Payback by Lorenzo Carcaterra (Tank Rizzo #2)
English | 2020 | Thriller| ePUB | 1.6 MB
Payback is personal for a former NYPD detective taking on a corrupt cop and a dirty accounting firm in this adrenaline-laced thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Sleepers and Tin Badges.
If there’s one kind of person Tank Rizzo hates most in this world, it’s a dirty cop. Criminals are at least honest about being dishonest; dirty cops are a disgrace to the badge they carry. Detective Eddie Kenwood is one such disgrace. He’s got the highest signed-confession rate in the NYPD and a distinguished career built on putting men behind bars—whether they’re guilty or not doesn’t matter much to him. When Tank’s partner, Pearl, tells him about an old family friend Kenwood put in jail for a murder he didn’t commit, Tank and Pearl vow to take Kenwood down.
Also in need of a takedown: the money-laundering accounting firm where Tank’s brother used to work—before he mysteriously died, leaving Tank the sole guardian of his nephew, Chris. Chris smells a rat, and enlists Tank’s help to bring the men who had his father killed to justice.
Working two big cases means getting out the big guns, and Tank assembles his A-team. With help from a retired mobster, a professional boxer, a Chelsea psychic, a dog named Gus, and the U.S. Attorney—not to mention his and Pearl’s own quick wits and Chris’s burgeoning skills as a computer whiz—Tank gears up to take on his most dangerous and personal cases to date.
“JUST TELL THE TRUTH. THAT’S all you need to do. Once that’s done, then I’ll take care of the rest.” Detective First Grade Eddie Kenwood walked around the small, windowless room, hands deep inside the pockets of a pair of brown J. Crew slacks, his eyes on the frightened young man slumped against the table, its wooden edges frayed and worn.
“You’re only wasting time, Randy,” Kenwood said. “Mine and yours. Just tell me what I need to hear and we can both be on our way.”
Randy Jenkins rubbed his eyes and gazed up at Detective Kenwood. “I wasn’t there. I swear on my mama’s grave. I wasn’t there.”
“Save that my-mama’s-grave line of shit for somebody else,” Kenwood said. “Gangbanger like you should know better than to play that game with me. I don’t buy in to bullshit. Especially not from the likes of you. And especially when I got prints, your prints, on a knife I got tucked safe and sound in the evidence room. Now, are you going to fuckin’ level with me or not?”
Eddie Kenwood was a highly decorated homicide detective with a long string of arrests attached to his impressive record. He closed his cases at a rapid pace and always delivered a signed-and-sealed confession. Most of the prosecutors working in the homicide division clamored to have one of Kenwood’s folders land on their desks, knowing it meant a slam-dunk conviction and a twenty-year sentence, along with a nod of approval from their boss.
Kenwood ridiculed detectives with lower conviction rates, cashing in on the traditional round of free drinks from the other members of the squad whenever he closed another file. He looked and dressed the part of the successful homicide detective—wearing neatly tailored suits or slick-catalog casual slacks and blazers. He was thirty-eight years old and had been on the force for sixteen years. He was tall and slender, ran five miles a day, usually on the streets of his Baldwin, Long Island, neighborhood. He kept his hair trimmed short and had his nails done once a week at a local salon two blocks from his precinct.