looking to question a decorated member of FDNY, this whole thing will turn into an intramural shit-show. Look, Joe, I don’t want to jam you up with your bosses, but if we don’t keep this tight …”
I let the possible consequences hang in the air unspoken.
I heard the clack of Donahue’s keyboard.
“Today is his day off, but he signed up to work the day game at Yankee Stadium,” Donahue said. “They’re playing the Red Sox, which is always a clusterfuck, so they heavy up on cops to deal with the drunks and double up on buses to cart away the bleeders.”
“When does he start?”
“A few hours before the game, so he should be out there now. Hold on. All these units have GPS.” A brief pause, and then he was back. “I’ve got three buses parked at the corner of One Hundred Sixty-First Street and River. They’re probably having coffee and shooting the shit, waiting for batting practice to start.”
“Joe, we’re on the way up to the Bronx now. I know Banta’s name is on his uniform, but anything else you could mention to help us …”
Again, I left it open-ended.
“He’s driving bus number three fourteen. I’ll shoot you a copy of his ID.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I owe you one.”
He came back fast. “No, you don’t. Good luck. And Zach, one more thing—for Banta’s sake, I hope that you’re wrong.”
“I know, Joe. And for your sake, I hope that I’m right.”
CHAPTER 69
WHY?” KYLIE SAID as we barreled along the FDR Drive toward the Willis Avenue Bridge. “Why would a public servant with a stellar track record suddenly start robbing old ladies? Gambling debts? Drug addiction? Medical expenses for his family?”
“If it were just Banta I would say any one of those could drive him to that kind of desperation,” I said. “But he’s not alone. He’s got two partners that we know of. Three EMTs can’t all be drowning in gambling debts or have kids who need kidney transplants. They’ve got to be in some serious financial shit together, and they decided that this is the only way to dig themselves out.”
We hopped on the Deegan and headed north to the Bronx.
“There are three buses at the stadium,” Kylie said. “Guaranteed that Banta is with at least one of his partners in crime. The problem is FDNY won’t have a record of who he was riding with because he pulled the robberies on his days off using a phony ambulance.”
“Don’t think about the others,” I said. “Focus on Banta. DOI will pull their cell numbers and tell us who pinged off the towers in the robbery locations. All we have to do is get Banta, and we’ll get them all.”
We got off the Deegan at Jerome Avenue, turned right on East 161st Street, and pulled up to Babe Ruth Plaza where two EMS buses were parked. Four uniformed technicians were hanging out, having coffee. None of them looked like the picture of Banta that our man at DOI had sent us.
We were in an unmarked car, but these guys could have spotted a Crown Vic Interceptor in a crowded parking lot. We could almost see their antennas go up.
“You think they made us for cops?” Kylie said, a big grin on her face.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you go over there and try to sell them some Girl Scout cookies? See if they fall for it.”
“The four of them are just staring, waiting for us to make a move,” she said. “If we both get out of the car, they’ll know we’re here on business and get spooked, and one of them will radio Gary. One cop is a lot less intimidating than two.”
“Be my guest,” I said.
“I’d do it, but Gary already has a girlfriend. Besides, you’re not nearly as intimidating as I am.”
I opened the car door, but I didn’t get out. “Laugh it up,” I said. “Like I’m telling you a story about my old pal Gary.”
“Zach, we’re running a scam here, not putting on a show. Just go, and try not to screw it up.” And then she laughed.
I laughed back and sauntered over to where the four EMTs were hanging.
“What’s up, Detective?” one of them asked. He was white. The name on his shirt said hunter. “Are we in a no-parking zone or something?”
His buddies laughed. I laughed with them and held up both hands. “Trust me,” I said, “I come in peace. I saw a couple of buses parked out here, and I thought