Dead Red (10 page)

“It’s okay to stay, Edgar,” I said.

“Nah, I’m good.” He reached out and took my hand. “I’ll give ya a ring tomorrow and maybe we can hang for a few at The LineUp.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay then,” he said. “It’s a date.” He looked over at Allison. “If you’re around, maybe you can hang with us.”

“I’ll probably work late,” she said. “This story’s getting bigger, and now with the shooting in the park
possibly
connected, I might be traveling between boroughs tomorrow. But, yeah, maybe.”

“Cool,” Edgar said. “Mañana.”

After he left, Allison and I sat down on the futon.

“He’s getting better,” I said. “A year ago, he’d have been too nervous to ask you to hang out with us.”

“That mean he’s getting more comfortable with me?”

“No. He’s getting more comfortable with himself.”

She leaned back and gave me a look. “You sound … proud, Mr. Donne.”

I smiled. “I guess I am. My little guy’s come a long way.”

Allison put her hand on my thigh. “I’ll make your little guy—”

The ringing of my landline put that thought on hold. We sat there, Allison’s hand not moving, for four rings, and then the machine picked up. After my outgoing message, a voice came on.

“Ray,” the voice said then paused. “Ray, this is Robby Torres. Ricky’s brother? I’m sorry to be calling you on a Sunday, but—”

Allison jumped up from the futon, grabbed the phone, pressed Talk, and handed it to me.

“Robby,” I said. “Sorry, I was just coming in from the deck. How’s it—I mean, shit. I’m so sorry about your brother, man. You at your mom’s?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“How’s she holding up?”

“Not good, Ray. Me neither, really. I—” He paused again and I could hear him swallow. “It’s just starting to sink in, y’know? I was upstate when my mom called me, and it was fucking unreal. I mean, the whole drive down I was thinking it was a mistake and as soon as I got to Brooklyn everything would be fine.”

“I know.” Clearly I didn’t know shit. “I guess you have a lot of family around the house, huh?”

He laughed. It may have been the most joyless laugh I’d ever heard. “Yeah. The house is packed. Got my cousins up from Jersey, already made two runs to LaGuardia to pick up some aunts and uncles. My mom hasn’t come outta the kitchen for hours. She’s just cooking and serving. Italian moms, right? That’s how they cope.”

I’d forgotten their mom was Italian. “I’ve heard. Listen, I’m not too far away. You need me to come over or anything, just ask.”

“That’s good of you, Ray, but I think we’re cool right now.” Another pause. “How you feeling, by the way? Heard you were there.”

“I’m good, Robby.” No use going on about how I was feeling. This guy’s brother was just murdered. “Just a lingering headache.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Hey, there is something you can do.”

“Name it.”

“I know you’re still teaching, but are you still moonlighting at that cop bar? The Roll Call?”

“The LineUp. Yeah. Why?”

“My mom,” he said. “She wants to do the church thing tomorrow with just the family and then a private burial right after. She’s seen that cop funeral thing too many times on TV, and she can’t deal with that.”

“I hear ya.”

“But I convinced her we gotta do something for Ricky’s friends after that. The neighborhood guys, and the guys from the job. She doesn’t want anything at the house here ’cause she knows she’s gonna get all overwhelmed and it’d be rude to kinda pull a Houdini on that crowd.”

“So, you thinking to do something at The LineUp tomorrow?”

“I know it’s short notice, but it’s away from the house, Ricky always liked the place, and—”

“I’ll take care of it, Robby.”

There was a five-second delay. “Just like that? Don’tcha gotta call them up and check with the owner or something?”

“Mrs. Mac’s a cop’s widow. She’d probably be offended if we didn’t have the par—something there for Ricky. I’ll make a few phone calls and get it all set up. What time you thinking about?”

He thought about that. “Maybe three o’clock? Cemetery’s over in Queens, and we should be done by two thirty, something like that.”

“I’ll make it happen, Robby.”

“Jesus,” he said. “That’s a real load off, Ray. I mean, you sure? I don’t even know how much something like this’ll cost. I—”

“That’s not your concern now, Robby. Take care of your mom, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Unbelievable, man. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“Tell me tomorrow. Go back to your family. Tell ’em where we’ll all be at three o’clock.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome.” I ended the call, leaned back into the futon, and closed my eyes. “I guess you heard that.”

“I did.” Allison put her hand back on my thigh. “That’s a nice thing you’re going to do, Ray. I can see why Ricky called you when he needed help.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope this turns out better than that.”

“Come on, tough guy.” She stood up and pulled me toward the bedroom. “Let’s get some rest. We both have big days tomorrow.”

“I have to make some phone calls first. Why don’t you get ready, and I’ll see if I can get a phone-tree thing going. I still have a few numbers in my book. And the first one I need to call is Mrs. Mac.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Allison said and then gave me another one of those long kisses before whispering in my ear. “Don’t keep me waiting too long now. I might doze off.”

“That,” I said, “would be a damn shame.”

She gave me a gentle push away. “Start dialing, Raymond.”

*   *   *

About an hour and a half—and six or seven phone calls—later, I brushed my teeth and headed into the bedroom, hoping I wasn’t too tired to take Allison up on her offer. Unfortunately, as I opened the door I could hear that deep breathing I’d come to adore over the past months: Allison was out.

I threw on a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, and slipped under the covers. Allison turned, mumbled something that sounded like, “Pablo likes cheese,” and turned back the other way. I grinned, closed my eyes, and was asleep in very little time.

Chapter 9

“YOU’RE UP EARLY,” ALLISON SAID after she slid open the deck door and gave me a kiss. I’d been sitting outside watching the planes and pigeons fly over for an hour, drinking a cup of coffee, and thinking about Ricky T. The rising sun behind me cast a yellow glow across the Manhattan skyline. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just wanted to get a head start this morning. I promised Mrs. Mac I’d get to The LineUp early to start setting up. Remember Billy Morris?”

She thought about that for a second. “The guy who throws The Q?”

“That’s the one. He’s got his meat guy dropping off a bunch of burgers, dogs, and chicken at ten. I gotta be there to accept delivery.”

“Billy Morris has a meat guy?”

“Among other things. We also have to sweep out the back area and set up a buffet table. The beer guy’s coming early as a favor to Mrs. Mac.”

“Doesn’t she have people for this?”

“The Freddies.” I explained about the twin brothers who have worked for Mrs. Mac for the past five years. What their parents lacked in baby-naming skills they more than made up for in teaching their boys a work ethic. “But they were away for the weekend and won’t get to The LineUp until noon at the earliest. It starts at three.”

She pulled over the other deck chair and sat down next to me. “Not exactly how you planned on spending the last two weeks of summer vacay, huh?”

“No. But it’s gotta be done, and I’ve got nothing but time, ya know?”

“Yeah.” She stood. “Listen, I got time for a shower, some coffee, and maybe a bagel.” She reached up with her foot and slid it up my thigh. “Which one you wanna help me out with?”

“Well,” I said, getting to my feet. “How do you take your coffee?”

She smacked my ass and smiled. “Time to hit the showers, tough guy.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

*   *   *

The car service dropped me off at The LineUp just as the meat truck was pulling up. The side of the truck advertised all the kinds of meat the company purveyed: duck, goat, lamb, turkey, buffalo, and ostrich. Those last two sounded interesting, but the only meats concerning me were burgers, hot dogs, and chicken. The driver and I got everything into the walk-in fridge in less than fifteen minutes. I walked him to his truck, thanked him, and gave him a twenty for his trouble. I signed the receipt and stuck it in my pocket. As he pulled away and I wondered for the first time how all this was going to be paid for, Mrs. Mac came over to me.

“Hey,” I said, giving her a hug. “Where’d you park?”

“Just up the block. The meat arrived?”

“And has been put away.”

“Thank you, Raymond.” She took my hand and looked me in the eyes. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.” I said, knowing she was not going to completely buy that—she had been a cop’s wife for almost forty years. “I still have a headache and I’m not sleeping too well, but I’m good.”

“And you’re sure you’re up to this?”

“Yeah. It beats sitting around the house watching bad TV with the air conditioner blasting.”

We stepped inside the bar, where the air conditioner was just starting to cool the place off. Mrs. Mac locked the door behind us and said, “You could go somewhere. Out of the city.”

“I could,” I agreed. “I’m a bit low on funds at the moment.”

“You could take Allison up to the Catskills for a few days. I know some folks who have a house in Roxbury and won’t be back until Labor Day. You’ll be an hour away from Cooperstown.”

I smiled at this woman who had lost her husband a decade ago to a stress-related heart attack and who could probably sell Eskimo Pies to real Eskimos.

“I’ll give that some thought, Mrs. Mac. Thanks.”

“Or you could go visit your mom for a few days.”

“I thought the idea of getting away was to
reduce
the stress in my life.”

She smacked my upper arm. “Very funny, Raymond. Now would be a great time for you to go out to the Island and see your mother. I’m sure she’s very worried about you.”

I looked the cop’s widow in the eyes. “She called you, didn’t she?”

Mrs. Mac got quiet and cast her eyes somewhere over my shoulder. When her gaze returned, she gave me a slightly embarrassed look. “We spoke last night. She said she’d like you to come out and spend a few days with her. Maybe take a day trip out to Montauk.”

Three hours in the car stuck in traffic with my mother. Not exactly a day at the beach, I thought, and allowed myself a grin at the pun.

“I will call her, Mrs. Mac.”

She looked at the clock above the bar. “Now’s as good a time as—”

A loud beep from outside interrupted her. I looked through the glass door and saw the beer truck pulling up.
Excellent timing.

“I gotta get that,” I said. “Let’s talk more about this later.”

“Later we’ll be busy.”

“Absolutely.” I unlocked the door and stepped outside to help.

*   *   *

A few hours later, the bar started to fill up. The event for Ricky wasn’t supposed to start until three, but here it was, not even two thirty, and I’d already served about twenty people. Most of them were cops I didn’t know, some working out of the nine-oh, some who used to work out of the nine-oh, and a few who knew Ricky T from the academy. Considering it was what it was, nobody had brought along a date. The guy I was talking with, Matty Something, had known Ricky and me from our rookie days.

“A teacher,” he said, taking a sip from his longneck Bud. “Are you putting me on, Ray?”

“Nope. After the accident, I just couldn’t see going back to the force.” I gave him the one-minute version of the past six or seven years of my life, which always ended with the lines, “I’m back in Williamsburg, making your job easier.”

Matty shook his head. “Good for you,” he said, not meaning it. “But with your uncle’s pull, you mean to tell me you—”

“Let’s talk more later,” I said, not meaning it any more than I had to Mrs. Mac. “I gotta hustle up some more beers for the guys and see if the grills are ready.”

I spent the next ten minutes opening beers, working the taps, and putting together a few mixed drinks. I really did need to check on those grills, but I couldn’t leave the bar unmanned. As if reading my mind, Mikey—the only full-time bartender at The LineUp—walked through the front door.

“What the hell, Ray?” he said, stepping behind the bar. “Mrs. Mac told me three o’clock. I thought I’d get here early and set up…” He looked around at the growing crowd. “… But Christ on a motorcycle.”

“Most of these guys had the day off. They didn’t feel like waiting around. Some went to the church to pay their respects, but most just came right here.”

“Beat the traffic on the LIE and the tunnels,” he said, referring to the fact that a good number of the NYPD live out on Long Island or in Jersey.

“Let me check the back and get a start on the food.”

He slapped me on the back. “G’head, man. I got it back here.”

On my way to the outside area, I got stopped and spun around by someone grabbing my belt. I felt a bit dizzy and was all ready to get pissed off when I saw it was Billy Morris. One can never get pissed off at Billy Morris. Just ask him.

He pulled me into a hug. “Thanks for doing this, Ray. I feel like I’m usually the social director for these fucks.”

Billy was referring to his annual barbecue, which he threw at his house out in the Sheepshead Bay neighborhood on the other side of Brooklyn. A few years back, he had The Q here at The LineUp because his house was being worked on. That was the first time we’d seen each other since my accident, and then he ended up playing a major part in getting my student Frankie Rivas home.

“You can thank Mrs. Mac for that, Billy.” We broke the hug. “As soon as she heard what it was for, she was all in.”

“That’s her, Ray. How you doing, by the way? I heard you was—”

“Good,” I said for what must have been the hundredth time since the shooting. “Let me check the back and we’ll have a beer, okay?”

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “You better believe we’ll have a beer, son. Quite possibly many.”