Read The Ninth Step for Free Online Page B

sprayed water in a little aquamarine fountain, next to a statue of the Virgin Mary.
    Larry placed his hands on his massive old desk. “ So: to what do I owe the pleasure?” It had been years since their last reunion, when Jack had come to consult his childhood friend about another Red Hook case.
    He stood up and wandered over to a credenza covered with sports trophies; his friend was sometimes referred to as the unofficial mayor of Carroll Gardens and his business evidently sponsored several local kids’ teams.
    Jack hefted a softball trophy. “You should have some of these for bocce,” he said. The little local park still held a sandpit where old geezers in Members Only jackets and tweed caps could gather, tossing the heavy metal balls and reliving their glory days, when a sparrow couldn’t fart in this neighborhood without the consent of the Mob and the International Longshoremen’s Union.
    “You didn’t come here to talk about sports,” Larry said.
    Jack turned and came around to his chair in front of the man’s desk. He sat down slowly, as if his joints ached. “I’m gonna tell you something, Larry, and I need you to keep it to yourself.”
    The funeral director shrugged again. “No problem.”
    “No, really . I need you to swear.”
    Cosenza’s eyebrows went up. “You want me to prick my finger? What are we, kids again?”
    Jack just frowned.
    Cosenza’s hands went up in surrender. “Okay, okay: I swear. Now what’s on your mind?”
    As Jack told the tale, he gripped the sides of his chair in order to keep his hands from shaking.
    When it was over, Larry Cosenza sighed. “You’re really bringin’ up some ancient history here.”
    Jack shook his head. “It’s not ancient to me.” He leaned forward. “I need your help. You know this neighborhood as well as anybody.”
    Cosenza reached out to the leather blotter in the center of his desk and picked up a heavy glass paperweight. Then he sat back, staring into it as if it were a crystal ball. “Let me ask you something: what are you hoping to achieve here?”
    “Achieve?”
    “You looking for closure? That’s what people yak about these days: ‘Finding closure with the dead.’” Cosenza shook his head. “You and I both deal with this every day. And so you know the dirty little secret: we don’t want ‘closure.’ We want them back. We want do-overs. We want to make things right because they weren’t right the first time around. But the dead don’t come back. They’re gone for good.”
    Jack stood up again, restless, and paced the office, his shoes sinking into the thick beige carpet. “This isn’t for me, Larry. This isn’t about me. It’s about Petey. It’s about getting him the justice he deserves.” He stopped and turned to his old friend. “I know he’s gone, and I know nothing’s going to bring him back. But that doesn’t mean that I’m just gonna let the people who planned this get away scot-free.”
    Cosenza swiveled in his chair and looked out his office window for a moment. Then he sighed and swiveled back. “So what are you thinking?”
    Jack nodded, glad to have his friend aboard. “I’m thinking, who would have gone to the blacks for help back then? I’m thinking Joey Gallo.” While the rest of the big mafiosi of that era had kept to their own families and certainly their own race, Gallo had been a renegade. He’d been obsessed with expanding his criminal empire and saw a great opportunity in opening up dealings with the black community. He had taken a lot of flak for that from his own people.
    Cosenza dropped the paperweight back on his desk. “You said the kid described the stranger as black-haired. Joe Gallo was blond.”
    Jack shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind it.”
    Cosenza frowned. “Maybe, but he went upstate in ’sixty-one.” The notorious Red Hook mobster had been convicted on extortion charges. “And he was inside for ten years.”
    “He still could’ve called the