The Brass Wall by David Kocieniewski

Author:David Kocieniewski
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466879058
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.

13

“ONE SHOT, ONE KILL”

SEPTEMBER 28, 1993

FOR HIS SHOWDOWN with Tocco, Armanti would need more than just an extra tape recorder—he’d need an extra gun, too. Standing near his locker in the empty dressing room at Fort Totten, he stowed his nine-millimeter service pistol in his ankle holster. Next, he strapped a belly band around his waist, tucking a .380 near his left hip—the most convenient spot for a quick draw—and smoothed his shirt over it. Then he reached into his right pocket to be sure his rosary beads were there, but even they didn’t give him much comfort. So he drew his nine-millimeter, to check that it was packed with bullets and the firing chamber hadn’t jammed. He pulled out the .380 and looked it over, then checked the nine-millimeter again. Dowd came in and, seeing Armanti’s half-crazed smile, became increasingly dismayed.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “Let’s just not do it.”

Armanti acted as if he hadn’t heard. He called the fire marshals over and told them that if the situation erupted, he wanted them to stand back.

“If it starts to go, let it go,” Armanti said. “Just give me a little time.”

Jimmy Desocio grabbed Armanti’s shoulder, massaging him like a corner man at a prizefight, trying to break the tension.

“Make sure you get the first shot in,” he said. “Don’t panic. Make sure you shoot straight. And don’t waste any rounds. You’re a marine, remember? One shot, one kill.”

Armanti couldn’t muster much in the way of false optimism. He took the clip out of his gun again. In the days leading up to the operation, he had pored over the details of Tocco’s recent shooting arrest. Once the drug deal in his basement had gone bad, Tocco had handled the situation like a pro. He had wrestled the gun away from his would-be assailant, then pumped two shots into his victim and escaped unscathed. Impressive moves for someone who everyone in Throgs Neck, including Armanti himself, had once written off as lightweight. It was clear to Armanti that if he was going to draw his gun, he’d better fire quickly, because it was going to happen—Tocco was certain to open fire himself.

He checked the clip on his .380 again and looked up at the clock, eager to get started on a mission that was beginning to feel like a grave mistake. Then Armanti walked into a storage room, where he could have a few moments to himself.

* * *

A FEW MILES south, just outside the ornate, oak-paneled auditorium of the City Bar Association, Detective Joseph Trimboli sat picking at his lunch like it was an enemy. The Internal Affairs investigator, who had fended off his bosses for four years to hunt down “Coke Cop” Michael Dowd, was the day’s star witness at the Mollen Commission’s televised hearings. Since first setting eyes on Dowd in 1986, Trimboli had longed for this—his moment—when he could finally speak his mind. But now that he had the city’s attention riveted upon him, Trimboli was edgy.

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