A pale streak of dawn slithered below the charcoal black storm clouds impaled on the city's tallest buildings, as the streetlights dimmed one by one up Fifth Avenue. Traffic on the icy avenue was sparse and only a few dog-walkers braved the snow-clogged sidewalks in front of the Plaza Hotel. This morning most of New York would stay in bed except for those who had yet to go to sleep.
"C'mon, ring, you bastard." Frank deRocco glared at the telephone for the hundredth time since 3am.
Something was fucked up and the detective poured himself another glass of whiskey, which he downed it in one go. When the empty glass fell from his hand, he realized he was in no condition to show up for his precinct 8AM roster.
Derocco dialed the station house and told the desk sergeant he was sick.
With only seven months to go until his 'twenty and out', none of the white shirts at the 9th Precinct was going to bust his hump for taking and the detective flopped onto the mattress, his head drowning in a sea of swirls.
A half-hour later the telephone rang and his hand groped for the handset on the night table. The plastic was cold on his ear.
"It's me." His partner sounded high on cocaine.
"Of course it's you. Who else is gonna call me here. My ex-wives?" deRocco slurred with the wind shuddering against the windows.
"I been waitin' all night for you to call. What's wrong?"
"Nothin' really, but...."
"I hate hearin' the word 'but.'" deRocco sat up too fast and keeled over onto the pillow. "Get it over with. But what?"
"He did it. I saw it with my own eyes."
"And?"
"I took him out to the desert like planned."
"And?"
Static interference answered deRocco.
"You still there?"
"Yeah, I'm calling you from a payphone."
"I don't want to know where. I'm gonna ask you one question, and I'm not wantin' to hear you say, "No." Ready?” deRocco was sobering up fast. “Did you take him out?"
"Yes and no."
"Whatcha mean, yes and no?"
His partner explained about the shooting and Sean escaping into the desert with the wallets along with the car stuck in sand and his bad knee.
"Shit."
"So what do I do now?"
"You mean, "Now you fucked up." This news had ruined his day and it was only seven hours old.
"Sorry." Kev’s voice was as contrite as that of an altar boy caught drinking the sacramental wine.
"Save your 'Sorrys' for Judgment Day." deRocco rubbed his unshaven face and spoke deliberately, "This is what I want you to do.”
”What?”
”Nothing.”
”Yeah,. do nothing till dawn. When it's light, go back to where you were and follow his tracks like you were an Indian. Maybe there's a God and you did hit 'im. If so, look for the vultures overhead. Got it?"
"I think so. Anything else?"
"Yeah, you better spend some quality time on your knees prayin' you did kill 'im."
"I already been doin' that."
"Well don't stop, cuz his those wallets are a death warrant." deRocco stopped his harangue, for Kev needed reassurance everything between them was as before. "Everythin' gonna work out."
"What if I can't find him? I mean I might have hit him, but it's a big desert out here."
"Forget about it."
"What about them wallets?"
"Screw them too. We go to plan B. You head to LA and pick up the money for the hit." They had stashed around $400,000 in a Cayman account. That cache plus their pensions should keep them going for years, if not till death parted one of them from the other.
"I'll meet you and we'll head anywhere in the world we want."
"You comin' out?" Kev sounded like he had won Lotto.
"Yeah, I have some vacation time I gotta take or lose." DeRocco was already visualizing his trip cross-country. "Not for nothin', but everythin' is gonna will be fine. Trust me."
"Who else can I trust?"
"Me and no one else, partner. If you find the body, call me. The last thing I want is go out to L friggin' A."
"I know, I know. Maybe I'll be lucky like you said."
"Yeah, right, it's always darkest before the dawn" What worried deRocco most was that bad things usually came in threes.
Even worst somehow that stupid song CALIFORNIA, HERE I COME popped into his head. Not getting rid of it had to be number two. He only prayed number three wouldn't be as bad as the first two, but the way his luck was breaking he couldn’t count on anything other than the worst and thankfully he always knew how to handle that end of the business.
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