Crooked Numbers

by Tim O'Mara

  I went back to the phone and called my mom. I left a brief message on her machine and told her I’d try her again in the next few days. She’d probably call me back in a few hours. Rachel’s machine also picked up, and I left a similar message. I opened my cell phone, retrieved Mrs. Lee’s number, and used my landline to call her. She picked up after two rings.

  “What were you able to find out?” she asked after we exchanged quick hellos.

  I told her about my visits to the pharmacist and the doctor.

  Silence. “I really think you should call Detective Murcer,” I said. “You also might want to consider calling your brother-in-law, Mrs. Lee.”

  “Oh, Lord,” she said. “Do you think it will come to that? The FDA?”

  “Right now, I don’t know. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a lawyer on your side if it does. I know how that sounds, but he is family.”

  “Yes,” she said, as if just remembering that. “He is.”

  “I’ll give you a call tomorrow after I hear from the pharmacist.”

  “Thank you again, Mr. Donne. For everything.”

  “Let’s speak tomorrow.”

  I ate most of my dinner watching the Manhattan skyline through my windows. It looked like more snow was coming, so I brought the rest of my meal into the living room, fell into the couch, and flipped on the Weather Channel.

  *

  “Ray?”

  I opened my eyes and saw Allison smiling down at me and shaking the keys I’d forgotten I’d given her. Not a bad way to wake up from an early-evening nap.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Looks like you had quite a party, huh?”

  I sat up and looked at the coffee table. Half a hot dog sat by itself on a plate next to two empty beer bottles. Video of snow falling in the Midwest was on the TV.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Sorry you missed it. Got crazy there for a while. You make it through the day okay?”

  “I was a bit jumpy, and I probably looked over my shoulder more than is socially acceptable. But yeah, I’m okay.” She picked up the remains of my hot dog and took a bite. “Yum. Ketchup and mustard.”

  “Don’t eat that,” I said. “I can make you one.”

  “I had a pretzel on the way home,” she said, finishing the hot dog in another bite. Then, realizing what she’d just said, added, “I mean, the way here.”

  She wrapped her arms around me and we kissed. When the kiss was over, she held me at arm’s length. “Honey, I’m home,” she teased.

  “Why must you smother me, woman?”

  “Man!” She slapped my arm.

  I laughed and looked at her neck. “I see you removed the Band-aid. Let me see.”

  She raised her chin to give me a better look. Up close, cleaned, and almost two days later, it didn’t look so bad. Something clicked.

  “You didn’t get a good look at the weapon that did this, did you?”

  “No, Ray. I was scared and it was up against my throat. Why?”

  “I was just thinking,” I said. “Looking at your…”

  “Yeah?”

  I touched her neck gently. “This is similar to the wound Murcer described on Dougie’s neck. Right under the chin.”

  She reached into her bag to pull out a small mirror and looked at her wound. I watched as the reporter’s lightbulb went off. “You’re right.”

  “That could explain the warning to stop writing about Dougie.”

  “It could,” she agreed. Another fifteen seconds of silence.

  “So,” I finally said. “How was the rest of your day, dear?”

  “I stopped by the hospital to see if I could get some more info on Jack Quinn.”

  “And…?”

  “He was discharged on Saturday, very early morning.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We knew that. Did you ask about the food poisoning?”

  “The nurse I spoke with didn’t seem to buy into that. But she did strongly imply it was drug-related.”

  “Which drugs?” I thought back to the ADHD meds and those other capsules Dougie had hidden in his closet.

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  I told her what the doctor and pharmacist had said.

  “There’s another connection between the boys and drugs,” she said.

  “It’d be one hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t. I mean, Dougie was in possession of Paulie Sherman’s ADHD meds and another unknown drug. Jack Quinn ends up in the hospital, and maybe it was an overdose of something.” It was hard to say what came out next. “I think it’s time we call Murcer ourselves.”

  Allison smirked. “He’ll be so glad to hear from Nancy Drew and Encyclopedia Brown. How do we explain how we just happened to come across this information?”

  “Good question,” I said. Then it came to me. “You,” I began, “can claim you got a phone call and—as a journalist—are under no obligation to reveal a confidential source. Isn’t that in the Constitution or something?”

  “Not quite. But maybe Murcer won’t push it,” she said. “I could always tell him the call was anonymous. It’s good info, and he should be happy to have it. I’ll also have to tell him about Saturday night’s assault.” She closed her eyes. “That protects me,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I got a phone call from Dougie’s mom,” I said matter-of-factly. “There’s nothing to suggest I was impeding anything. He’ll give me some shit for not calling him sooner—you’ll probably get the same shit—but I can handle that. I get worse from the parents at school.”

  “Okay,” Allison said. “Sounds like half a plan at least.” She looked at her watch. “Murcer’s probably gone for the day. I’ll call first thing tomorrow. It’s early. You got pay-per-view?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and handed her the remote. “Find something not too chick-flicky, and I’ll pop some popcorn.”

  “You’re a cheap date, Raymond.”

  “There’s a rumor I’m easy, too.”

  We kissed again, and she gave my butt a slap. “We’ll see about that.” She pointed the remote at the TV. “Now, get that popcorn.”

  Chapter 32

  I GRABBED MY USUAL cup of coffee at the deli right outside the subway entrance. I thought about picking up a paper, but figured I’d had enough “news” lately. I looked up at the clouds and could smell snow in the air. Angel and his dad were standing on the steps in front of the building when I got to school. Both looked cold, and neither looked happy. Angel clearly had been crying.

  “Mr. Rosario,” I said, stopping a step below them. “What’s going on?”

  He let out a deep breath as he shook my hand, looking like someone who’d just received bad news or was about to report some.

  “I was on the phone with my union rep yesterday,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “He told me to expect this thing with the kid at the bus stop to drag out for a while. He said maybe even a year.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “Did you get a lawyer?”

  “With what?” he said. “I ain’t getting paid during the suspension. We were practically living check-to-check before this. I gotta go with the union’s lawyer, and I’m not the only case he’s working on.”

  Damn. “Did you get the collection from the school?”

  “Yes, it was very generous. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of charity, but…” He took a deep breath. “Thank you. It’ll cover half a month’s rent, but it don’t look like things are gonna work out very soon.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Do you have anybody you can stay with for a while? Friends or family?”

  He nodded and put his arm around Angel. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I got a cousin, runs an auto repair and body shop up near Kingston. Been asking me for years to come up and work with him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Got himself a nice house up there, too. Whattaya call it?” It came to him. “A mother-daughter. He and his family got
the first floor, the basement, and the backyard. The upstairs he made into an apartment. Two small bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen. Separate entrance. The works.”

  “So you’re here to…”

  “I been in touch with the middle school near my cousin’s place,” he said. “I gotta get Angel discharged from here before they let me enroll him up there.”

  Angel started crying again. His whole life was about to change, and none of it was his fault. His dad pulled him close.

  “It’s too good a deal to pass up,” the father said, as much for Angel’s sake as for mine. “Rafael—that’s my cousin—said I can have the upstairs, and the rent’ll come out of some of what I make at the shop.” He shook his head. “I hate to leave here, but I gotta look out for Angel.”

  “I get that,” I said. “When does all this happen?”

  “Gonna be on our way up day after tomorrow. My cousin’s sending down a moving van; we’ll put what we can in it and that’s that.”

  He had this all worked out. This was a good man dealing with a bad situation.

  “You know,” I said, “I took a trip over to the bus stop last week. To see if I could talk some sense into this Hector kid.”

  “Really?” he said, surprised. “How’d that go?”

  “Kid’s a first-class knucklehead. I even had my uncle give it a shot.”

  “The cop?” Angel asked, breaking his silence.

  “The Chief,” I reminded him.

  “And?”

  “And Hector’s too stupid to be scared of much. He thinks this lawsuit is going to end all his troubles and set him up for life.”

  “Yeah, as he fucks around with mine.”

  I looked at Angel and touched his shoulder. “How’re you doing with all this?”

  He shrugged. “It sucks. We didn’t do nothing and now we gotta move.” He looked at me with tears in his eyes. “I like this school. This is where all my friends are at, and now I gotta start at a brand-new school with new kids and new teachers. Don’t know no one.”

  “Any cousins up there?”

  “Yeah, but they’re all younger than me.”

  Mr. Rosario removed his arm from around Angel and put his hands in his pockets.

  “I explained to Angel,” he said. “Gonna have to make the best outta this. Life throws some nasty stuff at you sometimes. Gotta move on the best you can.”

  “That’s a good attitude,” I said. “But if you had your way…”

  “I’d stay here in the Burg. Grew up here. Hell, all my friends are here, too. But I got other things I got to think about. Like working a decent job and Angel getting to school safe every day.” He looked up at the sky. “Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe it’s all part of a plan.”

  That’s a conversation for another day.

  “So,” I said, “you have to meet with the pupil accounting secretary.”

  “She the one does the discharges?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the one I hafta see then.” He turned to his son. “Let’s go, Angel.”

  They made their way to the front door. Mr. Rosario had his hand on the handle when a thought came to me.

  “Mr. Rosario?”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “You’re not leaving for two days, right?”

  “Thursday, right.”

  I walked up to where the two of them stood. I put my hand on his arm and gently pulled Mr. Rosario to the side, out of earshot of Angel.

  “Why don’t you wait a day on the discharge?” I said.

  “I’m here now, Mr. Donne. We got a lot of things to do before Thursday.”

  “I know, but a lot can happen in a day.”

  “What? You think Hector’s gonna have a revelation or something? You think there’s a chance in hell he’s gonna drop the charges?” He lowered his voice. “Come on, man. You said so yourself. He ain’t scared of shit. This lawsuit is his Lotto ticket. Ain’t nothing gonna change his mind about that.”

  “You’re probably right.” I paused to think about what to say next. “Do what you have to do at home. Come back tomorrow and, if nothing’s changed, you go through with the discharge.”

  “What does that mean, Mr. Donne? If nothing’s changed?”

  I had an idea but decided it was best not to tell him. It might not work, and I didn’t want to get his hopes up.

  “A day,” I said. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  There must have been something in my eyes because Mr. Rosario looked straight at them, seemed to find an understanding, and nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “But what’re you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to make a phone call,” I said. “Then we’ll see what happens.”

  *

  After homeroom ended and the hallways were cleared for first period, I went to my office and used my cell to make my phone call. I left a message. Five minutes later, my cell chirped. I recognized the number as the one I’d just dialed.

  “Raymond Donne,” I answered.

  “Talk to me.”

  I did. When I was done, the voice said, “Check with you later.”

  I went over to my desk and filled out some forms that needed to be faxed over to the district office before the end of the day. As much as I hated paperwork, I had to admit that once in a while I welcomed a break from the various crises I found myself as dean dealing with on an almost daily—sometimes hourly—basis. I finished most of it just as first period ended. I canvassed the halls and, when I got back to my office, my cell rang again.

  “Raymond Donne.”

  “Mr. Donne,” the voice said. “Warren from the pharmacy.”

  “Yeah. How are you? Did the lab results come back already?”

  “Yes, sir. Your extra twelve bucks was money well spent. Lab’s open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

  “So whatta you got for me, Warren?”

  “What I got for you, Mr. Donne, is very interesting.”

  “Good interesting,” I asked, “or bad interesting?”

  “Not quite sure yet, but…” I could hear the sound of a computer printer running. “It says here, part of what your friend’s kid had in his pockets was a nonprescription dietary supplement.”

  “Vitamins?” I asked.

  “That’s part of it,” he said. “The B vitamins, mostly. The kind of stuff they put into those energy drinks. Then”—he paused, I assumed to read the printout—“it’s got a bunch of … Do you know what nootropics are?”

  “Say again?”

  “No. Uh. Troe. Pix.”

  “I don’t.”

  “They’re nonprescription cognitive enhancers, and this little pill’s got … nine of them. Basically, what they do is raise the level of acetylcholine in the brain. That’s a neurotransmitter that increases the brain’s ability to take in and remember new information. Works kind of like that ADHD med your friend’s kid had.” He paused. “It’s an over-the-counter smart drug.”

  Smart drugs. I’ve known for a while that college and high school students were using ADHD meds for off-label use. They’d pop them when they had an all-nighter or a big test they had to study for. Problem was, many of those meds are addictive.

  “So, this capsule,” I said, “with all these cognitive enhancers and B vitamins … this is approved by the FDA?”

  “That’s the beauty of them. They don’t have to be. They’re dietary supplements. All the stuff’s been approved already. That’s the part of your friend’s pill that’s kosher.”

  “And the part that’s not?”

  “Donepezil.”

  “Which is?”

  “Mainly prescribed to patients with Alzheimer’s to treat dementia. It helps the patients think more clearly and process information better. Unlike the nootropics, donepezil is a prescription drug and, to my knowledge, has never been combined with nootropics.”

  “What would be the benefit of combining them?” I asked.

  “Donepezil improves, or at least slow
s down the loss of, mental functioning. Memory, attention, reasoning, and language skills.”

  I thought about that for a bit, then said, “So, by combining them, you’re basically making—”

  “A super smart drug,” Warren said. “In theory. But donepezil comes with a whole list of potential side effects, some of them pretty serious: depression, nervousness, insomnia. Any combination of donepezil with dietary supplements would need to be tested prior to it being made available to the public.”

  I thought back to my conversation with Muscles. “Clinical trials,” I said.

  “You got it,” Warren said. “The question is: How did your friend’s kid get this combination?”

  That was a good question, I thought.

  “Could someone combine the two by themselves?” I asked.

  “They’d have to have access to some pretty sophisticated laboratory equipment to do it right and make it safe,” Warren said. “That kind of hardware runs into the hundreds of thousands and is not easy to come by.”

  “But all the big pharmaceuticals have them, right?”

  “The biggies do, sure. Smaller ones contract out.”

  And the only pharmaceutical company in Dougie’s life was Ward Fullerton, whose head of research and development just happened to be the father of one of his best friends. Shit on a stick. What the hell had these kids gotten themselves into?

  “Okay, Warren,” I said. “Thanks a lot. You’ve been more than helpful.”

  “Don’t thank me so quick, Mr. Donne. I gotta call these results in to the FDA.”

  “I thought Poison Control would do that.”

  “They will, but I got my obligations, too.”

  Right. “Okay.” I said. “I appreciate the help.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Warren said. “And good luck to your friends.”

  It was way too late for that.

  Chapter 33

  WHEN THE BELL RANG at the end of the day, I headed outside, cleared my kids off the streets, and, despite the cold, decided to walk home. Maybe I’d hit the fish store and pick up something for dinner—tuna steaks, maybe—and a bottle of white wine. I needed some air, some movement, and some space.