I called Kylie and filled her in. By the time I brought Hirsch back to the house, she was waiting for us in an interview room.
As soon as I opened the door, he balked. “Lose it,” he demanded, pointing at the video camera.
“It’s just for internal use,” Kylie said. “Our captain’s not in yet, and she’s been very involved in the—”
“Can it, Detective,” he said. “I’m about to give you the name of a mass murderer. If he finds out I’m the one who gave him up, he’ll have me killed even if he’s rotting away in prison. The only way we’re going to do this is if I have total anonymity.”
Kylie nodded and capped the lens. He took a seat at the table, and she sat down across from him. I stood.
“In your own words, Mr. Hirsch,” she said.
“Look, I broke a few laws when I was a kid, but whatever I tell you, the statute of limitations ran out long ago.”
“Statutes run out,” Kylie said. “Grudges are forever. Who’s coming after you?”
“Did you ever hear of Zoe Pound?”
After years of dealing with the superrich, I’ve come to appreciate a certain subtle sophistication about them. They live inside a bubble, and the veneer of privilege and class always seems to remain intact, even when they’re caught up in the most nefarious crime imaginable.
There is nothing subtle or sophisticated about Zoe Pound. Spawned in the Little Haiti section of Miami in the nineties, they’ve evolved from a violent street gang into one of the most ruthless and feared criminal enterprises in the United States. I couldn’t imagine how this middle-aged, puffy, pasty white man could be a target of an organization known for drug trafficking, arms dealing, robbery, and contract killing.
“Zoe Pound,” I repeated. “The Haitian drug cartel out of Miami.”
“Their New York branch runs a thriving drug business out of Brooklyn,” Hirsch said.
“And why would they want to kill you?” Kylie asked.
“The grudge, as you called it, goes back twenty years. We were in college.”
“We?”
“The four of us: me, Del Fairfax, Arnie Zimmer, and Princeton Wells. We were…let’s say customers in good standing.” He paused. “That’s an understatement. The reality was, we bought a shitload of coke from them.”
“To sell?”
“To snort. And to share with our friends—especially our lady friends. I wasn’t blessed with the fine patrician features of Princeton or Del, but you’d be amazed how easy it is for a fat boy with unlimited blow to wind up in a threesome, a foursome, or whatever the hell else I wanted.
“We were spending a fortune on dope, but our parties were legendary. We were kings. Then one day Princeton has this brilliant idea. We were flying off for winter break—senior year, our last big hurrah. We’d smuggle some heroin back into the country for Zoe, and they’d pay us off in cocaine.
“Princeton set up a meeting with Dingo Slide. He was the undisputed boss back then. Dingo thought it through like he had a PhD in economics. On the downside, he’d be losing some good customers, but he knew no matter how much coke he gave us, we’d go through it fast. On the upside, the Feds had just shut down one of his supply channels, and he needed product. Malique La Grande, one of his lieutenants, was against it, but it was Dingo’s call. The cartel fronted us a hundred grand, and we took off on an all-expenses-paid drug run.”
“You were mules,” Kylie said.
“Rich mules with a corporate jet at our disposal. Princeton’s father had three of them, and if a plane was just sitting around, he’d ask Daddy for a flight crew, and off we’d go. It was before 9/11. Private aircraft like that were almost never searched.” He paused. “Emphasis on the word almost.”
“You got busted,” I said.
“Big-time. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Luckily, cops and judges are as corrupt as drug dealers. We bribed our way to freedom, only to find out that Malique wanted to kill us when we got back to the States. More money changed hands. Princeton cut a deal with Dingo. We paid them two hundred fifty thousand dollars and Dingo told Malique to stand down.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said. “Why would they suddenly change their mind and come after you now?”
“Dingo Slide died last month. Malique La Grande is running the show now. He doesn’t have any of Dingo’s business instincts. He’s a born killer.”
“And you think he’s out to settle a twenty-year-old grudge,” I said.
“Yes. And I need you to stop him before he kills me.”
“What about Princeton Wells?” I asked.
“What about him?” Hirsch snapped.
“If what you say about La Grande is true, then Wells is on his hit list, too.”
“Not my problem.”
“He’s your friend. Don’t you think you should at least warn him?”
“Fuck him. He’s the friend who got us into this mess in the first place. Besides, if I tell him that Zoe Pound is out there looking for revenge, he’ll hop on his private jet and disappear on an extended business trip to God knows where.”
“But—”
“There is no but, Detective. Malique is picking us off one by one. I’m trying to save my own ass, and the last thing I’m going to do is help him get to me faster by thinning out the herd.”