Evan cleared his throat.
“Mr. Mayor, pardon me, if I may just say a word. We've checked the figures and it appears he's right. A small reduction in the number of rooms makes sense. It'll still be the most advanced center of its kind. That won't change. There will just be a few less rooms, and most of them will never get used anyway. No child will ever forego care because of it.”
33
FUCK YOU FOR NOT CALLING.
That's the vibe I got from Jasmine the minute I walked in. I smiled politely.
Gino was sitting at the same table drinking the same club soda as the last time we met, and the moment I saw him I realized he was two different people to me. On one hand he was a friend. I genuinely liked him, enjoyed his company, and wanted the best for him, but he had something I desperately needed too, and he had to give it to me no matter what. When I'd called and suggested we get together I wasn't sure which person it was. Dutch the friend, or Dutch the deceiver and manipulator. I had my suspicions it was the latter. I was all-in for La Lena and Soul, and Gino's friendship was little more than a speck in the rearview mirror.
He and I didn't do small talk, and that was fine with me, because as far as I was concerned I was on a sales call.
I started by telling him about Alan’s death. I didn’t spare any of the grizzly details, but he never averted his gaze from the table, and his face betrayed no emotion of any kind. Then out of the blue he told me that Veronica had been a prostitute when they met. It was strange, but maybe he just needed third-party confirmation that the love they'd had was real. I knew it was because I'd seen it. I told him it didn't matter that she was a prostitute, and I meant it, but I doubted he heard a word of it.
“Your brother’s murder was a message,” he said. “Someone gets set on fire in prison, it means something.”
“I agree, but what?” I asked.
He shrugged.
I asked him if Veronica had ever given him any reason to suspect she was using or selling drugs.
“I knew she used a little and probably sold on the side too, but I figured it was just smalltime stuff.”
“There's no way their deaths are coincidences,” I said. “Connect the dots. One, Alan and Veronica were at least acquaintances, and probably friends. You guys were at my brother's birthday party. Two, they both got busted with large amounts of drugs within a few weeks of each other. Three, when I visited my brother in jail he said he needed to talk to Veronica. That it was important, remember? And four, they both died in prison shortly after they got there. Come on Gino, tell me that's a coincidence.”
The similarities couldn't be ignored. They were energizing the hell out of me, but he was docile and complacent. I needed to motivate him by turning up the pressure, and the only way I knew to do it was to keep talking.
“Before you said that your bosses were the biggest drug dealers in the city. What’d you mean?” I asked.
“Exactly what I said. I've been around Stein for ages, and now I blend into the background like a chair or a painting. Stein and his cronies say things in front of me that they shouldn't. If I had recordings of the things I've heard I could put those cocksuckers away for the rest of their lives. They’re just like the mafia bosses you read about in the paper, only they're worse. They've duped the public into believing they're working for them. It's a scam. They control all the drugs, construction, union contracts, and so on. The city’s a crime syndicate. Stein’s the king rat at the top of the heap, and I’ve willingly done lots of nasty stuff for him over the years.”
There was the spark I'd been looking for, and I needed to fan it before it went out. There was no way that Stein knew Alan or Veronica personally. He'd never associate with people like them. He was the mayor. They were an unmotivated high school dropout pot-head and a Puerto Rican hooker. No way. But Gino did say Stein's henchmen controlled everything in the city, so it was possible that there was a link, albeit an indirect one.
I considered two things. First, that Alan and Veronica were low-level associates working for Stein's racket. If that were the case and they were both caught with large caches of drugs for which they were responsible, then maybe they were killed to send a message. Failure has consequences. Fuck up and this is what you get. Or maybe they knew things that could make life difficult for people in high places. The more I thought about it the more plausible it sounded.
The second scenario was that Alan and Veronica were doing things on their own. If so, then maybe they were made examples of to prohibit other entrepreneurial freelancers from taking business from the big boys. Maybe they were competitors, plain and simple. I imagined the underworld players weren't particularly keen on a little healthy competition. Sherlock Holmes said it best, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”
The threads were flowing together into a recognizable pattern. I resisted telling Gino about La Lena and Soul, because I had this strange feeling that by mentioning their names I'd betray them, or at least put them in more danger than they were already in. I needed to bombard him with facts, theories and connections. I remembered him telling me that when Veronica died he'd considered suicide, but that he couldn't go through with it out of respect for his mother.
“How's your mother?” I asked.
“Not good,” he said. “She lives in a depressing nursing home and she's got dementia so bad she has to be strapped to her bed 24-7. I can barely bring myself to visit her. She hasn't recognized me in months. She says bizarre things and even insults me. I hope for both our sakes she dies in her sleep real soon. Forgive me.” He made the sign of the cross on his chest and kissed his thumb.
Another obstacle just vanished before my eyes, and I intended to take advantage. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I need you to give me your word that it’ll stay between us no matter what.”
He nodded, and I took a deep breath.
“Gino,” I began, “I'm in a terrible position. I'm being blackmailed into doing something horrible, and the lives of the only two people I love are being dangled over my head.”
I was struggling to put my predicament into words, and I was also pissed off that he'd picked up the pieces of his shattered world so well. I was pretty sure that made me the world's most selfish asshole.
“I need to kill Stein,” I said. The time for mincing words was over.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Jesus,” he said. “Start talkin’.”
Against every instinct, I told him how I'd fallen in love with a beautiful young black woman and her amazing little girl. How she'd once worked for a violent organization but wanted out. But the only way they'd give her and her daughter their freedom was if I helped them take out the man they considered Public Enemy Number One. That man was the mayor, Stanley Steinman. Of course they'd never mentioned him by name. I left that part out.
Stein wasn't the biggest fish in the world, but he was pretty high up the food chain. High enough to get Arnold interested, of that I was sure. And, he met all the criteria I'd laid out at our meeting. Utterly despicable, corrupt, and personally responsible for much of the city’s deep-seated misery as far as I was concerned. And there I was drinking club soda with a man who had direct access to him. A man who'd been betrayed by him. A man who might rather see him dead. Talk about the stars aligning.
I nearly asked him what he thought Veronica would want him to do, but I knew if she could send him a message from the great beyond she'd tell him to forget about it. To move on. To be happy. Of course she would. She loved the guy. She'd never want him to pursue some pointless vendetta that might get him killed.
Our meeting was coming to an end. I decided to go out with a flurry.
“You told me a few things that have stuck in my mind,” I said. “One, that Italians never forgive or forget, and two, that when you asked Stein to put in a good word with the DA he told you to pound sand. If he'd helped even a little, maybe she'd still
be alive. What I have with the woman I told you about is just like what you and Veronica had. You told me Veronica hated this city. That she felt like a prisoner here and longed to be free. The woman I love wants freedom for herself and her daughter too. More than anything in the world.”
That was it. I was talked out. We shook hands, and when Gino was gone Jasmine brought the bill. She'd included the Jack and Coke I'd ordered the last time I was there. She must be Italian, I thought.
They never forgive or forget.
34
NUMB FEET HAD BEEN a Thursday tradition in the dry cleaning business for as long as La Lena could remember. They were always hectic, but not like that one. The rule was, clothes in by Thursday at five if you wanted them done by noon on Saturday. No exceptions. At work her mind went to sleep and her body ran on autopilot. The slow days were the ones that drove her crazy.
Her coworkers left her to close up again. They were always so full of excuses, as if they were the only ones with lives and families. She gave them a hard time, but she really didn't mind. She appreciated the solitude when she was alone in the shop, and sometimes as a gift to herself she'd drop an old Miles Davis album on the ancient record player in the cramped lunch room and give it a spin. She'd sit on the step by the back door and lazily smoke a cigarette. The smoke and music were magical together. The harder the day, the more they soothed.
By the time everything was locked down it was just five-thirty, but already full-on dark. A high pressure system had stalled over the city, and the stars were obscured behind a thin haze of high altitude clouds. She wondered what the sky looked like from the Grand Canyon. Such a fascinating place, she thought. She'd never been but she'd seen pictures. One day. Maybe.
She walked past the ugly brick one and two-level homes and businesses. Many of them were boarded up permanently, and the ones that weren't were buttoned up for the night. The clip-clop of her boots on the sidewalk echoed off the hard surfaces, and as she passed the abandoned electronics repair shop she felt eyes on her.
“Hey LL.”
It was a voice she hadn't heard in years. Lots of memories in it too, and most of them unpleasant. And the nickname, from a world that no longer existed. When she stopped his footsteps picked up where hers had left off, and she knew it was futile to go on.
“My name isn't LL anymore. That was a long time ago,” she said. She hadn't turned to face him.
“Sorry. I didn't know what else to say.”
She turned half toward him, letting her neck do the rest. It was an intentionally temporary posture. Fuck you. I'm outta here in five seconds. Say what you came to say.
“I need to get home. What do you want?”
“I want to see you. I want to see my baby.”
He looked the same. Eight years gone and he still looked the same. And wasn't it just like him to think he could show up after all these years, twinkle his nose, and everything goes back to the way it was.
“She's not your baby anymore, and neither am I, so why don't you fuck off,” she said. An involuntary animal anger swelled within her. Talking to him politely and rationally was a waste of time. Better to give him both barrels and get it over with. “Did you hear what I said? I told you to fuck off. If you think you're seeing my daughter you're crazy.”
“OK,” he said. “I hear she's got a white daddy now anyway. I never pictured you as the country club type, but hey, people change. Ironic though, don't you think?”
She turned to face him squarely. Her face stoic and chiseled like an art-deco heroine. She realized there weren't any real emotions associated with him anymore, either good or bad. Just pathetically stubborn remnants of the past that refused die. He existed, that was all. She sighed. Her blood pressure stabilized.
“Not all whites are country club types. They're not all bad people either. Have you ever considered that, or are you still ideologically pure?” She shook her head and looked down at her shoes. “I don't know why I let you bother me. You're not worth it. You never were worth it. I'm not the same stupid girl I was.”
“OK,” he said. “Maybe some other time.”
“There won't be another time. Trust me.”
“Well, gotta run. It was great catching up,” he said turning to go. “Oh, by the way, I almost forgot. Arnold wants to see you.” He back-peddled away and vanished into the ether.
The adrenaline rush that had burst inside dissipated suddenly, and its abrupt departure left a chemical void akin to acute withdraw. Her body's response was uncontrollable. She stepped into to an empty breezeway and wept forcefully. The feelings his voice triggered flooded her being. Foolishness, abandonment, guilt, rage, regret. It was an intense outburst but it ended quickly. She straightened herself. She refused to go home like that. Soul would know. Why are you crying momma? Nope. She wouldn't let him do that to her baby.
LA LENA WINCED AT THE strength and sweetness of the last sip of coffee. The caffeine and sugar had condensed into a supercharged syrup that coated her tongue and made her teeth ache, but it'd do its job and get her through until lunch time.
She'd just turned the corner from the break room when she saw Arnold standing patiently in the line in front of the register with a pair of grey slacks folded neatly in his hands.
“These need to be dry cleaned,” he said, placing them on the counter. His breath was an acidic mixture of scalded coffee and cigarettes. “You can bring them to the diner. Today. Twelve o'clock.”
“It's too late for same-day service,” she said condescendingly. “Come back next month. Maybe they'll be done then.”
When she walked into the diner at twenty after twelve, Arnold was exactly where she knew he'd be. A sad old man so set in his ways he couldn't even sit in a different booth once in a while. Seeing him depressed her. A song popped into her head. Dylan's, Positively 4th Street. You'd know what a drag it is to see you... It must have been obvious.
“Bad day at the office?” he asked.
“It's been a bad day at the office since I saw you,” she said, regretting it. No sense provoking. It would just make things easier for him.
“Then I guess we can skip the small talk,” he said.
“Sorry, but I thought we weren't supposed to be talking at all. Wasn't that part of the deal? I thought Dutch made that clear. I was out.”
“La Lena,” he said tiredly. “Let me explain something. Dutch doesn't have any leverage, and neither do you, so let's cut the bullshit. I need you to come back. The deal with Dutch hasn't changed because he'll never know about this. Then, when everybody has done what they said they were going to do, the three of you can sail into the sunset.”
“Well, since we're being so honest, I don’t mind telling you that you're full of shit. Nobody's sailing into the sunset.”
“Think what you like,” he said.
“So what’s this last piece of work?”
“Doing what you do best. What else?”
“Why me? Why now? Is it just another opportunity to show everyone that you still have power? That's lame Arnold, even by your standards. Don't you think it's strange that you claim to be fighting for our people, but here you are forcing me, a single black mother, into doing something dangerous and illegal against my will? Something that could get me killed and leave my innocent daughter motherless. Don't you see the ridiculous irony in that? Don't you see what a hypocrite you are? Can't you see that you're no better than those that you claim oppress you? You're the fucking oppressor Arnold. You've become everything you hate, and you're too blind to see it.”
“You and Jeff will be working together,” he said. His face deprived of emotion. “Just like old times. He'll be in touch when he’s ready.”
She stood. “I wonder who you’ll oppress if you ever conquer the evil white man. Who will it be? The Hispanics, the Asians, the Jews? Other blacks? Don't you see that that's the way the world works? It's not a color issue, it's a power issue. Human beings prey on those who are weaker than they are. It's not just a white phenomenon. I'm
surprised you haven't figured that out at your age.”
He lit another cigarette and slid from the booth. Now she'd just have to get on with life the best she could. Then one day when she least expected it, Jefferson would emerge from the slime and the clock would start ticking.
35
FOR INTROVERTS MALLS are hell, but for La Lena and Soul I made an exception.
White Marsh Mall had opened the year before and was now Baltimore's new retail powerhouse. I'd been a few times, and though I wasn't a mall guy, I found it impressive inside and out. Soul and La Lena had heard about it but had never been. It was a straight shot up I-95 from their place in Cherry Hill, but La Lena didn't have a car or much disposable income. I knew they were anxious to see it, and I was glad I'd be with them when they finally did.
We looped around the massive building twice before heading inside.
“Wow,” Soul said. She dropped her head back and spun slowly, taking in the shiny metal elevators, sparkling glass, and colorful signs.
We strolled around and did some window shopping before ending up in a large bookstore, and when La Lena pointed to the overhead sign for the children's section Soul went off independently to see what she could find.
“You a reader? I asked La Lena.
“I love travel books about exotic places,” she said. “When I read them and look at the pictures I feel like I'm actually there. It's wonderful.”
“Like where?” I asked.
“The Serengeti, Angkor Wat, the Grand Canyon. I could go on and on.”
“Ever been to any of them?” I asked. It was a foolish question. Single black mothers didn't take exotic vacations.
“Not yet. Maybe someday,” she said dejectedly.
Shakedown on Hate St Page 12
