Crooked Numbers

by Tim O'Mara

  “Lunch.”

  “Go to lunch. I’ll check in with Amanda at the end of sixth period.”

  “Okay,” Alberto said as he stood up. “Cool. Thanks, Mr. D.”

  “For what?”

  He had no answer for that. “Just thanks.”

  He left my office and hurried off to lunch. Or maybe his locker. I was sure I’d find out later. My phone rang.

  “You have a visitor,” Mary informed me.

  “Who is it?”

  “A Mr. Smith,” she said. Then she lowered her voice. “But he doesn’t look like a Smith to me.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  It took less than a minute to make it to the office. Except for Mary, the room was empty. I gave her a quizzical look.

  “‘Mr. Smith,’” she said, “has asked that you meet him outside.”

  “Outside?” I asked. “What’s up with that?”

  “I’m just the messenger, Mr. Donne. Why don’t you run back up and get your jacket. It’s cold out there.”

  “He say what he wanted?”

  “Just to talk to you. Then he said he’d meet you outside. He didn’t seem too comfortable waiting around the office.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Raymond,” Mary said, as if that were one question too many. “He’s right outside. Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

  “Thanks, Mary.”

  I decided not to run back upstairs for my coat. If this Smith guy wanted to talk, he could do it inside where it was warm. I went out through the set of double doors and was greeted by a burst of cold air. There was nobody waiting on the steps, but somebody in a big, puffy, black coat was leaning against the metal railing, his back to me. As I walked down the steps and over to him, I said, “Mr. Smith?”

  The guy turned. It took me a second.

  “Tio,” I said, not even close to hiding the surprise in my voice. “What’s up?”

  “Teacher Man,” he said, taking his right hand out of his pocket and offering it to me. “Just wanted to drop by and say gracias.”

  “Okay.” I shook his hand. “For what?”

  He smiled. “For the heads-up on Jerome Dexter.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I got a bit worried now. “How’d that go?”

  “Me and a coupla my boys had a face-to-face with the young Mr. Dexter,” he said. “Made it clear to him it would be in his best interest to start rockin’ some colors other than the Family’s. Told him to trash them beads, too.”

  I buried my hands in my pockets. I noticed two boys across the street wearing what looked like the same jacket as Tio. They had their hands in their pockets also, and Saints caps on their heads.

  “And…” I said.

  Tio smiled. “And that’s all, folks. For a kid who don’t seem all that bright, he got wise to our position pretty quick.”

  I lowered my voice. “You didn’t hurt him?”

  “Teacher Man. I made you a promise and I kept it.” The smile grew. “But we made it quite clear to the boy that if we heard he was wearing our colors again, the next conversation would be a bit more … nonverbal. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  “I do,” I said. “You couldn’t have told me this inside? Where it’s warm?”

  He shook his head. “I ain’t real comfortable in school buildings since I dropped out. Don’t like the way they smell, y’know?”

  I didn’t, but just nodded. The wind was starting to pick up. “Is that it?”

  “Nah, man. I didn’t come all this way just to say thanks. Coulda done that over the phone.”

  I guessed this was where I was supposed to ask what he did come all this way to say. So I did.

  “Just wanted to let you know,” Tio said, “I owe you one.”

  Really? The top guy in a gang owes me one? I couldn’t wait to tell my mother.

  “That’s okay, Tio,” I said. “I’m just glad you took care of it the way you did.”

  “Nah. That was some good lookin’ out you did. Way I run things, I don’t need no knucklehead wannabe out there causing trouble. You gave me a righteous heads-up and I owe you. I don’t owe too many people. So when I do, I want them to hear it from my face. Not over the phone, feel me?”

  “I feel you, Tio.” I didn’t know what else to say except, “I’ll let you know if I need something. Right now, I need to head back into work.”

  He took his hand out again and we shook. He pulled me in closer to him.

  “I ain’t fronting, Teacher Man. You need something, you let me know.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks for coming by.”

  “You got it,” he said. He turned around and raised his hand to say good-bye.

  I watched as his two boys crossed the street, and the trio walked away from the school. I went back inside, freezing, but with a stupid grin on my face.

  *

  Three fifteen. School was out and the kids were gone. It was a bit too cold for them to hang around the building, so clearing the block didn’t take all that much time. Not a bad day. No fights, only one kid caught cutting, and Amanda’s cell phone had made a miraculous reappearance. I hoped Alberto had learned from this.

  Chapter 30

  I TOOK THE L TRAIN to the 1 train, then walked the three blocks from the Seventy-ninth Street stop to the pharmacy that had filled Paulie’s prescription. It was probably one of the last independent pharmacies in the area, which meant I wouldn’t be able to do my grocery shopping, use an ATM, or get my digital photos processed. What I was hoping to do was find out if the pills in the bottle were what the label said they were. I stepped up to the register and asked the girl if I could speak with the pharmacist.

  “And what is this in regards to?” she asked.

  I pulled out the amber bottle, shook it, and gave her the truth. “I’d like to know what these pills are.”

  She nodded knowingly and excused herself as she went to the back room. She returned less than a minute later followed by an older man, who wore a light blue pharmacist shirt and half-frame reading glasses. His shirt had the name of the pharmacy stitched in red just over his name, WARREN. He motioned for me to meet him at the end of the counter by the condoms and breath mints.

  “How can I help you?” Warren asked.

  I showed him the pill bottle. “I was hoping you could tell me what these are.”

  He took the container, pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, and checked out the label. I had ripped off the part of the label that had Paulie’s name on it. I left the name of the drug alone.

  “You have reason to believe they’re not what they say they are?” he asked.

  “That’s about right,” I said.

  “Found them,” he looked at the label again, “in your son’s room and don’t know how they got there?”

  I gave him an awkward smile. “How’d you know that?”

  “I get parents in here six, seven times a month asking me to identify pills they found in their kids’ rooms.”

  “Good to know I’m not the only one,” I said, going for slightly embarrassed.

  I was half expecting some sort of lecture, but all he said was, “Gimme a minute. I’ll run it through the database.”

  He stepped back over to the computer at the other end. I took the opportunity to check out my prophylactic options. If this thing I had with Allison kept on moving forward, I’d need to stock up. I grabbed a twelve-pack of condoms—optimist that I was—just as the pharmacist returned.

  “Well,” he said, “Good news, I think. They are what the label says they are.”

  “For ADHD, right?”

  “Yep. I take it these were not prescribed for your boy.”

  “No,” I said. “They were not. And you’re sure they’re ADHD meds?”

  He took one of the pills out of the container and pointed at the small numbers and letters imprinted on it.

  “Got a program.” He pointed over to his computer. “I just enter the code and the color of the pill. If it’s in my
database, it tells me what it is.”

  “Cool,” I said as I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the blue-and-white capsules. “Would you mind doing that for this one, too?”

  He gave me a concerned look. He was about to say something, but I cut him off.

  “I know,” I said. “My son and I are going to have a long talk tonight.”

  He thought about that for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said, taking the capsule from my hand. “Gimme another minute.”

  “I appreciate it, Warren. Thanks.”

  He went back to the computer and started working the keys. Even from the other end of the counter, I could see the confused look on his face. He punched the keys again, and the confused look remained. He shook his head and walked back to me.

  “No good news?” I asked.

  “No news at all,” Warren said. “Ran it twice and didn’t get a hit. You find this in your son’s room, too?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “What does it mean when you don’t get a hit?”

  “Could be it’s not in the database yet. Sometimes it can take a month or so for it to be entered. Happens once in a while.”

  “What do you do when it does happen?”

  “Put a call in to Poison Control. Takes them a day or two, but they can usually identify what the medication is.”

  I reached out my hand for him to give me the capsule back. When he didn’t, I said, “Can I call them?”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” Warren said. “I have to give them my license number. I take it you’re not a pharmacist, right?” He grinned.

  “Right,” I said and looked at the capsule. “Can I have that back now?”

  “Maybe when you tell me what’s really going on here.” He held up the capsule. “You really find this in your kid’s room?”

  I took a moment to decide how much truth I was willing to share with Warren. I went for three-fourths.

  “No,” I said. “A friend of mine found it in her kid’s jeans and asked me for help. She’s a single mom and doesn’t want her son jacked up because of this.”

  “That’s why she sent you?” he asked. “She’s too nervous to come herself?”

  “Something like that.”

  As Warren considered that, he rolled the capsule around his palm with his fingers. He gave me a look that told me he was assessing if I was telling the truth. The whole thing took about ten seconds.

  “Here’s what I’ll do,” he finally said. “There’s a lab I use here in Manhattan. It usually takes them a day or two to run the tests and ID the meds. Thirty bucks.”

  “Two days?”

  “They can do a rush job, but it’ll cost you another twelve.”

  “I can do that,” I said.

  “I also have to call this in to Poison Control today. Depending on what they tell me, I’ll either call you or the FDA.”

  The Food and Drug Administration? Shit. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Hey. I have a legal obligation here. If I can’t ID this, I have to call it in.” He paused. “You came to me, remember? I’ll do what I can to help you with the independent lab and all, but I’m not going to risk my license over it. Go ahead and tell your single-mom friend you did what you could.”

  “Can you give me a heads-up if you have to call the FDA?”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I get the lab results,” he said. “It’ll take at least a day before Poison Control gets back to me. Then you’re going to want to have a conversation with your friend. You seem like an okay guy. I wouldn’t recommend you get into hot water with the feds because of a kid who’s not even yours.”

  “I hear you, Warren.” I gave him my hand. “You got something I can write my name and number on?”

  “Yeah.” He went over to the register, grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil, and handed them to me. “Here ya go.”

  “Thanks.” I wrote my name and cell number, then handed it back to him.

  “No problem. Tell your friend I said good luck.”

  “I will,” I said, and turned to leave the pharmacy.

  “Hey!” Warren called to me.

  I looked back. “Yeah?”

  “You gonna pay for those or what?” He pointed to my hand.

  I looked down and smiled. Then I walked to the register and handed the girl the pack of condoms. I also asked her to add in the forty-two dollars for the lab work.

  “That’ll be cash,” I said, before grabbing a pack of breath mints. “And these.”

  “Smart combo,” the girl said, ringing up my order.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m nothing if not smart.”

  *

  My next stop was the office of the doctor who had prescribed the ADHD meds to Paulie. It was only a few blocks from the pharmacy. As I walked over, I tried to think of anyone I knew from my days as a cop who could help me get out in front of this mess with the mysterious blue-and-white capsule. For the moment, I came up empty.

  I walked into the doctor’s office and was pleased to see the waiting room empty. The receptionist was on the phone. She raised one finger at me and mouthed, “One minute.” I took the time to look up at the high-def TV in the waiting room and watched as the weather guy on NY1 explained why we may not be getting the same snow that was going to dump six inches on the DC–Baltimore area the next day.

  “Yes,” the receptionist said. “Can I help you?”

  “I certainly hope so,” I said, stepping over to her window. “I’d like to see Dr. Williams.”

  She picked up a clipboard and a pen. “Have a seat and fill these out. Be sure to sign the bottom of page two, and I’ll need to make a copy of your insurance card.”

  “I’m not here as a patient,” I explained. “I just want to talk with Dr. Williams.”

  “Oh,” she said, withdrawing the clipboard. “What is this in regards to?”

  “A patient of his.”

  “I’m afraid Dr. Williams is not allowed to talk about—”

  “Paulie Sherman,” I said, interrupting her.

  “Oh.” She picked up the phone. “And your name is…”

  “Raymond Donne.”

  She punched one of the buttons and spun her chair around so I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Half a minute later, she spun back around.

  “Dr. Williams will be right out.”

  “Thank you.”

  I went over to the waiting area and took a seat, then I picked a People magazine off the coffee table and leafed through it. I must be getting old. I didn’t recognize ninety percent of the people in there. I need to get out more. Or watch more crappy TV.

  “Mr. Donne?”

  I looked up into the face of a guy about my age. Another sign of getting older. Used to be, all the doctors were older than I was. He wore dark pants and a white doctor’s jacket. I got to my feet and said, “Dr. Williams.” We shook hands. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Well,” he said, “you’ve caught me in a rare slow period. We had a cancellation. What’s this about Paulie Sherman, and who are you?”

  “I’m looking into the murder—” I waited a beat—“of one of Paulie’s close friends. Douglas Lee?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know any Douglas Lee, Mr. Donne.”

  “He was the boy who was murdered last week. Under the Williamsburg Bridge.”

  “I read about that,” he said. “Sad story. But I still don’t know him or what he has to do with me.”

  “This”—I reached into my pocket and handed him the pill bottle—“was found in Douglas Lee’s closet.” I handed it to the doctor.

  He looked at the label. “Again, I’m not permitted to discuss any of my patients without patient or, in this case, parental consent.”

  I nodded. “Even the dead ones whose prescription medications end up in the possession of another dead kid?”

  “Even those, Mr. Donne. Patient-doctor confidentiality applies even after the patient had passed away.”

  “Passed away?” I said, finding it e
asy to sound offended. “Paulie was run over by a bus and Douglas Lee was stabbed to death. They didn’t just ‘pass away,’ Doctor.”

  “Lower your voice, please,” he said. “Regardless of how it happened, I am bound—both legally and ethically—not to talk about the deceased patient.” He paused for a few seconds. “Who did you say you worked for?”

  “I represent the family of Douglas Lee.” That lie was coming easier.

  “In what capacity?”

  “Private,” I said, before I could take it back.

  “Then you know what I’m talking about. If you went around breaking your clients’ confidentiality, how long do you think you would stay in business?”

  “Point taken,” I said. “But maybe you can answer one question for me.”

  “I doubt it,” he said.

  I took the pill bottle back and pointed at the label.

  “It says here this contained ninety doses. Is that the normal amount?”

  “Let me see that.” He took the bottle and read the label again. I could tell he had something to say, but was weighing it against his professional obligations. “No,” he said after a while. “The usual prescription is thirty doses. That allows me to monitor progress and effectiveness every month.”

  “So, it’s possible for someone to change the amount?” I asked. “To get more?”

  He handed me the bottle. “That would be possible, yes. You would have to look at the original prescription. I suppose you could change the number of doses, and a pharmacy may not notice. I wouldn’t want to testify to that, though.”

  I slipped the bottle back into my pocket.

  “You’re not being asked to testify, Doctor,” I said. “Not yet.”

  “Okay, then,” he said. “If there’s nothing else…”

  “No, Doctor. That’s it for now. Thank you for your time.”

  He turned to go and suddenly thought of something. “Mr. Donne,” he said, stopping at the door he’d come through. “You never showed me your license.”

  “You never asked to see it,” I said, and made a quick exit out to the street.

  Chapter 31

  WHEN I GOT HOME, MY STOMACH reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The number “1” was flashing on my answering machine. I pressed the button and listened to Allison telling me she’d be working late and not to wait for her to eat dinner. I checked my cell phone, and she had left the same message there. I went to the kitchen and took two hot dogs and two buns out of the freezer. I put some water in a pot to boil for the hot dogs and stuck the buns in the microwave for sixty seconds. Yum.