Bronx Requiem

by John Clarkson

  Manny pursed his lips. “Like usual. Things gets worse before they gets better.”

  “Any details you want to share?”

  Manny paused, squinted for a moment.

  “Walter, we both know a man gets murdered the way Paco did, it most likely ain’t a simple thing. We’re finding out what’s behind it. When it’s all over, you’ll know everything we know.”

  “That’s what James said to me.”

  “He told you the truth.”

  “But why not tell me what you’re finding out as it happens?”

  “Things keep changing.”

  “Why not keep me up with the changes?”

  Manny turned to Walter. “I understand what you’re trying to do, my friend. You’re trying to decide if you’re doing the right thing. But you won’t know until this is all figured out.”

  “By then it might be too late.”

  Manny shrugged.

  “So I have to have faith that you all are doing the right thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And after it’s all over, what if I decide you didn’t do the right thing?”

  “Walter, you’re gonna do what you think is right. Now, later, whenever. That’s the kind of man you are. And when this is over, you’re going to go to your church down the street, and kneel down, and think it through. Maybe you talk to your priest, or maybe you talk in your mind to your beautiful wife. Or maybe you ask God. And then you will decide if you did the right thing. Maybe you get the answer. Maybe you don’t.”

  Walter sat silently for a few moments. “And if I decide I did not do the right thing?”

  “Then you ask for forgiveness, amigo. You ask for forgiveness.”

  “From whom?”

  Manny tipped his head. “Yourself.”

  Walter frowned, nodding. After a few moments, he said, “Thank you, Manny. I’ll let you know what I find out tomorrow.”

  Manny patted Walter’s shoulder. “Gracias.”

  They both stepped out of the car. Walter retrieved his carry-on from the backseat and headed for his empty apartment. Manny took his place in the driver’s seat and headed for Red Hook.

  55

  The sound of a dresser drawer closing woke Beck up.

  Struggling into consciousness felt like swimming up from a deep pond filled with dark, viscous liquid. The soapy scent of a woman fresh out of the shower helped to dispel the dull buzz in his head and pulled him awake.

  Beck blinked his eyes open. They felt like they had been sealed by a thin film. He rolled his head and stretched under the blanket covering him. The resulting pain pulled him fully awake.

  He cursed silently. Shit.

  Translucent pull-down shades softened the light in the small bedroom. Above him, Beck saw a ceiling fixture with a frosted cover. It had a floral peach-colored decoration around the bottom.

  He looked to his right in the direction of the soft sounds.

  Janice the bartender stood in front of a mahogany dresser wearing a thigh-length kimono-style robe, untied, choosing between two folded bras in her hand. She had already selected a pair of panties she’d placed on top of the dresser.

  Beck didn’t move. He didn’t want to feel the pain that would cause, or attract Janice’s attention and embarrass her.

  He had no memory of getting into a bed, yet here he was, under a wool blanket. He felt around under the blanket. He was wearing everything but his jacket and shoes. It concerned him that his dirty clothes were making her bed sheets dirty.

  Janice slipped off her robe and dropped it on the bed behind her. She had very white skin. Her backside was nicely shaped, her thighs defined with long muscles. Beck would have looked away, giving Janice her privacy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off an elegant, sinuous tattoo that ran from under her full right breast, along her ribs, across her hip, ending where it encircled part of her firm right buttock. The tattoo consisted of fine black lines with beautiful highlights depicting the plumage of a peacock.

  She turned sideways to Beck, revealing more of her breast and flat stomach. She swept the panties up off the dresser, leaned over, and stepped into them gracefully and efficiently. Beck watched her breast sway and noted the muscles along her rib cage.

  Beck closed his eyes. Don’t be a jerk, he told himself. Give the woman her privacy.

  He remained still, listening as she pulled open another dresser drawer, closed it, and moved around the small bedroom. Finally, when he figured she was fully dressed, Beck took a deep breath and stirred. He heard her walk over to his side of the bed and felt her presence hovering over him.

  He stirred again, and the pain made him wince and exclaim, “Jeezus.”

  That was end of his sleeping act.

  Janice said, “How bad is it?”

  Beck opened his eyes and focused on her. She wore a pair of faded jeans that fit well and a simple black turtleneck top that didn’t.

  Beck croaked, “How’d I get here?”

  “It wasn’t easy. You passed out after you got out of my car. I couldn’t rouse you completely, but I got you awake enough to get you back in the car and into my house. It’s a good thing my bedroom is on the ground floor. I don’t think you would have been able to walk up any stairs, and I sure as hell couldn’t have carried you.”

  Beck thought about sitting up, but held off.

  “How long have I been out?”

  Janice looked at her watch. “About ten hours. I finally got you into the bed around midnight.”

  Beck pulled aside the blanket.

  “I’m making a mess of your sheets. Sorry. Where’d you sleep?”

  “I have a guest room upstairs.”

  “I feel bad I put you out of your bed.”

  Janice waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t try to clean you up. I put antibiotic cream on your cuts and scrapes, but you should wash up. You think you can stand up and take a shower?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t pass out on me again. I nearly broke my back trying to get you on your feet. How much do you weigh?”

  “Couple hundred. I haven’t had anything to eat in a while. Except those peanuts at your bar.”

  She smiled at the reference to the peanuts. “Plus four drinks.”

  “Three and a half. I didn’t finish the beer.”

  Janice extended her hand to Beck. “Come on, see if you can get up. There’s a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom. I’d dump a bunch of it on that gash on your forehead, and everywhere else where your skin’s broken.”

  “You sound like a nurse.”

  “I’m not. But I was raised on a farm. We didn’t run to an emergency room every time someone got a bump. It’s too late for stitches in your forehead, but I can put some butterflies on it and bandage it for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You better wash those clothes. You know how to use a washing machine?”

  Beck gave her a look.

  “What? I know men who think they’d grow breasts if they did laundry.”

  “I know how to use a washing machine.”

  “It’s down the hall from the bathroom. Don’t put too much soap in.”

  “Yes, that’s a common error amateurs make.”

  Beck managed to sit up and get his feet on the floor. He paused to get a breath.

  “What’s the worst?” she asked.

  “Ribs. Right side in back.”

  “I don’t think they’re cracked or broken. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to sleep like you did.”

  Beck answered with a grunt.

  Janice motioned with her outstretched hand. Beck took it. He felt the rough skin on her palm, reminding him of when he’d first met her. She grabbed his elbow with her other hand and helped him onto his feet, impressing Beck with her strength.

  Beck grimaced, but felt better now that he was standing. “Thanks. For everything.”

  “I couldn’t leave you in the parking lot. And the nearest hospital is a pretty long driv
e. I didn’t think you wanted to go there anyhow.”

  “I’m okay. Hey, what about my truck? Is it still in the lot?”

  “Yes, but not where you parked it. Before we left, I drove it out back behind our Dumpsters. Nobody will see it from the road.”

  Beck looked at Janice. “You’re…”

  “What?”

  “You’re doing a hell of a lot for me.”

  “And you wonder why.”

  Beck tipped his head as if to say yes.

  “Two reasons. I feel guilty I didn’t warn you in the bar. But I was afraid Remsen would see me and I didn’t want to face him if he caught me warning you.”

  “I understand.”

  Beck waited for the second reason.

  “But mostly because I hate Oswald Remsen enough to make me sick. So, if you did what I think you…”

  Beck held up a hand to stop her.

  “Well, I think I owe you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “If you say so.” Janice stepped back to give Beck room. “I have to go to the store. What do you want for breakfast?”

  “Whatever you’re having, but more.”

  “I’ll shop accordingly. By the way, if you start rummaging around in my medicine chest for pain medication, all I have is Tylenol. If you have a concussion, I’m not sure you want to take anything else.”

  “I’m all right. I’ve got a hard head.”

  “Go clean up, and I’ll be back soon. There’s a robe that might fit you in the back of my closet.”

  “Okay. By the way, I remember your first name. Janice. But you didn’t tell me the rest of it.”

  “My last name is Elkins. What’s yours?”

  “Beck.”

  “And you said your first name was Tom?”

  “I did. But it’s James.”

  “Why’d you tell me Tom?”

  “Sort of obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it.”

  Janice headed out. Beck followed and went into the bathroom across the hall. The first thing he did was swallow four Tylenol, finishing the glass of water.

  The low-ceilinged bathroom was just big enough for one person. There was a small window with white curtains above the toilet. The powder-blue tiles in the tub and shower were too old to ever be matched.

  Beck emptied his pockets, finding his cell phone. The battery was dead.

  He stripped off all his clothes, walked naked to the bedroom, and found his denim jacket hanging on a chair. He emptied the pockets and found everything he’d taken back from Oswald Remsen. He took the clothes filthy with dirt, grass, bloodstains, and sweat to the laundry room, shivering slightly against the chill. He would have thrown everything away, but he had nothing else to wear so he had to wait for them to be washed.

  Beck squirted stain remover on the bloodstains, and made sure not to use too much detergent. He set up the machine carefully and started the wash cycle.

  He took his time in the shower, soaping over everything twice, inventorying his bruises and scrapes. His wrists were raw from the handcuffs, particularly his right wrist. The area under his left eye was bruised and swollen. His forehead was a mess. There were scrapes and swollen areas, and a cut at the hairline where the skin had split. There were bruises on his arms where he’d blocked blows, and on his back, legs, and thighs where he’d been kicked. It would be days and days of progressing from red to purple to green to yellow. He didn’t want to think how much it was going to hurt driving an old truck back to Brooklyn.

  The dull headache he’d woken with had eased off by the time he stepped out of the shower and dried off with a blue towel Janice had left on the toilet for him.

  He found the hydrogen peroxide in Janice’s medicine chest and poured the disinfectant on his wrists and knuckles, holding his hands over the sink. He watched the hydrogen peroxide bubble and foam up where there was raw skin.

  He cleaned the cut on his forehead, then rinsed the sink and went to find the bathrobe Janice told him about. It was a heavy terry-cloth robe, dark blue, big enough to fit him.

  Beck wondered who it belonged to. Ex-husband? Boyfriend? What was her story? She was a good-looking woman, and seeing her nearly naked had made her more attractive to him.

  “All right, take it easy,” he told himself. Get your clothes washed, eat, thank her profusely, and get the hell out of here. Beck wanted to be as far away from Ellenville as possible when those bodies were discovered.

  He found his way into Janice’s kitchen. Again, a flashback to rural fifties. Worn linoleum floor, old appliances, but everything clean and functional. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the kitchen.

  Beck found a cup in a cabinet to the right of the sink. He filled it and left the coffee black, sipping it carefully since there wasn’t any milk in it to cool it down.

  The clock on an old Sharp microwave read 10:47.

  He reached for a faded yellow wall phone with a long, twisted cord and punched in Demarco’s cell number.

  He sat at a rough wooden table big enough to seat four, gathering the robe around him, wishing he had something on his bare feet to keep them warm.

  Demarco answered on the first ring. “This is an upstate area code so I guess you’re still alive.”

  “More like half alive. How’re you?”

  “Half?”

  “Things went bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “Very.”

  “You okay?”

  “Okay enough.”

  Demarco asked, “When you coming back?”

  “As soon as I get my clothes back.”

  “Let me think about that for a second. Okay, I give up, where are your clothes?”

  “In a washing machine. What’s going on at your end?”

  “Long story, but Derrick Watkins’s older brother, and one other lowlife, are no longer with us.”

  “Jerome?”

  “Yes. Street name, Biggie.”

  “Not very inventive.”

  “Nope.”

  “So I take it you didn’t learn anything from him.”

  “No time.”

  “You find Packy’s daughter?”

  “Twice. We found her the same time we found the bad guys. Turns out she was stalking them. She shot the lowlife, we took out Biggie. Second time at a motel.”

  “Sounds like she’s her father’s daughter. Where is she now?”

  “Sleeping in the front bedroom upstairs. Interestingly, I’m washing her clothes, too.”

  “You never offered to wash mine.”

  “Who’s doing them for you now?”

  “Nobody. I’m doing ’em myself, like always. Anything else I should know?”

  “Somehow the girl came up with two ledger books tracking Derrick Watkins’s prostitution business. Believe it or not, from a quick look at the numbers, the guy was netting about three hundred grand a year.”

  “Just him?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Shit. Anything else?”

  “Manny and I found out the Watkins brothers were part of a bigger crew. Run by a couple of guys been around in the Bronx a long time. Eric Jackson and Floyd Bondurant.”

  Beck nodded, adding Demarco’s information to what he knew. “Okay. Where’s Walter?”

  “He came in last night. Talked to Manny. Went up to the Bronx this morning to talk to the supervisor in charge of those two detectives about their investigation.”

  “Good. Is he there now?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, if he calls to warn you about warrants for anybody’s arrest, be ready to make yourself scarce.”

  “Ciro’s getting a house for us in Staten Island in case we have to abandon ship. Alex is gonna house-sit here.”

  Beck checked his watch. “All right, I should be leaving here in about an hour. That puts me in Red Hook around two. Call Alex, have him come in. See if he can run down information on Jackson and Bondurant. Ask him to help Walter with anything he found
out about the cops’ investigation. Make sure Walter stays there until I arrive. And get ahold of Ricky and Jonas.”

  “You want them here, too?”

  “Yes. Also, tell Alex to track down a man named Edward Remsen. He’s a CO, works at Sing Sing. I think he lives in the Bronx. Have Alex do that first.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll need Ciro, too.”

  Demarco asked, “Anybody else?”

  “Willie Reese. Ask him to be there.”

  “Full-court press, huh, James?”

  “Yes.”

  Beck heard footsteps outside the kitchen door. He told Demarco, “Get things rolling, my friend. I’ll see you soon.”

  He hung up Janice’s phone as she entered carrying two plastic bags of groceries. Beck took the bags out of her hands and placed them on the counter while Janice slipped out of her coat. She hung it on a peg next to the door. Beck took a carton of eggs and other groceries. It all felt very domestic.

  “That fits you,” Janice said.

  “What? Unpacking the groceries, or the robe?”

  “Both I suppose.”

  “I’m not going to ask who the robe belongs to.”

  “It belongs to me. He’s long gone.”

  “I had to use your phone.”

  “You didn’t call China or anything, did you?”

  Beck smiled. “No. Listen, I…”

  “If you’re going to thank me again, don’t. I’ll start breakfast.” She stopped and listened for a moment. “I think your clothes are on the first spin cycle. Keep track of them and get them in the dryer. Not that I’m rushing you, but the sooner you get out of here the better.”

  “I understand.”

  “No you don’t. I already got a call from the sheriff asking if I know where Oswald Remsen is. Remsen didn’t make it home last night. I don’t think that’s entirely unusual, but his wife called the sheriff a couple of hours ago.”

  Beck didn’t respond.

  Janice asked, “Any other wives going to be calling the sheriff this morning?”

  “Depends on how much they miss their husbands.”

  Janice stared at Beck. He looked back at her without expression. He watched her thinking it through, worry and concern clouding her expression.

  He said, “Janice, there are two things you have to know. What happened last night, had to happen. There was nothing I could have done to stop it.”