Apaches Part 34

"Where are you you going?" Mrs. Columbo asked. going?" Mrs. Columbo asked.

"To pick up a wrecking ball," Boomer said, closing the front door of the restaurant behind him.

BOOMER AND M MRS. Columbo sat in the front seat of a yellow multigear Caterpillar rig. A half-ton wrecking ball hung from an iron hook, swaying lazily in front of them. Both wore white hard hats and heavy construction gloves as the machine slowly inched its way through late morning traffic. Boomer had eased the dozer out of a Lower East Side construction site whose foreman owed Nunzio a few hard favors, grinding gears as he moved the rig past crumbling tenements.

"Are you sure about this?" Mrs. Columbo asked, feeling out of place sitting so high above the traffic.

"You mean letting you ride shotgun? It's a risk, but worth a roll."

"Not that, dorko," Mrs. Columbo said. "I was thinking more about your little idea of demolishing a building in downtown Manhattan in broad daylight."

"It's as good as any other idea I've had," Boomer said.

"That sure helps ease my mind," Mrs. Columbo muttered.

"Besides, it gives you and me a few minutes to talk." Boomer cranked the shaft back into neutral, looking up past three cars at a red light.

"About what?"

"Your husband."

"He's off limits, Boom."

"He made a wrong move going to Lavetti," Boomer said. "But he did it for the right reasons. He was worried about you, so he reached out for somebody he thought would help."

"He could have talked to me. me." Mrs. Columbo turned away to watch a small boy bounce a Spauldeen against a red brick wall.

"Well, you ain't all that easy to talk to sometimes," Boomer said. "Like most cops."

"I can talk to you," Mrs. Columbo said, still looking at the boy and the ball, her voice distant and quiet.

"I'm a cop and and your friend," Boomer said. "That gives me a leg up on a husband." your friend," Boomer said. "That gives me a leg up on a husband."

"You're saying I should go back with him?"

"You've got a life with him, Mary. And a son."

"It's not much of a life," Mrs. Columbo said. "And I'll always have my son."

"Just think about it," Boomer said. The light turned green and he moved the rig forward. "That's all I'm saying."

"It could have been me and you, you know." Mrs. Columbo still wasn't looking at him. "It wouldn't have taken much. To tell you the truth, I'm kind of surprised it never was."

"I am too." Boomer glanced over at her. "But you know, sometimes the could-have-been leaves you with a better feeling. We would have had ourselves a few good months, maybe even a couple of years. But we wouldn't have made it past that."

"Thank you, Ann Landers," Mrs. Columbo said.

"You and me, we know each other more than fifteen years now and we can still talk to each other like this. But if we were married, we probably wouldn't even be looking looking at each other. And both of us packin' guns. I'm telling you, it could've gotten ugly." at each other. And both of us packin' guns. I'm telling you, it could've gotten ugly."

"Real fast," Mrs. Columbo said with a laugh.

"Plus, you're a better shot," Boomer said.

"Most wives are," Mrs. Columbo said. "Cop or not."

"That's why I'm still single." Boomer signaled to make a left turn.

"So, you gonna tell me about her?" Mrs. Columbo asked. "Or do I have to get all my info secondhand?"

Boomer nearly rammed the ball end of the dozer against the back of a Dodge Dart. "Remind me to pistol-whip Nunzio next time I see him."

"He couldn't help himself," she said. "I squeezed it out of him. I was was a homicide detective, remember?" a homicide detective, remember?"

"I went out on a date," Boomer said. "Not a hit."

"And ..."

"And I had a great time. I had a great time. And And I'm gonna see her again. I'm gonna see her again. And And that's all I'm gonna say for now." that's all I'm gonna say for now."

"Why?" Mrs. Columbo said. "You turning shy on me all of a sudden?"

"No," Boomer said. "I'm anything but shy."

"Then why won't you tell me about her?" Mrs. Columbo asked, grabbing on to Boomer's right arm.

"Because we're here," Boomer said.

GERONIMO RAN UP to the driver's side and jumped onto the side panel runner. to the driver's side and jumped onto the side panel runner.

"Rev. Jim and Pins in place?" Boomer asked.

"They're on each end of the avenue, rerouting traffic," Geronimo said. "And they're not all that happy about it."

"Why?" Mrs. Columbo said. "They've got the easiest job. Next to mine."

"They're back in uniform." Boomer laughed. "I got two sets of blues from a friend down at the Chinatown precinct." As Mrs. Columbo covered her mouth with her right hand, joining Boomer and Geronimo in the laugh, Boomer asked, "Building empty?"

"I went with Dead-Eye and checked through every floor," Geronimo told him. "Nothing in there except for a couple of attack dogs that we cleared out and enough cocaine to make every junkie in the city smile for a week."

"Why no guards?" Mrs. Columbo wanted to know.

"She doesn't need any," Boomer explained. He turned the dozer so the wrecking ball faced the front of the building, the street now empty of all traffic. "Any dealer or junkie even thinking of making a move on her would be too scared to touch the place. Even with n.o.body there, that building is more secure than Fort Knox."

"Until now," Mrs. Columbo said.

"You bet your sweet little a.s.s until now." And with that, Boomer shifted the gears on the rig forward.

Geronimo grabbed on to a yellow pole alongside the large front wheel, signaling Dead-Eye away from the front entrance with his free hand. Dead-Eye smiled and nodded, walking closer to the dozer, waving Boomer forward.

"Aim for the center of the building," Dead-Eye yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. "That way you're sure to knock something down."

"Listen to him," Boomer muttered, moving the rig at full throttle. "All of a sudden he's Fred Flintstone."

Boomer brought the rig to a halt as soon as it jumped the curb. He rammed the gears into park, then began to shift and pull the wrecking ball crank toward the boarded-up first-floor window.

"I guess it would be a waste of time asking if you've ever run a machine like this before," Mrs. Columbo said, watching the ball sway from side to side.

"Total." Smiling, Boomer eased the shaft forward and watched in awe as the ball crashed against the prewar facade of the building.

The first loud hit brought brick, wood, and dust particles tumbling to the ground. Geronimo and Dead-Eye stood on opposite ends of the building, gold shields hanging from leather straps around their necks, huge grins on their faces, holding back small cl.u.s.ters of pa.s.sersby.

Boomer turned in his seat and looked over at Mrs. Columbo. "You wanna give it a shot?" he asked. "Unless you think you're not strong enough."

"Move it over, old man," Mrs. Columbo said, standing in her seat, waiting for Boomer to slide down from the rig.

"Try not to kill anybody," Boomer told her.

Mrs. Columbo cranked the gear forward, moving the wrecking ball away from Boomer and toward the left side of the building. "Clear the decks," she shouted as the ball hit with a louder crash than the first blow, breaking through to the gut of the tenement, dismantling its center foundation and bringing two floors down with an enormous thud.

"Here we are, demolishing a f.u.c.king building during lunch hour," Boomer shouted over to Dead-Eye. "And what don't we see anywhere anywhere? A cop."

"It must be true, then," Dead-Eye said. "They're never around when you really need them."

"Not even a brown shirt to write up a violation," Boomer said, scanning up and down the avenue. "I mean, s.h.i.t, we've gotta be breaking some some traffic law here." traffic law here."

"It doesn't matter." Dead-Eye shrugged. "We've never paid for a ticket in our lives." After a pause he asked, "Who filled you in on the building?"

"It's on the DEA scanner sheet," Boomer said. "And it matched up with the information I got from our guy downtown."

"Everybody knows the places, but n.o.body makes a move," Dead-Eye said.

"That all changed today," Boomer said.

They watched Mrs. Columbo maneuver the wrecking ball against the building for the last time. It teetered on the verge of a total collapse, then it all fell in one ma.s.sive heap, caving inward. A cloud of dust flowed out to the street, and sounds of distant horns and sirens could be heard.

Dead-Eye walked through the debris, stepping over crushed rock, splintered wood, darkened packets of cocaine, and a nest of dead rats. He stood over a small mound of red bricks and put a hand inside his jacket pocket, coming out with the crumpled, marked-up photo of his son. He leaned over and placed the picture under a cracked edge of one of the red bricks, then stood up, turned, and walked toward his fellow Apaches.

"That's just in case Lucia has any trouble figuring out who blew up her stash," Dead-Eye said.

CAROLYN B BARTLETT LET the hot water run over her body, still tired after an arduous day of coaxing information out of reluctant patients. She had taken on her daily run with relish and looked forward to her post-shower addictions-a low-cal dinner, reading through several chapters of a historical romance, Bach on the stereo and, sometime within the next hour, hearing Boomer's voice coming over the phone by her bed. the hot water run over her body, still tired after an arduous day of coaxing information out of reluctant patients. She had taken on her daily run with relish and looked forward to her post-shower addictions-a low-cal dinner, reading through several chapters of a historical romance, Bach on the stereo and, sometime within the next hour, hearing Boomer's voice coming over the phone by her bed.

She had been reluctant to get emotionally involved with someone so closely linked to one of her patients, especially a man such as Boomer Frontieri. By falling for Boomer, who openly worked outside the boundaries of the law to get what he felt was justice, Carolyn also shattered a promise she had long ago made to herself: Never date a cop, retired or not. But here she was, in less time than it took to fill out a case file, as involved with Boomer as anyone could expect to get.

Carolyn turned the water off, slid the shower curtain open, and reached for the thick white towel folded on the marble sink. She wrapped it around her body and notched it in place. She picked up the silver hairbrush her grandmother had given her on her sixth birthday and ran it through her long wet hair. She wiped a hand across the steam-drenched medicine cabinet mirror and checked her face. The stress of her work had yet to add wrinkles to her skin, but Carolyn knew those days would soon be close at hand. She smiled, remembering Boomer leaning over her and telling her she had the soft, pure face of an angel. She hoped he would always feel that way.

She walked into the living room, slid a tape of Bach into her stereo system before heading into the kitchen to check out which Lean Cuisine special she should feast on. She slipped a chicken and broccoli on a bed of white rice into her small oven and set the cooking timer to forty minutes. She was padding back, in bare feet, toward the refrigerator to pour herself a gla.s.s from a half-empty bottle of Orvietto Cla.s.sico, when she saw the shadow against the living room wall.

Then Bach went silent.

Carolyn could see the telephone from where she was standing, the red message light flashing on the answering machine, and figured it to be her only move. Her mind racing, her thought processes marred by fear, she ran blindly from the kitchen toward the phone. She made it as far as the end table. A dark-gloved hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back. She felt hot breath on her neck and grizzled skin scratching against her face.

"He's not at home," Wilber Graves said to her. "He's out. With his friends."

"What do you want?" Carolyn asked, trying to keep a calm voice and a level breathing pattern.

"I want everything the cop calls his own," Wilber said. "Everything."

A few moments later Carolyn stood in front of the telephone, the towel stripped from her body and thrown to the floor. She was fully naked, her hands bound tightly behind her with chicken wire, the tip of a Spanish-made red-handled switchblade pressed against the side of her neck. Wilber rubbed Carolyn's body with his free hand, moving gloved fingers in a slow motion up against her firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down the contours of her stomach, over the front of her thighs. Occasionally, he slipped a finger inside her v.a.g.i.n.a.

"You won't believe this," he said to her. "But I really wish I didn't have to kill you."

"Why are you waiting?" Carolyn asked. Her eyes stared straight ahead, trying to will herself to another place, a safer one, where men didn't kill on whim or orders and where a woman could listen to Bach, read a book, and wait for someone she loved to call and tell her so. She could smell the Lean Cuisine dinner burning in the oven, too many minutes past done.

It almost made her want to smile.

The phone rang at seven minutes past eleven.

The first ring jolted her, the tip of Wilber's knife edging in deeper, cutting into the side of her skin, drawing blood. Wilber removed his hand from Carolyn's waist, picked up the phone, and placed it against her ear. He let her hear Boomer's voice on the other end. Wilber smiled at her as he moved the phone away and cradled it on the side of his neck.

"h.e.l.lo, Detective," Wilber said into the receiver.

"Where's Carolyn?" he heard Boomer say.

"She's snug and warm right here in my arms," Wilber said. "I have to tell you, you have excellent taste in women. That's surprising in a police officer."

"Anything happens to her ..."

"Something is is going to happen to her, Detective," Wilber said. "We were just waiting for you to call before it does." going to happen to her, Detective," Wilber said. "We were just waiting for you to call before it does."

"Let her go!" Boomer's shout could be heard well beyond the range of the receiver.

"I will," Wilber said. "I promise you that. But first, would you like to hear her say good-bye?"

Wilber pressed the receiver against Carolyn's ear.

"Speak to him," he told her.

Carolyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the knife pressing against her neck. "I love you, Boomer," she said.

She never felt the cut. Her head turned light, the room spun around her in slow circles, the front of her body went warm with blood. Her legs weakened and sent her to the floor, a slight moan coming from her lips as her head touched down on the wooden planks.

Wilber hovered over her and watched her die, calmly ignoring Boomer's frantic shouts into his end of the phone.