by G. K. Parks
The hitter put his hands in the air and stepped back, shocked to see a weapon aimed at him. The other punk released Roger but studied me with intrigue. He wasn’t afraid, and I wasn’t sure how things were going to conclude. After all, I was pointing a loaded nine millimeter at a couple of unarmed teenagers. There was a very good chance I was going to jail. The ridiculous nature of the situation was not lost on me.
“Be cool. We were just messing with him. No harm done.” The hitter was already edging back to the trail.
“Remember what we said,” the other one warned, not so quietly in Roger’s ear, before the two ran off in different directions.
“Who the hell are you?” Roger’s eyes went wide, and he looked more afraid of me than the guys who were knocking the shit out of him. I holstered my gun and listened for the sound of sirens.
“I work with the police.” It was true enough. “Are you okay?”
“Can I see your badge or something?” He seemed unsure. “I thought you said you were a graduate student.”
“You said that. I just didn’t bother to correct you. And I’m a consultant, not a cop, but I can show you my private investigator’s license.” I tried to keep him calm since I didn’t want him to run off until we had a chance to chat. “Come on,” I jerked my chin toward the parking lot, “we don’t want your friends to return.” He was still uncertain but agreed to follow me.
“Were you going to shoot them?” he asked quietly. The sight of my nine millimeter made him tense, and I reminded myself most people weren’t used to seeing firearms in person.
“I wasn’t planning on it, unless they gave me a reason. I’m glad they didn’t.” He nodded. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m tougher than I look.” He wanted to appear strong and masculine. “Then again, you are too,” he added. Apparently, my attitude and gun deflated his machismo.
“Who are they, and what did they want from you?” He hesitated, trying to determine if I was one of the good guys. I needed to do something to earn his trust, and saying his mom hired me wouldn’t work out well for any of us. “I’m on your side. Y’know, I really do work for the police department, but if you want to make sure this is on the level, call the precinct. Anyone in major crimes will vouch for me. Ask for Lieutenant Moretti or Detectives Heathcliff, Thompson, or O’Connell. I’m Alexis Parker, by the way.” I smiled encouragingly.
He dialed information and got the number; then he waited for someone to answer. Finally, he asked to speak to one of the four men I had volunteered. After being put on hold and shuffled around, he nodded thoughtfully at the reply to his question.
“He wants to talk to you.” He handed me the phone.
“Parker,” I said in order to appear much more professional and no-nonsense than usual.
“What the fuck is going on now?” O’Connell asked. “Why is some guy asking about you? He sounds like he’s twelve.”
“Nick, there was a situation at the park involving two adolescent thugs. If you could send a squad car to keep an eye on things, I’d appreciate it.”
“What are you doing at the park?” he asked, but I interrupted before he could continue further with his line of questioning.
“Thanks for your cooperation, Detective.” And I hit end call on Roger’s phone, handing it back to him. “Satisfied?”
“I guess.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I’m just going home.”
“Roger,” I said his name, stopping him in his tracks, “do you like cheeseburgers? I’ve had a bitch of a day, and I’m starving. C’mon, it’s my treat. I owe you some honesty, right? We can eat and talk. I’ll drive.” I wasn’t taking no for an answer. So he got in my car, and we headed for the nearest diner. Once inside and waiting for our orders, I broached the subject again. “Do you know the guys that were assaulting you?”
“Maybe. They used to go to my school.” He swallowed and stared at the napkin, fidgeting with the fold.
“High school, right?” I wasn’t playing dumb anymore. “I hated high school. There were the popular kids and the outcasts. You had to be one or the other, and it branched out into different sects with the smart kids and the jocks and the druggies. Horrible times.” I was hoping to find common ground.
“Yeah,” he sounded wistful.
“All I can tell you is that once you’re finished, it doesn’t mean a damn thing, except for the losers who do nothing with their lives afterward.” I smiled slyly. “You don’t strike me as one of those.”
“I’m not. After I graduate, I’m going to MIT. I’ve already been accepted on early admission.”
“Congrats, but the two punks at the park don’t seem to be the MIT types. How come they were harassing you?” I was slowly circling back around.
“I’m not supposed to be on their turf,” he sounded disgusted. “They chase me off every week. One of these days, they’ll get tired of it and leave me the hell alone.” This made no sense, and I knew I was missing something important.
“Did you encroach on their mancala racket?” I asked, feigning serious. The server brought our food, and I was momentarily distracted by having something greasy, fried, and full of fat in front of me. Heaven. It was a short-lived euphoria as Roger began speaking again.
“No. I don’t know what their problem is, but I’m not going to let them push me around.” He was adamant. “I’ve lost enough. I won’t let them take anything else.” My focus shifted away from the cheeseburger.
“I promise to keep your response completely confidential,” I said solemnly, “but I need the truth. Do you understand?” He nodded. “Are you involved in any illegal activity at the park? Maybe selling drugs or buying drugs?” He paled. “I work for the police department. If you are involved, you can be a confidential informant. Your name can be left out of it. You won’t get in trouble.” I was making up the most believable cover story possible; hopefully, the kid had seen a few cop shows on television and would buy it.
“I’ve never done anything, but I know people who have. A lot of times, I hear them talking in the hallways about buying some study aids, like around finals.”
“Study aids?” I tried my best to remain professional by daintily picking at the fries, resisting the urge to swallow them whole.
“Ritalin mostly, some Modafinil, Adderall, things like that,” he whispered as his eyes darted around the room. “Anything to get an edge in order to pull an all-nighter.”
“Okay.” When did caffeine and sugar go out of style? Then again, there was always speed and other methamphetamines. Apparently, it came down to pharmaceutical grade versus street quality. Obviously, I needed more elaboration.
“The park, that’s where they go to buy what they need,” he finally filled in the blanks. “I was with Ka-” He stopped and regrouped, fearing he ratted on someone. “I was with some people from school, hanging out one day, when they had to make a quick stop.”
I picked up my cheeseburger and took a large bite, chewing slowly. The longer I remained silent, the more likely he would continue to talk. One of the best things about civilians was they tended to ramble when faced with awkward silences. Instead, he silently watched me eat with a level of disbelief and utter shock. Teenagers didn’t fall into the category of normal people, unfortunately.
“So,” I wiped my mouth with a napkin, “the thug-wannabes from today are the dealers.”
“How’d you know?” For someone who was granted early admission to MIT, he lacked basic common sense skills.
“I’m smarter than I look. But if you’re not selling, what’s it to them if you hang out at the park?” He remained silent, picking at the food on his plate. I couldn’t make him talk, and I couldn’t prove his involvement in anything illegal. “Are you going to eat that?” I asked, pointing to the pile of fries sitting untouched on his plate. He shook his head and pushed the plate away.
“How come most cops are pudgy because they eat donuts all day and you’re scarfing down fries like there’s no tomorr
ow, but you’re definitely not overweight?” he commented, much to my chagrin.
“Because I don’t sit around eating donuts all day or fries, usually. I’m trying out this diet thing. It’s a stupid idea, and I’ve been dying for fries and burgers ever since.” I laughed. “Clearly, we all do stupid things sometimes.”
“Do you think those guys will give me a hard time again?” Perhaps my own human imperfections gave him a bit more courage to talk about his current dilemma.
“It depends.” I tried to convey the severity of the situation with the use of eye contact. “Why don’t they want you at the park?”
He shrugged again, but he knew the answer. I waited him out. Although, I might have had better luck watching paint dry. After an eternity and the last of the fries, I paid the bill. He wasn’t going to crack.
“Maybe you should call your mom since you’re late getting home. She’s probably worried sick,” I suggested.
He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m sure she hasn’t even noticed I’m gone. She stays so busy, running from one thing to another. She can’t sit still. She’s been like this since my dad,” he swallowed, “since he passed.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll give you a ride back to your car.” I felt like a complete failure since I didn’t figure out what was wrong with the kid or determined the severity of the situation at the park. I didn’t know how to fix his life or make it easier. His mom tried by hiring me, and all I could tell her was that some drug dealing bullies liked to chase her son off and knock him around. “Have you ever considered self-defense classes?” Turning into the parking lot, I shut the engine and made one final effort to get him to open up.
“I’m not the athletic type,” he quipped. “I know it’s hard to believe with all these bulging muscles.”
“Look, I get that this place means something to you. I also understand not running from a fight or rolling over and letting people walk all over you, but unless you tell someone what is going on, no one can help you. It’d probably be best to stay clear of those troublemakers.”
“I’ll be okay. I can take it.” He was filled with righteousness, and it would probably get him hurt or worse.
“Take this.” I handed him my card. “Do you remember those four names I told you earlier? If anything happens or if anyone comes after you, you can call me or one of those policemen.”
“Thanks, Alexis,” he double-checked my name on the card, “but I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”
After he got safely into his car, I signaled for him to go ahead. He was out of the parking space and down the road before I turned the key in the ignition. Blowing out a breath, I tried to come up with some feasible options, but none of them were practical under the circumstances. What was I supposed to do now?
Eighteen
I wanted to have something concrete to report before I informed Mrs. Smidel about the situation at the park. I was hoping to earn Roger’s trust and gain his cooperation instead of having his mom destroy all of it. She would do what she felt was best for her son, but I didn’t see how forbidding him to go back to the park would help. The most likely scenario would involve Roger going even more often just to defy her, and right now, the two thugs were a concern, especially in the wake of pointing a gun at them. The stakes had been raised, and if they came back, they’d be prepared. They would either be frightened and tone down their illegal activities or seek back-up. The back-up might come in the form of some of their big, strong friends, or it might be a concealed weapon.
“I thought I told you to go home,” Heathcliff commented as I walked over to his desk.
“I need your help,” I admitted, filling him in on Roger, the thugs in the park, and the illegal prescription drug ‘study aids’.
“You might have better luck talking to someone in narcotics,” he replied, but I knew he’d help as much as he could. “What are you going to do about the kid? Are you planning to tell his mom what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “If the thugs are left alone, the same thing or worse is bound to happen. If they get arrested, what happens once they get out? They used to attend Highland Prep. They must come from money, so I’m assuming they don’t have a rap sheet. With no priors and a decent bank account, they’ll get a slap on the wrist and be released, and then they might decide to retaliate. What am I supposed to do?”
“You’ve got yourself a conundrum.” He leaned back and slowly swiveled from side to side. “If you’re smart, you tell his mom and let her figure out what to do.”
“She’d come running back to the police station, throwing around unsubstantiated allegations and demanding someone do something.”
“On second thought, I’d rather this be your problem than mine.” He smirked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to convince the kid to stay away from the park?”
“Tried and failed. He’s obstinate. He’s dealt with a lot, and this is his breaking point. He’s unwilling to compromise.”
“It looks like the only thing you can do is convince the adolescent miscreants to reconsider the location for their illegal activities. If they stop selling in the park, they won’t have a reason to bother the kid.”
“What should I do? Have a sit-down and make them an offer they can’t refuse?”
He considered my point for a minute and picked up the phone. “It’s a public service to get drug sales out of the park. Mothers go there with babies, and dogs chase Frisbees. I’ll put a call in to narcotics and see if they can come up with a better solution to your problem.” I was about to reiterate my worries concerning the lack of rap sheet and retaliation for being arrested, but he read my mind. “This isn’t a big deal. Unfortunately, we worry more about crack, meth, and heroin than some kids popping Ritalin. It’s society, what can I say. But the narco guys are some badasses. I’d know since I used to be one of them.” He grinned. “They’ll get some UCs to move into the territory or threaten to, and it’ll scare the punks off. It always does. The only time that doesn’t work is when we’re dealing with serious dealers.”
“Thank you.” I was grateful for the help.
“In the meantime, do what you can to keep the kid clear of the park. Homicide already has enough to worry about.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking, but either way, it was an incredibly morbid statement. “Also, give Martin a call and see if he’ll introduce you to Sanderson. Maybe with enough cajoling, you can land Sanderson as an agent since all roads lead to nowhere.”
“Just me? Or all nine of us?”
“Just you. Frankly, you’re our best bet, and since Sanderson’s still a person of interest, we can’t risk tipping him off by asking for cooperation through official channels. We’re not in the business of letting people get away with murder.”
“Right.” I tried to formulate a cover story for Martin to use since he didn’t need to be dragged further into this, but we had no choice. “Thanks again.” With any luck, narcotics would provide a quick-fix to Roger’s problem, and Sanderson would be the perfect in for the newest model at Tate’s agency.
* * *
I dialed Mrs. Smidel while I rummaged through my closet, pulling out clothing options to wear. She answered after four rings, and we briefly exchanged pleasantries.
“He has those weird scratches again,” she whispered. “Have you discovered anything? I’m not paying you to sit around and do nothing.”
“Mrs. Smidel,” I began patiently, “the scratches are from running through the park. There are a lot of low-lying tree branches and shrubbery.”
“Why in god’s name is he running through the forest?” A door slammed shut, and I figured she was seeking some privacy. Now was the moment when I had to make a decision on what to tell her.
“Ma’am, there are a couple of kids at the park who appear to be a bit brutish.” I was downplaying the scenario.
“Brutish,” she repeated. “Are you going to do something about them? They should not be allowed to walk around being…brutish. Maybe I need to go back to the po
lice.”
“I have already spoken to the police department. We are working to resolve this issue quickly.” I was being as diplomatic as possible. “In a few days, they will no longer be present at the park. However,” I had to think of what to say, “it would be best if Roger has something else to focus on for the time being. Perhaps a trip to visit MIT or a weekend getaway might be particularly convenient right now. Maybe the two of you could spend some quality time together as a nice change of pace.”
“You’ve spoken to Roger?” she practically screeched.
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice was calm, even though she was pushing my buttons. “He’s lonely. But don’t worry, he doesn’t know that you hired me. We just randomly bumped into one another and got to talking. That was it.”
“I see.” Her remark was clipped. “I will consider your suggestion. Please notify me once the brutes have been removed.”
“As you wish.” I hung up and resisted the urge to throw my phone. She was a worried parent, but she was also an absent parent. She thought removing danger was the only way to help her son when, in actuality, the only thing he wanted was someone to talk to who listened. “Rich assholes,” I griped.
Speaking of, I needed to call Martin. It was Friday night, and Sanderson needed to believe I was a model in dire need of representation before Monday morning. The timeframe sucked. I doubted anything would get done, but Heathcliff wanted me to try. I went into the living room and found the file folder on my alias, Lola Peters. That was one hell of a stripper name if I’d ever heard one, but no one consulted me. How ironic.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Martin sounded overjoyed by the prospect of my call.
“The police department needs a favor, and they’re too afraid to ask.” My tone was irritated, bordering on cynical. They made the mess and expected me to clean it up.
“Anything I can do for our friends at the precinct.” His tone matched mine. “Do they want me to confess to murder since they’ve done such a great job so far?”
