ANGEL OF THE BRONX
"You're nuts!" the voice on the other end of the line exclaimed, "Fucking mental, Smecker. Has anyone ever told you that?" Smecker felt a smile tug along the corner of his lips at the outburst. It wasn't the first time anyone had called him crazy, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Crazy was only a common man's description of thinking outside the box. As long as he kept outside of the box, Smecker felt he kept himself ahead of the curve. "This isn't about me, Kingsley," he replied with the patience of a teacher to an obtuse child, "Now I know you boys down at homicide have been gathering evidence against Rossi for months now. And you and I both know, that no matter how much you get he'll walk. So how about giving me any intel you have on Rossi's movements the last couple of days?" He could hear the creak of a chair being lent back. "So let me get this straight. You and your boys," he paused to emphasis the dig, "Up there at organized crime think you can do a better job nailing this son of a bitch? But you want our intel. Why don't you just go and do your own fucking job?" Smecker felt his hands tighten reflexively around the receiver. Running a hand through his hair, he calmly forced away the wave of irritation sparked by the other man and focused it as the poisonous tip of his sarcastic dagger. "Fucking job, huh? What's a matter, Kingsley, they forget to teach you professionalism at cop school?" he retorted brazenly. "Fuck you," the voice on the other end of the line replied. Got you, Smecker thought, noting the man had not hung up the phone yet. "Okay, okay, I sorry that was," he rolled his eyes as he spoke, "Too far. Look, consider it a personal favor. You to me." There was a pause on the other side long enough to make him hold his breath. At last, the shift of ruffled papers and the tap of a keyboard sounded. Letting out a sigh, Smecker closed his eyes with a self-satisfied smile. Finally, he thought, We're getting somewhere. "What do you want to know?" Kingsley asked, sounding annoyed with himself. "Just Rossi's movements over the last couple weeks. Where's he been? Who has he talked to?" "You mean who has hasn't he talked to," Kingsley replied, "This jack-ass has been all over the map, covering his own hide." "Well are there any meetings that have stood out? Any oddities in his schedule?" Smecker demanded. Though he knew Rossi liked to keep several steps ahead of investigations, he also knew there was no way a hit on the Saints could go without a meeting with at least one or two of his under-bosses or hit men. Unfortunately, the hit men would make it harder, especially if someone new had entered the game. "Nope. We've got his ass covered twenty-four seven, in case you didn't know," Kingsley replied, "He's been meeting with his under-bosses, accountants, and lawyers from sun-up to sun-" he paused as though realizing something. "What is it?" Smecker asked after a moment, repressing the sudden thrill rising through his heart. "Nothing," replied Kingsley, "Just a few weeks ago he had one day where he did nothing but stay in his suite. Didn't move from there till the the following evening." "Did he have any visitors?" asked Smecker, hoping against hope. "Nothing we could record," replied Kingsley, "Though some men on the inside claimed a young man came by the penthouse. Went in for about ten minutes came right back out again. Might have been room service, though." "Any description on him? Was he pushing a cart?" Smecker snipped. "Well, no," more paper rustled, "He's described as in his mid to late twenties, dark hair, 6'2". They didn't see his face but he left with a food tray." "Okay, nevermind," Smecker said, writing down the description, "How about Rossi's associates? Any odd behavior transfer from their boss to them?" "What's this about, Paul?" Kingsley replied, a note of concern tinging his voice. Smecker felt a flair of irritation and once again suppressed it. "Nothing concerning you, Kingsley," he replied, emphasising the other man's last name, "Now do you have anything or not?" A guttural exclamation sounded over the phone, followed by more paper rustling. Smecker glanced up at the clock hanging on his office wall. The hands met together pointing directly at midnight. He had spent the day calling anybody and everybody investigating or connected with Rossi and his outfit. While a majority of the calls had given him nothing, the same young man had been noticed a few times in the last few weeks. One entry of interest was his assistance to moving a man matching Murphy's description into the home of one of Rossi's under-bosses. Unfortunately, the Murphy look alike was seen leaving the house with the unknown man a few days later, wearing the same clothes. "I've got nothing," Kingsley's reply drew him back to the conversation, "I don't like this, Smecker. Just what kind of game are you guys playing up there at..." Smecker hung up the phone. He didn't have time to deal with office bigotry or semantics. Despite the fact Kingsley was an efficient note taker, the detective had little intelligence to add to the case and Smecker didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut. Looking down at the information he gathered, he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the coming headache. There wasn't much to be gathered, despite the multiple surveillance units on Rossi and his men. Not even Rossi's men knew much about what was going on, except that a hit had gone down successfully. Smecker was sure the assailants who did know were already at the bottom of the river. He was at a dead end, save for the appearance of the young man at Rossi's and his underboss' home. "Better than nothing," Smecker spoke aloud to himself. Glancing up at the clock again, he stood up, grabbed his jacket, and headed towards the door. He had promised Connor he would get him any information he could. Despite the late hour, he knew what little he had couldn't wait till morning. However worried for Murphy Smecker was, Connor was a thousand times more. Smecker knew better than anyone a worried Saint made a dangerous one. "Yer certain abou' this?" Connor asked, looking up from the notes. Smecker nodded, glancing over at Anna standing in the hallway. Though the girl had made a show of going to her room so as not to be involved, her curiousity seemed to have gotten the better of her. Connor rubbed his face, thinking. At the moment, he would have killed for a cigarette or even a beer. Based on Smecker's information, he was almost certain the man carried into the underboss' home was his brother. Based on what he had learned of New York and the time table between the shooting and the sighting the pieces seemed to fit together. Also, the gap caused by the drive would give Murphy time to gain conciousness if he had lost it, but be too out of it to fight back. Above all, though, Connor just felt it was right. As though someone were pointing out an underlined passage to him. "Well," he said finally, already deciding what to do, "The way I see it, we best pay this Gioranza a visit." "What?" Anna exclaimed, pushing off from the wall she had been leaning on, "Are you serious?" "Damn straight I am," Connor replied, "Murph's there," he tapped his finger on the paper, "An' I'm goin' ta find him." "You can barely walk," Anna retorted, walking over to him. She lent over to glance at Smecker's notes, "And this address is in Queens." "So?" Connor demanded, glaring up at her. "So, how do you plan to get there?" Anna replied, crossing her arms. Connor scowled at her before looking over at Smecker. "Can't," the FBI agent replied, "This is all the help I can give you." "What?" Connor exclaimed and even Anna looked at him surprised. "I can't be on scene for anymore of your..." Smecker paused, looking for the right word, "Escapades. It'll look suspicious and that's the last thing we need." "Great," Connor seethed, "Fuckin' great!" He stood up, momentarily grabbing the couch for support. With a sour glance around the room, he shuffled towards the door. "Connor! What are you doing?" Anna exclaimed, moving after him. "'m gonna find me brother," Connor replied, grabbing the door handle. Before he could open it, though, Anna took a flying leap, slamming the door shut with her body. Overlapping his hand with her's, she held tightly to the knob, not allowing him to turn it again. "Let go, lass!" Connor demanded, a shadow of menace to his voice. "No," Anna replied. "Anna, ye don' want to get in my way,"Connor replied, "Now let go." "Your not gonna hurt me, Connor," Anna shot back, "I'm an innocent." "Not that innocent," Connor replied darkly. Anna bristled momentarily at the comment, but refused to let go. Smecker stood back, watching the pair with cool, analytical eyes. "He's my brother, Anna," Connor said after a moment, his voice almost breaking, "He'd never forgive me if I didn't come for 'im." Anna frowned. She couldn't stop her chest throbbing with a sympathetic pain. It was becoming too easy to forget the monster Connor was. Too easy to see the man. "And you'd never forgive yourself if you tried and failed," she replied softly. Slowly she moved her hand to Connor's wrist, gently prying him away from the door. His eyes met hers and for a moment, it was as though he bore the pain of two men. "Look," she continued, "We don't know your brother's in there. You can't just go in guns blazing," she paused at the irony of her words, "And get him out." "Why the fuck not?" Connor retorted, pulling his hand out of her's. The tingling warmth of her palm still played along his skin. "Because," Anna said, her expression dropping into incredulous disbelief, " You have to be rational about this, Connor. If he's not there-" "Fuck rationality!" Connor interrupted angrily, stepping towards the door once again. Anna shifted to block his path. Lifting her hand to her face, she bit down lightly on her index finger to silence the sharp retort on her mind. Looking Connor dead in the eye she finished, "It could get him killed if he isn't there. Look, what we need to do is scout the place out first. And, being the sort of people we are, we can find out more then the cops." "You have something in mind?" Smecker called out, surprising the pair. Both turned towards the agent. Connor eyes moved between the two, uncertain and angry. For a moment, he reminded Smecker of a caged lion making Anna the unfortunate tamer. Then, slowly, a dangerous smile carved its way up Anna's face. "Something," she replied. A.N. Oh boy, we're getting down to the wire here folks. There will probably only be two or three more chapters to this story. (pause for orchestra of groans) However, the boys' adventures with Anna aren't over yet. The sequel for this fic "A DEVIL IN MANHATTAN" is in progress and will be up a day or two after this ends. No worries, though, plenty of plot twist are still on the way (and a cliff or two). Reviews appreciated!
Back Home Miscellaneous Movies Fanfic Page Next