Chapter 3 - The Broken Badge
It was nearly two in the morning when the heavy iron doors of the warehouse creaked open again.
Tony and Paulie dragged Detective Miller through the entrance. Miller was fifty, balding, wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt with his badge still clipped to his belt. His hands were zip-tied behind his back, and his face was bruised where Paulie had knocked him out during the pick-up.
They dumped him onto the concrete floor next to Marco's chair. Miller groaned, coughing, his eyes darting frantically around the dark room until they landed on me.
"Don Carmine?" Miller gasped, his voice raspy. "What the hell is this? I'm a senior detective! You can't kidnap a police officer!"
"You're not a police officer tonight, Miller," I said, tossing my cigarette butt onto the ground and crushing it with the toe of my boot. "Tonight, you're a co-conspirator to the murder of Elena Vasquez."
Miller's face went completely grey. He glanced at Marco, who refused to meet his eyes.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Miller stammered, trying to sit up. "I handled a hit-and-run in Queens three days ago. Standard investigation. No suspects, no witnesses."
"You erased the traffic camera footage at 104th Street," Tony said, stepping forward and dropping a flash drive onto Miller's lap. "We have a technician in our crew who recovered the cached files from the city cloud server before your manual deletion went permanent. Want to guess what the footage shows?"
Miller swallowed hard.
"It shows a dark blue Lincoln Continental running a red light at forty miles an hour," Tony continued. "It shows the strike. And it shows your precinct cruiser arriving seven minutes later, pulling up to the Lincoln's owner, taking an envelope of cash from his hand, and turning off your dash camera."
Miller closed his eyes. The breath went out of him like a punctured tire.
"She was just a kid, Miller," I said, stepping into the dim light. "Her father runs a small bodega. He pays protection money to us so that his family stays safe. That means I was responsible for her safety. And you helped cover up her blood."
"Carmine, please," Miller begged, rolling onto his knees and pressing his forehead against the cold concrete floor. "Marco told me it was a stray dog! He called me right after it happened and said he hit a dog and didn't want the paperwork! I didn't know it was a kid until I got to the scene!"
"And when you got to the scene and saw a seven-year-old girl bleeding on the asphalt?" I asked, my voice deadly soft. "What did you do then?"
"I... I had debt, Carmine! Gambling debts! The mob guys in Jersey were going to break my knees! Marco offered me fifty grand to wipe the tape and write it off as an unidentifiable truck! I needed the money!"
"So you sold a little girl's life for fifty thousand dollars," I said.
Bruno stepped forward, standing over Miller's bowing form. He lowered his snout until he was inches from the cop's ear, letting out a sharp, ear-splitting bark that made Miller shriek in terror.
"Even my dog knows you aren't human," I said.
I looked at Tony. "Call the Precinct Commander at the 114th. Tell him to come down here personally."
Tony blinked in surprise. "The Commander? Boss, if we hand Miller over to the precinct, they'll try to hush it up to protect the department's reputation."
"Not if I give him the choice," I replied. "The Commander is an honest man. Old school. He doesn't take our money, but he respects our boundaries. He needs to see what kind of snakes are wearing his badge."
"And what about Marco?" Paulie asked, pointing a finger at the tied-up underboss.
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I looked down at Marco. The man was staring at me with hollow, empty eyes, knowing that his life in our organization was officially over.
"Marco doesn't get the police," I said quietly. "Marco belongs to Mateo Vasquez."
