One Shot Away (20 page)

Nick punches him. “You got a girlfriend?”

“Remember Jane?”

“The Stain?”

“No one calls her that anymore,” says Diggy. “She's pretty awesome.”

Nick looks at him like he's gone psycho.

“What?” asks Diggy.

“I'm just surprised. I didn't think you'd ever say that.”

“I know.” Diggy feels his heart drop.

“You were always so worried about your precious reputation.”

Diggy nods. “I surprised myself.” He looks out the window at the pool house. “You were there that night at wrestling camp, when she was doing funnels; why didn't you do something to help her?”

“She was drunk, what was I supposed to do.”

“She was, like, fifteen.”

“Like I said, people talk. She got drunk and threw up. The rest of it, I never listened to it.”

He believes his brother and wonders why he ever doubted Jane in the first place.

Diggy's eyes return to the pool house. He's had the puppy too long. Maybe Nick could help him. “I'll be right back.” Diggy opens the bedroom door. “Stay here, don't move.” He sprints down the stairs, through the house, and out the back door. He runs across the deck and around the pool.

Minutes later, Diggy places the puppy down on the bedroom floor. The puppy sniffs a trail that takes him to Nick. “You got a dog? Does Mom know?”

“No one knows,” says Diggy.

The puppy gives Nick a sloppy lick on his cheek. “Yuk.” The puppy licks him again. He laughs.

“Gino and I drove to that motel where Trevor Crow lives. I saw the dog chained up outside.”

“Wait! Slow down!”

“I'm giving him back.”

Nick squints at him. “This is Crow's dog?”

“I know,” says Diggy. “Listen, Crow bragged about him every day at lunch like he's some kind of great dog, and then I see him tied in the cold.”

Nick stares at him. “Gino knows?” Nick pushes the dog away. “Who else knows?”

“No one else.” The dog leans his head into Diggy's hand. He caresses his muzzle. “Every time Randy drove me past that motel, the dog was always tied in the parking lot.” It's an exaggeration, but Diggy did see him once.

“Crow humiliated you by taking your weight class, so you stole his dog. You know how coldhearted that is?”

“I told you, I'm giving him back. I just need a plan.” Diggy rubs the puppy's velvet ears. “Help me. All we've got to do is go to the supermarket and tie him in the lot. When the place closes, someone will see him.”

“You know who you sound like, right? You ever hear Randy try to sell one of his gas guzzlers?” Nick stands and shakes his head. “Jesus, Diggy. Who the hell are you? This is like”—he shakes his head—“unjustifiable. I saw the flyers at the school. Did you get slammed on the head, or something? You're always blaming Randy for everything, now who are you going to blame?”

“We were drinking vodka.”

“We?” Nick searches Diggy's face.

“I told you, me and Gino. Stop worrying. I'll tie him up tonight and then it's over. I'm not going to get caught.”

Whizzer jumps up on the bed and barks. Diggy and Nick look at him.

“No, I'm not helping you give the dog back. I don't want any part of it. What I should do is kick your fat ass.”

R
OXANNE MEETS HIM ON THE GYM STEPS.
S
HE'S WEARING HIS
baggy varsity jacket, a tan skinlike spandex shirt, and faded jeans that have the knees blown out. She hugs him around the waist and puts her head on his shoulder as if nothing between them has changed. “I'm sorry about yesterday,” she says, whispering in his ear. “My father can be an asshole. He's always talking about doing the best for me, making sure I stay on the straight path, but he never asks me what I'm thinking, or what I'm feeling.”

“Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault.”

She puts her hands in his front pockets and leans into him. Her breath smells like peppermint.

“Did you tell anyone about what happened?” he asks.

“No.”

“Don't, please.”

“Jimmy”—she touches her lips to his—“what's really going on with the police? Are you in trouble?”

“I could be.”

“Can you tell me?”

“Your father probably already went to the police station,” he says. “You should ask him.”

“I don't care what he thinks. I want you to tell me.”

“Roxanne, I can't.”

They sit on the steps. The sun is melting what's left of the snow. He shows her a brochure from East Stroudsburg University. The pages are filled with smiling college students, so perfect they could be Barbie dolls. “Stroudsburg has a good wrestling program,” he says. “I'm going to need a scholarship.” He thinks about his record. One loss, no wins.

She holds his hands in hers. “I saw your mother at Foodtown. I was on her checkout line and I didn't know it was her until I was halfway through.”

“She's being considered for a management position,” lies Jimmy. “She probably was just filling in at the register.”

“She's so sweet. She invited me over again.”

“I'd like that.” From the corner of his eye, Jimmy spies a black four-door Ford coming diagonally across the parking lot toward them. His heart speeds up, until he can feel it pounding in his chest. The car halts with its front tire hugging the curb. Fear races up Jimmy's legs and crawls across his back. Please, no trouble at school. Not here. Through the windshield, Jimmy recognizes the detectives. The passenger door swings open. Detective Barnes steps out. “Jim, you got a moment?”

Not here. God, make them leave me alone
.

“Two plus two, it don't equal four. I'm all confused.” Detective Barnes runs his hand over his shaved head. He crosses the sidewalk and puts one foot on a step. He looks massive. Roxanne's cheeks flush red. She watches Barnes, then looks at Jimmy with dread in her eyes that he's never seen before.

“Do you think we could borrow him for an hour?” Detective Barnes smiles. “Unless you want to go with us?”

“Why are you doing this to him?” she blurts. “I mean, this is school.” Roxanne's fingertips are shaking in his hand.

Jimmy knows she could make things worse. He doesn't want to piss them off.

“We've had a few developments in the case,” says Barnes. “You do want us to solve our case?”

“You should be talking to Mr. O'Shea,” she says.

“Oh, we will,” says Barnes without flinching. “Just a matter of time.”

“Come on, Jim, let's go,” Barnes's tone is heavy. “You don't want us out here every day.”

Jimmy's stomach turns to rock.

Detective Barnes puts his hands in his pants pockets. He smiles.

Roxanne pulls Jimmy's arm gently toward the gym.

Detective Santos opens the driver's door and pops his head above the car's roof line. He removes his sunglasses. His tan face is calm. “Jim, this is routine. We developed a lead and you might be able to clarify a few things for us.”

Jimmy glances toward the gym doors, just a few feet away. He imagines them slamming behind him. Would the detectives come after him?

“Then this is about you, isn't it?” whispers Roxanne.

He backs away from her. “I'll call you later.” She frowns. He feels guilty for leaving her, but he keeps moving down the steps toward the detectives.

“Jimmy—” Her words are cut short with the slam of the car door.

J
IMMY FOLLOWS
D
ETECTIVE
S
ANTOS INTO A MESSY SQUAD
room, just like on TV. Ancient suitcase-sized Computer monitors crowd desks covered with coffee cups, family photos, and papers.

“That the wrestler?” asks a woman with a stiff, whirling hairdo, like the top of a dipped ice-cream cone.

“Hulk Hogan himself,” says Barnes.

Santos opens a door into a room just big enough for the table and two chairs inside. White acoustic panels on the walls are ripped off in places, exposing unpainted cement blocks.

“Sit down, relax.” Santos pulls out a battered wooden chair. “You want something, a Coke, water?”

“No, I'm fine.”

Jimmy scrolls through his messages:

Trevor:
wru? ru ok?

Bones:
Greco is pissed, yo. WTF?????

Roxanne:
call me

Diggy:
ru in jail???

He shoots a text to Trevor:
Tell coach b there iaf

Detective Santos balances on the edge of the other chair, leaning forward. “I read about your match in the paper last week. Sounded tough.”

Jimmy shrugs, eyes on the tabletop.

“Don't worry, I've seen you wrestle. You've got good instincts. Everybody loses sometimes.”

Jimmy keeps his eyes down. He's not going to talk unless he has to.

“You're the team captain, right? How's that feel?”

“Fine.”

“That's all you can say about it?”

“Yeah.”

“How's your dad feel about it?”

“He likes it,” answers Jimmy.

“Does he brag about you?”

“I suppose, sometimes.”

“If I had a son like you, I'd never stop talking about you. I'd never put you in a compromising situation.” Santos smiles. “You close to your dad?”

“I guess.”

“He ever smack you, you know, when you get out of line?”

“No.”

“Never?” Santos smiles again.

“No, he's not like that.”

“My old man, he had hands like two-by-fours. He smacked me if I didn't dry the dishes.”

Jimmy digs his fingertips into the grooves in the table. He's not going to rat on Pops. No way. He wonders if he could end this by telling Santos he has an attorney. But wouldn't it be better if the detectives think he's cooperating?

“Our investigation, it's developing. We have a suspect.”

Jimmy takes a breath and holds it.

“A night watchman.”

Jimmy feels his heart again. He concentrates on keeping his breathing regular. His phone vibrates.

“You have to get that?” asks Santos.

“I'm supposed to be at practice.”

“I thought you might be doing something with your girl today?”

“I can't even think. You guys just about kidnapped me.”

“I appreciate you coming with us.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I wish it hadn't been in front of Roxanne. Her father finds out I'm in trouble, I never see her again.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“No.” Jimmy sits up. He's got to be more careful.

“That night you and your dad were stopped with that load of lumber, did you meet a night watchman?”

“No.”

“You didn't? That's not what your face is telling me. When you're nervous, your mouth twitches,” says Santos. “I'm a poker player. I study faces. It's called a tell.”

Jimmy touches his mouth. “I told you I was sleeping.”

“I forgot, you were sleeping. Are you a heavy sleeper?”

“Look, I already told you what happened.”

“We didn't ask you about a night watchman. We only put things together yesterday. See, someone beat him real good.”

“Are you saying my father beat him up?”

“No, I'm asking you to tell me what happened that night. The truth.” Santos leans back in the chair and crosses his leg over his knee. His brown shoes have a high shine. “I'm giving you a chance to get this off your chest, once and for all.”

Jimmy shakes his head.

“Do you know what cutting a deal means? The first person to come in and help us, he gets something like a Get Out of Jail Free card. Immunity from prosecution. We don't do this for everyone. I know this would be hard, especially because your father is involved, but he wouldn't have to know, not right away. This is your chance, Jim.”

Jimmy can barely speak. “Why don't you ask the night watchman who beat him up?”

“We did.” Santos leans across the table. “Jim, my friend, this is bigger than that single load of lumber. People are going to go to prison. They are going to do time, hard time. Do you know what hard time is? That's time that you can't do, time that you can't afford.”

“You expect me to turn in my own father?”