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Jimmy

JIMMY CUNNIFF AND DANNY Esposito, the hotshot state cop who’s now become Jimmy’s friend, are standing across the street from the Riverhead Correctional Facility as Paul Harrington walks out of the place a free man.

“That sonofabitch,” Danny Esposito says.

“You know that’s insulting to actual SOBs, right?” Jimmy Cunniff says.

There are a handful of reporters waiting for Harrington on the sidewalk, now that the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Office has processed him out, and a couple of TV cameras. Down the block I see trucks from Channel 12, the local cable channel on Long Island, and Channel 4 from the city.

Harrington, big and broad-shouldered and white-haired and still cocky as shit, is smiling like he just won an election, and not just his freedom.

Harrington has been in custody since Esposito, with Jimmy’s help, arrested him for—among other charges—sending another dirty cop once in his command, Anthony Licata, to kill Jane and Jimmy that night at the Walking Dunes.

When Harrington thought it was done he placed a call to Licata’s phone, not knowing Jane had shot and killed Licata.

Jimmy had Licata’s phone by then, and took the call, sounding enough like Licata that Harrington asked if it was done.

And when Jimmy, still impersonating Licata, asked if that meant he’d killed them, Harrington said of course that’s what he meant.

The call was on speaker. Afterward Jane, as an officer of the court, made a sworn statement as to exactly what she had heard.

Jimmy called Esposito, who raced over to Licata’s rented home in Montauk and grabbed Licata’s laptop.

By the time the long night was over, the techs at Esposito’s office in East Farmingdale had found audio files on Harrington that Licata had kept as an insurance policy he never got the chance to cash, connecting Harrington to a laundry list of crimes over twenty-five years.

It was plenty enough for Esposito to get an arrest warrant. Attempted murder for starters. Conspiracy. Esposito and Jimmy went to Harrington’s home in Water Mill the next morning, and Esposito took great pleasure in reading Harrington his rights, cuffing him, and arresting his ass.

Only now the whole thing has been tossed.

Harrington’s lawyer, Gabe Dees, famous on Long Island for representing an ancient and legendary mob boss named Sonny Blum, challenged Jane’s version of the phone call as hearsay, saying Harrington denied not only any involvement in the shooting but in ever having sent anybody to the Dunes to commit murder.

As part of the same preliminary hearing, all of the taped phone conversations between Harrington and Licata were also tossed, all because Esposito hadn’t obtained a search warrant before removing Licata’s laptop from his home.

“The fucking warrant is on me, I have to wear that,” Esposito says to Jimmy now.

“For one thing, the guy was dead, which meant no expectation of privacy for my partner and me. And I thought they were urgent circumstances, wanting to get a jump on searching Licata’s house before Harrington sent somebody over there.

But the DA said it didn’t matter, it was still fruit of the poisoned tree. ”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Jimmy says, “Harrington was right that day when we went to his house. We only had what we thought we had. Or wanted to have.”

“Now I’d like to shove that poisoned fruit down his goddamn throat,” Esposito says. “Or up somewhere else.”

“And not only is the guy still in Sonny Blum’s pocket,” Jimmy says, “Blum’s lawyer is the one who gets him sprung.”

Blum, they now know because of Licata’s taped phone calls, has been running Harrington since way back.

“Harrington’s probably been happier in Sonny’s pocket than he was in the womb,” Esposito says.

“Paid better, too,” Jimmy says.

They watch as Harrington finishes with the media. When he does, he sees Jimmy and Esposito and comes walking toward them, swaggering like he’s still the boss and the two of them are on the other side of the squad room.

The sonofabitch.

Before he says anything, Jimmy says, “You want me to drop a twenty on the sidewalk, just to get you back in shape?”

“You always were a funny guy, Cunniff,” Harrington says.

“Who’s trying to be funny?” Jimmy asks.

“But help me out here, Jimmy boy,” Harrington says. “Which one of us got banged out of the NYPD for being a very bad boy, me or you?”

Esposito steps forward now. Jimmy puts an arm out to stop him.

“I never got the chance to tell you, Esposito,” Harrington says. “Nice collar.”

“I hope you told them to keep the cell empty for you,” Esposito says. “You’ll be back in it soon enough.”

Harrington smiles. “You know what I love about you two bindlestiffs? You still don’t know how far in over your heads you are.”

Jimmy is the one to step forward now.

He and Harrington are very close.

But Harrington doesn’t back up, Jimmy has to give him that. He’s still got brass balls. Literally.

“You got anything else smart you want to say?” Jimmy says quietly.

“You’re the one with the smart mouth,” Harrington says, “not me.”

Harrington, still full of himself, gives a little roll to the wide shoulders. And grins a shit-eating grin.

“Except if you and your pal here are so smart, why am I out here and not still locked up across the street?”

“You’re a disgrace to your badge,” Jimmy says.

They’re about the same size, and still nose to nose.

“At least I still have my badge,” Harrington says.

“I’ll make sure they bury you with it,” Jimmy says.

“Is that a threat, Detective Cunniff? Or should I say former Detective Cunniff?”

Jimmy suddenly shoves him with both hands, hard enough to knock him back, but not down.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. “I guess it is.”

Harrington stares at him for a moment, still grinning, then steps around both Jimmy and Esposito and walks away from them down Center Street.

But when he’s twenty or so yards away, he stops and turns back around.

“You ever been arrested, Cunniff?”

“Never had the pleasure.”

“Always a first time for everything,” Harrington says.

He throws back his head then and laughs.

They can still hear him laughing loudly, and for their benefit, as he disappears around the corner, not looking back again.

“I’m gonna nail that bastard if it’s the last thing I do,” Danny Esposito says.

“Take a ticket,” Jimmy Cunniff says.