for a moment, then grabbed and hugged him. “Ok Gene, we’ll let it die for now, but you have to promise me that if this ever comes back on me, that you and the others will swear you knew nothing about it ok.
Ok Jack, I promise. Now let’s go, Ma’s waiting for us in the car.

                  The End


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