Bad Guys Read Online Free PDF

believe.”
    Ivers didn’t seem very interested in Tozzi’s history. “You say you haven’t heard from Tozzi since you left the Bureau?”
    â€œHe was my partner, not my wife.” Thank God.
    Ivers glared at Gibbons, who was beginning to enjoy himself.
    â€œTozzi has become a problem, a potential embarrassment.” Ivers’s tone was solemn now. “A potential scandal.”
    â€œWhat’s he done?”
    â€œHe’s disappeared,” Ivers said. “I think he may have gone renegade.”
    A renegade agent? Tozzi? Never. He’s crazy, but he’s not stupid.
    â€œThe Bureau hasn’t had a renegade agent in some time,” Gibbons said speculatively.
    Ivers picked up a file folder and handed it to Gibbons. “You recognize these.”
    Inside the folder there were three pieces of paper, each one crumpled and carefully smoothed out again, then encased in its own lock-top plastic evidence bag. Gibbons scanned them; they were photocopies of top sheets from confidential FBI files. Each one had been routinely signed by the agents assigned to those cases, “C. Gibbons” and “Michael Tozzi.” The last sheet was from the file on Vincent “Clams” Clementi.
    â€œThese are cases Tozzi and I worked together,” Gibbons said matter-of-factly. “No convictions on any of them. Lack of sufficient evidence, supposedly.”
    â€œBe more specific,” Ivers said.
    Gibbons flipped through the plastic bags on his lap. “Harrison Lefkowitz, radical lawyer, celebrity, royal pain in the ass. Tozzi and I had him on harboring escaped cons, quote-unquote political prisoners. We had video and we had wiretap tapes to prove it, but for some unfathomable reason you nixed the bust, Ivers. As I recall, you said that while the evidence was fine for a routine felon, for a lawyer of Lefkowitz’s cunning, the case would have to be superlative. Five weeks after we were taken off the case, one of these so-called political prisoners we observed at Lefkowitz’s country house killed three people in a bank robbery in Putnam County, then went on a spree—”
    â€œNever mind that,” Ivers interrupted. “What about the other two?”
    â€œCongressman Danvers . . .” Gibbons smirked and shook his head. “Tozzi located his funhouse in the woods. Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Queers—or should I say the congressman’s associates—making it with eight-, nine-, ten-year-old boys, all of them orphans or runaways. The congressman himself was into bondage. A regular leather boy. Washington ordered us to close that investigation. I guess it pays to be in the right party.”
    Ivers was staring out the window. “And Clementi?”
    Gibbons scowled. “Another guinea scumbag drug dealer. Mafia-connected, of course. Used to work for Sabatini Mistretta, then went out on his own after Mistretta’s organization fell apart. The Clam set himself up with a network of junkies doing all his dirty work, junkies whose wives and kids were hooked on dope too, thanks to him. Clementi’s a clever bastard, I’ll give him that. Tozzi and I had him under surveillance for over a month, but we couldn’t get anything on him that would stick in court.”
    Ivers formed a steeple with his fingers. “Interesting.”
    â€œWhy am I here, Ivers?”
    â€œClementi, Lefkowitz, Congressman Danvers . . . all dead, murdered.”
    Ivers let his statement hang in the air as if it meant something.
    â€œGood,” Gibbons finally said.
    â€œA United States congressman is murdered and you say ‘good’?” Ivers seemed hurt and disappointed by Gibbons’s reply.
    â€œI can’t say he didn’t deserve it.”
    â€œThat’s not the point.”
    â€œThen what is?”
    Ivers exhaled slowly to compose himself. “Each of the victims was found with the Xeroxed top sheet from his own file