Omerta - Mario Puzo [84]
Aspinella too was wondering how her life had come to such a pass. God knows she had fought the criminal underworld with a passion and relentlessness that had made her a New York legend. Certainly, she had taken bribes, suborned felony. She had only started late in the game when Di Benedetto had persuaded her to take drug money. He had been her mentor for years and for a few months her lover—not bad, just a clumsy bear who used sex as part of a hibernational impulse.
But her corruption had really started her first day on the job after being promoted to detective. In the station-house rec room an overbearing white cop named Gangee had jollied her in a good-natured way. “Hey, Aspinella,” he said, “with your pussy and my muscle, we’ll wipe out crime in the civilized world.” The cops, including some blacks, laughed.
Aspinella looked at him coldly and said, “You’ll never be my partner. A man who insults a woman is a small-dick coward.”
Gangee tried to keep it on a friendly basis. “My small dick can stop up your pussy anytime you want to try. I want to change my luck anyhow.”
Aspinella turned her cold face to him. “Black is better than yellow,” she said. “Go whack off, you dumb piece of shit.”
The room seemed frozen with surprise. Now she had Gangee blushing red. Such virulent contempt was not permitted without a fight. He started toward her, his huge body clearing space.
Aspinella was dressed for duty. She drew her gun, not pointing it. “Try and I’ll blow your balls off,” she said, and in that room there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would pull the trigger. Gangee halted and shook his head with disgust.
The incident, of course, was reported. It was a serious offense on Aspinella’s part. But Di Benedetto was shrewd enough to know that a departmental trial would be a political disaster for the NYPD. He quashed the whole thing and was so impressed by Aspinella that he put her on his personal staff and became her mentor.
What had affected Aspinella more than anything else was that there had been at least four black cops in the room and not one of them had defended her. Indeed, they had laughed at the white cop’s jokes. Gender loyalty was stronger than racial loyalty.
Her career, after that, established her as the best cop in the division. She was ruthless with drug dealers, muggers, armed robbers. She showed them no mercy, black or white. She shot them, she beat them, she humiliated them. Charges were made against her but could never be substantiated, and her record for valor spoke for her. But the charges aroused her rage against society itself. How did they dare question her when she protected them from the worst scum in the city? Di Benedetto backed her all the way.
There had been one tricky situation when she shot dead two teenage muggers as they tried to rob her on a brightly lit Harlem street right outside her apartment. One boy punched her in the face, and the other grabbed her purse. Aspinella drew her gun and the boys froze. Quite deliberately, she shot them both. Not only for the punch in the face, but to send a message not to try mugging in her neighborhood. Civil-liberties groups organized a protest, but the department ruled that she had used justifiable force. She knew she had been guilty on that one.
It was Di Benedetto who talked her into taking her first bribe on a very important drug deal. He spoke like a loving uncle. “Aspinella,” he said, “a cop today doesn’t worry much about bullets. That’s part of the deal. He has to worry about the civilliberties groups, the citizens and the criminals who sue for damages. The political bosses in the department, who will put you in jail to get votes. Especially somebody like you. You’re a natural