Bad Guys (38 page)

“I've got a clear conscience,” Tozzi said.

“That and a dollar will get you on the subway.” He weighed the Uzi nervously in his hand. “You know, the two of you really are something. So high and mighty, so righteous. Is that what they taught you when you went through training, Bert? I know when Tozzi and I went through Quantico it was the
law
that was important. The laws were written to be enforced. Agents don't write the laws and it's not up to them to interpret those laws. They just enforce them. That's how they told it to us. Maybe in Hoover's day they taught it differently. Things were looser then, from what I understand.”

“No. It was just easier to tell the good guys from the bad guys back then,” Gibbons said.

Kinney laughed. “I doubt it. Everybody's a bad guy unless he's paid not to be. Except you two aberrations.”

“But you had it both ways, right?” Gibbons wanted to keep him talking. “A good guy and a bad guy at the same time.”

“You could say that. But I prefer to think of myself as a
smart
guy. I'm one of the very few people in this world who knows how to use the intelligence I was born with. Just give me a year, and I'll be running this whole operation.” His eyes widened as he looked at Varga. He was clutching the watch tightly. “Do I scare you, Richie?” His derisive laugh degenerated into a wet cough.

“So what do you say, Richie?” Kinney raised his voice, waving the Uzi. “You're still the boss. I haven't taken over yet. Tell me what you want me to do? Come on. Show some initiative. You want me to make cold cuts out of them, I'll do it. Just say the word.”

Gibbons looked at Varga looking at Kinney. His stare was cold and unwavering, a weird combination of intense hate and disdain. Under the table he tapped one of the dogs on the flank with the side of his shoe. Then he said one word in a flat monotone:
“Blitzkrieg.”

Instantly the two dogs sprang up and attacked, faster than Gibbons thought those fat, lazy animals could ever move. One latched onto Kinney's knee; the other took a flying leap at his chest and knocked him back through the swinging door. From the kitchen a short burst of automatic fire briefly drowned out the hellish sounds of the Rottweilers doing their work.

Tozzi quickly stooped down, retrieved his gun, and covered Varga and Jules. Gibbons wound the handkerchief around his arm, then picked up his gun and pocketed the .22.

They heard a wet gurgling scream and more intense growling. Tozzi made a move toward the door, but Jules stopped him. “Don't go in there,” he said earnestly.

When the door opened again, Blitz and Krieg came trotting into the dining room, the door swinging gently behind them. The second dog had a severed hand in her maw, the index finger still crooked around the trigger guard of the dangling Uzi. The dog dripped blood on the carpet from the doorway all the way to Varga, then dropped Kinney's hand at her master's feet. Both animals dropped to their haunches in front of Varga and panted through jowly dog smiles, waiting for praise.

Special Agent in Charge Brant Ivers sat behind his big mahogany desk, flipping through Gibbons's report on the arrests of Richie Varga, Joanne Collesano Varga, and Jules Collesano, a report that included an account of the death of Special Agent William Kinney and all the evidence connecting him with the murders of Special Agents Joel Lando, Alex Blaney, and James Novick.

Gibbons sat back in the leather chair across from the SAC and watched him read. Ivers was wearing a navy three-piece suit and a two-tone blue rep tie, a rather conservative outfit for him. Ivers had just gotten the report that morning and now he looked a little pale. Undoubtedly he was thinking about the detour his career was going to take once Washington got ahold of that report. Gibbons smiled like a crocodile.

Ivers nodded mechanically, his lips pressed together tightly. “Congratulations, Bert. This is top-notch work.” He spoke quietly. Today he looked his age.

Ivers closed the report and stared at it on his desk. He wrinkled his brow and shook his head. “Those pictures of Kinney's body, what those dogs did to his neck—” He winced. “How in God's name can people train dogs to do something so monstrous?”

It was a rhetorical question from a man who didn't know what else to say, but Gibbons figured he'd answer it anyway. “There's a long precedent for this kind of thing with Rottweilers. The Romans originally used them to herd cattle. The legions found them useful in driving off an enemy's herds during a campaign in order to limit their food supply.
They'd just let a pack of these dogs go and they'd chase the cows off. If a bull tried to make a stand against them, they were trained to attack the bull and kill it. I can imagine one of these brutes going up against a bull. It must've been quite a sight.”

Ivers shook his head. “Monstrous and inhumane,” he murmured.

“The dogs or Kinney?” Gibbons asked.

“Kinney was a very sick man,” Ivers pronounced somberly. “I only wish we had gotten some indication of his problem earlier. I think he could've been helped.”

Gibbons wasn't used to this kind of reverence from the SAC. He liked him better as a pompous ass, and this humble routine was boring. “I'm not so sure anything could've changed Kinney,” he said. “The real Kinney was a killer. He was like a guy with a secret fetish. If Varga hadn't given him the opportunity to come out of the closet, though, he might've kept the lid on, the way most of us do.”

Ivers raised his eyebrows. “Not unlike Tozzi.”

Gibbons shrugged. “Maybe.”

“It's regrettable that Tozzi was able to escape in the fray that night,” Ivers said gravely.

Gibbons puckered his lips and stroked the lines around his mouth with his thumb and index finger. You asshole, he thought. We solved Lando, Blaney, and Novick, broke up the biggest bust-out scam anyone's ever seen, apprehended the mob boss no one even knew existed, and caught a bad agent. What the hell else do you want?

“That pocket watch Kinney was holding when he died,” Ivers said. “Very interesting. We did some checking and found that it was a family heirloom, belonged to his great-grandfather. According to his wife, it meant quite a lot to him. The inscription on the lid reads, ‘To my son and all my son's sons—May excellence abound in us all.' His great-grandfather was a security guard at Harvard. Apparently he won the watch from a professor in a poker game.”

“Interesting.” It figures.

Ivers leaned forward over his desk as if he were about to tell Gibbons a secret. “You know, Bert,” he confided mournfully, “the Bureau had no idea Varga had formed a new family. The Director won't be pleased when he reads this. It's going to be quite an embarrassment for us.”

“Well, you can thank Tozzi for flushing him out.”

Ivers ignored the mention of Tozzi's name. “One thing I don't understand is why Varga sicced the dogs on Kinney after Kinney had already
implicated him in the murders. You'd already heard it all, so there was nothing to be gained by silencing him.”

“It might've been a heat-of-the-moment reaction,” Gibbons speculated. “Kinney was being pretty abusive. He was also talking crazy. I suspect that when I testify as to what Kinney said about killing Lando, Blaney, and Novick on Varga's orders, Varga's lawyers will try to discredit my testimony by proving that Kinney was nuts. Kinney had definitely snapped, but I don't think they'll have much of a case. It won't stop them from giving it a shot, though. By the way, I heard the U.S. Attorney's office is talking about making a deal with Phillip Giovinazzo. They'll reduce some of the pending charges against him if he'll testify to being at Gilberto's in Brooklyn when Varga and Kinney brought out the heads.”

“But even if Giovinazzo doesn't cooperate,” Ivers said, “Varga will be convicted for Kinney's murder. Kinney was armed and technically he was trespassing when he entered Collesano's house. Nevertheless, the use of trained attack dogs constitutes first-degree murder. The grizzly nature of the killing should override any extenuating circumstances in the minds of a jury.”

Gibbons nodded to make Ivers feel good. He was trying to sound impressive with his knowledge of the law to bolster his own spirits. Ivers was full of shit, but there was no sense in busting his balls now. They were going to be black and blue soon enough.

“How about Joanne? What's she looking at?”

“Besides the criminal charges she's facing, DataReach will sue her. The insurance companies that were burned in the bust-out scam will all sue DataReach. DataReach will have no choice but to sue her in turn and hope that they can recover enough in damages to pay back the insurance companies and stay in business. Though I can't imagine who would trust their files with them when this gets out.”

“Who knows? They may land on their feet. Business is a funny world,” Gibbons said, recalling Joanne's reasoning for her return to Richie Varga. “Business is business, as they say.”

“Jules Collesano's participation in all this seems to have been comparatively minor, but he'll be hit with the usual racketeering charges. Under the circumstances, he'll surely serve some time.”

“I'd say it was a pretty good haul,” Gibbons said.

“Yes, it was.” Ivers sucked in his breath and held it for a moment. He looked constipated.

“And what do we do about Tozzi?” Gibbons asked.

“Well . . . we'll continue to handle his case in-house . . . until headquarters decides otherwise.” Ivers looked
really
constipated.

The crocodile grin returned to Gibbons's lips as he stood up and went over to the windows behind Ivers's desk. He lifted one of the slats of the stained-wood venetian blinds and looked down at the street.

Ivers looked puzzled as he swiveled around in his chair to see what Gibbons was doing.

Gibbons reached for the cord and pulled up the blinds. “See that ice-cream vendor in front of the courthouse?”

Ivers screwed up his face and squinted out the window.

“See the bench just to the left? Take a look at the guy sitting on the bench, the one wearing jeans.”

Ivers strained to locate the person Gibbons was pointing out. Then he spotted him. It was Tozzi, sitting there with his legs crossed, eating an ice-cream sandwich. He was looking right up at them.

“Holy shit!” Ivers cursed under his breath as he swiveled around and reached for the phone.

Gibbons slapped his hand on the receiver and kept Ivers from picking it up. “Hold on, hold on.”

“Goddamn it, he's right there! He'll get away!”

“No, he won't. Not if you play ball.”

Ivers's face rapidly turned an angry shade of red. “I knew it. I knew this could happen, but I kept telling myself that it wouldn't. How stupid! Goddamn it all! You've been protecting him, haven't you?”

Gibbons nodded.

“Why?”

Gibbons stared at him. “I always side with the good guys.”

“What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“It means Tozzi was right. He's the one who deserves the congratulations for this entire bust. I think you should take him back.”

Ivers reacted as if Gibbons had thrown boiling water in his face. “Are you serious? Tozzi's a killer, he's—”

“He's one hell of an agent.”

“I'm—I'm shocked. You're as much as confessing your collusion with that madman.” Ivers pointed out the window as if Godzilla were out there.

“I'm not confessing to anything, Ivers. I'm here to make a deal with you.” Gibbons reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a
sheaf of papers folded in half vertically. “It's very simple. You forget about Tozzi's little freelance escapade and let him back into the Bureau, and I'll give you this.” He held up the papers.

“What's that?”

“Another report. This version leaves out the business about Kinney working for Varga and plays down the extent of Varga's family. This one makes it sound like we nipped Varga's operation in the bud. And in this version, Kinney's killed in the line of duty, an unfortunate casualty in the attempt to apprehend Varga.” Gibbons held the new report over Ivers's head, waiting for him to jump like a dog for a bone.

“It won't work,” Ivers mumbled angrily.

“Sure it will. Only you and I know the extent of Tozzi's renegade activities, and Washington still doesn't know he was ever gone. We'll make up a good story for the boys here at the office, say it was all a mistake. You can make it wash.”

“It won't work,” Ivers repeated. “Varga knows all about Kinney. It'll eventually come out in court.”

“Wake up, will ya? Varga's lawyers won't bring up Kinney. If they claim that Kinney was bad and that he was secretly working for Varga, it will only strengthen the prosecution's case against Varga for the murders of Lando, Blaney, and Novick. They won't do that.”

“You're in big trouble, Gibbons,” Ivers threatened, furious that Gibbons was bullying him with a bargain he really wanted to accept. His brow was beaded with sweat.