Crooked Numbers (31 page)

“That’s a pretty harsh bit of reality, Jack.”

“Hey, like my dad says, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you…’”

He stopped when he hit upon the irony of those words. Neither one of us had much to say after that.

“Well,” I said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better, Jack.”

“Better than what?”
Fucking with me again.

“Better than a kid with a bad case of food poisoning.”

“Right.” He looked at his watch. “Okay. We gotta run.” He grabbed his sister’s hand—
who was watching whom
?—and turned to catch the green light. He raised his hand as he crossed the avenue. “See ya soon.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Take it easy. Hey!” I called, walking over to him. “You mind doing me a favor?”

A brief look of annoyance crossed his face, but disappeared as he crossed back to my side of the avenue.

“No,” he said. “Not at all.”

I took off the binoculars and handed them and the walkie-talkie to Jack.

“Tell Elliot I forgot about an errand I have to run,” I said. “And tell Edgar I took the subway home.”

“Is that it?” he asked, obviously not used to delivering messages.

“Yeah, Jack. Thanks.”

“Not a prob, Mr. Donne. See ya.”

“Have fun, you guys.”

“Always do,” he said as they crossed the avenue again. “Always do.”

“THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HURTS
a bit, Raymond.”

“It’s a little … uncomfortable, yeah.”

“That’s because,” Muscles said, “coming in every Saturday
is not
the same as coming in three times a week. I seem to remember explaining that to you
last
Saturday. Now, if there were three Saturdays in a week, we wouldn’t be in so much … discomfort.”

“We?”
I said, not trying to hide my grimace as I pushed myself into standing position on the leg press machine.

“Don’t you think it pains me to see you like this? Especially when you’ve been making such progress over the past six months?”

“I’ve had a pretty busy week, Muscles.”

“We’re all busy, Ray. It’s a matter of priorities. Okay, stop.” I did and watched as he moved the pin up one notch, reducing the weight by twenty pounds. “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “What I want you to do now is count to five as you press up, and then count to five as you come back down. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, like that. Breathe out on the way up; breathe in on the way down. Can you remember all that?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.” He patted me on the shoulder. “You give any more thought to the clinical trial I was telling you about?”

“Not really,” I said, completing one ten-second rep. I loved how Muscles would start a conversation with me as I was working out. Kind of like a dentist who asks you a question when you’ve got a mouthful of cotton and novocaine. “Still time to sign up?”

“They want the names of possible test subjects by next week.”

I did another rep. “‘Test subjects’?”

“Sounds better than ‘lab rats,’ don’t it?”

“Slightly,” I answered, then did three more ups-and-downs silently, breathing in and out every ten seconds. “Tell me again: what do I have to do?”

Muscles repeated what he had explained to me last week: the forms, the drug tests, an MRI, the personal interview, and the medical history. He closed with the reminder that, for my efforts, I would be given a thousand dollars.

“I like that last part,” I said. “And it’s safe, right?”

“They wouldn’t be doing a U.S. trial if it weren’t,” Muscles said. “That’s what the overseas tests are for.”

“Less regulation in other countries.”

“Bingo. Less regs, less risk to the company, less press if something unexpected happens.”

“Negative side effects.”

“You’re catching on,” he said. “These companies have an obligation to their shareholders. Anything that might cut into their bottom line is scrutinized to hell.”

“And this one has no side effects?”

He laughed. “There’s always side effects when you put something foreign into your system, Ray. It’s the R&D guys’ job to minimize those side effects.”

“What’s an acceptable side effect?”

“With this supplement,” he said, “I think the literature said headaches, upset stomach, dry mouth. Nothing serious enough to slow things down at this point.”

I did a few more reps on the machine while I thought about Muscles’s offer. I wasn’t desperate, but I could always find a use for an extra thousand bucks, especially with the holidays coming up and my new … relationship.

“All right,” I said. “Sign me up.”

“Excellent. I have all your vitals and contact info. I’ll shoot them an email this afternoon. You’ll probably hear from them in a day or two.”

“You think I’ll get paid before the holidays?”

“No idea. You can bring that up when you talk to the company.”

“Okay.” I did one more rep. “How many more of these I gotta do?”

Muscles used his fingers to count. “What was that, seven? Do thirteen more, then hit the ab machine for three sets of fifteen. And don’t even think of heading out before you do the calves, lats, and a half hour on the treadmill.”

“Thanks, Muscles.”

“You can thank me by showing up on Monday.” He gave my thigh a playful punch. “But, yeah. You’re welcome.” He leaned his clipboard up against the wall, pointed at it, and said, “Fill in your numbers and drop the sheet off at the front desk.”

“You got it,” I said.

As soon as he left, I rubbed my thigh and finished up on the machine.

“SO,” ALLISON SAID, SLOWLY
slipping her hand out of mine as we stopped in front of her apartment. “This is where I get off.”

I took her hand again and pulled her into me for a kiss. When we were finished, she gave me the look I could feel in my gut. “You know, Raymond. It is a long subway ride back to Brooklyn.”

“It is at that,” I said, making a big deal out of looking at my watch. “And the trains do run pretty unpredictably at this time of night on Saturdays.”

“Well, so much for one-night stands.” She took my hand and led me to her front door. As she opened her purse to take out her keys, I heard the sound of footsteps behind us. I turned to see what was happening and got taken out at the knees and knocked to the ground.

“Allison!” I yelled.

I looked over and saw someone had an arm around Allison’s neck. Whoever it was wore a ski mask. I tried to get up, but a second person behind me squeezed the back of my neck and pushed me back down. A raspy whisper told me, “Do that again and your girlfriend gets hurt.” To accentuate this point, my attacker squeezed harder.

“What the hell do you—?” This time I got smacked in the head.

“Ah, fuck!” I could see Allison’s attacker was holding something against her throat. “Goddamn it,” Allison said, her voice filled with fear and anger. “Just take my fucking purse!”

Her attacker pulled her closer and whispered into her ear. With the knife pressed up against her neck, all Allison could do was listen. With my neck being squeezed and my knees screaming in pain, I could only watch. I tried to get up, but my attacker kicked me in my right knee, dropping me to the ground.

“Don’t” the raspy whisper said, “fucking do that again.”

I turned my head to get a better look at my attacker. He was wearing the same type of ski mask as his partner.

“Okay,” I heard Allison say. I looked over and Allison addressed me. “Ray,” she said, the knife still against her throat. “They’re going to leave now. Don’t get up.”

“What do you mean, don’t get—?”

“Ow!” Allison yelled. When she could speak again, she said, “Just don’t get up. Okay, Ray? Please.”

The hand on my neck squeezed harder.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”

I watched as Allison’s attacker turned her around and pressed her face against her front door. Again, he whispered into her ear. I could hear her crying now, nodding her head slowly. Her attacker released his grip. Allison kept her face against the glass door. Her attacker walked over to me and quickly kicked me in the stomach.

“Don’t” he whispered, “even think of following us.”

By the time I straightened myself up, both attackers were sprinting toward the avenue. I got to my feet and limped over to Allison. I touched her on the shoulder and she screamed.

“It’s okay,” I said, my own voice just above a whisper. “It’s me. They’re gone.”

She turned toward me, still crying. “Oh my god, Ray.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s over now.” I leaned over and picked her purse off the ground.
Why hadn’t they taken it?
I gave it to Allison. “Let’s go inside.”

She took her keys out and opened both sets of doors. When we were safely inside, I took out my cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Allison asked.

“Calling nine-one-one,” I said.

“They said … he said, no cops.”

I punched in the three numbers anyway. “They always say that, Allison. Why the hell didn’t they take your purse?”

She stepped over and grabbed the phone out of my hand before I could make the call.

“They weren’t after my fucking purse, Ray.”

“Then what … what did he whisper in your ear?”

“He was…” She started sobbing again. I put my arms around her. “He was telling me,” she began again, “to stop writing about Dougie.”

“About Dougie?” I said. “Why the hell—?”

“I don’t know, Ray,” she said, her anger coming back. “I would’ve asked but I had something real pointy pressed against my neck.”

I pulled her close again. “I know. I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud. I mean, who the fuck were those two?”

“Just take me upstairs. Please.”

“We need to call the cops.”

“I know,” she said, pressing the button for the elevator then looking over at the front door. “Let’s just do it upstairs, okay?”

“Okay.”

The door to the elevator opened and we stepped in. She pressed the number for her floor, her hand shaking. In this light, I could see a small wound just under her chin. She got a look at herself in the elevator mirror and gasped.

“Shit. I’m bleeding.”

I took her hand. “We’ll take care of that upstairs, too.”

“Okay. Thanks.” And then she collapsed.

*

“You sure you don’t want us to call an EMT, ma’am?” the taller of the two cops—his name tag read
JOHNSON
—asked, looking at the Band-Aid I had just placed over the wound on Allison’s neck. “They can take a look at that.”

“No,” she said. “I’m good.”

She reached up and touched her fingers to the Band-Aid. With her other hand, she squeezed my left knee. We were seated on her love seat. Officer Johnson sat in the recliner, while his partner looked down at the street where the assault had taken place.

“Nobody else on the street, huh?” he asked, still looking out the window.

“It’s a quiet block,” Allison said. “That’s why I moved here.” She caught the irony of her words and laughed. “I thought I’d be safe.”

“Nah.” The cop at the window turned and walked toward us. His name tag
also
read
JOHNSON
.
I bet that was good for more than a few chuckles back at the precinct
. “My sister just moved into the city,” he said. “From the Island. I told her make sure you get a place on an avenue, good and busy. These quiet side streets…”

“And nothing was taken from your person?” the first Johnson asked.

“No,” Allison said. “I told you. He threatened me and told me to stop writing about Douglas Lee.”

“The boy who was murdered?” the second Johnson asked.

“Yes.”

“And you never saw their faces?”

“No. I told you—” She turned to me. “Why do they keep asking me the same questions, Ray?”

“Victims—”
Bad choice of words.
“People who’ve been involved in assaults like this sometimes remember more details as they start to calm down. You’d be surprised what people remember ten minutes after they say they couldn’t recall a thing.”

“And you,” First Johnson said to me, “you’re a teacher?”

“Yes.”

Second Johnson came over and took his partner’s notebook. He studied it for a few seconds. “What’d you say your last name was, sir?”

I was waiting for them to catch on. “Donne,” I said. “First name, Raymond.”

I’m not sure who made the connection first, but both Johnsons let out a “holy shit!” at the same time.

“You’re Chief Donne’s nephew.”

“Since birth,” I said.

First Johnson stood up as if being called to attention. “We should really get a supervising officer down here.”

“No,” I said. “We’re fine. We don’t need any special treatment.” I looked at their worried faces. “And if anybody asks—and I doubt they will—I’ll tell them the both of you were more than thorough and professional.”

That eased the tension in their faces. Second Johnson gave First Johnson his notebook back and they exchanged glances. They weren’t quite sure of their next move, so I decided to help them out. I stood up. Slowly.

“Thank you both,” I said. “Officers … Johnson and Johnson.” I shook my head and allowed myself a small laugh. “Sorry. How much shit do they give you back at the station over that?”

“Quite a bit, sir,” Second Johnson said. “Lieutenant’s got a real good sense of humor. But we’re used to it.”

“I hope so.” I shook both their hands. “Thanks again, guys.”

“Yes,” Allison said from the love seat. “Thank you, officers.”

Both of them actually reached up, tipped their caps, and said, “Ma’am.”

I walked them to the door and, after they left, made sure to secure the three locks Allison had there. I went back over and sat next to her. She put her arm around me, and we both leaned into the softness of the couch.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“They file their reports, see if any crimes of a similar nature were—”

“Similar nature?” She practically jumped to her feet. “How many assaults are there going to be where the victim was warned to stop working on a news story, Ray?”

I leaned forward but stayed on the couch. “You’re right,” I said, keeping my voice level. “But it’s standard operating procedure in a case like this. Nothing’ll come of it, but they gotta check.”