Murder in Greenwich Village Read Online Free PDF Page B

consisted of ten separate prisons, most of them for men. They ranged from the military-style boot camp for young men of high school age to buildings housing men who had committed crimes less serious than homicide and other felonies using weapons. The toughest prison was nicknamed the Bing, presumably for the sound the gate made when it closed behind you, although no such sound could be heard. The officers who worked in these separate prisons were unarmed. The joke was that the only weapons at Rikers were in the possession of the prisoners. Jane and Defino checked their guns before they passed through the gate and had their hands stamped to show they had entered legally. MacHovec had set up the meeting with Carl Randolph the day before, and they followed Officer Ben Clark down a long hall.
    About a minute into their walk an alarm sounded, and they flattened against the wall. Seconds later, a group of helmeted officers in protective black clothing, armed with clubs and shields, dashed down the hall to the scene of the trouble.
    â€œSecond one this morning,” Clark said. “Something’s on for tonight; we don’t know what. They want to tire us out before they spring the big one.”
    The alarm over, they resumed their walk, and the special team returned at a slower pace from whence they had come. There were worse jobs than directing traffic at Forty-second Street.
    The long walk continued. Jane recognized the ever-present competing smells of disinfectant and sweat, and the low-level din that emanated from areas off the main corridor. Finally, Officer Clark opened a door and led them inside a room with a table bolted to the floor and four chairs. Clark took one of them. A black inmate about forty years old sat on the far side of the table and watched them enter, a scowl on his face.
    â€œMr. Randolph,” Defino said, “I’m Detective Defino; this is Detective Bauer. We’d like to talk to you.”
    â€œ ’Bout what?”
    â€œWhat did you do to get yourself in the Bing again?”
    â€œNothin’. Just had a little pot to sell so I’d have some money for food. Wha’ kinda crazy judge puts you in the Bing for that?”
    â€œMaybe you’ve got a reputation.”
    â€œYeah. I’m a husband and father. That the reputation you mean?”
    â€œI was thinking of the other one.”
    Randolph looked at them blankly.
    â€œSomething to do with guns, Mr. Randolph,” Jane said.
    â€œThat’s a long time ago.”
    â€œWe’re still looking for them.”
    â€œYeah.” The stern face broke into a smile. “You keep lookin’.”
    â€œI hear your friend Curtis Morgan died,” Defino said.
    â€œYeah. Curtis smoked too much. Getcha every time.”
    â€œSo there’s just you and Sal Manelli left. Sal smoke?”
    â€œI don’t remember.” He frowned.
    â€œYou got an address for Sal?”
    â€œWhere he live? I ain’t seen Sal for years. He used to have a girlfriend in the Village, street with an Eye-talian name. But he could have a new one now. Sal always have a girlfriend.”
    â€œThat’s convenient.”
    â€œYeah.” Randolph pushed his chair away from the table a few inches, and Officer Clark took notice. Even sitting down, Randolph looked big. “You come all this way to ask me ’bout Sal’s girlfriend?”
    â€œWe’re looking for him,” Jane said. “And we’re looking for the guns. We think you know where they are.”
    â€œI tell you, miss, I didn’t know ten years ago and I don’t know now.”
    â€œSomebody knew.”
    â€œWasn’t me.”
    â€œWho was it?” Defino asked.
    Randolph shrugged. “Maybe Sal, maybe Curtis. Oh, Curtis don’t know nothin’ no more, do he? He dead. Well, they call Sal ‘Lucky Dog.’ Maybe Lucky Dog can tell you. I’m just a guy does what he’s