Cop Without a Badge by Charles Kipps

Author:Charles Kipps
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 1996-04-23T04:00:00+00:00

IT TOOK TWO DAYS TO TRACK DOWN TORRE AND SET UP A MEETING. IN THE interim, Maher turned over the Birnholz tape to Harkins. Harkins was pleased on two counts. Maher, as Harkins had always believed, was not involved in the robbery; and the presence of guns had been established.

“Now we need to find the weapons,” Harkins said.

“Don’t worry,” Maher said, “I’ll find them.”

Maher, once again wearing a wire, drove to Torre’s apartment in Queens. Torre, as Birnholz had been, was extremely nervous. After all, it had been a week since the robbery, and neither Birnholz nor Torre had been arrested.

“I think I better get out of town,” Torre told Maher.

“If they haven’t nailed you yet,” Maher said matter-of-factly, “they probably never will.”

Maher began his conversation in the same manner as he began the conversation with Birnholz.

“I told you fucking guys not to do it,” Maher chastised Torre. “And you fucking jerk-offs do it anyway.”

As Birnholz had done, Torre agreed that Maher had warned them against the robbery.

“So I drop you guys off at the car,” Maher said slowly and with emphasis. “Then what the fuck happened?”

Torre’s story essentially was the same as Birnholz’s story, including the fact that Blasso insisted the robbery be done that night. And, like Birnholz, Torre claimed never to have spoken with Beamen. The two accounts were identical up to the point at which the shots were fired.

“The guy chases Blasso and Birnholz,” Torre recounted, “so I circle back to the driveway. Anderwkavich is lying there hurt bad. He says, ‘I’m dying, I’m dying. Help me.’ So I roll him under the car and tell him I’ll get help.”

“He had a gun, right?” Maher asked. “And Blasso had a gun. What happened with the guns?”

“I picked up the shotgun—it was there on the driveway—and I took the pistol from Anderwkavich.”

“And what did you do with them?” Maher wanted to know.

Torre hesitated. Maher thought he had lost him.

“I hid the shotgun in a driveway,” Torre finally said.

“Which driveway?”

Again Torre hesitated. This time Maher pressed.

“It’s only a matter of time, man. They’re going to find the gun. Tell me where it is and I’ll take care of it.”

Torre explained exactly which driveway contained the shotgun. “I threw it under some bushes on the right side.”

“What about the other gun? Anderwkavich’s gun?”

Torre laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m running through the neighborhood and this fucking squad car comes out of nowhere and hits me with a light. I hear ‘Freeze!’ So I drop the gun between two parked cars and walk out into the street. This fucking woman cop comes up to me and starts looking at the arm of my shirt. It’s splattered with red. And for a minute I think Oh, fuck! Blood! But then I realize it’s red paint.”

Both Maher and Torre started laughing. The fact was, Torre was a painter by occupation, and most of his clothes were dotted in some kind of paint.

Torre continued, “So this broad sees that it’s paint and I tell her I’m a painter and she says ‘Sorry but there was a robbery in the area and it looked like blood.

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