About ten people disappeared in Queens every day. But, there are too many to keep track of. After a while, things just slipped by.
But then again, the Chief knew the truth about my position. I was only meant to deal with the paperwork that missing persons generated, more than work to find them.
"What can I do for you Chief?"
“James, we found out which gang that skinhead belonged to, the guy who almost ran you over, last night.”
I raised my eyebrows and waited for the answer.
“The skinhead belonged to one called the 'Day of the Dead.'”
"Well, that's grim," I kept looking at the report in my hand.
In truth, I didn’t want to think about the guy with the tattoos covering his face. He died once. Now, he would die a second time when his three nights were up when he crosses over. That was all I needed to know.
The Chief continued, “I gave you this spot in Missing Person’s Unit because you did well last year in that murder case you handled with my son. You made me look good and helped my family and I am grateful.“
Okay, I thought. Say thank you and get the hell out of here.
Instead, the Chief stepped toward my desk with a manila folder in his hands, "So, I took you off the homicide unit and put you down here because you wanted it."
"And I appreciate it all, Chief," I looked into his eyes, "I sincerely do."
"I don’t know why you like it down here, away from the streets. But, you helped me, and I helped you. Right?”
“Yeah. Where are you going with this Chief? What's up?”
“James, it’s still a mystery to me how you solved that murder last year.”
"Just good informants. That's all."
Even though you don’t want to do this kind of work, I know that you still got that magic touch. You got a natural instinct for it that I have not seen in all my time on the force..." The Chief pinched his gray hair, "... and that's a lot of years."
"It's good old fashion police training. That's all, Chief."
"Well, I got another one for you."
"Not again," I said under my breath.
"I don’t want this one in the press. Once the newspaper hounds start sniffing around this one, they’ll be on our backs, like damn monkeys.”
"I can't go out there now, Chief."
The Chief looked him over and threw several photos on the desk. James picked up the glossy prints and examined them. The photographs were in black and white.
I looked at the pictures, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Where did you get these, Chief?”
“In Sunnyside on Skillman Avenue. Can you believe that? A jogger found this damn thing on the street, by Steinmann Square just lying there on the sidewalk.”
“Jesus, Chief.”
“Right off the bat, this is isn’t good, James."
I looked at the top photo again, "No. It's not."
"We don't need another article about how we can't do our jobs, especially in this kind of anti-police climate. If we look bad, the mayor will look bad.”
"But, he already does."
"Come on, James."
I didn’t look at the rest of the photos and threw them back on the desk. “Chief, I’m not murder police, anymore. Besides, I can’t go back to that.”
“Think James.”
James knew that if he did not comply. The Chief would try to get him out of the department.
“What are you saying, Chief?”
“I need you to lead the investigation, before the Feds confiscate all our evidence. I need you to find the person responsible for this.”
“I don’t know, if I can.”
“Why do you want to stay here with all these missing people. Don’t you want to talk to some real people and get out and do some real police work?”
I knew that the Chief would never understand unless he were to see with his own eyes. I had one chance to keep myself off the street. Why keep hiding it, I thought. Just show the Chief your eyes. I thought to myself. Again, I looked at the photograph.
If I didn't take the case, the Chief was going to ask me to resign.
In a way, this job was the best kind of position for me. If someone was missing, then they weren’t dead. A good percentage always comes back home after a couple of days. But the others were probably abducted to some dark places in this city.
As a missing person detective, there was one perk. If the missing were dead, they were probably somewhere else, far away from me. If they were far away from me, then I wouldn't run into the dead. I was safe as long as I didn’t see them and they didn't see me.
Looking at the Chief, I knew that I wanted to stay in this job for my pension. I wasn't always going to be this good looking forever. I must have been getting too comfortable in this job that I thought I would slide through life like so many in this city do.
For some stupid reason, I just couldn’t let go of the department, not entirely. The reasons always went back to my father. He told me that I would one day find out why God made me this way, like a freak. I only had to stay on the force. For now, the missing person unit was a time of peace and quiet. I didn’t have to worry about running or chasing after a ghost.
“Detective James Night, it’s time to get out there. One more time. I need your magic touch on this." The Chief tapped the photos with his index finger. "From the beginning, this thing is upside down and dripping in blood.”
I stayed silent.
“Think about it.” he said. “I’ll let you come back here, permanently, afterward”
“What if there is no afterward? And what about the press.”
“I’ll handle them and quarterback this from the station. I just need you to do the real work in the field. Think about it. What happens is up to you. But, one way or the other, you're getting out from behind that desk.”
Chief Harris got up and left the photos.
Before the Chief left, he said, "James, I need someone who thinks out of the box on this. That's you, buddy.”
The chief wasn’t going to let me slide on this.
I grabbed the photos to take another look. The photos contained a gruesome scene. Something that I have never seen in my life. There was a severed arm with several tattoos, resting on top of a black garbage bag. There was a tattoo of a flower on the inside of the arm.
The girl in the Violet dress, came to mind. Then, he thought about the street walker who called him the other day. Her name was Violet.
7
The Missing Flower
At night, Queens Gazette ReporterLuella Matos walked down Roosevelt Avenue in Woodside, where she shared a walk-up apartment with an old friend from New York University. She liked the neighborhood because it had character and it was close to her beat.
As she looked for something to eat, she thought about what La Negra said over the phone. It sounded strange to her.
Maria said she knew that she’s still out there. She knew that she’s still alive. I just needed people to help look for her.
As the seven train roared overhead, Luella stood next to a Mexican food truck parked in the driveway of an auto repair shop. In Spanish, she ordered some food from the woman standing behind the counter. Five minutes later, she drank a cup of rice milk and wolfed down three tacos filled with grilled cow tongue, onions, cilantro and a dose of lime.
Throughout the year, Luella had changed many things about herself. She was no longer waiting tables on the upper east side or working the assignment desk at the Brooklyn Bullet. Luella thought about her conversation with Maria, as she cleaned her hands with a napkin.
“Please believe me. Violet's out there. I know she's out there. I feel it with my heart. Help me.”
“Of course I believe you, Maria. We will find her.” Luella told her.
These words were all that Luella could say to comfort her. Luella walked away from the bright lights of Roosevelt Avenue and went down 65th Street.
Tonight, there was going to be a memorial for Violet at Mari
a’s house. Violet had been missing for a week. The police and the city newspapers didn't care about her story because she was an illegal immigrant and a hooker.
Besides, girls like Violet went missing all the time in New York City.
Maria’s house glowed with light coming from the window. The shades were pulled down, and she saw Maria’s shadow in the frame of the window. From outside, Luella heard Maria lamenting in Spanish. A burden of sorrow laid on her shoulders. The silhouette of her head tilted up, as another person came to visit her with a gift in hand.
La Negra spoke in Spanish to her visitor. “Thank you. Thank you so much for visiting. This mean so much to Violet and me. Now, I need your help to find her. I know that she is still out there. I know it. We’ll find her together.”
“Yes Negra. Yes.”
When Luella reached the front of Ms. Vargas’ house, there was a line of people going up the stairs. Her neighbors were there to show their support.
Others carried small envelopes with a donation tucked inside. Luella walked up the stairs, skipping over the line. At the door of Maria’s house, a tall Mexican man wore a black Stetson hat and black cowboy boots. He stood at the door like a bouncer with a real serious look on his face. But, she asked him about Maria.
“I’m looking for La Negra. I’m from the Queens Gazette.”
However, the man in the black Stetson hat stayed silent and only stared at her. He looked at her, admiring her face and the rest of her. Then, he signaled to her to proceed with a nod of his head.
Luella made her way through the crowded hallway. As she passed by everyone, she politely greeted everyone with a smile and a hello in Spanish. The people there were too busy with drinks in their hands, to return the greeting.
Up ahead, the light from the living room spilled into the hallway. There was a group of people crowding by the threshold.
In the hallway, Luella heard La Negra talk about Violet. “Violet was a good girl who had some real challenges in life. But, life is about overcoming whatever difficulties comes our way. It's about whatever stands between you and the one you love. She wasn't a perfect girl. I know that. But, who is?.”
Maria always called her Violet and nothing else. She wondered if the Maria knew her real name.
Luella didn't immediately go into the living room to greet Maria. She hung back by the threshold, looking into the living room. She wanted to see everyone’s faces, this moment to mourn the missing.
It looked like they were all from the neighborhood. Then, Luella noticed visitors going in and out of Violet’s room, the walls painted red. People passed through looking at offerings that Ms. Vargas placed in her room. There a were hundred porcelain sculptures over the floor. Three candles burned from cast iron holders on the wall in the shape of a circle. In the middle, there was Violet. As visitors passed the flames, they made the sign of the cross in front of a picture of Violet. They all prayed for her safe return.
In the living room, there were a ring of chairs. Maria sat in an old chair by the window with the shade drawn. There was a smaller circle of chairs filled with several older Spanish women. Most of the people carried a violet flyer in their hands.
Luella looked over a lady's shoulder to read it. She realized that it was another flyer that she helped Maria put together in the afternoon. In red bold, the word 'MISSING' spanned the top of the page and a picture underneath.
She saw that Violet was brown and her hair was curly.
There was also a $25,00 reward offered for viable information leading to the safe return of Violet. The whole neighborhood chipped in.
Luella took a deep breath, thinking that she was crazy for getting too involved in this story. She was going to speak with Maria when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder.
When she turned around, she couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Detective James Night.
Luella and James stepped into the kitchen where they spoke in the corner of the room. There were two men in black cowboy hats by the back door and a pair of older ladies sitting at a kitchen table against the wall. Each pair spoke quietly to each other. Occasionally, they looked over at James and Luella who found their quiet corner in the kitchen by the stove and the sink. The corner of the kitchen illuminated by a lamp below the microwave.
“James, what are you doing here?”
James stayed quiet for a moment and then looked into Luella’s hazel eyes. For a moment, he thought that he would drown in her caramel eyes.
“I came here for you,” James told her.
Sometimes, James became quickly infatuated with any good looking woman that took the slight interest in him.
Luella moved closer to him and asked, “You're here for me? What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
James looked over at the two men at the back door. He knew that both of them were armed. One carried a pistol under his black jacket, and the other had a gun behind his waist.
The whole time, he wanted to warn her. But, he couldn’t tell her exactly what he knew. So, he did the best that he could without causing too much attention. He shouldn’t have been in the house. He should have kept his distance, while he was working on the case.
James continued, “I understand that you care for these girls. But, I have to…”
“…What?”
“Look. There may be different facets of this case, which you may not be aware of, that may not be safe for you. In fact, I know for a certain. Do you understand?”
“But the story?”
“Wait. Listen to me.”
James grabbed her and receded into the corner of the kitchen. While James held her by the waist, it was at this point when she was so close to his face that she noticed his contact lenses.
Right then and there, James should have told her to stop pursuing the story. But, he couldn’t. He saw her eyes. In the end, James knew that Luella wouldn’t stop, until she got her story.
If he told her who Maria Vargas was, he couldn’t reveal his source without betraying the police department. However, he wasn’t a rat. In the end, she wouldn’t believe him, unless he told her the truth.
For a little while longer, they stared at each other, without saying a word, as the park darkened around them.
8
When Dead Birds Sing
The following evening, Detective James Night went out to forget about the girl in the violet dress. It was the third night and her time was up.
Arriving at the 74th St. Train Station in Jackson Heights, James took the escalator down to the ground floor and went outside into the drizzling rain. He delved into the night without his gun or badge. For the last three days, he had been running away from a ghost. Tonight was her third and final night. Tonight, she met her Crossing and would be gone.
As soon as he opened the door of the train station, the delicious smell of grilled meat filled his nose. On the sidewalk, there was a line of street cart vendors selling chicken and gyro sandwiches for those who wanted something quick and dirty dinner. Two of the vendors sold pieces of meat skewered with orange wooden stakes.
James stood under the viaduct of the train and looked around, before continuing. He pulled out a cigarette from the inside of his thin fitted navy blue trench coat. A second later, he fired up his lighter, as his black hair swayed in the night wind.
James looked around at the crowd, where all types came and went out of the train station, South Americans, Haitians, Backpackers, Gentrifiers. The train station was a melting pot.
Then, there were the South American blue collar workers drowning their sorrows in the bars along Roosevelt Avenue. Each one had families back in their home country. As they worked, the money they generated in New York City went back to their wives or mothers or whomever. While being away from their families, they were lonely, and the bars along Roosevelt Avenue filled that need. Even though all the money they made went back home, they saved some money to splurge on themselves in bars like these, where a couple of dollars could buy a dance with a young girl. In most c
ases, they came to the bars along Roosevelt Avenue for companionship and conversation in a familiar language.
Once again, James looked around the street for the girl in the violet dress. He was sure he lost her again.
Over the last two nights, he managed to lose her. He had one more to go. But, there was a part of him that felt her watching him. But, he wasn’t going to speak to her or engage her, like she wanted. He didn’t care about anything she said about her landlord, Maria Vargas aka the La Negra. He hoped that Luella would keep safe.
It did not matter, he thought. It was the third night. At midnight, he would not see her again. After three days, she either went up or not.
From under the viaduct, James headed toward a bar on Roosevelt Avenue, on the north end of the strip. The streets were bustling with neon light and music, coming from the bars, restaurants, and shops. The seven train screeched overhead, dropping sparks of orange light on the street. There was a line of cars in each direction, for blocks, without end. For James, Roosevelt Avenue was a welcome distraction.
Along the way, James kept telling himself that nothing happened that morning, three days ago.
The morning was normal, he said to himself, as he walked along the sidewalk with a cigarette in his hand.
Or did he mess up?
All he did that morning was file some paperwork with the courthouse, bright and early. That was all.
But truthfully, Detective James Night never even got a chance to do that. It wasn’t until now that he started thinking about what happened that morning, with the girl in the violet dress.
Later in the night, James Night found himself in a small bar along Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights. He promised himself that he would not get involved with another ghost, no matter how she looked.
The music was loud at the bar. Every beat was a boom that shook the liquid inside his brain. For a time, he thought of nothing. And that was how he liked it.
Never Wake the Dead Page 5
