Read The Iceman for Free Online Page A

hundred pounds easy. Barely fit into the barrel.
    Detective Volkman consulted his notes. “On July 1, 1981, Louis Masgay was supposed to be meeting you in Little Ferry to buy blank videotapes. He was carrying a large amount of cash. His body was found two years later in Orangetown, New York.”
    Kuklinski raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I’ve already told you, Detective. I don’t know these guys.”
    He stroked the dog’s black fur. Almost a hundred grand. Frozen solid, stiff as a board. Made the cops look like a bunch of jackasses.
    Volkman flipped to another page in his notepad. “Paul Hoffman. A pharmacist from Cliffside Park. He left his home on April 29, 1982, supposedly to meet with you to conclude a business transaction. Again, he also had a large amount of cash with him.”
    Kuklinski sucked his teeth. “Don’t know him.”
    He glanced down at the dozing Newfoundland. A real pain in the ass, that guy. Hardly worth the twenty grand for all the trouble he caused.
    Detective Kane, the hard ball, piped up. “You gonna tell us you didn’t know Gary Smith and Danny Deppner either?”
    Kuklinski stared at him through his dark glasses, then turned to Volkman. “Why doesn’t my friend Mr. Kane here like me?”
    “Just answer the question please,” Kane insisted.
    “I already told you, Detective. If I said I didn’t know them, I didn’t know them.”
    Shaba lifted his head and growled. Kuklinski scratched the dog’s ears to quiet him down. Smith and Deppner had to go. They couldn’t be trusted anymore.
    Kane glared at him, sitting on the edge of the couch as if he were going to jump up and do something. “Mr. Kuklinski, we have reliable information that you were well acquainted with Gary Smith and Danny Deppner, that they worked for you.” Kane spit out the words, challenging him.
    “And who is this reliable person who says I knew these two fellas?”
    “I’m not at liberty to divulge that person’s name.”
    “And why is that, Detective? I thought this was America. I thought you were supposed to know who your accusers are. Or maybe I just watch too many TV shows, Detective. Could that be my problem, Detective?”
    Shaba growled deep in his throat.
    Kuklinski glared at Kane through his dark glasses. He had a pretty good idea who their “reliable” source was. Frigging Percy House and that bitch of his, Barbara Deppner, Danny’s ex-wife. He knew he should’ve taken care of those two a long time ago. Just like Gary and Danny. But if Percy House was talking, he wasn’t saying much—at least not yet—because these two from the state police didn’t know shit. If they did, they wouldn’t be sittinghere playing games with him. They’d have an arrest warrant. These fools didn’t know shit.
    “How about Robert Prongay?” Kane pressed. “Did you know Bobby Prongay?”
    “Nope.”
    “Think hard. Maybe you just forgot. He used to drive a Mister Softee ice-cream truck in North Bergen. He kept that truck in a garage right across from a garage you used to rent. Is it coming back to you now, Mr. Kuklinski?”
    Kuklinski stared at him for a moment. Then he spoke softly. “I don’t care that much for ice cream, Detective.”
    “That wasn’t what I asked, Mr. Kuklinski. I asked if you knew Robert Prongay.”
    “No. I didn’t know him either.”
    Kuklinski kneaded the dog’s neck. Mister Softee. Dr. Death.
    Volkman ruffled some pages to break the tension. He was supposed to be the “good cop” after all. He was supposed to make things nice. “How about Roy DeMeo, Mr. Kuklinski? Did you know him?”
    He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
    “Have you ever been to a place called the Gemini Lounge, Mr. Kuklinski? On Flatlands Avenue in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Are you sure, Mr. Kuklinski?”
    “That sounds like some kind of gin mill, Detective. I’m a family man. I don’t go to places like that.”
    Kane fidgeted in his