When One Man Dies (24 page)

But I had the itch; I had the promise to fulfill. Where to start? Martin seemed to have pinned his hopes on me. He didn’t have anything, which meant I had less. Martin thought it had to do with drugs, and I was inclined to believe the same. But what did Martin know that I didn’t? What could Martin have done that I hadn’t? And what could I do that he wouldn’t?

Walking down Easton Ave., back toward my apartment, I began to check off the investigation tactics Martin and I practiced years ago.

I tried to figure out which ones he would have done first, and what he was left with now. It was tough. The narcotics division acted differently from homicide. But best I could figure it’d be witnesses, evidence, interrogating suspects, and informants.

Informants.

Jesus.

I realized that Jesus Sanchez had yet to call me back to set up a meeting with Burgess. That didn’t mean that Jesus hadn’t attempted to get a meeting. I felt a pang of panic. Jesus could be lying in a gutter on Church Street, dead. But it didn’t make much sense. Why would Burgess take out Jesus?

I kept going on Easton Ave., past the turnoff to my apartment, and turned right on George Street. I vaguely remembered Martin telling me once Jesus worked on George or one of the side streets off it. It was his beat, so to speak. But not just off
Easton, that was the area Johnson & Johnson along with Rutgers had earmarked to remake.

Between Easton Ave. and the theater district, as I walked, I noticed the cobblestone sidewalks and roads, extending out from the college like strains of a virus. As I reached the theater district, however, the tenor of the city began to change. A fountain had been knocked down, and a construction site was fenced off, where a convention center would eventually rest. But past that, there were run-down houses, bodegas, and a supermarket. The paint was chipped on the buildings, the roads littered with trash, and the streets now conventional cracked asphalt. The area the city forgot. But Jesus hadn’t. Neither had the addicts, the homeless, and the poor.

I saw him from a block away, standing on the curb next to a homeless guy. He watched the campus buses pass by, and I wondered if he was trying to make eye contact with some of the students trying to get to the Douglass campus. Some business venture for him, a night of partying for them.

He didn’t see me coming and I got right up next to him before saying, “Jesus, what’s up?”

He jumped briefly, but got control. “Hey, Jackson, what’s goin’ on?” Reached out and slapped me five.

“Not much.”

“What happened to your face?”

“I fell,” I said, smiling.

He grinned, too. “That’s what I tell my bitch to say.”

“You get in touch with Burgess?”

“Yo, I tried. Man, I was talking to everybody puttin’ out the word, but I ain’t never heard from him.” He took a look at two kids walking past. They stared at the ground as they passed by. “Hey, I heard some shit about you, though.”

“Yeah?”

“No more PI stuff?”

“Word travels fast.”

“Man, what you gonna do? I can hook you up.”

“And do what, sell for you?”

“Buy, sell, whatever you want, man. I remember back when you were with Martin, wow, you were into the shit. Now’s the perfect time to come back.”

I tried to smile like it was a joke. “You hear anything about Gerry Figuroa?”

“Who that?”

“Guy got run over outside of Olde Towne about a week ago.” Jesus put a hand on my shoulder. “You ain’t got a license, right?”

“Right.”

“So, why the fuck should I talk to you?”

“Because you came to me first.”

“Fuck no. There ain’t anything in it for me. You still owe me for trying to get in touch with Burgess.”

“Well, that didn’t work out.”

“And now that you’re not on the case, what you give a shit about the old man?”

I didn’t say anything about an old man. Jesus obviously knew something. “He was a friend of mine.”

“Who took your license away? The cops?”

“Yeah.”

“You put two guys out of the game.”

“Two guys that were competitors of yours, I believe.” He laughed. “Hell yeah.” Slapped my hand again. “Help me out.”

“I don’t know shit.”

“You aren’t fucking with me, are you, Jesus?”

“Nah, man. The cops really took your license away?”

“Yeah.”

“No jail?”

“No.”

“Fucking racist, man.” I shrugged.

“Sorry I can’t help you out. But it’s time for you to retire anyway. Maybe move to Florida.”

“I’ll think about it.”

I turned away. He knew something. I knew he did. But why not tell me? Probably because he was Martin’s boy, not mine. He’d come to me. Most likely because Martin sent him.

I walked back toward Easton Ave. Next to me, buses rumbled as the sun began to set.

***

Tracy’s cell phone rang a few times, and then her voice mail picked up. I left a message to call me, but figured she recognized my number and was screening. It wasn’t likely she’d call back.

I wanted her to know I was back on the case. I wanted her to know I was going to fulfill my promise. Turned right onto Church Street and walked under the parking deck. Across the street a couple held hands, whispering in each other’s ears. They were probably heading to one of the newer restaurants for a romantic evening. It had been a while since I’d taken someone out for more than a drink.

I turned on Albany and made my way toward the Hyatt. Maybe Tracy was in her room. She needed to know.

The Hyatt was a tall white building with a parking deck, green grass, and a fountain. Out front of the lobby, someone was unloading their luggage. I went straight to the elevator, remembering Tracy’s room number.

Two minutes later I knocked on her door. She must not have looked through the peephole, because she swung the door open quickly. When she saw me, she tried to shut it again, but I put my arm on the wood to hold it open.

“Wait,” I said.

“You’re not going to help. Go away.”

“We need to talk.”

“I said all I have to. You walked away from me.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Just go away.”

“I have to talk to you, about Gerry.”

“Why? You’re not working anymore.”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

The air immediately warmed between us. Her shoulders relaxed, and the bags under her eyes seemed to fade just a bit.

“Come in,” she said.

Stepping through the door, she wrapped her arms around me, pressing her lips to mine. She kissed me and kicked the door closed.

We didn’t talk for a while after that.

***

I’m not sure how much time passed, but we lay together in bed, Tracy’s back to me. Running a finger gently down her spine, I breathed slowly. For the first time in weeks I felt relaxed, away from it all. Tracy snored softly. I listened, and didn’t want the moment to end.

Tracy’s snoring stopped, and for a while I didn’t hear anything. Then she said, “Jackson?”

“Yes?” I whispered.

“Thank you for helping me.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You will. I know it.”

“Well then, Ms. Psychic, you’re welcome.”

She rolled over to face me and we smiled. She punched me playfully in the arm. Then she kissed me gently.

“What are you going to do first?” Tracy asked.

“I want to establish whether or not Gerry was into drugs.”

“How are you going to do that?”

I rolled onto my back, letting my head rest on the pillow. The wallpaper on the ceiling was light beige, a soothing color that made me want to nod off right there. I closed my eyes and let air out through my nose. It was okay to do this now, I thought. Jeanne had been gone long enough.

Despite what Martin had said. Maybe Leonard Baker was right. Maybe it was time to let go. Move on. Tracy felt right.

“I need to know about Gerry’s past.”

“What don’t you know?”

“I know he was in Korea. I know he was an actor. I know he had a son who died of leukemia. And I know he had a wife who disappeared.”

“Okay,” she said. I felt her hand against my chest. “I want to find his wife.”

For a moment there was silence; the hand slowly moved off my chest. I opened my eyes and rolled on my side. Tracy was propped up on her right arm, looking at me, her left hand covering her mouth.

“I don’t know where she is,” Tracy said.

I leaned in and moved her hand away. Kissed her lightly. “I didn’t say you did. But I want to find her and talk to her.”

“Why?”

“Because she knows things about Gerry. There had to be a reason she ran from him, and I want to know what it was.”

“She didn’t run. She disappeared.”

“No one just disappears. It’s against the laws of physics.” I smiled, but it didn’t click with her.

“Don’t look for her.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too late for that.”

“You want me to find out what happened to Gerry.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to dig up everything.”

I brushed a strand of her hair over her ear. “There’s only one way to get answers,” I said. “And that’s to turn over every rock until I find something. I haven’t found anything else.”

Tracy kissed my cheek. “There’s something I need to know. The other case, the one that was taking all your time away from Gerry. Was it important?”

“You’re asking if I was just doing nothing instead of looking for Gerry.”

She nodded. I told her about the case. Her eyes went cold when I said Rex Hanover’s name.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I knew Rex Hanover. Do you remember when we walked along the boardwalk?”

“Yes.”

“I told you I used to date a guy named Pablo. That he was the man you took me away from. His name was Pablo Najera.”

I remembered.

“I introduced Pablo to Jen. Just before they met, Pablo decided to change his name to Rex. Something about the police.”

I let that sink in. Tracy shifted closer to me.

“I’m involved and I don’t want to be. I think Gerry got into drugs when he met Pablo. We didn’t see each other much, but Gerry was in the tavern all the time. He got to talking to Pablo one night.”

“Pablo was a drug dealer?”

She shook her head. “He works for one.”

“Michael Burgess.”

“I couldn’t tell you. I needed to get away from this. Drugs have been a part of my life forever. My boyfriend—”

I didn’t want to hear more. I kissed her to keep her from talking. Bill Martin trying to link Gerry’s investigation to what happened in the bodega yesterday itched at my bones. Everything was connected.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” Tracy said, finally. “I’m going to look, whether you want me to or not.”

She touched one of my bruises gently, but I still felt a shock of pain.

“I know,” she said.

I closed my eyes and let her kiss me.

Chapter 43

It was late when Michael Burgess called.

Martin was sleeping and he had to fumble for the handset. “We need to talk. Boyd Park, half an hour.”

***

Boyd Park housed the Rutgers crew team dock along the Raritan River. A small red house, the team kept it up pretty well. Even in the dark, it seemed to stand out against the black water backdrop. No paint chipping, very little litter, only the gentle slap of water against the dock. And the sound of traffic from Route 18.

Bill Martin visited the park many times before the demotion. He’d been here once to talk to a hit man, broken up drug dealings and taken the evidence himself, and once to pick up a stoned Donne and get him home to Jeanne.

Now he waited for Michael Burgess. He had enough time to light a cigarette. Burgess and the huge man came from the shadows only a few minutes after Martin got there.

“Not used to seeing you in open air,” Martin said.

“We’ve taken care of Mr. Donne,” Burgess said. “Apparently you tried to as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we saw him, he wasn’t steady on his feet. Shaken up, I suppose. Plus he said he didn’t have a license anymore. That there wasn’t a need for us to put a scare into him.”

“But you did anyway.”

Burgess pointed to the burly man behind him. “My associate had a point to make.”

The big man smiled at Martin. Cracked his knuckles.

“Anyway,” Burgess continued, “the store has been compromised for the moment. That doesn’t mean we want you to stop what you’ve been trying to do. Get the cops off our street. Let us run our business.”

Martin nodded.

“At the same time, I’ve some business to take care of. A strategy that I’ve been working on to increase my own profits. I’d like to ask that you stay away from us for a while.”