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  “Tony,” I said, “has anyone contacted you about me or Michael? You know the kind of person I’m talking about – a suit.”

  “Are you kidding? No. If anyone like that talked to me I’d tell you. My life is in your hands. We’ve got to protect each other.” Then he started to cry. Tony used to be a smart, tough guy, but now he was broken. The others in the bar turned their eyes away, but I put my arm around him. Then he said, “Please, I need something to get through this, please!”

  “Life’s not easy, we’ll stick together. Here, I’ve got some smack for you. Good stuff. It’ll hold you over.” I then reached in my pocket and gave him a bundle of nickel heroin bags that I had taken from an earlier case.

  His teary eyes lit up with gratitude as he stuffed the bundles in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said. “I know you’re not supposed to do this, but I’d be dead without it. I’ve got another problem; Brimstone knows it was me that set him up. The cops busted him last week. He’s going to kill me.”

  “Tony, George Brimstone is a vicious drug dealer who would not hesitate to kill anyone he suspected of being an informant. How did you get into this mess? We don’t have anything on him. How did the cops get him?”

  He hung his head and looked away.

  “I get it, why don’t the cops protect you since you’re working for them too?”

  Tears rolled down his cheek. “Because,” he stammered, “Brimstone’s going to cooperate, they don’t need me anymore. But if Brimstone kills the informant on his case then he skates without being a rat.”

  His hand was shaking badly and saliva dripped from his mouth. “You can’t stop him. I’m going to die.”

  I thought a minute, then said, “Do you know Heyman?”

  Tony shook his head. “No.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I know him, I’ll tell Brimstone it was Heyman and not you. You’ll be off the hook. Trust me, Heyman will be dead in a week.”

  Tony smiled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. I knew he would stay loyal.

  Later on, at about 2:00 in the morning, I saw Brimstone at an after-hours club in Harlem where he hung out every night. He was still out on bail. Brimstone looked like a banker, no fancy pimp clothes for him. He was good-looking, smart and dangerous. He knew who I was and even about the investigation. I offered him a deal. “Hear you got in a little dust-up with the cops. Need some help?”

  He waved everyone away, then said, “Why?” He was interested.

  “Because, George, I need you. If Flowers or his people come to you, you know nothing and don’t make up anything. Do you understand?”

  After a bit of silence and studying the bar to see if I was alone, he said, “Why?”

  I had his interest. “Don’t ask why. What do you want?”

  He lit a cigar. “Only one thing you can give me. I want the rat.”

  “Of course you do; it’s all I can offer. Is it a deal?”

  “Done. Who?”

  I kept remembering what Heyman’s bouncers did to Gabriel’s father. He only came to get his teenage daughter out of the whorehouse and take her home. They broke his arm and threw him down the stairs. I remembered standing there watching and I did nothing, but I could do something now, just like Michael would do. I whispered in his ear, “The Jamaican guy who runs a whore-house in Spanish Harlem, always says ‘hey man,’ he’s on our payroll.”

  Brimstone nodded, he was grateful and he believed me.

  DEWEY GOES DOWN

  Andy Flowers set up a small office in 90 Church, just himself and one snotty secretary. No one talked to either one of them. Everyone knew Flowers had another secret, much larger office, filled with agents who were all trying their best to put us in the penitentiary – or worse, get us killed. I was the first agent on Flowers’ list. They announced my name over the office P.A. to meet with agent Flowers in one of our interview rooms. Everyone looked up at me as I walked down the hall to meet the man who was trying to put all of us in jail.

  Flowers was smiling and very friendly. He reminded me of a country preacher. He said he had a tough job and that he would like my help. He knew that I was a good, honest agent and, in fact, the most successful agent in the Bureau. He surprised me when he said, “You are not the target of this investigation, but you work closely with two agents that for the sake of the Bureau must go to jail. You and I know that they have taken government money, falsified cases and killed people.” I knew he was talking about Dewey and Michael. He continued, “I know you know the difference between right and wrong and I’m counting on you to do the right thing. I need you to guide my investigation.”

  I noticed he was smiling. Michael had warned me that smiling people never attack from the front. I said I would help him, but I didn’t have any firsthand knowledge about any illegal activities by either Michael or Dewey. He just gave me a big grin. Then said, “I would like you to come back at two o’clock this afternoon.”

  I went back and told Dewey and Michael what had happened. Dewey said Flowers’ secretary had also told him he was supposed to meet Flowers at two o’clock. Things were getting very serious. That afternoon I saw one of the lawyers from the Justice Department who had come over to help Flowers interview Dewey. He was bright, young, and enthusiastic. He reminded me of Tyler Springfield from the FBI.

  Flowers pulled me aside before the interview. “Dewey Paris is our first target. He’s going to be indicted and I want you to see how we work. I’m going to expose these people and I want you to understand and help me.” He patted me on the back and then went into the small conference room while I watched outside through a two-way mirror.

  The eager government lawyer and the crusading special investigator were all ganging up on Dewey, who just sat there looking like a well-dressed teenage kid. Dewey wore a grey pin-stripe navy blue suit with a starched white shirt, and a gold tie. He sat straight in the chair, military style. His nails were buffed, and he wore a pinky ring with the head of a gold snake, biting down on a round piece of bright green jade. The full force of the United States Government was coming down on Dewey, and the government didn’t stand a chance.

  Flowers started in: “Agent Paris, you’re a fuck-up, aren’t you? It says here that you’ve been with the Bureau for eight years and you’re still only a GS Sixteen. You’ve been denied six promotions. With this kind of record what kind of advice should I give you?”

  Dewey looked at him. “Is that what this meeting is all about? Giving me advice? Higher aspirations for my career?”

  “No,” Flowers said quietly. “You’re not fooling anyone. In the past six months you’ve been listed as a surveillance agent in only two cases and, six months prior to that, only one. You’ve participated in only three cases in the past twelve months. You’ve not conducted one meaningful interview or developed any useful information to further a single case. You’re not fooling anyone,” he repeated. “But there’s something worse. You’re a cold-blooded killer. In the past year you’ve killed eight men. One of them, Bobby Moon, you shot in the face.”

  The government lawyer sat there trying not to smile as Flowers waited for Dewey’s answer.

  “I believe the New York City Police Department filed a report on this incident. It was part of the Domenic Scarluci and Charles Moon case,” Dewey answered calmly. “When you take the time to read it, it will say that there were several witnesses. The suspect reached for his gun. I had to angle the shot down so it would not ricochet and hit an agent. I called the police for clean-up and left my number for them to call me. They did. Now what’s the problem?”

  “What do you mean, ‘clean-up?’” the government lawyer asked.

  Dewey smiled. “Sweep the trash off the street.”

  Flowers now seemed unsure of himself. “That does not excuse your actions.”

  “The man was homicidal,” Dewey answered calmly. “He had already killed four people. This is not the Wild West, where they get to draw first. He reached for his gun and I clipped him. I’m not aware of a fair-fight poli
cy in the agent’s manual; perhaps you could show it to me so we can move this discussion along.”

  Flowers tried a different tack. “Dewey, there’s nothing personal here. You know what we want. We want Michael Giovanni.”

  “You just called me a killer. That sounds pretty personal to me, and if you want to talk to Michael Giovanni, I think he’s still in the office.”

  Flowers exploded again. “You’re a killer, and you don’t give a damn about authority. You don’t obey your superiors. You have no respect for them. You’re a rogue killer agent. You’ve killed more people than anyone else in this Bureau.”

  “Actually,” Dewey replied, “I think that Silkey has a higher head count, if you like to keep track of that sort of thing. And I do respect my superiors – when I can find them.”

  Flowers ignored the insult. “I’m curious … What kind of a gun does a killer rogue agent like you carry? Let me see it.”

  Dewey reached his arm up his back and pulled out his forty-five automatic from his custom holster and laid it on the table. It was dull black with bright red cherry-wood grips and a flat straight trigger.

  Flowers started in again, “That weapon is not even government issue.”

  The Justice Department lawyer interrupted, “Uhm, I think it is … This is a standard forty-five automatic with a brushed dull finish used by naval officers, issued for covert operations. It is non-reflective, hard short-pull trigger for rapid fire.” The lawyer was proud of himself, to be able to volunteer such technical information.

  “Unload it,” Flowers ordered.

  Dewey popped the clip and placed it on the table.

  “And the one in the chamber,” Flowers said.

  Dewey then did something unbelievable; he picked up the gun and yanked back the carriage, ejecting the bullet with such force and at the precise angle that it ricocheted off the wall, bounced off the ceiling and soared directly to Flowers’ face. In one powerful snatch, like catching a fly, Dewey caught the bullet in mid-air with his fist and froze his clenched hand in front of Flowers’ face with the green-snake pinky ring just inches from his nose.

  Flowers jumped back, almost falling from his chair. He was visibly upset. “I thought I could deal with you reasonably, and just accept your resignation, but I can’t. I’m informing you that I’m filing a federal indictment against you this afternoon. We have evidence that you have taken illegal payoffs from underworld sources.”

  “Since, as you say, I’ve not been deeply involved in any cases for the past two years, what are you referring to?”

  Flowers ignored the question and looked to the young Justice Department lawyer. The lawyer reached in his briefcase, pulled out a file and laid it on the table.

  “Dewey,” Flowers continued, trying to be nice, “we’ve audited yours and Maggie’s bank accounts for the past year. You’ve spent ten thousand dollars more through your checking account than you’ve earned from your government pay. Your wife is unemployed and you did not declare any extra income. We’ve got you.”

  I was stunned. In the first meeting, they got Dewey.

  Immediately Dewey bowed his head. He began pulling on his gold cufflinks and said, “It’s been hard working here. I don’t want a lot of publicity. I would like to go on record right now. An indictment won’t be necessary. I would like to give you my statement, my confession.”

  Flowers beamed. Dewey could bring everybody down. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. The young lawyer was smiling with satisfaction as Dewey hung his head in shame; with a straight face he confessed: “About a year ago, I was out bouncing, drinking on the East Side, and I met a stranger. He had too much to drink so I brought him home with me. He slept in the guest room, but the next morning when I woke up he was gone. I think he left in a cab. He had some luggage with him but he left behind a small bag. When I opened it there was ten thousand dollars in cash. I didn’t know what to do. I thought he might come back, but then I couldn’t have the cash lying around the house, so I deposited it in my account and then over time I spent it. I spent it all. I know it was illegal, improper at the least. I took his money. I should be punished for it. He has every right to file charges and he will probably work with you to charge me. I remember his name. His name is José. He never told me his last name, but he did say he was from Cuba. He lives somewhere in Cuba, shouldn’t be too hard to find. Let’s write it up.”

  I started laughing so hard I thought they could hear me on the other side of the glass. The young government lawyer sat there staring into space. Dewey looked at Flowers and said, “Unless there’s a point to all of this, I’ve requested to leave early today.”

  As if things weren’t bad enough for Flowers, the Justice Department lawyer picked up Dewey’s black gun and read aloud the inscription etched on the barrel, “Presented by Captain Maurice Castlemann to Lieutenant Dwight Paris for heroic and dedicated service –” Dewey took the gun out of his hand before he could finish reading, reloaded it and stuffed it in the back of his pants and walked out without saying another word.

  Flowers sat frozen and silent. I’d noticed earlier that he had an odd mannerism. He would remain very still, then jerk his head or hands to a new position like the movement of a large bird or reptile. Now he folded his hands on the table like he was praying and his head jerked up and down and sideways as he stared into space.

  The next morning, at about ten-thirty, an announcement came over the public-address system in the office. The agent on duty announced, “There is an urgent and very important phone call for Agent Dwight Paris from José. He’s calling collect from Cuba, will you accept charges?” For twenty minutes the whole Bureau laughed.

  At one-thirty in the afternoon someone made the same announcement again, and the laughter started all over. Finally Blanker put a stop to it.

  TO TELL THE TRUTH

  A week later, one of Dewey’s informants told him he had been approached by a Task Force investigator, promising to “lose his file” if he wore a body wire and set Dewey up. The plan was to try to get Dewey to admit that he had given the informant money taken from an earlier drug raid. It was laughable to think Dewey could be set up so easily. Dewey told the informant he could “lose his file” too if he would double-cross the investigators and set them up. The informant feared Dewey more than the investigators.

  Dewey told the informant to tell the Task Force that Dewey knew he was working with Flowers and was coming to kill him this afternoon. The informant then went to the investigator for protection.

  The next morning Dewey told Pike that the informant had not been producing enough information and that he was going to arrest him and bring his case to trial. Dewey, Ed Silkey, and Agent Greenway went to the Bronx, supposedly to arrest the informant.

  The informant was sitting on the front steps of a brownstone on Tremont Avenue with two Task Force investigators waiting for Dewey and the others to arrive. Dewey jumped out of his car, grinning and waving his black .45 automatic. Ed Silkey waved his shotgun in the air when he saw the informant. The two Task Force investigators panicked and started firing. Dewey pinned the Task Force agents down behind a stone porch with rapid fire from his .45 automatic. Finally, police cars surrounded the block and got control of the situation.

  In the investigation that followed, Pike had to admit that the agents were en route to make an arrest and were justified in approaching the informant with their guns drawn. They had no knowledge of who the investigators were or why they were with the informant. The newspapers carried the story: “Agent Against Agent; Confusion Reigns at Federal Bureau of Narcotics.” Michael complained to Pike that Dewey was a lousy shot and should be re-qualified at the pistol range. This got the office laughing again. Of course, everyone knew that if Dewey had wanted to kill the Task Force investigators at the shoot-out, they would all be dead.

  Still, no one expected anything to end soon. Letters were written by Customs, NYPD, and the Secret Service, protesting the outrageous, amateurish, investigative techniques used by
the Task Force. They praised the Bureau for its cooperation and the endless supply of valuable information coming from its Library. They said the Bureau was a major force in the fight against drugs and organized crime, and asked that the Investigative Task Force be dissolved.

  But Andy Flowers’ Task Force only grew more aggressive. The next Monday morning when we were all in the office they started to use surprise polygraph tests. First they called Michael in, sat him down to a chair, and strapped the wires to him. Afterwards, the polygraph tester said he had never seen results like this before. It was almost a straight line on the sheet. Michael had no reaction, one way or the other, to any question. The results were similar to those of people in deep depression. The joke around the office was that, after all, Michael was a vampire; he’d been dead for years. What did they expect?

  Dewey’s was next. His test was just as bizarre. It indicated that he was lying to every question asked, except for his name. Even his answer to the test question “Was he an agent for the Federal Bureau of Narcotics?” indicated a lie. Now the joke in the office was that the only thing they proved was that Dewey was lying when he said Michael Giovanni was still alive.

  I didn’t think they would grab me, but they did. Flowers was nice about it. He said, “We must do this, it’s just a formality. You said you didn’t know about any criminal activity, but I’ve got to be sure. You understand, don’t you?”

  I was terrified as they strapped me into the chair with wires on my arm and fingers. The first questions were easy – my name, family members – in order to get a baseline for the truth. The next question was about the case I had made several nights earlier. It was a small case against a junkie that went according to procedure. After a series of questions I knew I was registering the truth, but then came the unexpected question that was not “just a formality.” Flowers asked, “Have you ever stolen any official government advance funds assigned to you or anyone else to purchase heroin or cocaine from suspected drug dealers?”