He slams the door in my face. Should’ve said hello first. Didn’t hear the dead bolt, so I turn the knob and it opens.
When I enter, Al’s dragging his feet, walking toward the sofa, plops himself down over the crumpled blanket and drops his head on a queen-size pillow. A half-empty bottle of Jameson is on the end table, along with an empty tumbler.
I sit in the armchair to the side of the sofa where his feet rest, his left leg now over the cushion and dangling above the floor.
“Fuck, man” is all I can think to say.
I can honestly say I’ve been there. Not fun. Not something I want to say to him. He doesn’t need to hear how bad it feels. He already knows.
“I talked to Freudiger.”
His eyes roll toward me. “How fucked am I?”
What do I tell him?
“The investigation’s going to take time, so you’ll be on admin leave for a while.”
“When they taking it to grand jury?”
“Couldn’t say. At least you’re on leave with pay, right?”
“Honestly, Frank, you think you’re going to find a gun that’ll have that kid’s prints on it, or maybe get one of his boys to admit he took the gun? All it boils down to in the end is my word, so I’m fucked.”
I wanna yell at him to get his ass up, ’cause I know he isn’t like me and his body and mind can take only so much of the self-medication and suffering. That won’t do any good. I know him well enough that he’ll only tell me to fuck off. I have to just pray that his heart is strong and he can take this self-abuse and pull himself out of it sooner rather than later.
“I’m gonna call Tamie today, see about meeting up with her.”
That gets him to a sitting position.
“What good is that going to do?” he asks me with more than a bit of hostility. “I told you she’s not a witness to shit.”
“What are you worried about, Al? I know her as well as you do—” Well, maybe not as well… “Unless you’re still fucking her—”
“Shut the hell up with that!”
“Unless your relationship with her has anything to do with the shooting, why be so bothered that I need to talk to her?”
“There isn’t anything more there. I just want to keep IA away from her.”
“They’re going to subpoena her.”
“They have to find her to do that.”
“Damn, Al, all they have to do is get the file you keep on her at NSID.”
“They have to find that, too.”
“Aww fuck, man, what did you do? You have that file hidden in your house somewhere?”
“Give me a break, Frankie. It’s an old file. They get misplaced.”
“That’s gonna be hard to explain, especially since you recently had a meet with her and paid her for it. Had to document that for the file.”
“Paid her out of my own pocket.”
“Off the books? I’m your friend, Al. You’re my best friend. Tell me what’s going on.”
He pours himself a half glass of whiskey, downs almost the whole thing. Coughs, probably because he’s not used to the cheap shit.
“Damn, that burns.”
“You get used to it. Talk to me.”
“There was a gun in that kid’s hand. Tamie has nothing to do with the shooting. She isn’t a witness. Yes, we’re fucking around, and I don’t want that getting out. Plain and simple.”
“Where’s her CI file?”
Hesitates.
“Buried under some old tools in my shed.”
“How did you manage to get it after you got into the shooting?”
“Said I had some personal stuff to clear out of my locker. I did. The file was one of them.”
“You kept the file in your locker.”
“I was updating it. Didn’t have a chance to turn it back in to the LT before he left, and I don’t have the combo to the filing cabinet where they keep them.”
“I’m taking it. For safekeeping.”
“Fuck no.”
“If they don’t find it at the branch, they’ll come looking here. I’m taking it. You tell them that when you couldn’t get the file back to the LT, you slipped it in your desk drawer. That’s the last place you saw it. Understood, bro?”
“Yeah.”
“I can understand that you want to keep her identity safe, and I don’t wanna hear shit about anything other than that.”
He nods, knowing I’m referring to their fucked-up relationship. He is going to have to eventually give up the file and her name. It’ll look bad otherwise, like he’s hiding something, which he is, but it’s not related to the shooting.
“You need me to get some food for you? Anything at the store?”
“I’m almost out of booze. And don’t preach to me.”
“Preach? Who the fuck you think I am?” I smile. “What else do you need?”
“I got leftover takeout. I’m good. Thanks.”
“I’ll stop back later this afternoon.”
He nods.
Looks so pitiful.
Fifteen
On my second attempt to call Tamie, she answers. We agree to meet, but not at the usual spot.
“Eleventh and Kenyon, across the street from Wonderland, around the middle of the block where the murals are. I’ll pick you up.”
“See you there, hon,” she says.
There was a time when I would not have even thought about meeting at that spot. But it’s a trendy location now, and no one there to worry about. The elementary school takes up the long block.
When I pull out from near Al’s, I notice through my side-view mirror another vehicle pulling out a couple seconds after. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about it, except that it’s a four-door black SUV, the kind cops and reporters drive, so it piques my interest. I take a right at the next block, heading west. When I’m about half a block over, I notice the SUV making the right and staying just far enough behind that it’s not suspicious. I can’t tell how many times it’s occupied. I do notice a waft of smoke push through the driver’s window.
Cigar or weed? Maybe simply cigarette smoke made thicker when it hits the cold air.
It’s still with me after a couple of blocks, so I decide to take the next right, head north, and go around the block. If the car is stupid enough to follow me all the way around the block, then I’d say I have a tail and more than likely not a cop or a fed. They’ll usually have another vehicle pick me up if it looks like I made them, or if they’re alone, they’ll break away and hope they’re lucky enough to catch up to me again.
I make the turn to go around the block and hit the same street I was on. Sure enough, the SUV stays with me, still about half a block behind. I stay the course. Instead of making a right to head north on 11th, toward Kenyon, I stop at the intersection. The driver is so fucking obvious, though, because the vehicle slows down, trying to let me take the turn so it doesn’t have to pull up right behind me. That’s my intention, and since it’s a one-way street, the driver has to make a choice—try to find a parking spot, hit the narrow alley a little farther ahead, or pull up behind me.
The dope stops, still waiting for me to turn. But another vehicle comes up behind it, eventually honks because the street is too narrow to pass, so the SUV pulls up and takes the south entrance into the alley. When I don’t see it, I make a right to head north, but I’m still not comfortable enough to head Tamie’s way so I continue north to Lamont Street, where I make a left. I find a parking spot toward the corner. A couple of cars pass me by, but not the SUV. The vehicles that pass either continue across Sherman or make the turn to go north or south on Sherman. I watch them until they disappear. SUV was probably just some reporter, but they usually don’t care that you know they’re following. So who the fuck knows. With any luck, I’ll see the car again.
I’m thinking I should give Al a call, let him know, but I don’t want to worry him—or worse, get him riled up so he does something stupid, like sit on the front porch to see if the SUV re
turns. If it ever does return.
When I feel it’s safe, I make a U-turn at Sherman to head back on Lamont toward 11th.
I can see Tamie on the left side, leaning against the mural and smoking a cigarette. For a second I don’t think it’s Tamie, because she doesn’t look so sickly thin and she’s wearing nice jeans and a clean white puffy winter coat. I slow down to pull toward her, look around to make sure it’s clear, and then signal her to enter the back because the rear windows have heavier tint.
She flicks the cigarette and enters.
“Hi, sweetie. It’s been a while.”
“Hey, Tamie. You’re looking healthy.”
I can see her through the rearview mirror as she smiles, shuts the door, and scoots across the seat to the right side, where she’s not directly behind me. I don’t feel so disgusted with Al anymore. She doesn’t seem…dirty.
“Let me go around the block, see if I can find a spot to park on Irving.”
“I’m here for you, Frankie.”
I hang a left at the next street and then another left on Irving. School’s not out for Christmas break yet, but it’s too cold for the kids to be playing outside. I find a parking space on the north side, along the tall cast-iron fence that surrounds the rear of the school.
I turn to look at Tamie. Damn, she has changed. She looks almost like a normal person, like she’s off crack. Maybe.
I slide down the window a bit, light up a smoke. Tamie does the same.
“Damn, Tamie. I almost don’t recognize you.”
“Been living healthy nowadays.”
“Except for the smoking.”
“Can’t give it all up at once, Frankie.”
I sure as hell know that.
“So, you’re clean?”
“Almost a year now.”
Fuck, just like me. Something must be going around.
“Congratulations! That’s damn good.”
“How come you never call anymore?”
“Haven’t been working a case where I’d need your wonderful voice.”
“So that’s all I’m good for.” She smiles.
Damn, she coming on to me now?
“How’s Al?” she asks without hesitation and before I can answer her.
“He’s been better. I’m helping him out on this one, so you can be straight with me.”
“How you mean?”
“Just that you can talk to me—what you been working for him, shit like that.”
“He can tell you better what it is he’s been having me do.”
I can take that one of two ways, but I won’t tell her.
“And he has, but you know he said it was okay to talk to me, right?”
She takes a short drag from the cigarette.
“So, you said you did hear the shots?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know it was where we were parked. Coulda been anywhere.”
“When you were walking, did you see anyone heading to or already in the lot where you two were?”
Shakes her head. Thinking. “Just a couple of girls that looked like college kids is all.”
“See any car parking near there?”
“Didn’t pay much attention to that, hon.”
I’ve known Tamie for a long time. Like I said, Al and I signed her up, and I’ve used her for a few things here and there as a PI. I’m going to have to be straight with her.
“You got something going with Al, something more than being his CI?”
“Why don’t you come out and be a bit more direct, Frankie?”
Shit. Getting off crack made her tougher.
“Okay, are you and Al fucking?”
Sixteen
You know how much trouble that could get him into, right? You, too.”
“Me? How could I get in trouble?”
I don’t answer because I really don’t know.
I hesitate to ask this because I don’t want to know, but I have to. “Did Al coerce you in any way into having sex with him, even offer you anything in exchange?”
“Baby, you are so off. I coerced him.”
Didn’t expect that.
“How long has this been going on between you two?”
“A lot of years, Frank. I don’t know.”
Al is over. They will find her.
“You know, detectives investigating the shooting are gonna try to find you for questioning.”
“Why me? I told him I ain’t seen anything.”
“Unfortunately, he told them he was getting with you, his CI, and that’s why he was there. He didn’t give up your name, though. Would have been better if he had just lied. Said he was there to take a fucking nap or some shit like that. But it’s done. They’ll more than likely get to you. So, what will you tell them? I mean, the reason you were there?”
She’s taking too long to think about this.
“Fuck, Tamie. Just tell them you were there ’cause he needed you for an okeydoke or something. Don’t think about it too long, and if they ask about the case, tell them you don’t know anything about what he was working, just that you were going to make a call.”
“I got it, hon. You don’t have to worry.”
“Do yourself a favor and stay away from him, at least until all this blows over.”
This ain’t gonna blow over.
She flicks her cigarette out the window, looks at me between the front bucket seats.
“Yes, Frankie.”
“Thanks. You are looking real good, Tamie. Healthy. I’m happy for you.”
She smiles, sort of a crooked smile.
“And I’m not hitting on ya, either.”
“Well, that’s too bad, Frankie.”
“You need me to give you a ride somewhere?”
“No. I enjoy the walk.”
I have some twenty-dollar bills folded up in my front pocket. I pull out three and hand them to her. She accepts, then opens the rear door.
“Call if you need anything,” she says.
“I will,” and wonder what she meant by need.
She struts away, heading toward 11th, where she makes her way south.
I wait for her to disappear before I pull out.
I drive back toward Al’s, to a liquor store a few blocks from his house.
Seventeen
After I drop off a bottle of Jameson for Al, I tell him about the meet I had with Tamie.
“You know we won’t be able to prevent IA from talking to her ’cause it’ll look like you’re hiding something bad if you do.”
“Fuck that,” he responds.
“Not kidding around, Al. You’re going to have to give them her contact info soon. Tamie knows when that time comes to only say you were meeting because you were going to talk about using her for an okeydoke. She’s not going to give up anything else. She’s not going to fuck it up for herself. Got that?”
He seems reluctant, but says, “Yeah. And what do you mean, ‘fuck it up for herself’?”
“I don’t want to know all the details about what you two have going, but you’re still a source of income for her. You need to return to that business relationship, give up the other. And quit feeling sorry for yourself. You’ll get through this.”
Based on the look he gives me, maybe I was too hard on him. Should’ve left out the feeling sorry for yourself part.
I want to share some of that liquor with him, but it’ll just make me tired and encourage Al to drink even more. I decide to leave.
On my way out I shoot him my best stab at a reassuring smile.
He simply nods.
When I get to the car, I hit the ignition to slide down my window a bit, then turn it off. Cold breeze through the window feels good. I adjust the rearview so I get a better view of the street behind me. I want to sit here for a bit, see if that SUV shows.
It’s hard seeing Al like this, falling apart, self-medicating with alcohol, who knows what else. He ain’t me. He’s always been tough. Was always there for me, too, when I was going through my own shit st
orm, a suspect in the murder of my own cousin. That didn’t look good for me, either, but it worked out at the end. Not so much, though, for a couple of other good men, and my young cousin. That took a toll on me. That, and losing Leslie. I do miss her. It was a tough couple of months after, but I managed to quit cocaine. Of course, Al never knew that part of my life. I was good at hiding it. Leslie, on the other hand—well, shit.
I give it about an hour and don’t see anything out of the ordinary.
A thought comes to me, and then I find myself driving to the little deli on Columbia Road.
I occasionally cut through an alley or go around a block, make sure I’m not being followed. Again, not really worried about it. If it was a reporter, that means Al’s name was leaked and it’ll be on the evening news.
There’s a voice in the back of my head calling me a fool and telling me to stop. That voice used to be under control or easily muted. Nowadays not so much. I just ignore it, because I can’t get running into Playboy outta my head. Need to put it to rest—somehow. Haven’t thought it all the way through yet.
The storefront has a large glass window adorned with beer and liquor advertisements and sales. Lots of pedestrians on this part of Columbia Road, so it’s difficult to raise the binos and try to take a peek. I wait for the right moment, quickly lift them and focus, and return them to my lap, wait again, and take a quick look through. Can barely see the old man, lifting bottles out of a case and setting them on a shelf. Can’t make out the deli. Couple of customers inside, but they’re browsing the liquor section.
After about twenty minutes, I decide to walk by, take a look through the window as I pass.
I step out of the car, slow my stroll as I approach. Look inside. Doesn’t look like anyone is working the deli. Might be in the back or bent down behind the deli counter. I walk by and stop at the corner. I think about it and figure the best thing to do is return to the car and sit on the store until the deli closes. That’s at 5:00 p.m. The liquor store side of it stays open later. I do love surveillance, so I return to the car. If I see him exit, I’ll follow him. With any luck, he’ll take me to where he lives. After that, who the fuck knows.
Trigger Page 5
