6

Joey climbed the subway steps up to Madison Square Park—which, for some reason he’d never been able to figure, was nowhere near Madison Square Garden. He squinted into the cold wind as he looked around. Benny the Brit had said he’d meet him on the downtown end of the park.

There. Perched on a bench just as promised.

Joey started toward him, praying this wasn’t another wasted trip. Despite the support of the big shots in what was left of the families, he’d come up empty. Bel niente. Then a call from Benny. He had something. Didn’t know if it would help, but meet him in the park and he’d give Joey what he had.

So here was the park and there sat Benny.

Joey seated himself a couple of feet to Benny’s left. He was maybe ten years older than Joey, squat and fat—a real tappo—wearing one of those tweedy British caps that snapped onto the peak.

“Morning, Benny.”

He started. “Oh, ‘allo, guv. Gave me a bit o’ a start there, you did.”

Everybody knew Benny wasn’t British. He grew up in Flatbush and had never been within a thousand miles of England. But for some reason the ceffo liked to fake an English accent. Did it so much he never stepped out of character now. Trouble was, he wasn’t that good. In fact, he was freaking terrible. Picked up his accent from television—the “telly,” as he liked to call it—and movies. His accent was bad even by those standards. Drove everybody bugfuck crazy, but Joey would put up with it if Benny had the goods.

“Whatta y’got for me?”

“A bit o’ tape is what I got. I tapes everyone who does business wif me, and I caught meself an Arab in the act.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I sold the bloke a couple o’ Tavor-twos, I did.”

Joey gripped the edge of the bench seat. He was sitting next to the stronzo who’d sold the guns that had killed Frankie. He didn’t know whether to kill him or kiss him. Because if he had these guys on tape…

Too freaking good to be true. Joey’s livelihood was built on peddling too good to be true, so he knew what that usually meant…

“Let me get this straight: You taped an Arab buying a pair of Tavor-twos.”

“‘Sright, mate.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me that the first I asked you about it?”

Benny leaned back, looking scared, and Joey realized he’d been pretty damn near shouting.

“Easy, mate. Don’t ‘ave to shout. I ain’t Mutt an’ Jeff. An’ the reason I never said nuffin’ was I didn’t ‘ave it then.”

Joey worked at calming himself but wasn’t doing such a hot job.

“Whatta you mean you didn’t—?”

“‘Ere now, don’t get yer knickers in a twist. I only taped them yesterday. Got on the dog and bone and called you right away, I did.”

“Yesterday? What the fuck good is that? Frankie was killed two weeks ago!”

“Think about it, guv: The blighters left their guns at the airport, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So they might be needing replacements. Not to mention the fact that he bought two ‘undred hollow-points to go wif ‘em. Bit much to be a coincidence, i’nit?”

Joey thought about that. Jesus, if this wasn’t a freakin’ coincidence, then that meant…

“You wouldn’t happen to have that tape on you, would you?”

“Right ‘ere in me sky rocket, mate.”

Benny pulled a manila envelope out of his coat pocket and held it out. Joey snatched it and clutched it with both hands.

“And that’s not all,” Benny said. He pulled a plastic bag out of another pocket. Joey recognized a pistol magazine. “This ‘ere’s a li’l somethin’ the blighter ‘andled while ‘e was shoppin’. Got ‘is prints all over it, it does.”

Joey took the Baggie and stared at the magazine.

Oh man, oh man, oh man. If this panned out…

“Got a name or something to go with these?”

“Don’t get to ‘ear many names in me business, mate. No credit cards neither. Strictly bangers and mash. But I fink you know that.”

Yeah, Joey knew that. But it never hurt to ask.

“Thanks, Benny.”

“Under normal circumstances I would ‘ave told those pandies to bugger right off—I’ll not be sellin’ to the likes o’ them—but I remembered you was lookin’ for blokes of that ilk, so I made the transaction. Just for you, mate. Just for you.”

Not to mention a heaping plate of “bangers and mash” to boot.

“I’ll remember this, Benny. Anything I can ever do for you—”

“Just find those pandies and give ‘em what fer.” He hauled himself off the bench. “And now I’m off to see me trouble and strife. Left ‘er in Macy’s, I did. Spendin’ me into the poor ‘ouse, most likely.”

Joey was aware of Benny moving off and taking his bad accent with him, but he didn’t say good-bye. He sat in the blessed silence and stared down at the envelope.

A video of a gun-buying Arab. Great. But what was he going to do with it? How did he go about ID-ing the figlio di puttana? Where did he go from here?

He didn’t know. Have to think on that. But he didn’t let it get him down.

Finally, something.