The Green Line (17 page)

BACK
at the office, Abby got some coffee and began sorting through her stacks of work. There was a knock at the door, and before she even looked up, Peter and Neil came in and sat in the chairs in front of her.

“Hi guys. What’s up?”

Peter started. “Abby, you look engrossed. Can you spare a minute?”

She sat back and dropped her pen. “Of course I have a minute. What can I do for you?”

“Well, Neil and I were just going over the ADP case and I think our response to the defendant’s motion to dismiss looks pretty good. Neil said you helped out with this.”

“Yes.” I only wrote the whole damn thing.

“I thought it would be best to have you take a look at some of the changes I’ve suggested. I want more case support. We figured that since you probably still had the research, you could find support faster than Neil. And he’s pretty swamped right now.”

Neil sat there, smiling at his seamless ability to pass off more of the grunt work. There was no way he was busier than she was.

“Sure. I’ve still got the research. When do you need it?”

“Monday.”

“Okay, then,” she responded casually. “I better get going.” It was a test. She could feel it. Peter wanted to see if her screw-up had been a fluke.

Peter rose. “Great. Just get it back to Neil by nine o’clock Monday so we can all discuss and tweak.”

This all felt so déjà vu. She couldn’t bear it. “Oh Peter, wait. I just took on a new case. I have to be in court Monday morning. So I’ll leave the research on Neil’s desk by the end of the day, Saturday.” She looked at Neil. His satisfied grin was wiped clean. Good timing, Nate.

Peter didn’t seem to care. “Okay.” And then he turned to Neil. “You just be sure to get in here on Sunday so you can take over if there’s any more that Abby needs you to do.” Abby tried to hide her smile.

After they left, she sat, with head in hands, reading through the changes Peter had made to the brief. The cases she had researched would not support what he was now asserting. These were arguments, not law. She was starting from scratch and Neil knew it.

At five thirty, Abby went to the kitchen for some dinner. It was bound to be another long night and she thought one of those giant chocolate chip cookies the caterers brought on Fridays might help pep her up. Neil was in line, putting one of the turkey wraps on his plate.

“Hey, thanks for the help today, babe.”

“No problem.” Asshole.

“I like having you under me,” he added with a smile.

“I think I did a favor for Peter today, Neil.”

“I don’t know. I really felt like you were doing a job for me.” It was his typical banter, the baiting, the dog-like circling, trying to get her to play.

She smiled, took a dinner roll, some salad, and a giant cookie, and sat.

He joined her. “What’s up, baby? You look blue.”

“I’ve just got a lot going on.”

“Maybe we should go grab a drink at Miller’s after work. Unwind a little.” She felt a come-on approaching and gave him that knowing look.

“Seriously, you look like you could use a drink.” He was playing it straight. She’d rarely seen him shtick-free like this in the last six years.

“Thanks, Neil, but I’ve got a lot more to do tonight. I don’t think so.”

More associates joined their table, and Abby ate in silence as the others gossiped and relished the break. She missed Sarah.

At seven thirty, she stacked her research to bring home.

AS
soon as Abby opened the giant courtyard gate, Mrs. Tanor was outside to greet her. She must have been watching by the window for her arrival.

“Hi Mrs. Tanor, what’s up?”

“Abby, that boy was back again.”

“Who?”

“That young man.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I didn’t know what to do. He kept buzzing your door, over and over. You obviously weren’t home. He started yelling,
Hey Abby! Abby, you gonna let me in?
I was going to call the police, but by the time I got to the telephone, he had left.”

Abby didn’t know any young boys. Certainly no one of Mrs. Tanor’s description came to mind.

“Mrs. Tanor, I’m so sorry this is happening. I have no idea what this is about. I just can’t imagine who that could be.”

“Well, I don’t feel safe. He looks like a criminal.”

Abby felt she was being blamed.

“All I can say is, if you see him again, call the police.”

“I will. Goodnight.” Her door shut and Abby heard the chain lock engage.

“What did I do?” Abby wondered aloud, feeling Mrs. Tanor’s anger.

· · ·

MARCUS
gave himself the once-over. He had on his gold medallion, his oversized jeans, and untied boots. It was freezing and he didn’t relish hanging out on the snowy streets, but he knew that’s where he’d find the boys. He pulled on the black knit cap, did a little swagger, gave himself a tough-guy “wazz-up?” into the mirror by the door, and headed out into the night.

It didn’t take long to find the action. There were only a few regular spots and he’d already passed two of them without seeing much. He got to JJ’s, the liquor store on the corner of Cicero and Division, and found Darnel and some of the other neighborhood boys hanging out in front.

“Hey Marcus!” Darnel was always the first to greet. Marcus had done well in choosing Darnel as a point man. He had spent an entire summer day on Darnel’s front stoop, filling his head with fictitious stories of New York gang life and time in prison. It had earned him respect and an instant reputation as a crony and one that could be trusted. And his real life, his real story, though he hadn’t told much, had actually allowed him to get away with not saying too much more. The whole world was traumatized by 9/11, and if Marcus had been there and didn’t want to talk about it, and left New York because of it, that was fine by Darnel. Marcus was an elder at thirty-three, worthy of respect, and Darnel had introduced him around the neighborhood like a long-lost relative.

There were fist bumps all around and half hugs with Darnel and Fat D.

“What’s going on?” He wasn’t sure how he was going to get into it yet.

“Same shit, different day, Marcus.”

“Fuckin’ cold, ain’t it? I still ain’t use to this wind.”

“Couldn’t have been much different in New York though, right?” Darnel asked.

“No. It was cold. But it seemed like we had more places to be inside on nights like this. There was this one bar—owner was cool. We just brought in our own shit and hung out. He didn’t care.”

“Like Reggie’s,” Fat D said. Several of the boys nodded in agreement.

Perfect. “Yeah, let’s go there. I haven’t been there in weeks.”

Darnel was quick to stop him. “Didn’t you hear? They shut it down.”

“What the fuck? Just because of that dead bitch?”

Darnel answered. “You know how it works; they just take the buildings when they find drugs. There was a load in there that night.”

Marcus continued, faking ignorance. “I had only been there a couple of times. I never saw anything going on.”

A big guy with a small black diamond tattoo on the side of his neck chimed in. “That’s cuz there wasn’t. It’s bullshit.” Marcus didn’t recognize him, but the design told him he was one of the Four Corner Hustlers.

He had them talking now. “What do you mean?”

The big guy continued: “Freddy had a deal with Leon, the bartender. He’d keep that shit out of the place and Leon would be cool about everything else.”

Marcus didn’t know Freddy, but he got the gist.

He played it through. “So what happened with Leon? Did he get busted?”

Darnel answered. “He did. And the fucker wasn’t even there!” Everyone laughed.

Another kid wondered aloud, “How was he not there? It was open. He’s the only employee.”

Darnel had the scoop. “He says he was sent on a wild goose chase.”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked.

“Some cop came in that night. Leon said he sent him out for olives or some bullshit.”

“Olives?” All the boys were laughing.

Darnel continued. “I’m serious. Some cop came in, told him to go get him some shit, and Leon left. He went about four blocks up the road, got pulled over for jaywalking, was harassed for like twenty minutes, and then let go. When he got back, the place was surrounded and he was arrested.”

Fat D had the same thought as Marcus. “Why’d he leave his bar with that cop inside?”

“Cause the fucker was a repeat customer. Leon said it was the same fucker who came in a few weeks back.”

The gossip was passing the time well and Marcus and the others were huddled in a circle, keeping out the chill.

“How’d you hear all this?” Marcus asked Darnel.

“Leon’s out on bond. Stayin’ at Rickie’s. Awaiting grand jury hearing. I smoked a J with him yesterday.”

Marcus wanted to talk to Leon.

“Yeah, he’s screwed. Arrested twice in the last six weeks for drug trafficking. He’s got no chance.”

“Twice?” Maybe Leon was a dealer and these arrests were legitimate.

Fat D broke in. “Yeah, my brother was with him the first time. Fuckin’ psycho cops came into Reggie’s. No uniforms, but all wearing their bullet proof vests. Except one of them. Anyway, they threw shit, broke some chairs, beer bottles, tossed the picture of Malcolm X across the room. Put guns to their heads. Had ’em on the floor as they wailed about wanting to find the drugs.”

“Did they?”

“One of them went in the back and came back with a big bag ’a shit in one hand. They arrested Leon for dealing.”

Another kid broke in: “I known Leon for a long time. That guy smokes weed every day, but he would never deal.”

Another one added, “He couldn’t handle the math.”

Everyone laughed. The jokes continued at Leon’s expense and Marcus processed the information. He wanted to look up the arrest record as soon as possible. He wanted to know who those cops were.

Marcus needed a bit more. “Well, I hope I don’t run into those cops anytime soon. What’d they look like?”

“My brother said they was Nazi-like muthefuckas. White, crew cuts, light hair. ’Cept one. He had kind of wavy, blond hair.”

It clicked right away. Marcus turned to Fat D and Darnel. “Hey, ’member the other week we was hangin’ out at Carter’s and that white cop came in and you said he was bad shit. He had wavy hair. Was it him?”

No one could answer. It was all second-hand information and no one had been with Leon either night.

Several of the boys were finishing their cigarettes. The big one said they were heading to Suga’ Ray’s on North for some food. Darnel and Fat D agreed to go. Marcus said he needed some beer, said good-bye, and headed home.

SIXTEEN

ABBY
spent Saturday and Sunday at the firm. She finished Neil’s draft Saturday night, but spent most of Sunday sorting through the Dalcon Laboratories documents. By four o’clock, it was getting dark and she headed home.

The snow had melted off the sidewalks, leaving just the giant mounds pushed to the curb by the snow plows. Abby stopped at the mini-mart on the corner for some much-needed groceries and as she rounded the corner at Texas Star Fajita Bar, she noticed a kid outside her front gate. He looked a lot like the kid Mrs. Tanor had described. There were no young twenty-somethings who lived in the building.

“Hey!” Abby shuffled toward the gate, juggling her groceries and briefcase.

The boy looked in Abby’s direction and ran the other way.

“Wait! Who are you? What do you want!” She was yelling and running as fast as she could, but the boy was faster. In no time, he was long gone.

Abby stopped at her gate, just in time to catch the milk, now busting out of the bottom of her grocery bag.

Abby rang Mrs. Tanor’s, wondering if she’d seen him and called police, but no one answered. She fumbled with her keys, lost the delicate balance of bags, and watched as the eggs splat onto the concrete.

“Goddammit.” This was not her day. In fact, she thought, 2004 was not feeling like her year.

ON
Monday morning, Abby stood in the security line at the Dirksen Federal Building, emptying out her pockets in anticipation of the metal detector.

“Ms. Donovan?”

Abby turned to the voice behind her.

“Yes?” Abby did not recognize the short, graying man in the blue suit who now stood smiling behind her.

He offered his hand. “Hello. I’m Ted Gottlieb. You sent me that forfeiture matter a few weeks back.”

“Oh sure. Hello.” Abby extended her hand to shake. “But how did you know who I was?”

“I just caught a glimpse of the ID tag on your briefcase.”

“Right,” Abby said with a smile and turned back to move forward in line.

Gottlieb continued. “Ms. Donovan, I’m glad that I ran into you.”