Tanner- Year One Page 3

  Tanner walked over to the dying man and took his wallet, keys, and phone, before moving into the mouth of the alley. Pullo followed, but he seemed reluctant to leave the scene. Vespa had information he needed.

  “Joe, he’s done. Let’s go.”

  Pullo stepped into the alley as the door on the bar opened and George DeAngelo came out, trailed by the bar’s customers and remaining staff.

  Ten minutes after the shooting, Tanner and Pullo were back on a subway train and headed uptown. Other than an old man reading a newspaper, they were alone in the car. Vespa’s wallet contained a driver’s license with an address in Harlem.

  Joe gave his head a slight shake. “Why did he try to shoot us?”

  “Something must have tipped him off,” Tanner said, as he passed an envelope over to Joe. Written in ink across the front of the envelope were the words, PETTY CASH. The pre-printed return address on the front was the address of the bar they had just left.

  Joe held up the envelope. “He was running, and he ripped off the bar before leaving.”

  “It looks that way. The cops will think he was mugged, or maybe shot by his partners.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  “To the address on his driver’s license, with luck, we’ll find something that can help us.”

  “It was smart of you to grab that wallet, Tanner, and I see you’re like lightning with a gun.”

  “You shot him the same time I did.”

  “Yeah, I was always a quick draw. They say my father was too.”

  “He’s gone?”

  “He was killed when I was a kid, but I still have my mother. What about you, you have any family?”

  “No,” Tanner said. “It’s just me.”

  Robbie Vespa’s apartment was a third-floor walkup in a building with graffiti marring its halls. Vespa’s keychain only had two keys on it. One was marked with a tag that bore the scribbled words of another address. Tanner planned to check it out after they searched the apartment.

  Vespa’s place was a hole with a mattress on the floor and a few pieces of second-hand furniture. In one of the dresser drawers they found a photo of Vespa with members of the Liberty Boys Militia. He also had receipts for a huge amount of supplies, such as toilet paper, napkins, garbage bags, and plastic drink cups.

  Joe studied the photo under the light of a lamp. There were eight men and one woman in the picture, including Robbie Vespa. The tallest man in the photo appeared to have dark red hair. Written on the back of the picture were the words, Inner Core.

  Pullo spoke in a voice grown cold as he stared at Sullivan. “This must be the bastard that killed Al,” There were no names or dates listed, and so the man’s identity remained a mystery to Pullo. He kept the photo and they left to find the address written on the tag.

  It was only six blocks away. They walked there and arrived at a small warehouse surrounded by others much like it. Tanner used the key on the steel door while making as little noise as possible. The process took time. There were five deadbolts, which were keyed alike. As they had at Vespa’s apartment, they entered with their guns held up and at the ready.

  There were no lights on, but the switch was easily located. Overhead light fixtures illuminated the dank space, revealing that there was no one inside.

  Cots were set up in three neat rows of five and each had a blanket on it. The blankets were old and looked as if they had been bought at a thrift store. In a corner of the warehouse was a makeshift kitchen area with microwave ovens, a refrigerator, and two chest freezers. These were also old but were functional. Each of the freezers held TV dinners while the refrigerator was packed with bargain soda.

  The warehouse had two bathrooms. They had been checked immediately after Tanner and Pullo entered the building. One rest room was for women, one for men, but only the men’s room had a shower stall. The space had cracked tiles and was filthy. When they were done searching, Pullo seemed puzzled.

  “What is this?” he asked. “Is the militia setting up a base here?”

  “I’m not sure what this is,” Tanner said, as he continued to look around. He then made an observation.

  “They have a warehouse with cots and food, but no medical supplies or weapons and ammo. It’s odd that members of a militia wouldn’t be better prepared.”

  “Maybe they haven’t finished stocking this place.”

  “It could be, or this is meant to hold other people. There are bars on every window and those five locks were excessive. It makes this place seem like a jail.”

  After finding nothing that could help them, they locked up the warehouse. It was late, and they rode a subway car alone.

  “We need to show that photo we found to someone who was in the bar the night those men were there. Maybe they’ll remember something else about the man we’re after.”

  “’I’ll call Carmine,” Pullo said. “He was there that night.”

  “Set up a meet with him in the morning if you can.”

  “Okay, I’ll make it for Central Park. Carmine cuts through there most mornings as he walks his kid to school.”

  “What time?”

  “Meet me near the Inventors’ Gate at East 72nd at seven-thirty. Do you know what I mean?”

  Tanner did know. Central Park’s entrances were sometimes referred to as gates, which had different names. There was the Hunters’ Gate, Mariners’ Gate, Merchants’ Gate, Children’s Gate, and many others.

  During his time in the city, Tanner had studied its rich history. He had spent many hours running in the park and also exploring what it had to offer.

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Good, we’ll meet at seven-thirty.”

  “I’ll see you then,” Tanner said.

  5

  Tricks And Memories

  Carmine met them in Central Park the next morning near a section of The Ramble. The Ramble was a large area with over three dozen acres of winding pathways. While strolling along parts of the nature walk, it was easy to forget you were in the heart of a major city.

  Carmine’s eight-year-old daughter was a dark-haired cutie named Nicole. The girl had been unsuccessfully trying to get her yoyo to do a trick of some sort. When she lifted her head and spotted Pullo, the child’s eyes lit up and she ran over to him.

  “Joe!”

  Pullo leaned over and gave the girl a peck on her forehead, then shook her father’s hand. When introduced to Tanner, Nicole grew shy.

  Tanner pointed at the yoyo. “How many tricks do you know?”

  Nicole pouted. “I’ve been trying to learn how to make it sleep, but it’s hard.”

  “I can teach you.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, we’ll play with the yoyo while your father talks to Joe.”

  Tanner saw Pullo nod his thanks and move a few feet away with Carmine. As Tanner took the yoyo from Nicole, Pullo showed Carmine the photo. Carmine was a short man with a headful of curly dark hair.

  He studied the picture for a moment before pointing at Sullivan.

  “This guy, he’s the one who stabbed Al. As you can see in the photo, he’s got really dark red hair.”

  “Who killed the other guy?”

  “That was me,” Carmine said with pride. “The bastard got in the way while I was aiming at the man who stabbed Al. Afterward, I had a friend get rid of the gun before the cops showed. I would have shot all of them, but they ran out the door and there were people on the street. Poor Al, he bled out right there on the floor of his own bar.”

  Pullo stared at Sullivan’s image in the photo. “I’ll get the guy who killed Al, don’t worry about that.”

  When Pullo was finished talking with Carmine, they walked back over to Tanner and Nicole. The little girl was all smiles as she controlled the yoyo, making it hover above the ground while spinning.

  “Look, Daddy, Tanner taught me how to make the yoyo sleep.”

  “Show them the other trick,” Tanner said.

  Nicole performed the slee
per trick again, then lowered the yoyo toward the ground, the toy moved along the pavement, performing the “walk the dog” trick.

  Carmine smiled at his daughter, enjoying her delight.

  “Thank Mr. Tanner, honey, and then we have to get going or you’ll be late for school.”

  Nicole gave Tanner a quick hug around the waist. When she said goodbye to Pullo, he rated a peck on the lips. It was easy to see that the girl had a crush on Pullo.

  As Carmine and Nicole walked away, Pullo asked Tanner a question.

  “This mentor of yours, did he teach you those yoyo tricks too.”

  “No,” Tanner said.

  He had never cared about yoyo’s when he was younger, but like Nicole, his sisters loved them. Tanner had been taught those tricks by his twin sisters, Jessie and Jill, shortly before their tragic deaths. Teaching them to Nicole had been bittersweet and brought back a flood of memories.

  “I want to talk to Sam before we take off for Pennsylvania, but he won’t be in his office for a while. Let’s grab some breakfast.”

  “Sounds good,” Tanner said, and there was a hoarseness to his voice, as memories of his late sisters floated through his mind.

  6

  Contract Accepted

  Sam Giacconi, head of the Giacconi crime family stared across his desk at Tanner and Pullo. They were inside the funeral home Giacconi owned. The old man was as sharp as they came, and Tanner had learned to respect his judgement.

  When Pullo told Giacconi what they’d found at the warehouse in Harlem, Tanner could tell it both concerned and intrigued the old man.

  “Whatever these militia guys are planning, they’re doing it on my turf. I don’t like that.”

  “I’ll try to get answers when I’m in Pennsylvania, but all I really want is Al’s killer,” Pullo said.

  Giacconi tossed his chin at Tanner. “How much are you paying him to help you, Joey?”

  Pullo looked annoyed. “Tanner wants to wait until it’s done to settle up.”

  The old man swiveled his chair and fiddled at a safe that was on the floor behind his desk. When he had the door open, he reached inside the safe and removed a banded bundle of cash. Turning his chair back around, he placed the banded money in front of Tanner.

  “That’s ten grand, that should cover things, but there’s something I want you to do, Tanner.”

  Tanner raised his gaze from the cash and looked at the old man.

  “You want me to kill whoever is behind these militia members.”

  Giacconi smiled. “You’re as smart as Joey here. That’s right, Tanner, I want you to kill the bastard who thinks he can set up shop on my turf without permission. The son of a bitch is also partly responsible for Al Bellini’s death.”

  Tanner reached out and took the money. “I accept. Whoever he is, consider the man dead.”

  Giacconi pointed at Tanner. “That money covers Joey too, so he doesn’t have to pay you.”

  “I assumed that.”

  “Thanks, Sam, and I don’t know how long it may take to track down these people, but I’ll get back here as soon as I can.”

  “You do that, Joey, and I’ll look out for your mother while you’re gone. Now, let me have a few minutes alone with Tanner.”

  Pullo nodded and left the office. As the door shut behind him, Giacconi smiled at Tanner.

  “You weren’t going to charge Joey a nickel, were you?”

  Tanner shrugged. “He’s doing me a favor by keeping me busy.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m an old man, Tanner, and old men know a lot of things. If you’re looking to keep busy and don’t care whether it pays or not, it means you’re trying to forget a woman.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I thought so. I’ll tell you something else, work does help. Go with Joey, take care of these militia bastards out in the boondocks, then the two of you get back here where it’s civilized.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “As soon as we’re done here.”

  Giacconi looked thoughtful. He picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button. When someone answered, the old man asked them to send Pullo back to the office. Pullo returned moments later.

  “Joey, I want you and Tanner to cool your heels for a while so I can hook you two up with fake I.D.’s.”

  Pullo smiled. “Thanks, Sam, that would be great.”

  “It will take a few hours, and I’ll also get you a car that can’t be traced back to you. It won’t be a Rolls Royce, but it won’t be a beater either.”

  “Thanks for the help,” Tanner said.

  Sam Giacconi pointed at Pullo, while speaking to Tanner. “You just make sure you bring my boy back here in one piece.”

  The old mobster was smiling, but his words sounded like an order.

  By early afternoon, Tanner and Pullo were ready to go. Tanner’s fake ID was in the name of Ray Hollis, while Pullo would be Joe Russo. Their destination was the leather goods shop in Altoona that crafted the holster the dead militia member had worn.

  The vehicle they were using definitely wasn’t a Rolls Royce. It was a late-model sedan with low mileage and a dent in its driver’s side’ fender. The dark-blue car was registered to the phony name on Pullo’s counterfeit driver’s license and had Connecticut plates. The nearly seven-hour trip was uneventful although it had been made longer by slow traffic in New Jersey.

  The leather goods shop was in a strip mall and turned out to be a small space. They entered it an hour before it was set to close and pretended to browse. What they were really doing was memorizing the layout of the shop.

  It wasn’t hard to do. There were shelves lining the walls on either side with a counter toward the back. Behind the sales counter was a curtain, and beyond that would be the office.

  Before leaving the strip mall, Tanner and Pullo drove around to the rear of the shop. Tanner had taken note of the simple alarm system and was glad to see that there was only one lock on the rear door.

  “We’ll have to get past that alarm,” Pullo said.

  “Drive to an electronics shop, the type that sells parts. With a few supplies it won’t be a problem.”

  Once they had what they needed for their break-in they still wanted to wait until it was later and the traffic on the road outside the shop had lessened. Not having done more than snack on gas station food since breakfast, they were both hungry.

  They found a restaurant that was open late and catered to truckers. The food was good, and the coffee helped to revive them. When they finished eating, they headed back to the strip mall. It was time to break and enter.

  7

  Stop The Truck!

  1:46 a.m., ALTOONA, PENNSYLVANIA, JULY 2004

  Tanner bypassed the alarm on the rear door of the leather goods shop in Altoona, Pennsylvania by using a signal jammer. He had assembled the device from parts that cost him less than six dollars.

  The jammer sent out an electromagnetic frequency that the alarm system picked up. Once done, the alarm was unable to send out any signals of its own and was rendered useless.

  To gain entry to the shop, Tanner picked the door lock with minimum effort. Pullo kept watch while Tanner went to work locating the information they needed.

  There was a computer on the desk, but Tanner was able to find hard copies of all the customer files in a tall gray filing cabinet. He located the name matching the number found on the tag inside the dead man’s holster. The dead man was Cory Banks. There was an address for him in Springfield, Ohio.

  “It’s going to be a long night,” Tanner whispered to Pullo. “Our man lived about five, maybe six hours from here, in Ohio.”

  “We can sleep tomorrow. What was the guy’s name?”

  “Cory Banks.”

  “I hope he’s rotting in Hell,” Pullo said.

  They left the leather goods shop the way they’d found it. The owners would never realize
that anyone had broken in.

  The two were back on US Route 22 and headed for Springfield. This time Tanner drove. Thanks to the sparse nighttime traffic conditions, they made good time. Around six a.m., they stopped for coffee as the sun was brightening the eastern horizon.

  A half hour after that, they were parking in front of the apartment building where Banks had lived. It was a busy street and a city garbage truck was going along it picking up trash. It was the old-fashioned kind that still had men hanging off the back of it.

  The two young men held on to handles that had been welded to the truck’s rear. As a police car passed the garbage truck, the cop inside paid it little attention. That same cop had likely written dozens, if not hundreds of tickets to people who were driving without their seatbelts on. And yet, when he passed a moving vehicle with two men hanging off the rear by one hand, he didn’t even blink.

  Tanner stepped out of their vehicle along with Pullo. Pullo stretched, then approached a short, round guy wearing gray coveralls. The man was sweeping up in front of the building.

  “Are you the building’s super, buddy?”

  “I am, name’s Grainger.”

  Pullo told the man a lie about being friends of Cory Banks then explained why they were there.

  “Oh crap, and he was a young guy too.”

  “Yeah, but listen, we’re here to get his things for his family.”

  “I thought Cory didn’t have any family.”

  Pullo recovered quickly. “He didn’t really, but his foster mom wants his stuff.”

  “You’re too late.”

  “Why is that?”

  Grainger pointed down the block. “I packed up his stuff and put it out on the curb. I didn’t want to do it, but Cory was four months behind on his rent. The building’s owner said he wanted him gone and the apartment cleaned out. The garbage truck already took his stuff.”