Crooked Numbers (39 page)

“And the only thing you remember out of the ordinary from that night three weeks ago was—”

“That boy was tight, yo.”

“You have any dealings with the kid on the bike or the other one?”

“Nah,” she said. “We got our shit and went off to party. If that was the night the kid got killed, we ain’t seen shit. Everything was ‘copacetic’ when we bounced. That’s another white-boy word he used.”

“All right,” I said to the group. “You can go.” I waved my gun in the direction of the closest park exit, put my leg up on the bench, and slipped the .38 back into its holster.

“Hey, Mister Man?”

“Yeah?”

“You think Peanut and Cracker Jack comin’ by tonight?”

I thought of the dead kid and the one who’d just come out of the hospital.

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Shit, man. We ain’t seen them in, like, two weeks. Kinda jonesing for them pills. What the fuck we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”

I started off out of the park and walked to the small turnoff a few blocks north. With any luck, I’d catch a quick cab and be back home and in bed before two.

WHEN I WOKE UP
the next morning, I felt hungover. I hadn’t had a drop to drink the previous night, but I was working on maybe three hours of sleep. That’s what happens when you stay out till all hours, talking to gang members about their drug deals with Upper West Side private-school kids.

I took my coffee into the bathroom and stepped into a hot shower. I let the water pound my face, hoping it would help the coffee wake me up. After fifteen minutes of that, I dried off, went into the kitchen for another cup, and did some stretches against the wall to get more of my blood flowing. I’d gone to work with less sleep than this before. It’d be rough, but I’d get through.

I had it all planned out: I’d get the kids into the building, clear the halls after homeroom, then call Dennis Murcer myself since he hadn’t gotten back to Allison. Even though I had a lot of good info to share with him, I was not looking forward to making that call. I was prepared for a major lecture, a couple of threats, and a description of the many ways I had impeded his investigation into the murder of Douglas William Lee. And, for the most part, he’d be absolutely correct. But he was a smart guy and a good detective. We were good friends once. He would listen.

When I got to school, Angel Rosario and his dad were standing on the front steps, just like the day before. They both had their hands in their pockets and were doing a little bounce to stay warm. Mr. Rosario came down the steps to greet me, while Angel remained several feet away.

Mr. Rosario reached out, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Mr. Donne,” he said, his eyes wet. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked. Playing ignorant was becoming one of my more developed skills.

“For making that phone call yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“
Oh
’s right.” He smacked his hands together and let out a huge laugh. “I got a call from my union rep last night.”

“Yeah?”

“That kid Hector dropped the charges.”

“No shit?”

“According to my rep, he walked into the precinct yesterday about two o’clock—with his lawyer—and dropped the charges. It’s over.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “Any idea why he had the change of heart?”

“I don’t think he said.” He gave me a look. “But you know, don’t you?”

“How would I know?”

“Yesterday,” he said. “You told me to hold off on discharging Angel. That you were gonna make a phone call.” He wiped his hand across his mouth. “Who’d you call, Mr. Donne? Your uncle, the chief?”

“No,” I said. “I told you. We tried that and it didn’t work.”

“Then who?”

I let out a deep sigh. “I really can’t tell you, Mr. Rosario. I just can’t.”

“Whatta you mean, you can’t? You make a phone call and then—
bam!
—the biggest problem in my life disappears. Who else do I got to thank?”

No way was I going to tell him about my call to Tio. The less Mr. Rosario knew, the better for all of us.

“Someone owed me a favor,” I said. “I told that someone you needed it more than I did. I guess he heard me.”

Angel’s father looked at the ground and shook his head. When he looked up again, tears in his eyes, he said, “Ever since Angel’s mother died, it’s been only me and him, y’know?”

“It’s gotta be tough.”

“It is, but you get through it by being tough.” He looked over at his son, still standing on the steps. “That’s what I try to teach him. To be tough, but also smart. You lose your mother at that age and … shit, you
gotta
be tough. But you also learn you can’t rely on anyone but your family.” He wiped a tear off his cheek. “Your mom’s gone and you start having problems believing in your family. I mean, if a parent dies then anything can happen, right? And then this shit with Hector goes down, and I can’t do shit because I tried to be tough to solve my kid’s problem.”

“You did what you thought was right, Mr. Rosario.” I put my hand on his arm. “You were protecting your son.”

“I thought I was, but look what happened.”

“And now it’s over.”

“Thanks to you,” he said.

I looked over at Angel. “What does he know?” I asked.

“Just that the charges were dropped. I thought you could tell him the rest.”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t need to know that. He just needs to know it’s over, and his dad’s a good man.”

“But I—”

“You asked me for help. I asked someone else for help. That’s all that happened here. We both knew the right people to ask.”

He gave that some thought. “So, you don’t want to tell Angel?”

“He doesn’t need to know more than he knows. It’s over.”

He took my hand again. “Well, I thank you, Mr. Donne. And please thank the person you called. For me.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, pretty sure I wouldn’t. “When do you go back to work?”

“My rep said I could start today, but I think I’ll go in tomorrow. Everything’s happened so quick. I need to get my mind straight.”

“You gonna take Angel home with you?”

“I can do that?”

“He might need a little time to get his head straight, too. Spend some time with you without the case hanging over your heads.”

He smiled and looked back at his son. “Angel, come on down.”

Angel did as he was told, and his father wrapped his arm around him.

“Mr. Donne says you might wanna take the day off with me. Get some breakfast, maybe go into the city?”

Angel looked at me like someone had just told him he’d won the lottery.

“I can do that?” he asked, sounding exactly like his dad.

“What am I going to do?” I said. “Call your father?”

They both laughed and then thanked me again. I watched as the father and his son walked away. And just like that, I was glad I’d gotten out of bed that morning.

*

The first time I called Murcer, the call went directly to his voice mail. As instructed, I left a brief message with my name and number, and the time I had called. The second time I called, an hour later, I was informed by the mechanical voice that the subscriber I was trying to reach had a full mailbox and would not take any further messages. I decided to try again in a few hours. Maybe Dennis was too busy solving other crimes to answer his phone or even check his messages.

I called Allison, expecting the same results, but was pleasantly surprised when she actually picked up.

“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

“Like I spent five hours drinking margaritas with a bunch of girlfriends I hadn’t seen in six months,” she said. “And how did you spend your evening?”

“You want the full story or just the good parts?”

“I’m hungover, Ray. Just gimme the good parts.”

So I did. I told her about my visit to Jack’s doctor and pharmacist, and what the pharmacist had told me about the potential side effects of those capsules. Then I went into my conversation with China—Allison was impressed how Edgar and I had figured that part out—and about how China had a bartering deal with Jack and Paulie, and how she apparently had seen Dougie at the crime scene the night he had been murdered. I also told her about the mysterious, hooded kid bouncing around outside the tennis courts.

“You went down there,” Allison said, “at that time of night all by yourself?”

I figured I had missed out on getting lectured by Murcer, so maybe I deserved this. She was not going to like what she heard next.

“I had protection,” I said.

“What, you brought condoms with you? What do you mean ‘protection’?”

“I’m an ex-cop, Allison.”

“So, what? You called up some old cop buddies?”

“Not exactly.”

“‘Not exac—’? Oh, tell me you didn’t do what I think you did, please.”

“Depends on what you think I did.”

A long pause followed and then, “You brought a gun with you, didn’t you?”

“I had to bring something.”

“No, you didn’t, Ray. You didn’t have to go down there at all. Didn’t we agree that I would call Murcer?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But that was for
yesterday
. This was last night.”

“Don’t even. Do you realize the danger you put yourself in? I know at least part of you does. That’s why you brought the gun. What if you had to use it, Ray? Did you think that far ahead? How that could have completely fucked up your life?”

I guess I hadn’t. I didn’t know what to say.

“Damn it, Ray. You’re smarter than that. At least, I thought you were. I’m going to call Murcer again. Leaving out the part about the gun, of course.”

“I already tried. Twice. I left a message and now his box is full.”

“I’ll call the precinct then. Maybe they know where he is. You don’t have any plans for after school, do you?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll try to set up a meeting with the three of us. We’ll tell him what we know and let him take it from there.”

“He’s not going to be happy.”

“At this point,” Allison said, “I don’t care. We’ve got enough for him to, at the very least, pick up the Quinn kid for questioning. I’m sure dear old dad will have a lawyer there quicker than—
crap
.”

“What?”

“That might be Dougie’s uncle.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I almost forgot about that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Lemme see if I can reach Murcer. Keep your phone with you, okay?”

“Yeah.” I said. “Okay.”

She was silent for a little while. “Sorry I got all pissy with you, Ray. It’s just that … you made some decisions last night and didn’t think how they might affect … others.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. I was glad she couldn’t see my face.

“Like my mother?” I said. “And Rachel? Uncle Ray and…”

“Screw you, Ray,” she said, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll call you after I talk to Murcer.”

“I’ll be here.”

“You better be,” she said, and hung up.

THE REST OF THE DAY WENT
by pretty quickly. I had to deal with a couple of kids cutting class and making out behind the curtain in the auditorium. I think I got there just in time, because the boy’s shirt was unbuttoned and the girl had kicked her shoes off. Two other geniuses figured that, since their regular math teacher was absent and the class was being covered by a sub, they might as well give themselves an extra gym period and snuck in after the phys ed teacher had taken attendance. The math sub realized they were cutting, got a message to me, and I caught the two playing basketball in the gym. They actually asked me if I could wait until the game was over before taking them back to math. This was the kind of stuff they didn’t go over in teacher school.

After a last-period meeting with my principal and the two assistant principals regarding what would and would not be allowed during the holiday parties many teachers had planned for their classes, and then discussing the topic of how many school safety officers and how many parents were needed to chaperone the holiday dance, I had five minutes to run up to my office and get my jacket before dismissal. My cell phone rang on my way back down. I looked at it, hoping it was Murcer getting back to me. It was Allison.

“You get in touch with Murcer?” I asked.

“Nope. I did leave a message for him at the precinct, though. Said it was urgent.”

“Good idea. You coming over tonight?”

“That’s the plan, but I need to take it easy. Let’s just order in some Chinese and drink lots of tea and water.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “I even have a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet.”

“I’m past that stage,” she said. “Now I’m onto the detox part of the program.”

I laughed. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, do a little paperwork. I’ll be at my place at around five.”

“I’ll try to make it by six. I’ve got to put the finishing touches on a piece about some Upper East Side lady’s poodle who got lost then found by some kids in the projects behind Lincoln Center.”

“Maybe the dog just wanted some culture.”

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I’m working it as ‘Rich Dog Found by Poor Kids.’” She paused. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way. You can order the food and I’ll pick it up.”

I could get used to this.
“Cool.”

“Later.”

A few minutes later, I was outside clearing the sidewalk of post-school stragglers, which didn’t take long because of the cold breeze picking up. Low temperatures and rain always got the kids moving faster. I could almost smell the snow that was headed our way. On my walk home, I got another call.

“Hello?”

“Raymond,” the now-familiar voice said. “This is Elliot.”

“Hey, Elliot. How are you?”

“I am fine. I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.” I waited. Then I realized I’d have to ask for it. “Go ahead.”

“No,” he said. “Not on the phone.”

I decided to put on my teacher voice. “Elliot, I’m just getting off work and have things to do tonight. If you need to talk to me, now’s the best time.”

He paused for a few seconds. “Okay, then. Forget it.”