He walked out.
The chatter picked back up, and Steel whispered to Marisa, “Williams and his PG speeches for third-graders. We’re all adults…give me a break.”
She half-smiled and stared him in the eyes. “But he’s right.”
“Yeah, I guess. Williams is all right in my book,” he said and chuckled.
“Then get to work,” she said.
“Can’t get to work unless you’re with me.”
“What’s that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“You tell me.”
“You told me to get to work.”
“Shut up.”
He liked it.
PART THREE
FIRE
29
The man with a plan stared out his window, at the moon, at the gray patch of fog gliding through the sky. He fell backwards onto his couch and grabbed a notepad next to him. He thought for a moment before scribbling his final blueprint on a clean sheet of paper, behind ten or so others in front of it. It wouldn’t be long now before he would send a message through the streets. It wouldn’t be long. He squeezed his fists, couldn’t wait to finish what he had started.
30
Steel and Marisa waited outside Venice’s door. He knocked with his knuckles. No answer, and after each knock, he breathed heavily. “Ya’ know, you’re trying to help these people, and they don’t answer calls or nothing.”
Marisa didn’t respond.
“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Steel said.
They walked the hallway, sniffing the summer heat through the dusty walls, and jogged down a flight of stairs.
The front door of the building was opened halfway, held by a brick at the bottom, and the sun found its way through the crease, forming a thin white line along the floor, making dust particles visible in the air. Mike, the third-floor neighbor, kicked the brick from the outside and stepped in, carrying a rectangular cardboard box with a UPS label across the center.
Steel cupped his hands around the edge of the door, and Marisa took a step back. “You all right with that, uh, Mike, right?”
Mike curled his tongue to the side of his mouth and then stuck his tongue out while struggling with the box, sweat dripping from his forehead and dampening the cardboard surface. “Uh-huh, yeah, I’m fine. Thank you. Detectives, right?”
“Yeah,” Marisa answered.
“New kitchen table’s finally here for my apartment. UPS lost it for a week,” he said, shaking his head. Beads of sweat sprung from under his striped Phillies hat and dripped down his forehead. He put the package down, removed the hat, and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “It’s hot out there. Damn, it’s hot.”
Steel tapped Mike’s arm, and he flinched. Steel said, “Hey, you wouldn’t know where Venice is, would’ya?”
“Haven’t seen her.” His eyes were red, worn, and drained from the heat.
“All right, if you do, tell her to give me a call, ASAP.”
Mike nodded. “Any luck with Tom?”
“We have a few leads. Just keep your eyes open around here for anything suspicious for us, okay?”
“You got it.”
“You have my card, right?”
“Yep.”
“Take it easy.”
“Take care,” Mike said. He lifted the box up and onto his shoulder, struggled for a second, and headed for the staircase. He whistled up it.
Steel patted Marisa’s arm, chuckled, and whispered, “Guy’s a bit eccentric.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you lost a mother and sister in the same year?”
Steel nodded.
As they exited, the July sun heated their skin.
“I swear this summer is the hottest I’ve ever experienced. My anger levels greatly increase in this fuckin’ heat.”
Marisa smiled. “Really? I couldn’t tell. And by the way, you curse too much. Makes you sound unintelligent.”
Steel smirked but just for a second. “Yeah, that’s something I have to fuckin’ work on.”
She laughed from deep in her stomach.
Steel said, “I wonder if Venice found out about her cousin yet. Damn shame. The woman lost a boyfriend and a cousin just a couple of weeks apart. But something’s not right. I got a feeling in my gut that something’s not right.”
“We’ll catch up with her.”
31
At 1:30, Steel and Marisa got back to the office after stopping off for lunch. At his desk, another review of the Hitchy File was in order, summarizing notes, reconfiguring a timeline of events, fine-tuning their motive for Knee, anything that could give them a lead on this stubborn case.
They sat for an hour, and there was nothing they hadn’t seen before. Same shit. Steel grew even more frustrated. His stress levels were through the roof. Red blotches stained his cheeks and forehead as would always happen when he’d get too stressed. He took it as his body warning him to cool down before the depression returned. His ears were cherry and hot. His mind raced, jumping from one thought to another, leaving his stomach unsettled and sour.
He pounded the desktop and a cup holder filled with pens danced around. “C’mon.” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, scratching under his neck with so much force it left squiggly pink lines. People would’ve thought he’d either gotten into a fight with his cat or his razor.
“Calm down. Something’ll give,” Marisa said, her voice soothing and his blood pressure lowered back to normal levels after he heard it.
The phone on his desk rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and it lit up green, displaying an inter-office extension he didn’t recognize.
“Steel…my man,” a voice said.
“Frankie…what’s up? How’s it going over there in Narcotics?”
“You wanna thank me now or later?”
Steel’s smile turned into a grin. He lowered his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bastard?”
“We got your boy,” Frankie said, and there was too much excitement in his voice for a grown man.
“Who?”
“Knee.”
Steel leaned an elbow on the desk and dug the phone against his ear. His senses kicked into high gear. Adrenaline rushed through his body, stinging every nerve, and blood pumped hard and fast through his veins, even in his neck—it throbbed near his Adam’s apple.
“On what?” Steel said.
“Well, technically, we didn’t get Knee.”
Steel turned his lips and eyes right, confused.
Frankie cleared his throat. “We got his boy, closed in on him on an anonymous tip. We caught him with enough cocaine to put him away for twenty years. It’s Knee’s right-hand man, and he’s ready to sing like a choir boy at Sunday service. Says he’s got Knee on everything, the drugs, claims he can connect him to the Hitchy murder.”
“No shit?”
“Yes, fuckin’ shit. You owe me. I saw the report, talked to Williams the other day. I looked a little deeper for you.”
Steel didn’t say anything and got lost in his thoughts for a minute.
Frankie continued, “Knee doesn’t know about his boy, though. So, tomorrow, Narcotics is going to arrest Knee on drug charges. I already put a warrant in for the drug charges. Maybe you come along for the murder charges, if you can put a warrant in with the judge.” His voice deepened, “Contact the DA’s office, see if you can get one. We’re gonna bring him in.”
“Yeah, what time?” Steel said, his words racing.
“9 a.m.”
“I’ll be in your office at nine sharp. I’ll get the judge to issue a warrant.”
Steel hung up and summarized the details to Marisa. She nodded, trying to keep up with his anxiousness. The thrill of the chase was an addiction, his fix happening. He went to work on getting an arrest warrant for the murder and prepped himself for the work ahead. Afterward, he couldn’t stop thinking about the following day and cl
osure to a case he’d had nothing on up until this point.
32
The air stood still. It was a gorgeous night in Center City Philadelphia. Taxis zipped down Broad Street. Office workers rushed through the streets to catch buses and trains home. Tourists snapped photos. Couples strolled in suits and dresses to dine in restaurants. The city was quieter than usual for a Friday night because people were vacationing for the holiday week, but it still had some activity. Office buildings stood tall, and most of their box-shaped windows were dark, except for a few lit up yellow from people still putting in their overtime, each building a black and yellow Rubik’s Cubes. Modern skyscrapers glowed in the moonlight. The sky had a royal blue hue swirling through dark gray.
Steel noticed that people’s expressions always changed in Center City on the weekends; they didn’t have that I-can’t-wait-for-Friday look on their faces. It was Friday, and he saw nothing but smiles and shoulders that were much more relaxed—people at ease. Their faces read, the weekend, ah, a time to unwind and take it easy.
Steel found Marisa’s apartment. She buzzed him up and told him she was still getting ready, that she’d be a while. Steel had asked Marisa to dinner that afternoon since neither would be having much of a holiday vacation. It was kind of a celebratory dinner for the case and also the signing of the Declaration of Independence. How could they not, especially Steel; after all, he’d fought for his country. And it didn’t hurt that they lived in the city where the document had been signed.
Steel sat in the living room and waited for Marisa to finish getting dressed, watching an episode of The Big Bang Theory. His attention half-drifted and half-listened to Sheldon and Leonard talk about scientific terms he didn’t understand. The exchanges made him laugh, as they seemed as neurotic as him, and he thought how he might try to get more into the show. He took notice of Marisa’s apartment. It was much cleaner than his house. She didn’t have wrinkled clothes still in laundry baskets in the middle of the floor, or unwashed dishes in the sink, or newspapers and books scattered all over the place. He felt like shit for the moment, at his unorganized life, until Marisa walked from her bedroom. His eyes caught a glimpse of her, and he gasped, almost fully losing his breath. He thought how he’d lived a cliché—she can take my breath away all she wants—and then laughed to himself.
God, she looked beautiful in her black dress that stopped midway down her thighs and revealed her silky legs that ran down to her slender ankles and matching high heels. The fabric wrapped itself around her curvy hips, then her flat stomach, and all the way up past her bustline. Thin spaghetti straps hooked from the armpit over the smooth skin of her shoulder and around to her back. Her dark eyes and hair nearly matched the color of the dress and stood out against her skin. Her citrus hair product filled the room, and the chemicals flipped his stomach with its seductive scent.
She smiled and circled the apartment, tapping her heels against the hardwood floor, looking for her handbag. Steel peeked at her soft, black hair bouncing halfway down her spine. He couldn’t get over how good she looked and how he had thought she couldn’t top the way she looked at the barbecue. Man, had he been wrong.
“All right…you ready, Benny?”
“First name basis out of work?”
She smiled with a look that read, You’re starting already.
He walked out first, and she locked the door behind them.
They settled on a small, family-owned Italian restaurant in the heart of Center City that Steel had eaten at before. He joked with her and gave his best De Niro face, frowning and nodding, as they looked over the menu but stopped when the joke got old. She laughed, but he figured at him, not with him. He didn’t care. The place was quiet, with seven of the twenty tables occupied. Orange flames flickered atop white candles on each table, and something about the fire made the dinner mysterious. Soothing jazz music, with a few Sinatra songs thrown in, played through the speakers overhead. The waiters wore black on black with burgundy ties, and the waitresses wore the same. A strong scent floated throughout, and, after sniffing, he figured it was a mixture of complimentary garlic bread that was a little burned and seafood that smelled so fresh it could’ve been caught that morning. Dim lighting set up a romantic environment for couples. At least he had this on his side because he was nervous as hell. Brick walls and dark maroon carpeting gave an Old World feel to the dining room.
A young guy with wavy brown hair took their order after he’d read a list of specials from memory, of which Steel and Marisa had lost count after the first two.
The server left, and Marisa folded her hands and twirled her thumbs, observing the place. “So, what do you think about tomorrow?”
He held up his hands. “No work-talk. I need a break from that.”
Marisa smiled and gave him a seductive squint. She laid one hand over the other and leaned in. “Thank God…I don’t feel like talking about that.”
“Why’d you bring it up then?”
“I thought you would wanna talk about it…Mr. Serious Detective here,” she said and smiled.
He snapped his head back and laughed, almost showing all his teeth—rare for him—the opposite of his usual half-smile. God, it felt good to genuinely laugh. She was right; he had been so serious for years. No one needed this night more than him. Marisa knew how to break him, and he let it happen.
“So, what do you wanna talk about?” She grabbed a piece of bread from a basket lined with a maroon linen cloth. Her knife tapped a saucer of creamy butter and made a loud ding, attracting head-turns from other guests. After spreading a serving, she was still laughing. He watched her do this and laughed as immaturely.
“Tell me about you,” he said.
“What do you wanna know?” She chewed on one side of her mouth.
“I wanna know about you. What drives you?”
She sipped her water, raised her eyes in thought. “What drives me? Let me think. Well, my family, all of them….my mom, my dad—definitely a daddy’s girl—my brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles. That’s what drives me. I love them. I’m a family person…hope to have one of my own someday. And, of course, my job, but family first, always.” She looked him in the eyes. “What about you?”
“Helping people…that’s what I’m about. It’s tough being a detective and all. I mean, that’s the job title, but people see me as the bad guy sometimes. The crooked cops ruin it for the rest of us. I just wanna help people. When I’m done being an officer, I wanna do something to give back, to help people who believe they can’t help themselves. Sometimes people just need a little push. They don’t think good things could happen to them, so they give up. I wanna help those people.”
She nodded and was about to speak before the waiter appeared with a tray in his hands. He placed a half-full glass of red wine in front of each of them, smiled, and then headed back for the kitchen in a hurry.
“What were you going to say?” Steel said.
After sipping her wine, she dabbed a napkin against her lips and lifted her eyes that reflected light from the candle’s flame. He stared in awe, and a swift chill ran up his neck.
She said, “I was just going to say that I knew you were a softy under that tough-guy exterior.”
He shook his head. “Helping people’s not about being soft; it’s about empathy. The world needs more of it. I’ve learned lessons in life, why not help others see it?”
“I agree. You sound like an idealist. Are you?”
He thought but didn’t answer, instead opted to nod. As much as he tried to hide that side of him, it always found its way out.
Words just started blurting out of his mouth. He had no control. “You look beautiful tonight.” He looked down at his wine glass and tapped the stem. “Just thought I’d tell you that.”
She blushed for the first time that he had noticed since they’d met but quickly recovered and put on a tough city-girl face, playfully. “Well, thank you. Not so bad yourself…you clean up nice.”
>
He felt good about that comment and was glad he’d chosen his best sports jacket instead of just a dress shirt.
He continued to speak, no filter. “I just feel comfortable around you. I don’t know what it is. I can’t put my finger on it, and I haven’t felt this way in years. It’s strange because we haven’t known one another that long.”
The Highway (A Benny Steel and Marisa Tulli Novel - Book 1) Page 19
