The Impoverished: Boxed Set Page 5

  Leland put on his coat and hat, locked the apartment door and descended two flights of stairs to the lobby. Leland was 87 years old and walked like a turtle. His slowness did not faze him in the least. He was grateful to be out and about every day. He took care of the daily errands so that his son, Randall, would have fewer things to do when he got home. Randall worked long hours. Leland was glad to help out.

  It was unusual to go out twice in one day, but he did not want to trouble Randall. He would pick up a bottle of aspirin and go right home.

  He shuffled down the first aid aisle of the Rite Aid on Nostrand Ave. He knew the store’s layout as well as his own apartment because he shopped there often. But never this late in the day.

  He spent a long time searching the shelves. Even with his eyeglasses, it was difficult to read the small print on the aspirin boxes. He recognized the generic brand of aspirin by its green and white packaging. The store brand worked just as well as the name brands, but for half the cost.

  He reached the cash register. “Good afternoon, young lady.” He placed the aspirin on the counter.

  “Hello, Mr. Rico.” The cashier smiled and made a notation of the merchandise as he exited the store.

  The cashier was about to ring out the next customer when the new night manager glared at her. “What the heck was that? You let that old man steal from this store!”

  “No, I did not. You do not understand.” Her face reddened. “Mr. Rico would never steal.”

  She explained the special circumstances concerning Mr. Rico but the manager barked at her to call the police. Her face burned crimson as she dialed nine-one-one.

  Chapter 20

  Carmella Russo drove out of the 79 Precinct’s parking lot when the dispatcher called her sector for their first assignment.

  “9 Henry, Respond to a Past Larceny at 1532 Nostrand Avenue. Rite Aid.”

  “10-4 Central,” Matt Rosen spoke into his hand-held radio. He looked over at his partner. “Did you get the address?”

  Carmella nodded. “Yep. We’re on the way.” She turned the blue and white police car onto Nostrand Avenue and drove towards Rite Aid.

  As soon as they entered the store, the manager rushed over to report that a thin male black, over eighty years old, removed a bottle of aspirin from the shelf and left the store without paying for the merchandise.

  Matt and Carmella exchanged looks and chorused, “Mister Rico.”

  Matt explained to the manager that the elderly man fit the description of Leland Rico. He shopped in all the neighborhood stores in the same manner.

  Matt continued, “Mr. Rico believes that he has a tab at this store, as well as other stores nearby, just like he did sixty years ago when he lived in a small town in North Carolina. Mr. Rico does not realize that he is technically shoplifting. His son will stop into the store to pay for whatever his father took home. The other storeowners do not have a problem with this arrangement. It will be fine.”

  The manager balked. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Nobody leaves my store with merchandise without paying for it!”

  Matt did not give up. “Listen. I assure you that Mr. Rico’s son will settle up with you later.”

  Matt told the manager a report was not necessary. The store would be reimbursed for the merchandise. The manager accused Matt of being lazy and threatened to make a civilian complaint against him. Matt reluctantly filled out a complaint report and politely told the manager how to file a civilian complaint.

  Carmella shook her head as she and Mat returned to the parked police car.

  She plopped into the driver’s seat, and sighed. “What a jerk! Let’s stop by later to see if Randall comes in to pay for the aspirin. Maybe we could rip that stupid report up instead of handing it into the 124 room. What nonsense.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Matt said. “I bet the manager will forget the whole thing ever happened.”

  Carmella smirked, “No chance. That manager is a jerk.”

  Matt shrugged, “You never know.”

  He unhooked his radio from his gun belt and informed central, “Report prepared, we are resuming patrol”.

  Central immediately assigned them to a violent dispute around the corner from their present location. “There are numerous 911 calls for help and an ambulance is enroute,” she advised.

  Carmella raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like trouble.” She looked at Matt. “Somebody might be bleeding. Let’s put on gloves before we leave the car.”

  “You got it.” He reached into the glove compartment and pulled two pairs of surgical gloves from a cardboard box. Carmella and Matt took precautions from picking up blood borne diseases whenever time allowed.

  Carmella turned the corner. She gasped when she saw a crowd in front of the three story row house. She tapped Matt on his knee and sighed.

  He let out a puff of air and handed her a pair of thin rubber gloves. “Live or die in Bed-Sty.”

  When she opened the driver’s side door, the sound of furniture cracking and men yelling came from the building. She and Matt exchanged wide-eyed looks.

  Matt keyed his radio, “Central, send back up”.

  An ambulance arrived just as Mat and Carmella were walking through the front yard. Carmella turned to wave at the Emergency Medical Technicians. Happy to see Vincent and Mark. Big guys with good heads on their shoulders. They could be counted on if things got out of hand.

  As Mark raised his hand to return her wave, Carmella heard the shattering of glass. Mark’s face turned ashen. “Mel, look out!”

  Carmella looked up as large wood splinters rained on her. Matt pushed her aside just in time to avoid getting splattered with a falling body and falling glass. A large male body landed on the black picket fence in the front yard, right in front of Carmella. The man’s thigh was impaled by pickets. Taking a closer look, Carmella recognized him from previous 911 calls for fighting with his roommates. She patted him down to ensure that he was unarmed before Mark and Vincent approached him to render first aid.

  The impalement of his leg did not stop him from throwing punches and cursing. Carmella whispered in Mark’s ear, “Remember this guy? He is a fighter. Do not take him off the fence until Emergency Service gets here.”

  “Yeah. Good idea-” Mark was interrupted by sounds of breaking glass coming from the broken window frame.

  Carmella pointed to a hole where the third floor window used to be. “Looks like Matt and I will have our hands full upstairs. We may not be able to get down here fast enough if he goes psycho on you.”

  “OK, I will wait before I take him off the pickets. Be careful up there,” Mark said.

  Screaming came from the hole.

  Matt led the way up the stairs to the third floor, unhooked his radio and informed central: “…a man was thrown from the third floor window and landed on a picket fence. EMS is on the scene. Send Emergency Services to extricate the man from the picket fence. Advise our back up unit that we are going to the front apartment on the third floor.”

  “10-4, Henry,” acknowledged Central. “Use caution, unit.”

  Chapter 21

  When they reached the third floor landing, Carmella and Matt stood on either side of the apartment door. The noises stopped. It became eerily quiet inside the apartment. Matt gave Mel a puzzled look. She shrugged her shoulders to silently say, “What gives?”

  In tandem, they unsnapped their holsters and gripped their firearms.

  Matt banged on the door with his fist. “NYPD. Open the door!”

  No response.

  Matt tried the doorknob. His eyes widened when the knob turned in his hand. He pushed the door open and darted his head in and out. He motioned to Mel that he could see nothing and then charged into the apartment. Carmella followed.

  A huge thirty-something year old man pranced in place in the middle of the living room. He huffed and puffed and threw punches in the air. His red tee shirt strained against his muscled chest and biceps. His blue jeans covered tel
ephone-pole sized legs.

  Carmella glanced at Matt. He was concentrating on something. Matt’s eyes widened when his mind found whatever it was looking for. He spoke firmly to the restless giant, “William, what did you do?”

  At the mention of his name, William snapped back to reality. He stopped his over-zealous boxer’s shuffle. His fisted hands dropped to his sides. “I am so sorry,” he moaned. “I did not mean to throw Wayne out the window. He got me so mad. I mean, just look at this place. It is filthy! His stuff is everywhere. He is such a f...”

  “OK, William. I know you did not mean it. But I have to take you in for this. You know that, right?” Matt spoke softly.

  “Yeah, I know.” William turned around and put his hands behind his back.

  Carmella starred at Matt in awe. His finesse with people never failed to amaze her. She gave him a thankful smile as she handed her pair of handcuffs to him.

  Matt needed two sets of handcuffs to restrain William. Not because William resisted arrest, but because he was too big for just one pair. One set could not reach across his massive back. Even though Matt linked the two handcuffs, he still struggled to get William’s wrists close enough together.

  On the way back to the Station House, Carmella stopped at the Rite Aid Store and tooted the horn.

  The cashier came over to the car smiling like the Joker. She said, “Randall Rico came by to pay for the aspirin, just like always. But this time he was not alone. A ton of his neighbors came too. They told the manager they would boycott the store if he pressed charges against Mr. Rico.”

  Carmella gave her the thumbs up sign as Matt ripped the report in half and then again into quarters. The cashier giggled and skipped back into the store.

  “Gotta love it when the neighborhood sticks together!” Matt said.

  He looked back at the imprisoned giant. “William, did you eat?”

  He didn’t and neither did they. One more stop to make before heading into the station house to process William’s arrest.

  Chapter 22

  A fortnight had passed since Carson first warned Malone about his suspicions about the Lincoln Tunnel. Carson was frustrated to be in the dark about the plot, but not surprised. The first thing he learned about The Impoverished was that orders were given to members just before it was time to execute them.

  Another thing Carson learned early on is that it was not easy to get information without appearing suspicious. The best he could do was to keep his eyes and ears open. He could not ask questions without giving up his cover.

  Although Carson has successfully passed himself off as a member of The Impoverished, he could not bring himself to act like a suicidal radical. When questioned about Islam and suicide missions, he said he believed in Islam’s dominance over the West but was not willing to commit suicide for the cause.

  Carson lost credibility with The Impoverished since declining to become a suicide bomber. He was not invited to join the meetings that Gilbert and the others attended. Gilbert was a true believer.

  When Rashid recruited Gilbert four years ago at a demonstration against the book, Satanic Verses, he was already a practicing Muslim. Right off, Gilbert said he yearned to become a martyr and reach paradise. He joined The Impoverished about the same time Carson did, but Gilbert took the oath immediately. Carson took the oath years later.

  Gilbert embraced life at the encampment. He commuted to his job at the Holland Tunnel every day. Carson eagerly took the apartment Rashid offered him in Brooklyn, feigning the long commute as the reason. Gilbert did not mind the long drive. He said the commute was worth it to sleep in a place where Islam flourished. He did not like being around Christians, Jews, or even moderate Muslims.

  Yep. Gilbert was a true believer. Poor slob!

  Today, when Gilbert stopped by Carson’s shack and told him to meet him at the guardhouse, Carson’s internal warning bells went haywire. Gilbert’s usefulness to The Impoverished was about to be realized. He was slated to be a suicide bomber. But what did that mean for him? Carson was no suicide bomber.

  Gilbert advised, “Bring your sunglasses; we will be doing a lot of driving today.”

  Carson quickly dressed, stopped at his Blazer to retrieve his sunglasses and trotted down the hill. When he neared the guardhouse he waved at Jamal, who was on sentry duty. Jamal smiled and waved back. Carson was about to enter the guardhouse to chat when he saw a brown Ford Econoline cargo van turn onto Moslem Lane. The van rode low to the ground, as if it had no suspension.

  Jamal laughed and pointed at the droopy van. “Your ride is here.” Carson smiled back at him. Grunted.

  As the van approached, Carson imagined Cheech or Chong driving the low riding van. No such luck, it was just Gilbert behind the wheel. The van came to a gradual stop. Carson jumped into the passenger seat. “Nice wheels, Gilbert.”

  Gilbert smirked. “It will do.” He backed the van onto Roods Creek Road and headed south.

  Carson glanced behind him. “Holy Crap!” The cargo compartment was loaded with sandbags and cinderblocks. No wonder the van rode so low; it was weighed down by its cargo. Gilbert drove the van onto Highway 17 and took the next exit.

  He pulled to the side of the road and said, “Your turn to drive.”

  Carson switched seats and was about to shift the transmission into drive when Gilbert said, “Make sure you brake and turn gradually. The added weight makes the van difficult to accelerate, so do not attempt to pass any cars, just stay in your lane.”

  “OK. I get it.” Carson entered the roadway.

  Gilbert and Carson spent hours taking turns at the wheel and never once discussed the necessity of learning to drive a weighed down van. They just did what they were told. But Carson did wonder what the purpose was and came up with two possibilities. They were preparing to drive a van loaded with explosives to a target, or drive it to a staging area near a target. Both possibilities were equally frightening, the pieces for an imminent attack were coming together.

  Carson suspected the Lincoln Tunnel was a target. Since Gilbert worked at the Holland Tunnel, it must also be a target. Both the Lincoln and Holland Tunnels are targets for an impending attack. Vans were going to be loaded with explosives and detonated inside the tubes of the tunnels, under the Hudson River!

  Carson grimaced. The thought of the devastation from such acts was horrendous. Not only would thousands of people die horrible deaths in the initial explosions and flooding, but rescue workers would die trying to save them. Water would pour into downtown Manhattan, Weehawken and Jersey City. It would be disastrous! He will not let it happen. He had to find out the intended date of the attack. So he could stop it.

  He and Gilbert will be ordered to drive the explosive laden vans to the detonation spots, but who would transport the vans to the staging areas near the targets. How can he find out without appearing suspicious?

  Carson sighed in dismay. But when he drove past a fast food restaurant he thought of a way to find out who else is involved.

  “Hey, we just passed McDonalds. Should I turn around?”

  “Good idea. I am starving,” said Gilbert.

  “Is anyone joining us today?” asked Carson. “Should we wait for them before we eat?”

  “Let’s eat now. It is just the two of us today. I am taking Mohamed out to drive the van tomorrow,” answered Gilbert.

  “Good, let’s eat.” Carson said. Bingo! Now he knew that Mohamed was involved too.

  After they finished eating hamburgers and French fries, Carson and Gilbert took turns practicing accelerating and decelerating on Silver Lake Road. They mastered driving the van with the extra weight and called it a day.

  Chapter 23

  Carson was working in tollbooth seven, like always, but he was jumpy as hell. He took cash from drivers and made change, like always, but he was on autopilot. His mind was racing. The attack was planned to happen soon. He knew it!

  The nature of this weekend’s training worried him to no end. Learning to drive an explosive
laden cargo van meant that an attack was imminent. That was bad enough, but this morning, he had an unexpected visitor.

  As Carson was walking out the door, Rashid stopped by to make sure that Carson was scheduled to work on the fourth of July. Rashid was pleased when Carson told him that everyone at work wanted the holiday off, so it would be a cinch to work that day.

  Why the sudden interest in his work schedule? Why does Rashid want him to work on the Fourth of July? Unless- Oh man, that is the day! Now Carson had a date for the attack.

  The Fourth of July was less than three weeks away. Carson had to get this information to Malone as soon as he could. He looked at his wristwatch. He bit his lower lip. There was a full hour left before his lunch relief would arrive. The hour inched by and when the meal relief knocked on the booth door, Carson jumped.

  He walked to the employee parking lot, hopped into his Blazer and drove directly to the Amtrak station on Grand Ave. The street near the train station was busy with pedestrian and vehicular traffic so Carson blended into the crowd. He could call Malone and get something to eat there, without attracting any attention.

  He parked in front of Duncan Donuts, bought a large coffee and a chocolate frosted donut before heading to the corner to use the pay phone. The donut disappeared in three bites, but the coffee was too hot to drink so he put the container on the top of the phone. When he picked up the receiver, it slipped from his hand. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants before retrieving the receiver. He pressed a four digit pin number and then dialed Malone’s number. Carson memorized the pin and telephone numbers long ago. The cellular telephone number had a 908 area code and was subscribed to Janice Smith. If Carson was caught talking to Malone he would pretend that he was talking to his non-existent sister. It was a good cover story. So far, he had no reason to put it to the test.