New York Night

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Thank you for your time, Father,’ said Perez.

  ‘Bless you,’ said the priest, and he hurried back to the altar.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ hissed Perez as she and Nightingale walked outside.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That crack about Holy Water?’

  ‘It was a serious question. If Matthew had been possessed, he might well have reacted to the Holy Water. Now we’ll never know.’

  ‘You’re serious about this? The whole possession thing?’

  ‘Something set him off,’ said Nightingale. ‘You heard what the doorman said. He was the all-American kid one moment, a homicidal killer the next.’

  ‘And you believe that some sort of possession did that?’

  Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’m not ruling anything out,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 21

  Perez picked Nightingale up outside the office block at just after nine o’clock in the morning. Philadelphia was just over a hundred miles away and it took two and a half hours to get there. Leon Budd’s address was a public housing block in a run down part of the city. Opposite the block was a play area with two basketball courts surrounded by high wire fences and a grassy area peppered with signs that suggested that any activity that was remotely fun shouldn’t take place there. A group of black kids in basketball shirts and baggy pants watched as Perez and Nightingale climbed out of their car and looked up at the block. ‘Seventh floor,’ said Perez.

  ‘My lucky number,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘No. It was a joke.’

  ‘How is that a joke?’

  Nightingale shrugged and lit a cigarette. As he blew smoke up at the clouds one of the boys walked over, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘Check your car,’ he mumbled. He was a teenager, short and stocky with his hair braided and platted into geometric patterns across his scalp.

  ‘What, valet service?’ asked Perez.

  The boy shrugged. ‘Kind of.’

  Nightingale looked around. There was plenty of curb-side parking spaces. ‘Doesn’t seem like parking’s a problem around here,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a rough neighbourhood,’ said the boy. ‘Cars get stolen. Paintwork gets scratched. Tyres get slashed.’ He shrugged. ‘Lots of undesirables around.’

  Perez nodded. ‘I can see that.’

  The boy looked over at his companions. They were all looking in his direction. One of them was bouncing a basketball on the ground. The boy looked back at Perez. ‘So what do you say?’

  ‘How much would keep my car in tip-top condition?’ she asked.

  ‘Twenty would do it.’

  ‘How about ten?’ asked Perez.

  The boy looked pained. ‘I’ve got overheads.’

  Perez went to take out her wallet but Nightingale beat her to it and held out a twenty-dollar bill to the teenager. His hand emerged from his pocket, grabbed it and disappeared again in one smooth motion. He shrugged and walked back across the road.

  ‘That’s how extortion works in the City of Brotherly Love,’ said Perez.

  ‘He was nice about it,’ agreed Nightingale.

  They went inside and Nightingale wrinkled his nose at the stench of stale urine. Perez stabbed at the button to call the elevator. ‘I’ll catch you up there,’ said Nightingale, heading for the stairs. He finished his cigarette on the sixth floor, stamped out the butt on the concrete, then hurried up the last few stairs. He still got there before Perez. She scowled as she stepped out of the elevator. ‘It stopped at every floor,’ she growled. ‘Some kid pressed all the buttons.’

  ‘The scenic route,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘English humour, Jack?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s wearing thin.’

  The smell of stale urine was just as strong in the hallway as it had been downstairs. There was litter strewn across the tiled floor and plaster was peeling off the walls. As they walked down the hallway most of the doors they passed had been damaged and repaired, and most had a minimum of three locks.

  ‘This is it,’ said Perez, stopping at a pale green door that had the number 664 on it, though the six was missing one of its screws and had swung upside down. Perez knocked on the door and when there was no answer she knocked again. She put her head against the door and frowned. ‘I can hear voices,’ she said. ‘The TV maybe.’ She banged the flat of her hand against the door several times. Eventually a middle-aged black man with tribal scars on his cheeks opened it. He was shirtless and shoeless and stared at Perez through thick-lensed spectacles. There was a screwed up scar on his left shoulder that looked like an old bullet wound, and a thick rope-like scar on his right side.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said.

  ‘Mr Budd?’

  ‘I know who I am, who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Cheryl Perez. I want to talk to you about Leon.’

  ‘You the police?’ He pronounced it po-lees.

  ‘No, Mr Budd. We’re not with the police.’

  ‘You with the city?’

  ‘No, we’re private investigators, we want to….’ The door closed in her face and she heard a bolt being drawn. She knocked on the door half a dozen times but Mr Budd was clearly ignoring her. They heard him boost the volume of the TV.

  ‘I get the feeling he doesn’t want to talk,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Do you think?’

  ‘I guess the people here only ever get knocks on the door when it’s bad news,’ said Nightingale.

  Perez nodded. ‘Yeah. Shit. That was a wasted journey.’ She walked back to the elevator and pressed the button. ‘What about going down? You okay with that?”

  ‘Up, down, it makes no difference. It’s not the direction, it’s the being in a small box suspended by a wire.’

  ‘You know that elevators are the safest form of transport, period.’

  ‘Let’s agree to differ on that.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you and I have different opinions on the subject and it’s not worth arguing about.’

  ‘I meant what are you implying – I said that elevators are as safe as houses and you give me that “agree to differ” bullshit.’

  ‘I’m just saying, I don’t feel comfortable using them, but if you do, go ahead. It’s like cigarettes. Some people smoke and others don’t.’

  ‘Smoking cigarettes is nothing like using an elevator,’ she said. She pressed the button again. ‘What the hell is taking so long?’

  ‘Probably broken down,’ said Nightingale with a grin. He headed for the stairs. He lit a cigarette when he was half way down the stairwell and was still smoking it when he emerged outside the building. He was taking his final drag when Perez finally joined him.

  ‘Stopped on every floor again, but this time no one pressed the buttons.’

  Nightingale shrugged. ‘It happens.’

  Perez looked over at her car. ‘At least the valet service seems to have worked.’

  Nightingale looked over at the group of teenagers standing on the other side of the road. The one with the basketball was still bouncing it hand to hand. Nightingale dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and strode over to them.

  ‘Jack, no…’ said Perez but he ignored her.

  The teenagers formed a line as Nightingale approached them, the tallest one in the middle was the guy with the basketball. ‘How’s it going guys?’ he asked brightly. He took out his pack of Marlboro and lit one. He could see that two of the boys had the hungry look of smokers and he offered them the pack and lit cigarettes for them with his Zippo.

  ‘You look like 5-0,’ said the guy with the basketball.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘What about her?’ asked the teenager, nodding at Perez who was walking across the road towards them.

  ‘She used to be, but she’s a private eye now. Did you know Leon Budd?’

  The teenager’s eyes narrowed. ‘You Australian?’

  ‘British.’

  ‘Yeah?
From where?’

  ‘London. Mainly.’

  The teenager nodded. ‘They call it the Big Smoke, don’t they?’

  Nightingale nodded. ‘Some do, yeah.’

  ‘You know what they call Philly?’

  ‘The City Of Brotherly Love,’ said Nightingale, and smiled at the look of disappointment on the teenager’s face.

  Perez joined him. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked the guy with the ball.

  ‘All good,’ he said. ‘You’re private eyes? So you pay money for information, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s been known,’ said Perez. ‘But it’d have to be good information.’

  ‘So what do you want to know about Leon?’

  ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Sure. We know everyone. These are our streets. No one walks down here we don’t know.’ The teenagers either side of him nodded in agreement.

  ‘Tell you what, how about a game of one on one?’ asked Perez. ‘Every time I score you answer a question, every time you score I give you ten bucks?’

  ‘Ten bucks?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘What are you? Five six?’

  ‘Five six and a half,’ said Perez.

  ‘I’m six one, and I’m black. You’re five six and a half and you’re…’

  ‘Careful,’ said Perez, pointing a finger at him.

  ‘And a girl is what I was going to say,’ said the teenager, with a sly grin.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Perez.

  ‘They call me Flames.’

  ‘Because you’re shit hot?’

  The teenagers all laughed. ‘Nah, because he used to set fire to things when he was a kid,’ said one.

  ‘So what’s it going to be, Flames? You ready for a game of one on one?’

  ‘Hell yeah,’ said Flames, bouncing the ball.

  ‘Cheryl, maybe I should…’ started Nightingale.

  ‘Should what, Jack? You play hoops?’

  ‘Well, no, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Well, I’m taller for a start.’

  She laughed, took off her jacket and tossed it at him before jogging onto the court.

  ‘This is gonna be easy money,’ said Flames. He bounced the ball as he turned in a tight circle, then joined her on the court. He bounced the ball at her and she fumbled the catch. It slipped from her fingers and she chased after it. Flames turned to his friends and pumped the air. ‘Easy money!’ He was so busy celebrating that he didn’t even see Perez scoop up the ball, run with it bouncing it as she went, and then jumping and smoothly dropping it through the hoop.

  Flames turned just as Perez scooped up the ball. ‘What the fuck?’ he said.

  ‘First question. Do you know who killed Leon?’

  ‘No I do not,’ said Flames. ‘And I wasn’t ready.’

  ‘What, you want someone to blow the whistle?’ She threw the ball at him and it hit him, mid chest. He grabbed it, nodded, and bounced it half a dozen times before moving towards the hoop. He feinted left and she went with him but when he moved right she was already there and before he could take a step she had taken the ball from him, bounced it as she went by and then bounced it twice again until she was under the hoop. She jumped and dropped it through.

  ‘No fucking way!’ shouted Flames. His companions were shrieking with laughter.

  ‘Did Leon use drugs?’ asked Perez.

  Flames shook his head. ‘Never did. He was working two jobs to pay his way through college. His brother and sister used. Sister died of an overdose a while back. But Leon?’ He shook his head. ‘Nah.’ Perez threw the ball to him and he began to bounce it at his side.

  Perez moved to stand between him and the hoop. He started to move, switching hands, bouncing the ball hard and fast. He ran towards her, twisted so that his left shoulder barged into her chest, then ran through her. She fell backwards, hitting the ground hard, and he jumped over her and threw the ball at the hoop. It hit the backboard, bounced against the rim and dropped through the hole. ‘Yes!’ yelled Flames.

  Perez sat up and rubbed her left shoulder.

  ‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ shouted Nightingale.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Perez getting to her feet. She took out her wallet and gave him ten dollars. Flames held the note up and did a victory jig. He was so busy showing the note to his friends that he didn’t see her pick up the ball. He turned as she began to bounce it but he was too late and she jumped and popped it through the hoop.

  ‘Question three,’ she said, picking up the ball and tossing it to him. ‘Had Leon met anyone recently? A new friend? Someone you hadn’t seen him with before?’

  Flames ran a hand through his hair. He nodded. ‘Yeah, there was a girl he’d started hanging around with.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  Flames grinned. ‘That’s another question.’ He faked left but broke right. She moved with him and he turned his shoulder to charge into her but she stepped to the side and stuck out her leg and he tripped, sprawling to the ground and letting go of the ball. Perez ran to retrieve it while Flames stood up and brushed his knees. ‘Man you are one mean bitch,’ he muttered.

  She bounced the ball, behind her and then between her legs, grinning at him all the time. ‘Anytime you want to give up, just say the word,’ she said.

  Flames crouched, holding his arms to his side. Her grin widened and then Perez ducked left, turned around and ran to the right, totally wrong-footing Flames. He stumbled and cursed as Perez ran over to the hoop and dropped the ball through the centre. ‘How d’you do that?’ asked Flames.

  ‘I’m nimble,’ said Perez, retrieving the ball and tossing it to him. ‘So tell me about the girl Leon was hanging with.’

  ‘Name’s Dee-anne. Saw them hanging, talking and walking.’

  ‘Boyfriend-girlfriend?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘That’s another question?’

  ‘No it’s not. I asked you tell me about her. Start telling.’

  ‘Longish hair. Pretty. Younger than him. Eighteen maybe.’

  ‘Black?’

  Flames shrugged. ‘Black like Obama’s black.’

  ‘So mixed race?’

  Flames nodded. ‘Darker than you but a lot lighter than Leon. Saw them in Mickey D’s once, playing some stupid game with pencils.’

  ‘Game?’

  ‘They had two pencils, crossed on a piece of paper.’

  ‘Charlie Charlie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a kid’s game,’ said Nightingale. ‘You use pencils to answer questions.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’ve got a calculator on my phone does that. But they were staring at these pencils, dunno why.’

  ‘You think they went to college together?’ asked Perez.

  Flames nodded. ‘Yeah, they was often carrying books. Maybe.’ He started bouncing the ball, headed to the right, spun around on the spot and then broke left. Perez almost got to the ball but he was too fast, he ran around her and jumped high in the air before dunking it in the hoop. Perez shook her head and gave him another ten dollars before retrieving the ball.

  She stood in front of him, bouncing the ball from hand to hand, then bounced it through his legs and ran around him to catch it, jump into the air and throw the ball a good fifteen feet into the hoop.

  ‘Bitch you are good!’ shouted Flames.

  Perez pointed a finger at his face. ‘Less of the bitch,’ she said. ‘Show some respect to the female that is whupping your arse.’

  Flames raised his hands in surrender, then gave her a mock bow. She threw the ball to him and motioned for him to start.

  He bent forward, bounced the ball several times, then instead of running he rocked back on his heels and threw the ball at the hoop. It slammed into the backboard and spun off to the side. He cursed and his friends laughed.

  ‘Close but no cigar,’ said Perez. She fetched the ball, walked to the edge of the court and b
egan her run. Flames almost got to the ball, but almost was nowhere near good enough and Perez ran by him, jumped and slotted the ball into the hoop.

  Flames stood looking at her, shaking his head. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Cheryl Perez,’ she said.

  ‘You from where, Mexico?’

  She laughed. ‘Flames, you want me answer a question you’ve got to sink a hoop first. That’s the deal.’

  ‘Can I ask a question?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Perez. ‘He owes us one.’

  Flames turned to look at Nightingale. ‘Tell us what happened to Leon’s sister.’

  Flames bent down to pick up the ball and began to bounce it slowly between his hands. ‘She OD’d. Heroin. She was in a shooting gallery, next block along. Something wrong with the shit, cut with rat poison or some such. She died, three others were in the ICU.’

  ‘When, exactly?’

  ‘Two weeks ago. No, three.’

  ‘Cops involved?’

  ‘If no one gets shot they don’t give a fuck, and even then…’

  ‘What about Leon’s brother? You said his brother was using, too.’

  Flames looked over at Perez. She took out her wallet and handed him a fifty-dollar bill. ‘Save you any more embarrassment, why don’t we just use cash.’

  Flames pocketed the bill. ‘The brother wasn’t there, but sure, he was a user.’

  ‘But not Leon?’

  ‘Leon was the only one clean,’ said Flames. ‘His mum used, his dad got shot in a drug deal gone wrong five, six years back. Never been the same since. Leon wanted to make a better life for himself. Death of his sister hit him hard.’

  ‘They were close?’

  Flames nodded. ‘He made me swear never to sell to her. I respected him so yeah, she couldn’t buy from my crew.’ He gestured at the block to his left. ‘But that’s not my territory. They sold to her. Leon tried to stop them but he didn’t get anywhere.’

  ‘Where did Leon die?’