Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) (4 page)

When the two undercover police officers exited the dark blue Chevy Caprice they had just rammed both cousins knew they were in trouble, or at least John was since he was the one driving. They had sucked down the beers at Castillo’s and even though they had each taken only a few swigs of the hard stuff they both reeked of booze from the spill.

The lead officer was an ex-Marine and was sympathetic when he looked at John’s uniform. His partner wasn’t. His partner had been driving the unmarked police car without wearing his seat belt and the collision slammed his face into the steering wheel. He was pissed off and bleeding from a deep cut on his forehead. Screaming and cursing, he ordered the cousins out of the car.

There was no doubt about the outcome and right away Felix started mouthing off to the cops.

“Hey jerkoff, you see those medals on his chest? Today’s his first day back from the war, man.”

“That’s great news, ‘cause the boys in city jail will make him feel right at home.”

“Bitch-ass motherfucker!”

“What’re you doing, Cat?” John asked while they were both being frisked.

“You think I’m showing up at your party without you and telling Tio that you’re locked up?...That I couldn’t even get you home from the airport? You’re outta your fuckin’ mind,” Felix replied. “I’d rather go to jail than face that,” he added.

Turning to the officer he said, “Write me up for disorderly or resisting. I’m going with him.”

“Sorry pal, not gonna happen,” the officer said.

“
Look
, write it up!” Felix shouted.

Then in a low, sinister voice that made the cop involuntarily take a step back he added, “Don’t make me smack the shit out of you, cause believe me I will. Save yourself the embarrassment. Either let us go or we go
together
. You understand?”

And that was that. They were getting locked up for a few hours if not for the night and they were going to miss the party. Far worse was that they would soon face their uncle.

Chapter 4

El Gato Negro

Formerly known as
“Happy” because of his bright smile and easy-going nature, the desk sergeant at the 9th Precinct had been a football star at his Long Island high school who married his childhood sweetheart. Happy now wore a permanent scowl on his face and had the hard sad eyes of a cop who’s experienced way too much pain and suffering to ever feel love or joy again. He was six-two and heavy, on his way to getting heavier, but stood ramrod straight and spent each shift trying to suck in his gut.

“You clowns know who you just brought in?” he asked the two plain-clothed officers that had arrested John and Felix.

“Didn’t see warrants on either of ‘em,” said the lead officer.

“The Green Beret? He someone famous?” the other cop asked.

“Yeah he is. You saw his chest. He’s a God damn war hero, and you bring him in cuffed like a fuckin’ perp?”

“If it was just the DUI we’d of given him a pass, but we’ve got a busted car, and I may need a stitch or two in my head.”

“One whole stitch?”

“Look, Sarge, we wanted to let ‘em go, but we just couldn’t figure how to do it without jamming ourselves up.”

“Shit!” the sergeant shouted, slamming his fist down on the desk. “This is bad. Real bad. You really don’t know who he is? Who
they
are?”

“Okay, we give. Who are they?”

“You heard of El Gato Negro?”

“Yeah, that gangster, Gonzalo Valdez. So?”

“Those are his nephews.”

“Serious? They don’t even look alike.”

“They’re not just his nephews, they’re his adopted sons.”

“No shit. I hear Valdez is big time.”

“And then some. He’s the biggest this neighborhood and probably this city has ever seen.”

“That’s a bold statement, Sarge.”

“Yeah, well I stand by it. The guy’s run a multimillion-dollar crime syndicate for forty years, and he’s never spent a day in jail. All I know is he’s the worst kind a gangster there is.”

“What kind’s that?”

“Smart, ruthless, and low key. None of that Gotti flash that gets your name in the papers.”

“Sounds like you admire the guy.”

“Admire him? No, but I have a healthy respect for the man and I learned the hard way not to fuck with him.”

“How’s that?”

Happy looked away and thought back to his days as a narcotics detective in the Major Case Squad. Ten years with commendations up the ass, and he took down some heavy hitters before he set his sights on Gonzalo. Decided that it was his mission in life to take him and the whole Valdez family down.

He started from the bottom up, busting low level players, and trying to flip them to get to the big fish. Problem was he couldn’t get anyone to roll. Guys wouldn’t even say the man’s name when they were facing twenty-five inside with no parole.

People were terrified, and Happy heard some wild stories about a house of horrors in a Valdez private prison. He dismissed those rumors as urban legend, but one thing was clear, Valdez severely punished traitors, and generously rewarded loyalty. Anyone who got busted, even at the street level, had the best lawyers fighting for him, and if he had to do the time, his family got taken care of—with houses, cars, cash for the wife and kids—grannies, too.

The same “never give up” mantra that had made him a star on the football field had Happy more determined than ever to bust Gonzalo. Working off the clock, sleeping in his car, going through trash, and squeezing every source he had for info, he finally caught a break when he popped a mid-level Valdez dealer carrying ten keys of coke. Desperate for anything that would get him close to the boss, he temporarily cut the dealer loose after he shared that Gonzalo was taking the Amtrak down to DC for a big meeting the next day. Happy tagged Valdez at Penn Station, followed him down there, and took a bunch of pictures of him meeting with some suit in a fancy restaurant.

Happy couldn’t wait to get back to NYC, develop the photos, and ID the suit. He pictured himself showing them to the Chief of D’s, getting a few atta boys, and then building a real case against Valdez. None of that ever happened. He was sitting in a DC cab, daydreaming about being a hero when he got boxed in by two SUV’s. He was abducted at gunpoint in broad daylight by Delta Force operators with aviator shades and ear pieces.

Driven to an abandoned warehouse, they held him naked and cuffed to a table for two days. In between beatings he found out the suit Gonzalo met with was a top CIA spook. They were on their way to the land fill when someone called and ended it. The operators were actually pissed off that they couldn’t kill him, and one of them told Happy it’d be better for everyone if he spent some time investigating worms from underground. Before they let him go they told him to keep his mouth shut or they’d finish the job—said he was messing with the wrong people and to consider this his once and final warning.

When he got back he was booted out of narcotics, and barely managed to keep his job after being suspended for a month with no explanation. The icing on the cake was getting permanently assigned to the front desk at the 9th Precinct right in the heart of Valdez country, but the nut shot was a gift box delivered to his house by messenger. It was all wrapped and ribboned up, and Happy and the wife opened it together. Top layer was chocolates and truffles, the bottom had his Valdez snitch’s chopped off hands holding a picture of himself in cuffs with Happy walking him into One Police Plaza. The wife left him that day, and he’d been sitting at his desk and staying out of Gonzalo’s business ever since.

He couldn’t share his story with the two undercovers who arrested John and Felix, but still felt obligated to warn them about the shit storm that was coming their way.

“Look fellas, all I can tell you is that Valdez is all the way connected. He got a lot of power in this town, and he gonna be seriously pissed off you two.”

“Come on, Sarge. We’re NYPD. Nobody fucks with us. I think you’ve been sitting behind that desk for too long. You need to kick some ass on the street with us for a few days and get your bal… your head back in the game.”

Happy knew it was only the chevrons on his sleeves that made the officer say “head” instead of “balls.” It pissed him off that they saw him as a timid house cat, but he kept his cool.

“All I know is there’s a big welcome home party just a few blocks from here for the war hero you just processed and he ain’t gonna make it. Both nephews are in the system now and we can’t undo it, so you’d best get ‘em outta here. Did they make a call?”

“I asked the soldier if he wanted to use my phone, but he said he didn’t want to get in trouble,” said the lead officer.

“Actually, what he said was that he didn’t want
you
to get in trouble. I didn’t think anything of it at the time,” his partner said.

“Well, at least he’s looking out for you guys. That’s a good thing, but too many people know ‘em and the word’s gonna hit the street. As soon as it does this building’s gonna be surrounded by an angry mob.” Happy didn’t add that he’d already been captured once and wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“Get a car right now and take ‘em down to Central Booking before the shit jumps off.”

“You think that’ll be the end of it?”

“Can’t say for sure. You apologize hard enough to the cousins on the way downtown they might put in a good word for you.”

“Apologize for doing our job?”

“Up to you. From what I just told you, you know Valdez is a serious player with lots of pull, and the man definitely holds a grudge.”

“Gonzalo Valdez, huh?”

“Yeah, the one and only Gonzalo Valdez.”

“Fuck me.”

“Just hope he doesn’t.”

Gonzalo was born in Panama in nineteen-fifty, the eighth of Maria and Juan Valdez’s seventeen children. The Panama of his youth was a daily adventure filled with fun and excitement with the country in a flurry of activity after World War II. Life was good in those early years. The Valdez family had money, was well respected, and they lived in a big house near the Canal. It was good until his father Juan, who ran a small club and gambling joint for GI’s, was killed in a shootout with corrupt Panamanian police who tried to rob him. The same crooked cops who killed their patriarch confiscated the house and overnight the family was in a freefall.

Within weeks Maria was forced to beg for food and shelter to keep her children alive. Life became a daily struggle and everyone had to contribute. Gonzalo earned money entertaining the same U.S. troops that used to drink at his father’s club by fighting in bare knuckle boxing matches. The winner takes all purse was a dollar, and driven by hunger, Gonzalo rarely lost. He literally grew up fighting for survival and his mother would hide her tears when he proudly handed her his winnings each night. “Gracias Negrito,” was all she could manage to say as she cleaned and bandaged his handsome face that quickly became battered and scarred for life.

They were a proud family. They fought hard to keep it together, but as time went by their plight became increasingly desperate. Each dawn brought on a new struggle that slowly crushed their morale. No one spoke of it, but there was a collective sense of defeat and the realization that their days as a family unit were numbered.

One dreary night during the rainy season when the heavy clouds dumped bucket after bucket on the muddy city of Colon, a soaked Gonzalo angrily stomped into their temporary shelter feeling dejected after being knocked out for the first time. His mother called to him from a dirty mattress on the floor. She had been sick and bedridden for a week. Her voice had faded and was little more than a coarse whisper.

“My son, you must promise me something.”

“Yes, mama.”

“You’ve fought so hard to keep us all together negrito. You’re the one who everyone looks to. Even your older brothers know you are the strongest.”

“What are you saying?”

“You must lead the family now.”

“Lead us? Lead us where? How can I do it? I couldn’t even bring you a dollar today.”

“The family is lost Zalo. We stay here we die. You will go to America and send for your brothers and sisters once you’re settled. Take this.” From under her worn blanket she handed him a thick wad of cash wrapped in rubber bands.

“But how?” he asked, staring wide eyed at the fortune.

“Your father’s final gift to us. He buried it years ago in case anything happened to him. I waited until today to dig it up. Now there is no choice and no time. You’re the only one who can save us.”

“I’m not strong enough.”

Using the last of her strength Maria pushed herself up and slapped him hard in the face before falling heavily back down onto the bed.

Wheezing from the effort, Maria croaked, “You have the strength of your father and his fathers before him. Don’t you remember the stories they told you?”

“It just seems so long ago.”

“Zalo, you must never forget.
Never
. Always remember who you are. You come from men who fought and died for their freedom in those mountains out there. You come from great Kings… and now, now it is your turn… You must wear the crown my son. You must lead this family to a better life.”

That moment, sitting next to his ailing mother on the floor of that broken-down shack in Panama, changed his life forever. His back straightened and his spirit lifted upon remembering the stories his father and grandfather used to tell him of his lineage. He could feel his own power for the first time and knew that there was nothing that could ever again stand in his way.

“And the promise?”

“Promise me that you will keep the family together. Bury me next to your father, then go to New York. My nephew is there and he will help you, but promise me that you will send for all your brothers and sisters.”

“Bury you? I’ll send for you first.”

“No, my son. It is my time, and your father has been waiting. I go to him now. But I can die happy once I know my children are safe in your hands… Promise me! Promise me, Gonzalo.”

He took her hands in his and swore that they would all be together.

“Good. Never forget who you are, and the power of the blood flowing through you my son. Now call the others so I can say goodbye.”

And she did. The entire family gathered around her and she explained to them what they all must do. Maria died that night and right after the funeral Gonzalo boarded a ship bound for New York. He kept his promise and within a year his eleven brothers and five sisters had all joined him on the Lower East Side.

Maria’s nephew was a small time dealer who introduced them to the drug trade and with his brothers behind him, Gonzalo and the “Valdez Boys” quickly became a powerful force on the streets. LES in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s was a war zone with almost as many abandoned, boarded up, and crumbling buildings as those that were lived in. Most of the neighborhood was just an open drug market where dealers, junkies, hookers, pimps, and gunmen strutted the streets that the police rarely bothered to patrol.

Gonzalo planted his flag, staking claim to an area known as Alphabet City. Running from Avenue A to D, and from Houston to 14th Street, he “owned” about twenty square blocks of prime real estate. There were many casualties over the years. Four of the brothers were gunned down in the early days, another was sent to prison for thirty years, and Gonzalo himself had been shot several times as they fought and died to build their multi-million dollar drug and gambling empire. Then, in the 1980s with his power base secure, he became careless with security, and the family suffered its most devastating loss.

Christina Valdez was the youngest of the seventeen siblings. She was tiny at just five feet, with beautiful bright shining eyes and a dazzling smile. She spoke very little English and had such an amazing voice the neighbors from all the adjacent buildings would open their windows wide so they could hear Christina singing from her kitchen. A happy little bundle of energy, she touched every person who ever knew her, infecting them with her joy of life.

In contrast, Michael Barrington Bishop was a feared Valdez enforcer who spoke little Spanish, stood tall at six foot four, and was pale skinned with long tangled dreadlocks. He grew up on the mean streets of Kingston, Jamaica and had a thick island accent.