Blue Eyes Read Online Free

York.”
    â€œI never met Brando.”
    â€œBut you know all the pimps. That’s what counts. Vander has a team of private detectives out. They can’t find shit. The daughter’s name is Caroline.”
    Coen dug a finger under the pajamas and scratched. Pimloe leered at him.
    â€œShe’s too old for you, Coen. Sixteen and a half.” He scribbled a Fifth Avenue address on a piece of departmental paper. “Vander’s expecting you. If you’re a good boy, Coen, he’ll let you see the view from his windows. Maybe he’ll feed you some kosher salami.”
    Coen turned around. Pimloe kept talking.
    â€œCoen, you’re the weirdest Jew I ever saw. Somebody must have put you in the wrong crib. How’s Isaac?”
    â€œAsk him yourself.”
    â€œAll the Jews sleep in one bed. You, Isaac, and Papa Guzmann.”
    â€œYour spies are napping, Herbert. The Guzmanns turned Catholic hundreds of years ago.”
    â€œThen why do they keep Jew scrolls on their doors?”
    â€œBecause they’re superstitious people. Now what does Isaac have to do with Papa?”
    â€œYou’re slow, Coen. Isaac is Papa’s new bodyguard. Imagine, the biggest brain we had, whoring for a bunch of pickpockets.” Pimloe saved one wink for Coen. “You won’t be catching homicides for a while. I’m taking you off the chart. Don’t bother with the squadroom. You report to me.”
    Walking down the stairs Coen put knots in his tie. Brodsky found him dozing on the sidewalk. Coen wouldn’t open his mouth until they reached Columbus Circle.
    â€œWhy should Pimloe be so curious about the Guzmanns? They can’t hurt him much from the Bronx. Papa hates the air in Manhattan.”
    â€œIt isn’t Papa he’s after. César’s split from the tribe. He’s been changing boroughs. But he don’t dig the East Side. He cruises on West Eighty-ninth.”
    â€œAnd Isaac? Is Isaac with him?”
    â€œPimloe tell you that?”
    â€œNo. He says Isaac’s mooching for Papa.”
    â€œCrooks hang with crooks,” Brodsky said.
    Coen decided to walk the rest of the way. Men stared at his pajamas. He kept his holster out of sight. Remembering Brodsky’s allegiance to Pimloe, he cupped his hands and shouted at the car. “Brodsky, you were a mutt before Isaac took you in. He taught you how to blow your nose. Only Isaac’s dentist could cure your bloody gums.”
    Brodsky shut his window and fled from Coen.
    Herbert Pimloe was a deputy inspector at forty-two. He hated Coen. He wanted to smear him in Isaac’s shit. Isaac had been a DCI (deputy chief inspector) by the age of forty, and Pimloe resented this. He was obsessed with Isaac’s career. Isaac had controlled the office before he jumped into the Bronx, and now Pimloe was in charge of the First Deputy Commissioner’s investigative units, but he didn’t have Isaac’s hold over detectives and typists. And he couldn’t charm the First Dep, even though he occupied Isaac’s old rooms.
    Pimloe graduated magna cum laude from Harvard College, with a senior thesis on the aberrations and bargaining skills of Hitler, Stalin, Churchill, Mussolini, and De Gaulle. His friends went on to law school and medical school and business school and departments of philosophy, and Pimloe mumbled something about criminal justice. Having measured the brain power of the chief finaglers of his time, he developed a singular distrust for colleges and books. He became a rookie patrolman in the NYCPD. He handled a riot baton and a Colt .38 Police Special, and escaped the draft. After five years of walking Brooklyn and Queens, the First Deputy picked him up. Somebody must have noticed the magna cum laude in his personnel file. He typed for the First Dep, wrote reports for the First Dep’s whip, Isaac Sidel, did bits of undercover work, changed from a Colt to a Smith & Wesson. He rose