by Mark Pryor
“Sure, why not you?” he said.
“Yeah, OK. I’m in. Where and when?”
“Don’t you want to know the buy in?”
“Oh yeah. How much?”
“Two grand. Cash. No checks or IOUs. Five people, so you can walk away with a helluva stash of cash, or lose big. That’s the main thing, Brian, you have to be prepared to lose the entire two Gs and not be a baby about it.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a jab at me, whether he thought I was a baby. It was a lot of money, but I didn’t want him to know I thought so. I tried to sound flippant. “I probably have that much lying around my apartment. It’s no problem at all.”
“OK.” He paused, then said, “So we’re clear, gambling this kind of money is illegal.”
I didn’t know that and my mouth suddenly went dry. “It is? You sure?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s why we play for fun, not money. The two grand is for . . . other things. You know, the pleasure of my company.”
“Right, of course. I figured.” Relief washed over me, and I grinned. “Hey, you sure that’s not illegal too?”
“Good one. Anyway, because of the whole legality shit, I’ll send you a text with the details—day, time, place. Not from my phone, though.”
“Roughly when?” I asked. Connie would need advance notice; she was an angel as a nurse but could be a little clingy.
“This weekend, maybe early next week. Don’t flake on us, man.”
“I won’t, don’t worry.” Even if Connie didn’t like it, this was a cool thing for me. Poker with Dominic and friends. I just needed to stay sober, otherwise I’d not only lose all my money but end up looking like an idiot. I decided that my main priority at that poker game would be getting invited back to a second one, and if that meant a few loose bets, so be it. It would be an investment. I’d look at it like that and hope Dominic didn’t figure out that I was kinda playing him.
◯
DOMINIC
I still needed to find Bobby.
That afternoon, I parked in the almost-empty parking lot outside the Dove Springs Rec Center on Ainez Drive in East Austin. A few people lingered outside, but their eyes were more into my car than me. I’d tried to dress down, changing from my suit to jeans and a raggedy sweatshirt, but I wasn’t about to have my trousers hang below my arse like these people.
My observations were interrupted when my phone rang. The name Bernadette Graves Phillips appeared on the screen. She was the owner and manager of the hottest music venue in Austin, Club Steamboat, a place that had graced Austin for twenty-two years, closed in 1999, and reappeared with much fanfare six months ago.
By reopening the club Bernadette had become an Austin legend. She was fifty-something, dressed exuberantly, had an encyclopedic knowledge of local music, and knew pretty much everyone in the business. I knew her because she’d been a paralegal for the DA’s office for thirty years before winning several million in the state lottery and quitting on the spot to live her dream—reviving an old institution and inviting her favorite musicians to play every night of the week.
“Dominic, can you play next Monday night?”
“Me and who else?”
“Just you. Main feature.”
“I think that’s for movies.”
She cackled with laughter. “Maybe. Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Because of the tips?”
“No one goes to clubs on Mondays so, yeah, the tips and playing to empty chairs. Not my idea of a wild night.”
“This place is full every night. Mostly.”
“For now. Things will slide, Bernie, they always do, and in six months I’ll find myself in the Monday night slot playing to a couple of regular drunks and the cleaning lady with her mop in the corner. I have a glamorous reputation to uphold.”
“Yeah, well. How about whatever you make in tips, I match.”
I knew why she wanted me there. We were friends, yes, but even a year after the Tristan Bell heist I was still kind of a celebrity, the prosecutor-musician with the cool accent who’d narrowly, but bravely, avoided being framed for murder. Cachet right there.
“Two times zero still comes to zero,” I said. “But if you’re up for risking some cash, let’s have a wee wager.”
“Like what?”
“Average crowd for a Monday night is small, agreed?”
“Relatively, I guess so.”
“How about I fill the place for you. Earn myself two hundred in tips. You’ll double that.”
“Wait,” she said. “You’ll make yourself two hundred and I pay you four hundred on top?”
“Think of the beer sales. All that Chardonnay you’ll sell.”
“And how do you propose to pack the place on a Monday night?” she asked.
“That’s my problem. You game?”
She was quiet for a moment. I don’t know why; it’s not like money mattered to her anyway. “Hell, yes, of course I’m in. I’ll advertise you for nine p.m.”
“Make it eight. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
We rang off, and I smiled. I do like a nice wager now and again.
I wandered into the Dove Springs Rec Center, but there were no kids in there, not of Bobby’s age. I was pretty sure I’d recognize his two best buddies, Anton and Ledarius. Well, certain in Anton’s case because I’d refreshed my recollection with his mug shot. Ledarius didn’t have one of those, but he was pretty distinctive-looking, and I’d seen him two or three times in passing.
Neither boy was inside, as I discovered when I wandered slowly through the place. Nicer than I’d imagined, with furniture in decent shape and more facilities than just a broken pool table and gum on the windowsills. My expectations hadn’t been high.
I stood by a window, waiting, watching people come and go, watching the small groups outside. I was there less than two minutes when I saw Anton approach the entrance. He wore either jeans that were way too short, or denim shorts that were way too long. He walked with a swagger, like he owned the place, but once inside he paused and looked a little lost. I went up to him.
“Anton. Can I talk to you?”
He looked at me for a moment, then said, “I know you. You’re the prosecutor on my case.” His eyes narrowed. “You ain’t supposed to talk to me.”
“About your case, true. But I’m not here about that.”
“What, then?”
“Your brother-in-arms, Bobby.”
“Bobby who?”
“Right, and when I give you his last name you’ll be all, No idea who that is, mister. Cut the crap. I may not be here on your case, but do you really think I’m going to forget our conversation here today, whichever way it goes?”
“Fuck you, you can’t do that.”
“Chill, kid. I’m already doing it.”
“I’ll tell my attorney and he’ll tell the judge.”
“Who won’t believe a fucking word you say.” I gave him a friendly smile. “I mean, come on. A respectable prosecutor down in your hood, asking you questions, threatening you? You really think they’ll believe you over me?”
I could see the wheels turning in his head, and then something clicked. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. I’d been expecting this; anyone a little smarter would’ve thought of it three minutes ago, but one of the reasons I was here was because I’d read the kid’s psych report. His IQ roughly matched that of a child’s pencil case. Which was appropriate, because he was about as strong as a child’s pencil. Before he even knew it was happening, I had his phone in my hand.
“I better confiscate that.”
“Hey, fuck you, asshole.”
I wagged a finger. “Now, now. Unless you want me to accidentally drop this down a drain, or better yet put some child porn on it, you’re going to need to rethink your attitude.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds, then he relented. The thing about kids, even dumb ones, is that they eventually realize when they’re beaten
. Alone, outwitted, weak, and looking at the guy who could mess up his future, Anton calmed himself. “So, fine. I know Bobby.”
I leaned in. “I already know that, idiot. That’s why I’m here. You’re his best friend. What I don’t know is where he is right now.”
“I don’t, either.”
“Who do you live with?”
“My mom and sister.”
“How old’s your sister?”
His eyes narrowed again. “Why?”
I tried not to sigh. “Because, Anton, I want to know whether Bobby is hiding out in her bed.”
“Oh. No, he’s not. She’s only eleven.”
For a psychopathic kid on the run, the bed of an eleven-year-old was totally possible, assuming the mother didn’t know. Which seemed unlikely.
“When did you last see him?” I asked.
“Sunday. I’m on paper, so I been going to school this week.”
On paper. Why not just say on probation? I wondered. “It’s two p.m. on Monday.”
“Yeah, well, I went Thursday and Friday last week.”
I wanted to congratulate him for knowing his days of the week but decided to stay on topic. “When you saw Bobby on Sunday, where was that?”
“Here.”
“He came to the rec center?”
“Yeah, we always hang out here. Or meet here anyway.”
“What time was that?”
“Lunchtime.”
“And what did you guys do then?”
“We were just chillin’, not doing anything much.”
“Until when?” this was the vaguest and least-interesting timeline I’d ever assembled, but I needed Anton’s best work.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Later.”
“Later. Seriously?” My hands twitched, eager to choke the information out of him.
“Yeah. Like three. Maybe five.”
“Where did he go then?”
“Home. He said he was going home.”
“Who else was with you?”
“No one. Just us.”
“Bullshit. I know there’s three of you. Was Ledarius with you?”
Ledarius Williams. He was the one of this little triumvirate I’d not figured out. I knew who and what Bobby was. I knew the same about Anton, and that Bobby hung with this kid because it was like having a butler. Anton did anything and everything Bobby wanted him to. I know because I’d had friends like Anton growing up, kids who’d do your bidding even when they didn’t want to, heck, when they didn’t know they were doing it. Kids several bales short of a haystack who could be easily manipulated.
But Ledarius was different. He’d never been in our system, which for a kid who lived in this neighborhood and hung with these scallywags was stupefying. Either he was incredibly lucky, unbelievably smart, or an absolute saint. And I was pretty sure anyone who hung with Bobby was no saint, absolute or otherwise.
“Where does Ledarius stay?” I asked.
“I ain’t snitching no more.”
I took a deep breath. “Anton. Trust me when I say you’ve not snitched at all. You’ve been utterly useless. And telling me where one of your little buddies lives isn’t snitching, it’s saving me time. I can find that out easily enough, but I’m asking you because I don’t have a lot of time, and I know that you know it’s in your best interests to help me.”
He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. “You won’t tell him I told you?”
“No, little man. I won’t tell him you told me.”
“He lives at the Cedar Brush Apartments. Building 2, number 113.”
“I’m impressed you remember all those numbers.”
He cocked his head, like he was unsure if I was actually impressed or making fun of him. Apparently he couldn’t decide, because he didn’t say anything for a moment, just nodded his head toward my hand. The one that held his phone.
“How do you afford an iPhone?” I asked.
“Stole it.”
“Appreciate the honesty.” I pushed the home sensor and the phone lit up. No security code. “I’ll give your phone back,” I said, “when I’m good and ready. Maybe the next time I see you in court.”
“But I don’t got a court date!” he protested.
“That’s good; it means you’re behaving yourself.” I held up the phone. “Apart from theft and possession of stolen property, of course.”
“You can’t just take it.”
“Why not? You did. And as law enforcement, I’m obliged to repatriate stolen property to its rightful owner.”
“Do what?”
I sighed. “Where did you nick it from?”
“Nick it?”
“Steal. Where did you steal it from?”
“Here. Some guy playing basketball left it lying around.”
“How careless.”
“Right?” he said, as if I was on his side.
“Where’s Ledarius now?”
“School, I ’spect.”
“Even on a Monday?”
“Huh?” He scrunched up his face, my sarcasm skipping right by him.
“Does he go home after school?”
“No, we meet here usually. Me, him, an’ Bobby.”
“Splendid. Finally, useful information.”
He didn’t respond to that, just stared at me. “Where you from, anyway?”
“England. Know where that is?”
“Like, London?”
“Close enough. Now do me a favor and go home. Or school. Just get out of here for a while.” So I can meet Ledarius alone.
He shrugged. “I gotta go home anyway. Sister’s birthday. When can I have my phone back?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you and let you know.”
“OK. You better.”
Call you on what? I wanted to scream. You’re a moron! But instead I gave him my sweetest smile and said, “Thanks for your help today. I won’t forget it.”
He started to walk away, then stopped and turned. “Nick it.” A slight smile twisted his lips. “I like that. I’m gonna use it.”
“Help yourself,” I muttered, giving him a good-bye wave.
I found a comfortable chair, one of four surrounding a coffee table covered with sports, car, and women’s magazines. I picked up a Cosmo to read about heightening my man’s orgasm, and waited for Ledarius.
◯
I didn’t like taking so much time off work, especially to spend it in a place like this, but it was interesting to me how anonymous I was there. I’d figured that a thirty-something white dude hanging out at the rec center in Austin’s worst neighborhood would raise a few eyebrows. But I started to wonder whether perhaps this place was a safe zone amid all the gang turf wars, the police patrols, the ever-watching probation officers.
No one paid me any heed and I realized why Bobby, Ledarius, and Anton came here. It was safe, yes, but more than that I wondered if this was a place where Bobby could let his guard down a little, not have to be the tough guy, the leader. Maybe Ledarius, too, though the idea of that trio having two leaders didn’t make sense. I was curious to meet him.
His slim figure loped through the front door at three thirty, his head on a swivel as he looked around the large, main room. I recognized him right away; he was unusually tall for his age. Slender, too, with a very round and very black head that on the previous times I’d seen him sported a battered, black Chicago Bulls cap. Bill sideways, of course. He also wore heavy and thick glasses—I don’t think I’d ever actually seen his eyes. I didn’t like not being able to read someone’s eyes.
He looked my way and seemed to hesitate before looking away again. I stood and walked over to him.
“Ledarius. Remember me?”
“Yeah,” he said. I couldn’t read his tone, and his eyes were pinpricks behind those lenses.
“Friend of Bobby’s.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, like he didn’t approve of the word friend. “He here?” Ledarius asked.
“Not that I know of. I’
m trying to find him, for his sister.”
“That’s what the cops said.”
Now he had my attention. “Cops?”
“Yeah. Looking for him. Like you are.”
“Not quite the same, I promise.”
Those glasses were killing me; he was utterly expressionless. I decided to try a little honesty. “How come you’ve never been in the juvenile system?”
“Oh, right, cuz I’m black and live here.”
“Pretty much. More ’cos you live here than ’cos you’re black, though. All your friends are on paper.” There, I said it.
“You don’t know all my friends,” he said, his voice still flat.
“I know some of them.”
“Two.”
“Both on paper.”
Three teens wandered into the room, studiously ignoring us. Ledarius shifted on his feet so he could see them, though. “You judge people by the company they keep?”
It was an odd phrase for a kid like him to be using. Although, apparently, I didn’t really know what sort of kid he was.
“Yes, I do. You don’t?”
“Doesn’t seem like that’d be fair, in my case.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a kid. I live in the projects and go to school with other kids who live in the projects. I don’t really get to choose the people around me like if I was an adult.”
I nodded. “Good point.”
“That’s why I come here. Easier to pick who I chill with.”
“People like Anton. He told me where you live, by the way.” Fuck you, Anton.
Ledarius didn’t seem surprised. “He’s a good guy. Not saying he’s the smartest, but . . .” For the first time a change in expression, the slightest of smiles, like he was embarrassed to be speaking that truth.
“Bobby a good guy?” I asked.
He was silent for a moment. “You should know.”
Because I’m seeing his sister, or because he’s like me? Which one, Ledarius? But of course I couldn’t ask.
“He’s a tough kid to understand,” I said.
