by Tim O'Mara
“Keenan,” he said, as if recalling an old wound.
I nodded. “Eddie’s been a friend for a few years. Does a good job with that team.”
“I’d do a nice job, too, I had that church money backing me up.”
“I don’t think Our Lady spends a lot of money—”
“They hand out some juicy scholarships, though, huh?” he said, taking a long sip from his drink. We both watched as his son raced toward home plate with the errant balls. “Give ’em out like winning lottery tickets to those white boys in Queens.”
“Have you ever played against Our Lady, Mr. Herrera?”
“In tournaments, yeah. Why?”
“Then you know that they’re a pretty mixed team.”
“Mostly white, though.”
I reminded myself I had not come here to get into an argument. Rafael came over and handed the balls to his dad. He was breathing heavily but smiling as he looked at me.
“This is Mr. Donne, Rafi.”
“Frankie’s teacher?” the boy asked.
“Yeah,” I said, pleased that Frankie had mentioned me to the team.
“They find him yet? The cops?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet. That’s sort of why I’m here.”
Herrera gave me a look. “I don’t get that.”
“Did the police talk to you, Mr. Herrera?”
“Over the phone, yeah. Called me at work. Asked if I’d heard from Frankie, when’s the last time I seen him. Stuff like that.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Mechanic.” He gestured across the street with his thumb. “Went to Automotive twenty years ago. Played ball for them. Almost won the city one year.”
I nodded like I was impressed. “Were you able to tell the police anything helpful?”
He thought about that for a few seconds. “Helpful? Like what? I found an address on a piece of paper? Frankie once told me if he’s ever missing, call this secret number? Who the fu— Why are you asking me all these questions? You’re a teacher.”
“I’m trying to find something the cops may’ve overlooked. If I can bring them something they missed, it might jump-start them a bit.”
He shook his head.
“Go run a few laps, Rafi. Before the others get here.”
Rafael was about to object, but the look on his dad’s face told him he’d better not.
“Yes, Coach,” he said and ran off.
“You,” Herrera said after his son was out of earshot, “are one nosy son of a bitch.”
“I’m just trying—”
“To stick your nose all into Frankie’s life.”
“To help find him.”
“Ahh, I see. You a teacher during the day…”—he wiggled his fingers—“and a superhero at night.”
This guy was making it real easy not to like him. The kind of guy who got into arguments for sport. Watching the way he related to his son, I could tell he spent his days and nights not getting along with people.
I tried again. “Coach…”
“You can call me Mister Herrera,” he said. “Only my players call me Coach.”
“Mr. Herrera,” I said, “if there’s anything you might have thought of since you spoke to the police, the detective on the case needs to hear it.”
Herrera grinned and pointed his finger at me. “I got you figured now,” he said. “You’re the guy makes himself feel good by doing things for other people. That’s why you got Frankie into Our Lady. Helping the less fortunate and going home to Long Island or Jersey and telling yourself you did good.”
“I wish I had the time,” I said, “to tell you how wrong you are about so much of the crap that just came out of your mouth. You don’t want to help me—help Frankie—that’s your choice. Just understand what you’re doing.”
“I understand that because of you, I’m losing the best pitcher I got—ever—from my team ’cause he’s going to that Catholic school.”
“That Catholic school,” I said, “is the best chance Frankie’s got to get a good education. It’s probably his ticket to college.”
“Fuck college,” Herrera said. “And fuck you.”
“Nice. You teaching your kid to talk like that?”
He raised his finger again. “Keep Rafael out of it, Mr. Donne.”
“Absolutely. The world needs another angry kid from Brooklyn. Good work.”
He took a step toward me and said, “Get the hell out of here.”
When he was close enough, I reached over the fence and grabbed him by his sweatshirt. “You think you got me figured out?” I said. “Let me give you a try. Your knee? You blew it out playing ball. I’m guessing some rich, white kid from a Catholic school crashed into you at home plate. And when the knee went, so did your chances of making it to the next level. Now you find yourself fixing other people’s cars and coaching a team of other people’s sons so that maybe, one day, you find an arm like Frankie’s and you can relive those glory days of when you had the world by the balls.” I leaned into his face. “In the meantime, don’t kid yourself. You’re nothing but a bitter, selfish loser who treats his son like shit.”
Herrera’s eyes welled up with anger. I looked over to home plate, where Rafael was taking a break from his laps. I let Herrera go.
“You’re lucky,” he said, brushing off the front of his shirt and checking to see if his son had caught what just happened. He hadn’t. “That this fence is here.”
“This fence has nothing to do with it,” I said. “Your son is the only reason I’m not kicking your sorry ass around the bases.”
I turned away and picked up my umbrella. I had gone a few labored steps when I heard him laugh behind me.
“You don’t walk so good either, teacher.”
“No,” I said. “But at least I’m not angry at the whole world because of it.”
I kept on walking, my heart beating too fast and my knees throbbing. Yeah. I was angry. Angry at my body for constantly reminding me of my limitations. Angry at the feeling of taking two steps back for every two forward. And angry for letting this asshole get to me. With nowhere else to go and not feeling like sitting at home alone, again, I headed off in the other direction.
Chapter 24
“SO WHY DIDN’T YOU HIT HIM?”
“Because his kid was there,” I said. “Because he was trying to get me mad and he succeeded, and I don’t like being played like that.”
Edgar and I were eating dinner at The LineUp. I needed some comfort food and drink. Where else was I supposed to go? The cheeseburger and fries were exactly what I wanted at the moment, but the beer wasn’t going down too good.
“I’da slugged him,” Edgar said.
“Yeah, well, it would’ve made me feel better for about five seconds, then I’m left with a bruised hand and the knowledge that I let some knucklehead push my buttons.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “You gonna hang around and watch the game?”
I tried another sip of beer. It still wasn’t working. The mood I was in, if I was going to drink it was going to be for real, and I didn’t want to go there. “No,” I said, taking a twenty out of my pocket. “I think I may just cut my losses and call it a night.”
“Me, too. Besides, I gotta go by and hit the ATM at my bank. I’ll swing you home after.”
“Yeah, why not.”
“Let me go take a quick leak,” he said, “and I’ll meet you outside.”
“You got it,” I said.
Mikey came over and began to clear our places. “You and Edgar got a date tonight? Dinner and a romantic drive?”
I put my hand to my ear like I didn’t hear him. “What’s that? You say you don’t want the tip I was going to leave you?”
“Nothing,” Mikey said. “You two have a good time.”
* * *
Edgar took a bunch of side streets, and in about five minutes we were parked outside his bank by the Williamsburg Bridge. I looked at my watch: almost eight o’clock. Edgar jumped out of
the car and was back in two minutes. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m starting to drift off here.”
“Let’s roll.”
Edgar took a different way home, and before I knew it we were in front of Roberts’s travel agency. The neon sign had been shut off for the night. A white van was parked in front. There must be thousands of white vans in Brooklyn, but this one was parked in front of a place that was connected to Rivas. Curiosity got the best of me, and I asked Edgar to pull over in front of a pile of stacked construction cones less than a block away from Roberts’s.
“Why?” he asked. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I thought I saw someone I know.” I undid my seat belt and turned around to get a better look at the travel agency. “Give it a minute, okay?”
“Take your time, partner. I got all night.”
Partner. Right. “I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
And as if on cue, the front door opened and out walked two men: one short, the other large. Holy shit. Ape and Suit. Suit was holding a briefcase and wearing a light gray jacket with matching pants. Ape had on a sweatsuit the same color. I watched as Ape got into the driver’s side of the van and Suit opened the back door. The back license plate was missing.
“Turn the car around, Edgar,” I said.
“What? You see your friends?”
“Something like that.”
Edgar did a U-turn, pulled over along the chain-link fence that was supposed to keep intruders out of the construction area, and asked, “What now?”
“Switch seats with me,” I said. “I’m going to drive for a while.”
“You know how?”
“Yeah, I know how. Come on. Move.”
Edgar got out and walked around the car while I slid over to the driver’s seat. Down the block, Suit was closing the back door and heading to the passenger side. Edgar was about to say something as he sat down, but I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t get too excited here, but see that van parked in front of the travel agency?”
“Yeah.”
“As soon as it pulls away, we’re going to follow it.”
Edgar got a look on his face like someone had just told him Christmas was coming twice this year. “You’re not fucking with me, are you, Ray?”
I pointed out the front window. “They’re moving, Edgar,” I said. “Buckle up.”
“What’s going on here, Raymond?” he asked as he put on his seat belt.
“I’ll tell you on the way. Right now, I just need you to be quiet. Please.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, trying to sound serious, but not able to get the twelve-year-old kid out of his voice. “This is so cool.”
“We’ll see how cool it is later.”
I pulled away from the fence and followed the van as it made a left turn onto Union Avenue and then stopped at the red light. I made sure to stop a car-length behind and to the right, just in case Ape decided to look in his rearview mirror. Then again, it might give Suit a better view of me if he decided to look behind him. It was dark out, but with the streetlights on …
“You got a hat I could borrow, Edgar?”
He opened up his glove compartment and pulled out a faded Mets cap. “You mind wearing this?” he asked.
I pulled it down low on my head and checked myself out in the rearview mirror. In this light, I didn’t think they’d be able to see my face.
The light turned green, and the van drove on for two blocks and then made a right. After three more blocks, it made another right, and then another, and pulled into a spot just before the next corner. I drove by and found an empty spot just past the intersection. I adjusted my side view and watched as Ape and Suit, the briefcase in his hand, got out of the van and headed across the street to one of the newer apartment buildings on the block. If I remembered correctly, it was one of those senior citizen residences the city had built a few years back after condemning and knocking down a bunch of abandoned buildings.
“Edgar,” I said, “do me a favor and get me the address of that building.”
“You got it.” He again reached into his glove compartment and this time came out with a notepad and pencil. “Anything else?” he asked. “You want me to copy the names and apartment numbers off the buzzers?”
“Just the number of the building. See if you can make out the front license plate on the van, too. And stay on this side of the street, understand?”
“Yeah, I understand,” he said. “Hey, Billy ever get back to you on that plate?”
“It was a no go,” I said. “If you see those two guys come out, just keep walking and go around the block. I’ll meet you at the corner. You got that?”
“Got it.” He got out of the car and stuck his head back in through the window. “I tell you how cool this is?”
“Go, before I change my mind.”
He did. I watched in the rearview mirror as he made his way down the block in that kind of forced casual walk you do when trying too hard not to be noticed. He was probably whistling nonchalantly. I checked out the front of the building. Nobody was coming or going at the moment, so Edgar should be back in less than a minute if he didn’t stop to tie his shoe. I started counting, and before I reached forty, he had returned.
“I got it,” he said, showing me the number on his notepad. “No front plate, though. What are we going to do next?”
“We are going to wait,” I said, as I ripped out the page from his pad and slipped it into my pants pocket, “and see what they do next.”
“So we have some time for you to tell me who those guys are, right?”
“Yeah, but first, let me move this thing.” I started the car up again and shifted it into reverse. A spot was open on the near side of the cross street, and I wanted to be in position to follow the van in case it made the right turn instead of going straight. I backed out slowly and did a reverse U-turn into the spot I wanted. I couldn’t see the van anymore, but since they were parked on a one-way street, they had only one way to go: past me.
“You did that rather nicely, Ray.”
“I did go through the academy, Edgar. Driving’s part of the training.”
“Sorry,” he said. “So those guys…”
“Those guys,” I began, “kidnapped me the other day.”
“No shit? Kidnapped! For real?”
“They forced me into the van and took me for a ride. By definition, that’s kidnapping. They threatened me—threatened my sister—if I didn’t give them any new information about Frankie from the cops, or that I find out on my own by the next time they catch up with me. Not that the cops are telling me anything. I told my Uncle Ray, and he told the lead investigator on Frankie’s case.”
Edgar looked at me silently and when he realized I was done, he said, “Holy shit. Shouldn’t we call the cops?” Again, he reached into his glove compartment. This time he came out with a phone. “I mean, let’s get those guys. You want me to dial nine-one-one?”
“And tell them what, exactly?”
“That we spotted the van that— Hey, that’s not the same white van I saw last week is it?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Hey!” Edgar said, pointing out the window. “There they go.”
I shifted the car into drive and followed as the van took a right at the corner. Less than two minutes later, two more rights and a left, they pulled over again. Instead of passing them, I stopped the car a half block behind, double-parked, and shut off the headlights. Ape and Suit got out and crossed the street. Suit had the briefcase again. They entered another apartment building, this one taller and older than the last. They didn’t have to buzz to get into either building. They had keys. I remembered that Roberts owned some apartment buildings in Brooklyn. This was getting interesting.
“You want me to get the number of that building, too?” Edgar asked, clutching his notepad and reaching for the door handle.
“We’ll get it when we pass it,” I said. “Relax.”
&nbs
p; “Okay, okay,” he said. “It’s just that this is—”
“I know. It’s so cool.” I took a deep breath and added, “The hardest part of doing a stakeout is waiting, Edgar. If you really want to get good at this”—and I knew he wanted exactly that—“you have to learn patience. You do not make things happen, you react when they do.”
He wrote that down. “If you’ve planned it right and you’ve got people to relieve you, you take some water, a couple of apples, and maybe some mixed nuts. If you’re by yourself or don’t know when your backup’s coming, you want an empty bottle in the backseat. Just in case.”
“Got it.”
“Good,” I said. “Now, get ready, ’cause we’re moving again. Get that building number.”
Ape and Suit were getting into their van. We followed them as they took a straight shot almost back to Union Avenue. We drove by as they pulled over. I stopped at the next corner and watched as Suit got out with his case and crossed the street. Ape remained in the van.
“They changed their pattern, Ray.”
“I see that, Edgar. I’m going to circle back. I want the address of that building.”
“Why’d they change up like that?”
“Playing it safe, probably. Making sure nobody’s doing what we’re doing.”
I drove around the block, and as we passed the apartment building, I read the number off to Edgar. “Now what?” he asked.
“Now,” I said, driving past the van, “we go back to the travel agency and wait.”
“You think they’re going back there?”
“That’s what I want to find out. They’re collecting something. If they do go back to Roberts’s, then we can assume whatever they’re picking up belongs to him.”
That, I thought to myself, would tie Ape and Suit even more directly to Roberts and give me enough strong information to bring to Detective Royce, even if I had to explain how I came across the connection. I’m sure he’d be real pleased when I told him that story. It’s not like I had intended to tail these guys. I was on my way home, saw the van pulling away from Roberts’s, and what was I supposed to do? I’ll just tell him the truth and let him handle it.
I pulled over alongside the construction fence and looked at the travel agency.
