Reno Gabrini: A Man in Full Page 3

  “Be careful,” she said, he promised that he would, and then he left her standing there.

  THREE

  Detective Jeff Meyers of Robbery/Homicide looked over at the dead body stretched out on the sidewalk, and then looked back at Jimmy. “What’s it all about, brother?” he asked Jimmy. Meyers’ partner, who was standing beside him, grinned. “Is this what it’s all about? You people killing each other? Another black man down? Another brother from the hood shot down by yet another brother from the hood and it’s so predictable it’s disgusting? Or is it the thrill of the kill? You people like that, don’t you? You like the thrill of it all. Is that it?”

  Jimmy wanted to set that cop straight so badly. He wanted to tell him that everything he was saying was a caricature of the truth, and if anybody liked thrill kills it was people like that cop himself. But he didn’t say a word. Reno wasn’t just Jimmy’s father. He was the one human being Jimmy trusted above anybody else in this entire world. When he ordered him to shut it, he kept it shut. But the more this clown of a cop talked, the more Jimmy’s resolve was weakening.

  And the cop kept at it. “This how you boys get off, isn’t it? You like to drive by and gun people down. Is that it? Am I on to something here?” His partner laughed again. “You’re bringing an entire race down with your savagery, boy, don’t you realize that? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Jimmy looked past the ridiculous cop. He looked at how the entire area had been cordoned off and how the club crowd was now outside. He saw their faces. He saw the pain in their eyes. Their fellow man was dead in the street. They were bearing witness to the end of a man’s life. They were bearing witness to the strangeness of death itself.

  “You hear me talking to you, boy,” Meyers said again, his fat face as pale as paste. “Is killing each other all you people know how to do? Get a little liquor in you and that’s all it takes? What was it this time? He talked about your mama? He fucked your girlfriend? He owed you a few dollars, what?”

  Jimmy still said nothing. And his silence was beginning to rile Meyers.

  Meyers moved in closer. “You listen to me, you asshole,” he said in an angry, but lowered tone. “That uniformed officer was wrong when he allowed you to make that phone call to whoever you called. He was wrong for that. But he helped your dumbass out. He said you’d been cooperating, talking to them, so he helped you out. Now, when I hit the scene, you wanna return his kindness with silence? That ain’t happening, pal. You don’t talk, I’ll haul your ass to jail right now. Now you answer me. Why did you kill that boy?”

  Jimmy’s soft, greenish-gray eyes looked hard at the detective. “I didn’t kill him,” he said.

  “Like hell you didn’t!” Meyers replied.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Jimmy said again, knowing he shouldn’t be saying a thing. But this cop was itching to lock him up and he knew he had to stall him. He started repeating what he’d already said to the uniforms, to give his father time to arrive. “He tried to carjack me,” he said. “I was down on the ground, my face in the concrete, when he was shot.”

  “Yeah, right,” Meyers said dismissively. “You were just chillin’. You were just knitting your grandma a sweater while somebody else, who had nothing to do with the carjacking, decided to shoot him down on your behalf.”

  “I didn’t shoot him,” Jimmy said.

  “Yeah, okay, let’s go with that,” Meyers said. “You didn’t shoot him. Fine. So who shot him then, wise guy? Who shot him?”

  Jimmy knew this was where his story could fall apart. But he remembered that look in Connie’s eyes. Connie had probably saved both their lives. And although he still should not have run, he wasn’t snitching on him. “It wasn’t me,” he decided to say.

  “Then who the hell was it? Who was this mystery shooter? Describe him.”

  Jimmy said nothing.

  “What did he look like? Well? You’d better talk to me here or you’ll be talking to me downtown. Now what did he look like?”

  Jimmy exhaled. He knew he had to play for time. “Average,” he said. “He was average.”

  “What the hell is average?”

  “He was average.”

  “Was he tall like you?”

  “He was tall, yeah.”

  “Built up like you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Black like you?”

  “No.”

  “Hairstyle like. . .” Then Meyers realized what Jimmy had said. “What do you mean no?”

  Jimmy looked at the Detective. “No, he wasn’t black,” Jimmy said.

  The Detective stared at him. “Oh, I see. So the mystery shooter is white. Is that what you expect me to believe?”

  Jimmy frowned. “I don’t give a fuck what you believe,” he said, and as soon as he said it the Detective socked him in the gut. The youthful crowd responded, with yells of brutality, as Jimmy bent over in pain. The detective’s partner touched him on the elbow, as if to remind him that they had an audience, an audience that undoubtedly had their phone cameras on blast.

  Although Meyers did ease up, he was nonetheless still adamant. “Don’t think this crowd is going to save your black ass. They won’t. There’s backrooms we haven’t gotten your ass in yet. Remember that. There’s more where that came from,” he continued, but Jimmy was looking beyond him now. And was looking relieved.

  Meyers looked too. That was when he saw the Porsche zoom to a stop on the back end of the cordoned off area.

  “Who the hell is that?” Meyers asked his partner, as both of them stared at the man getting out of the Porsche.

  “That’s my father,” Jimmy replied with nothing but relief in his heart, as he stared too.

  Meyers looked at Jimmy. “Your father?” he asked him. “That’s a white man, you idiot. What are you talking about?”

  Jimmy ignored him. He was too thrilled to see his father’s face. He, instead, began hurrying toward him.

  “Wait a minute,” the Detective said. “Hey,” he said when Jimmy kept walking. “Hey!” he yelled, and he and his partner hurried behind Jimmy, shooing off the uniformed officer who attempted to intervene.

  But as soon as Jimmy made it close enough, Reno, still on the other side of the tape, embraced his son. Tears began to fill Jimmy’s eyes as he embraced his father with an emotional release that bespoke the trauma that he’d been through.

  But Meyers and his partner were right on Jimmy’s heels. “You’re in a restricted area, sir,” Meyers said to Reno. “I’m going to have to ask you to back off.”

  Reno stopped hugging his son, but instead of responding to the detective, he placed his hands on the side of his son’s light-brown face. He looked him up and down. “You all right?” he asked him.

  “Sir?” the detective said.

  “I’m all right,” Jimmy said, trying hard to staunch his flow of tears.

  Reno looked at the detective. “Is he under arrest?” he asked him.

  “Who are you? His attorney?”

  “I’m Dominic Gabrini,” Reno said. “I’m his father.”

  Meyers and his partner both were taken aback by such a statement. But as soon as Reno said it, Meyers saw the resemblance. It was slight, but it was there. The black kid favored the white guy. Meyers hadn’t bothered to ask Jimmy’s name in the entire time he questioned him, so he had no clue that Jimmy was a Gabrini too.

  He looked at Reno. “You’re Dominic Gabrini?” he asked. “As in Dominic Reno Gabrini? As in the owner of the PaLargio Gabrini?”

  “That’s right,” Reno said, pleased that they understood exactly who they were dealing with. He never flaunted his power and prestige, except around cops. And immediately the swag Meyers was projecting with Jimmy, became far less formidable with Jimmy’s father.

  “What’s going on here?” Reno asked. “Why are you detaining my son?”

  “They’re trying to say I killed him,” Jimmy said, motioning toward the sidewalk.

  It was only then did Reno see the body of the youn
g black male lying there. Not even covered yet. And Reno’s heart slammed against his chest. He knew how easily that could have been his son, his young black male of a son, lying there.

  “Your boy claims he was the victim of an attempted carjacking,” Meyers said. “As you can see, the alleged carjacker has been killed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about that, I really am, but that’s what can happen when you commit a crime.”

  “You know a thing or two about crime, do you?” Meyers asked. He was no fool. He’d heard rumors about Reno Gabrini’s mob ties for years.

  Reno ignored him.

  Meyers kept talking. “And then your son claims some mystery shooter, a white guy he claims, came out of nowhere and shot and killed the perp. He don’t know the guy, mind you. Never seen him before in his life. Yet this guy supposedly comes out of nowhere and shoots. This white, male, mystery shooter.”

  “This is Vegas,” Reno said. “Cameras are everywhere. Why don’t you round them up and take a look. It’ll tell the full story.” Reno wasn’t giving the cops advice. He was asking to find out if they actually had any film.

  “There’s no cameras on this dead end street and you know it. And the owners of that hole in a wall dump they call a nightclub claim their cameras was out for repairs. If they ever even had any. The only way people like that will spring for cameras is if their liquor license depended on it. So all we got is your son’s statement.”

  Reno was pleased to hear it. But he still didn’t trust the criminal justice system. He’d seen many innocent people convicted in that so-called justice system. “So you took his statement?” he asked the detective.

  Meyers nodded. “We took it, yeah.”

  “Then why is he still here?”

  “Why do you think? We have further questions.”

  “But you keep asking the same questions,” Jimmy said.

  “Did he answer your questions, Detective?” Reno asked.

  “He answered them, but not to my satisfaction.”

  “You won’t be satisfied until he confesses to something he didn’t do. Which will never happen. So we’re wasting your time and you’re wasting ours. Let’s go, Jimmy,” he said to his son.

  “Not so fast,” Meyers said, pulling Jimmy back. “We haven’t fully determined who shot the young man and if, in fact, a carjacking really did take place. He’s going nowhere.”

  “But he did have a gun on me,” Jimmy said. “He did try to steal my money and my car. He took my wallet from me, and he took my keys. I was on my belly on the sidewalk when somebody shot him. Then the shooter ran away. I told y’all this a thousand times!”

  “Is he under arrest, Detective?” Reno asked again.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, he is,” Meyers said. “We read him his rights an hour ago. Until he tells us more than he’s telling now, he’s definitely under arrest.”

  Reno looked at his son. Jimmy looked like he wanted to shit in his pants. His big eyes were looking at Reno begging him to do something, to not let this stand.

  And Reno did something. He didn’t like to call in favors, but he had no choice now. Jimmy wasn’t going to anybody’s jail. Jimmy’s liberty wasn’t about to be in the hands of any judge or inhumane justice system. Not his son.

  He pulled out his cell phone and searched for a certain number. When he found it, he called it. And moved well out of earshot of the cops.

  Meyers looked at his partner. “What, we’re supposed to be scared now?” Meyers asked, and they both laughed. “We’re supposed to be quaking in our boots because he’s making a phone call?”

  Jimmy, however, was ignoring their clown show and was staring at his father. They might not be aware of it, but Jimmy knew Reno could make things happen unlike any other human being alive. Jimmy was depending on it.

  Reno finally headed back to the detectives. And handed Meyers his cell phone.

  “What?” Meyers asked.

  “It’s for you,” Reno said.

  Meyers hesitated. “Who is it?”

  Reno stared at him. He wasn’t about to respond to that.

  Meyers took the phone he was offered and answered it. When he realized who was on the other line, he moved away from Reno and Jimmy. His partner, however, remained in place.

  Jimmy looked at Reno. “What’s that about?” he asked him.

  But Reno didn’t say a word to him either. He stared at Meyers. He knew cops like that all of his life. Cops who wanted to be criminals, but didn’t have the guts. A cop like Meyers would resist what he was right now being told to do, but in the end he would have no choice. So Reno waited. He waited for Meyers to return, and hand him back his phone.

  And Reno was right. Meyers hated it. It was all over his face. “Thirty minutes,” he said to Reno.

  Reno nodded. And then looked at his son. “Get in the car,” he said.

  Jimmy wanted to remind his father that he had his own car there, but he knew better. He got in the Porsche.

  “Nothing’s settled yet,” Meyers added. “Understand that, Gabrini. I expect him back here in thirty minutes.”

  “Understood,” Reno said.

  “What about an address?”

  Reno looked back at Meyers. He knew the game. Meyers hated to be one-up, so he was trying to get in the last word.

  “What about it?” Reno asked.

  “We need an address in case that boy of yours decides to get lost.”

  What an idiot, Reno thought. “The PaLargio,” he said, as he began getting into his car. “Can’t miss it. Just stand on the Strip and look up.”

  Meyers, who had had a fake smile on his face, frowned. Arrogant bastard, he thought as Reno got behind the wheel of his car, backed up fast, and took off.

  Although Reno looked cool as a cucumber to Jimmy, inwardly the truth was different. Reno refused to breathe until every cop, and cop car, was clean out of sight.

  Then he pulled over to the side of the road, and turned toward his son.

  “Who was that?” Jimmy asked. “Who did you call?”

  “The mayor,” Reno said.

  Jimmy was floored. “The mayor?” He couldn’t believe it. His father would call in that kind of favor for him?

  “Who’s the shooter?” Reno asked without hesitation. The mayor agreed to thirty minutes. He only had thirty minutes to get that name to the cops. And he was going to get that name.

  Jimmy’s heart began to pound. He hated lying to his father. But he couldn’t be a snitch, either. “I didn’t see the shooter,” he lied. “That carjacker had me down and---”

  Reno slapped Jimmy so hard across his face that his head slammed against the passenger window.

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Reno roared at him, his face frowned with anger. “You think I’m one of those fucking silly-ass cops you’re talking to? Now you tell me the truth. Who was the shooter?”

  Jimmy looked at his father, as he fought back anger of his own.

  “Who’s the shooter, Jimmy? And don’t you tell me you didn’t see him and all of that bullshit. Who’s the shooter?”

  But Jimmy couldn’t snitch. He couldn’t! “What difference does it make?” he asked. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t the shooter! What difference does it make that somebody else was?”

  “If there’s any heat behind this killing, and if there’s any blowback,” Reno said, “it’s not blowing back on you. If there’s anybody going to jail, it’s not going to be you. That’s what difference it makes! Now who shot that kid?”

  Jimmy stared at his father. “So you want me to be a snitch? To play the bitch? That’s what you want?”

  Reno stared at his son. There were so many things he had to do in this life, so many allowances he always had to make, when it came to his family. This was one of those times. Because this was about his son. Because his son’s life was on the line as far as he was concerned, and Jimmy Gabrini wasn’t taking the fall for anybody. “I’m ordering you,” Reno said, “to give me that name.”

/>   But Jimmy couldn’t get there. It wasn’t as black and white to him as it was to his father. “Would you do it, Pop?” he asked him. “If it was reversed, and your father was asking you to snitch, to give up a name. Would you give it to him?”

  Reno stared at Jimmy. “Have a son,” he said to his. “Have a son you love with all of your heart. Have a son you’ll take a bullet, a knife, run in front of a train for. Then come back and ask me that question.”

  Jimmy’s heart dropped.

  “I’m not asking you to be some punk, Jimmy,” Reno said with anguish in his voice. “But the first rule of survival isn’t how tough you are or how you stand up for your principles. The first rule of survival is survival. You survive. It’s my job to make sure you survive. Not your friend. You. And if that means squealing on every friend you’ve ever had in your life, then that’s exactly what’s going down. You understand me?”

  Reno touched his son’s shoulder, and squeezed. “There’s no honor among thieves, son,” he said. “Just thieves. You do it to them before they try to cut a deal with the prosecution and do it to you. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen. The cops will eventually find your friend, and when they do, he’s going to sing like a canary on your ass. He’ll declare you did the shooting, everything. Whatever they want him to say, he’ll say. Because those cops, they want you. Not your friend. You. You’re a Gabrini. They will love to take you down. So don’t you think for a second that your friend wouldn’t rat on you if he gets the chance, because he will. He will, Jimmy.” Then Reno exhaled, which meant, Jimmy knew, that time was up. “Who’s the shooter?” he asked.

  One hour later and the police were kicking in the door at Connie’s off-campus apartment. They were there to serve a warrant in the shooting death of alleged carjacker Jermaine Durail. They entered with their guns drawn, calling for Constance Maragucci to surrender now. But Connie wasn’t there. When they finally tracked him down, at a whorehouse in North Vegas, he made the stupid decision to point his own gun at the cops. He pointed it like he aimed to use it. But they were better trained, more alert, and beat him to the trigger. They shot Constance Maragucci, better known as Connie, twenty-four times. They shot him mercilessly, as if he was an army of men. They shot him like trigger-happy fools, riddling his body with bullets, when the very first shot had already done the trick.