“Appreciate that, and I’ll let you know if we want to do that.”
“You’re wasting your time looking at me.”
No answer.
“You compare Wrayburn’s prints to the ones you pulled from here?”
“We are,” Millhoff says.
“We also showed Wrayburn’s photo to that Wendland character at Thrift World, but of course he doesn’t know him. Says it isn’t the one who goes by Biddy.”
“Well, it sounds like you guys will be working some midnight shifts, going clubbing. Ray would do his dealings in the parking lot.”
“I’m really looking forward to that,” Millhoff says.
I want to tell them about Diamond, but doing so now fucks me six ways worse.
“I can’t make sense of this shit,” I say more to myself than to them.
“We will,” Millhoff says with confidence.
“And if you’re silly enough to be thinking I’m a suspect for Wrayburn, then call Leslie, because she’s my alibi.”
“You kidding me? You’re tapping that?”
“Watch your mouth,” I snap back.
“Damn, Frankie.”
“Shut the fuck up already.”
“You were with her all night?” Hurley asks.
I just give him a look.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“How many enemies do you have, Frank?”
“Back in the day or as a PI? And we all got enemies, you know that. But I don’t know one who would go through all this shit just to get at me.”
“Could you try to make a list anyway?” Hurley asks.
“Fuck, man, can you make a list? I wouldn’t know where to begin, all the people I locked up. This here is something else.”
“What?” Millhoff asks.
“I didn’t say that like I knew what the fuck it is, Timmy. None of this makes sense to me.”
“This case is getting pretty damn interesting,” Millhoff says.
“Wish it weren’t. I like simple,” I say.
Thirty-Four
After they leave all I wanna do is hit the bottle and the blow. Bottle’s not something I worry about. I have to hit the brakes for the other, though, show some control. It’s not like I can go to the corner to re-up. That hustler gets busted, gives me up, and I get sent up the river.
I pour myself a bit of Jameson. Down it in one swig.
Doorbell rings, and I nearly drop the glass.
Who the fuck now?
I get to the door and look through the peephole.
It’s Linda. Aunt Linda. Fuck.
I hesitate to open it, I’ll admit. Look through the peephole again like I need to make sure.
It’s her; she’s alone.
I rush back to the living room, take my gun from the end table, slip it under the sofa cushion, then cap the bottle of Jameson, put it on a shelf in the dining room.
I quickly make my way back, look through the peephole again, and after a couple of deep breaths, I open the door.
She’s standing there. A slight smile. Her face is puffy, with bags under heavy reddened eyes. She looks so much older than her midsixties. Or is it just the stress?
“Aunt Linda,” I almost mumble.
“Hello, Frankie.”
“Please come in.”
Her eyes look past me toward the interior of my house, then back to me. She loses her smile. “I can’t come in.”
I realize why but don’t say anything. I step on the porch, close the door behind me so it’s only slightly ajar.
I should hug her, right?
She wraps her thin arms around my waist before I can decide, begins to sob.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Linda. I’m so sorry” is all I can think to say.
Never apologize.
Fuck that. I am sorry.
I don’t know how long we hold each other, but we do so until she tenderly pulls away.
She sighs and wipes her eyes. “I parked down the street. I had to use my GPS to get here. It’s been so long.” She looks at the exterior of my house. “It looks like you’ve done some good work.”
“Yes. Last time you were here I was still renovating. It’s more like a home now.” For some reason I regret saying that.
“I’m sorry for what I said on the phone,” she tells me.
How do I respond?
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I don’t want to stand here. I know it’s awfully humid, but can we take a short walk?”
“Of course,” I say.
I follow her as she steps off the porch and turns right, toward W. It’s a narrow sidewalk, so I move to her side, closer to the curb. Her pace is slow. My mind is fast, so I have to make an effort to walk at her side, not ahead of her.
“Did you drive from Ohio?”
“Yes. It wasn’t bad.”
“Do you need help with anything? I can drive you back home when you’re ready.”
She stops to face me. “No. No, but thanks for the offer.” She looks down. Seems like she’s hesitating. “Why was Jeffrey in your house, Frank?”
First thing that comes to mind is She’s got a wire. I quickly realize how ridiculous that is.
“I don’t know, Linda. I don’t. I sincerely wish there was something I could tell you. A reason. But we never had contact. You never told him where I lived, right?”
“No, but he knew you lived around here. He was too young the last time he was at your house, so he wouldn’t have remembered.”
“The police will figure it out. Detective Millhoff is very good at what he does.”
“Just tell me, Frankie, and I’ll believe you.”
Tell her I’m an idiot and I somehow fucked up? That it’s all my fault? ’Cause that’s what I believe. Maybe I am guilty. But I sure as hell don’t know what I did to get him murdered.
“I had nothing to do with Jeffrey’s death. I don’t know what brought him to my house.”
Tears stream from her eyes again. I take her hand.
She nods. Believes me.
I continue to hold her hand as we walk.
“This is my car,” she says, pointing to a Lexus SUV.
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Hilton.”
I look away for a moment. Honestly don’t know what to say. I’m at a loss.
“You’re nothing like your father. I should never have said that.”
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“Your real father. You’re nothing like him. Your mother married young. He wasn’t a good man.”
“I never knew my real father,” I say awkwardly.
“I know. But no child should have had to go through what you went through.”
Does she mean my mom’s suicide?
“This isn’t about me, Aunt Linda.”
“We’ve both suffered such great losses, Frankie. That’s why I came here—to see you. We’re family. You are the only connection I have left to your mother, my sister. Even Jeffrey.” Her eyes tear up, but she smiles. “This humidity is stifling.” She steps to her car and unlocks it. Before she sits, she turns to me. “When Jeffrey was a junior in high school he told me that he wanted to go to college in Washington, DC, to be near you.” She sits and starts the car.
I notice her push the button to unlock the passenger-side door, hear that familiar, oddly comfortable click as the door lock pops up.
She closes her door, and I walk around and get in.
“He wanted to major in criminal justice.”
I shut the door. Air inside already feels good as it hits my face.
“That was his major?”
“No. In his senior year of high school, and after all that trouble he had with drugs, he changed it to business.”
“Smart decision.” That didn’t come out right.
She rests her hand on my knee. It’s like a feather. As uncomfortable as it makes me feel, I place my hand over hers.
“Jeffrey was really clumsy when he
was a little boy. So were you, by the way. Do you remember I used to take you to the grocery store? Your half brother always wanted to stay home with your stepdad.”
So much of that time is a blur. I know she stayed with us for a while, though.
“Yes,” I say.
“I’d let you push the grocery cart sometimes, despite how clumsy you were, how many displays you knocked over.”
Turns to me with such a comforting smile.
“Are you sure I didn’t do that on purpose?”
“I know you didn’t, because you felt bad after, just like Jeffrey did.”
“Yeah. I do remember he was a bit heavy-footed.”
“Couldn’t catch a ball, either, could he?”
“No, he sure couldn’t.” I chuckle.
“Jeffrey used to look forward to your visits so much.”
“I looked forward to them, too. Had more time on my hands in my twenties, before I became a cop. I’m sorry for losing touch with the both of you. That never should have happened.”
“You were a good influence.”
Is she blaming me for losing touch, for him turning bad?
“We’ll both make the time now, won’t we? We won’t lose touch.”
“No. We won’t.”
She takes a deep breath, like it’s calming.
“The police will…no, I will. I’ll get to the bottom of this, Aunt Linda. I really will.”
I want her to believe me. She has to believe me. Fuck, I have to believe me.
“Let’s not lose touch again,” she says and squeezes my knee.
I don’t think she believes me.
Don’t say anything.
Thirty-Five
I go through half a bottle of Jameson and I don’t even want to know how much blow.
This shit’s got me reeling, and I’m not talking the coke and alcohol. It’s all too close to home. Literally. My aunt? I don’t know what to make of her visit. I don’t know what Millhoff and Hurley are thinking at this point, either. I’m afraid to know. Shit. I’m just getting paranoid again.
If Wrayburn was involved in Jeffrey’s murder, I’m sure they’ll connect him with DNA or some other evidence. But what if he had nothing to do with it and was taken out simply because I talked to him? I gotta find Biddy. He’s either the shooter or he’s gotta know who is.
I start getting myself so worked up with all this shit, especially Linda’s visit, that my stomach starts to churn. I feel like I gotta puke.
I run to the hallway bathroom, lift the toilet seat, and there goes all my Jameson.
Haven’t done that in a long while. I rinse my mouth out. Return to the sofa. Light a smoke.
Aunt Linda looked so frail. I don’t remember her looking like that. And why did she come here, especially after what she said over the phone? She did apologize for that, though.
Am I all she has now?
That would not be a comforting thought.
I want to hear Leslie’s voice. That is comforting. Even better, have her next to me. I’m too fucked up, though, and I’ll just do something stupid. I’ve been known to occasionally get stupid.
I wake up early in the morning and feel oddly refreshed. Maybe there’s something to that puking shit. A cleansing. Might have to look into that.
While drinking coffee I start to worry about why I’m not getting a call from Diamond. Maybe he screwed me. What am I thinking? It’s like I forgot who I’m dealing with. Criminals, even low-level ones like Diamond, are unpredictable. You can’t trust them.
I give him some time, and when that’s up, about an hour later, I call him.
He answers on the fourth ring. After a lot of reluctance on his part and a bit of unsubtle persuasion on mine, he agrees to pick me up at 10th and U Streets, just a couple blocks from my house, so I can walk. He says he’s not that far from there.
“Northwest corner,” I advise him. “About fifteen minutes, then.”
He agrees.
I get there in ten.
About another ten minutes later I see what appears to be his cab heading west on U Street, toward me. I hope it’s him, because when it’s close enough I raise my hand to hail him over.
I recognize the old man through the front windshield as he pulls to the curb.
“Head toward that house on Riggs,” I tell him, slipping inside.
“What you gonna do?”
“Take Thirteenth.”
“Shee-it.” He pulls from the curb.
“You hear anything about a shooting on the fourteen hundred block of Rhode Island a few nights ago?”
“No. I don’t watch the news. Too damn depressing. That got anything to do with this? ’Cause that shit ain’t worth a hundred and fifty bills.”
“No. Don’t worry. It’s something else,” I lie.
“Slow down here,” I tell him. There’s an alley on the west side of 13th, right before Riggs. Some kind of school on the east side, where Riggs dead-ends.
“Stop here.”
“Man, I can’t be seen here like this.”
“Listen, old man, this ain’t the ’hood. You’ll be fine. This is the rear of the house you said Biddy buys his drugs from, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They meet up right in the rear there?”
“I don’t really know. There’s a parking lot that belongs to those apartments farther up. I think they meet them up there.”
“What makes you think that?”
“’Cause when I drop him off, I seen him walk up the side alley on Riggs that leads to this alley and the parking lot. I never seen him walk from this way before, even if I do sometimes drop him off at the corner there.”
“Yeah. This is a tough one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Surveillance, Diamond. What makes this job fun.”
“You can’t have me in this shit. I got rights, and there’s gotta be some kinda regulations you’re breakin’.”
“Oh, hell, yes, there are, but you gotta figure it’s worth your freedom, right?”
“I don’t know about all this here. Somethin’ ain’t right.”
“Say the word and I’ll give Detective Hurley a call right now. I’m not bluffing. You want me to?”
“Man…”
“Listen up. You pick up burglars and haul their stolen goods for them and get shit for it. Plus you risk your livelihood doing it. Plus there’s at least one body. Yeah, I’m breaking rules, but you’re breaking the law. You’re safe with me, and you’re gonna make a hell of a lot more money, too.”
I give him a second.
“So say the word. I’ll make the call, or you just rest easy and make the money.”
“Shee-it. How do you wanna do this?”
Thirty-Six
It takes a few minutes, but a parking space finally opens up across from the cut. All I need is to see all the way across it. With my binos, I can even make out a bit of the parking lot that Diamond mentioned. I don’t have to see any transactions, just players. Their faces.
Diamond turns the NOT IN SERVICE sign on and pulls out a sandwich from a brown paper bag.
“You don’t mind if I eat, right?”
“Of course not.”
I’m going to have to try to figure out how to get some bumps, especially if we’re going to sit here for more than a couple of hours. I’ve got a few cigarettes laced with cocaine, but that’s pretty much worthless. It might get me by, though. I also poured a nice bit of Jameson into a sport bottle.
Unfortunately, I need Diamond with me. He can identify Biddy and some of the other players for me. One of them killed or likely knows who killed Jeffrey. That’s the priority here. I’m not gonna lie, though. It’s also about getting a good hit. And I’m hoping this house on Riggs is just that hit.
It doesn’t take long before we see a rail of a man walking north on the other side of 13th. He’s shouldering a backpack that appears to be stuffed.
“You know this crackhead?”
“Huh?”
“The dude across the street, walking this way.”
He waits for him to get closer, reclines down in his seat so he won’t be noticed.
“No, but still I ain’t takin’ no chances.”
The man makes a right into the cut directly across from us. I tuck down a little and cup my binos in both hands.
He walks slowly past the rear of the house and into the parking lot, where he disappears between cars. Not even a minute later, I see one of the boys Diamond mentioned yesterday exit the rear gate and step in the narrow alley. I get just enough of his face to make him out. Young, maybe early twenties. Pristine old-school tennis shoes, baggy jeans, and a white T-shirt. And it sure as fuck looks like the boy who ran from me at the record store. He was last seen running toward this area, so maybe he was holding. Shit—for all I know, maybe he was getting ready to deliver to Oscar at the record store. Fuck, all these connections.
“Is that one of the boys?”
“Yeah, that’s the young one.”
“What’s his name or nickname?”
“I told you before, I don’t know them like that.”
“Just testing,” I say with a smile.
Baggy Jeans makes his way toward the parking lot and also slips out of sight between the cars. Not even three minutes later he’s walking back, cradling a laptop and holding something in the palm of his hand that I can’t make out. He enters the rear gate to his house. Shortly after, the crackhead appears, but he turns right, into the alley cut that leads to Riggs.
His backpack does not seem so full anymore.
I take a swig of Jameson from my sport bottle.
“I need to smoke.”
“I don’t allow smoking in my cab.”
“I’ll roll the window down, keep the cigarette outta the car.”
“I hate that shit in my cab.”
“Twenty-five extra to allow me to smoke. You can air it out when we’re done.”
“You killin’ me, man.”
I light one of the cigs laced with coke. It’s immediate, but it doesn’t last more than a few seconds. I feel a bit with each puff, though, and have to smoke it quick so I don’t lose any. Better inside me than lose it to the atmosphere.
Crime Song Page 11
