Stealing Time

by Glass, Leslie

  This careless, almost defiant gesture reminded Nanci of herself. In the barely ten months since her cousin had arrived in New York, she had gone on with her life just like the sanitation worker, tossing the cans every which way, unaware of anyone's presence in the window. She'd worked in the library during the week, gone house hunting on the weekends. She and Milton had bought the house, moved in, and hunkered down for the last months of winter. All their short lives they'd been responsible, had struggled and saved their money for a house like this and the luxury of having a city-paid worker in his gauntlets to dispose of their private garbage from their private garbage can. And all this time, she'd scarcely thought about poor Lin.

  At three in the morning she'd fed the gorgeous black-haired, blue-eyed baby, and put him back to bed. At five-fifteen she'd picked him up again. She'd sat in a chair holding him, alternately dozing and worrying. At seven he was still sleeping. She took him downstairs and put him in the plastic baby chair Milton had bought for him when they'd realized they did not want to give him back, and she made coffee. His tiny nose twitched at the smell of the coffee, and his tiny fingers moved against the satin edging of the blue flannel baby blanket that smelled of money and so perplexed Nanci when she first saw it. The baby's fancy layette didn't match her cousin's station in fife, so she'd worried that even though the baby looked like Lin and also looked like her, it might not, in fact, be Lin's baby.

  If anyone asked Nanci now whose baby he was, she'd say hers. He was in her dreams, in the rhythms of her day. He was serene and unruffled, and he filled her heart without even trying. She hadn't even known how much she longed for someone other than Milton to love and care for. Milton was a man; he had his own thoughts, his own world—his restaurant, sports, and his brothers. He no longer read as much as he used to when they were dating. He worked long days, from eleven to eleven sometimes, or from eight in the morning to nine at night. He was a householder; with the responsibilities of his job and the bills to pay, he was not always as patient and understanding with her as he used to be. Someone who relied on her and needed her, someone she could share her thoughts with and teach everything she knew was what she had needed to fulfill her life.

  The baby's hold on her heart and the mystery of his fancy layette were so powerful a combination that even with her cousin in danger, Nanci had not been able to tell April the truth. If the baby was Lin's, she might have a chance of keeping him. At first she'd thought Lin might have had a boyfriend who didn't intend to marry her. If he had married Lin, Nanci would at least have had a chance to see the baby from time to time.

  But the expensive clothes that came with him made Nanci think the baby might have been someone else's. She and Milton had been astounded when their argument on the ride home from Chinatown on Tuesday had been interrupted by a baby's crying. They had not known that Lin had been pregnant. When Nanci climbed over into the backseat and found the baby wearing such fine clothes, she couldn't imagine where he and they had come from. Until she spoke with April, she did not guess that the infant she and Milton had fallen in love with at first sight was the missing baby described in the newspapers, but she knew she didn't want to give him back. She had come to believe the baby was Lin's, and since the baby was Lin's, he was also hers to keep and protect. Under no condition could he ever go back to his adoptive parents. And in this way she and Milton, formerly among the most law-abiding people in America, became criminals.

  From the moment they'd conceived of the idea of having Frankie and Joey talk to Annie Lee, she'd known it was a crazy thing to do. What if the woman got stubborn and refused to say where Lin was? What if she demanded the ransom and that was the end of it? What if she didn't really know where Lin was, after all? What could they do—bully her, hit her, threaten her with a gun? She'd known Frankie and Joey for ten years. They had not been the brightest teenagers in the world, and now they were not the smartest men—still unmarried, hanging around the old neighborhood, and looking for trouble instead of work.

  Around 7:40 A.M. Nanci had the incongruous thought that she ought to go outside and bring back the garbage can lying on its side by the street. But she couldn't move. She was waiting for some word from the thugs. At a quarter past eight, she went upstairs to put the baby into the crib they'd borrowed from the next-door neighbors. He slept on. Then she padded into the bedroom to get Milton up. After his long hours at the restaurant, their speculation and worry over Lin and the baby, he hadn't gotten much sleep. Now he was out cold, his head buried in the space between two pillows. When she'd met him, he'd been a handsome boy with a lean and compact body, dreamy eyes, and long hair that fell into his eyes. Now he was an important restaurant manager, a confident young man who wore boxer shorts to bed and refused to stir when she tried to wake him.

  Then the phone rang and she picked up.

  "It's me. Let me talk to Milton," Frankie said.

  "Frankie's on the phone," she told her husband's shoulder.

  "Okay, I'm up." He roused himself and reached for the phone. "What's up?

  "Oh, God, no." Milton turned away from her. "Yeah, okay. Yeah. Call me in a half-hour. Thanks."

  Then he hung up without looking at Nanci and went into the bathroom to pee, still without looking at her. He didn't want to tell her what Frankie had said. She stood by the closed door, knowing she'd have to wait until he was ready.

  CHAPTER 41

  Anton fumed in the cab all the way downtown. Now he knew what Marc had called about this morning, but hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone: they had a dead girl on their hands. How could those two asshole relatives of his be so stupid? He knew he'd find them in the office at Golden Bobbin. Marc and Ivan wouldn't leave their clubhouse if it was under siege. And there they were. Marc opened up the building's outside door and pulled Anton inside before he'd finished knocking.

  "Did anybody follow you?" he asked anxiously.

  "What? No." As soon as they were in the office, Marc jerked his head, making faces at Ivan, who sat at his rolltop desk playing pinball on his computer as if he hadn't a trouble in the world.

  "Hi, Andy," he said without looking up.

  "Did you hear it on the news?" Marc asked.

  "You guys are some fuckups."

  Marc took Anton's arm and patted it. "Oh, man, it's so good to see you. I was getting pretty worried about all this."

  "What's the matter with you, are you nuts? What are you doing here? Why aren't you in some lawyer's office working on a story?" Anton made a disgusted noise and paced to the other side of the room to examine the computer screen. "What are you doing, Ivan?"

  "So our lawyer came to our office. What's the big deal?"

  "You don't get it. I'm not your lawyer anymore. This isn't another public-nuisance case." Anton paced to the sofa. "You've got to get organized."

  "How did you find out? Did it make the news?" Marc asked eagerly.

  Anton stopped pacing and stared at him. "No, it didn't make the news. There's a cop at my house."

  "Why? Do they think you had something to do with it?" Ivan looked up, surprised.

  "You ruined my life!" Anton raged. "I could kill you both."

  Marc nodded. "You know, that's what I told Ivan. I told him there's been a tragedy here. We've got to show respect, close up. But you know Ivan, he does whatever he wants."

  "Fuck you," Ivan replied, glued to the computer game.

  Anton moved to the desk, bunching his fists. "Marc, you ruined my life, you asshole. Get up. You've had this coming for a long time."

  "Oh, this is great. Let's see a fight." Ivan grinned.

  "See?" Marc said bitterly. "See what I have to deal with every day? You think this is a picnic, huh? A girl dies, he doesn't give a shit."

  Ivan hit a few keys. His computer said, "Good-bye, and have a nice day." "How do the police figure you in this?" he asked Anton.

  "Because of you, you idiot. That girl came from here, died here. They're not stupid. They're going to figure it out. You better get a very good cr
iminal lawyer."

  Ivan threw up his hands. "Oh, come on, don't give me that shit. I'm not going to look guilty about something I had nothing to do with."

  "What are you talking about, looking guilty?" Marc cried. "It was an accident."

  "Jesus Christ, you're responsible. I want to kill you," Anton broke in.

  Ivan shrugged. "Oh come on, relax. The way I figure it, she wasn't feeling well. She stayed over. I guess she must have—"

  "She was staying here?" Anton cried.

  Ivan shrugged again, glanced at Marc. "A crazy girl jumped out of the window."

  Anton glared at him. "It isn't that simple. Questions are going to be asked. You were putting a lot of pressure on her to find out what she did with the baby. How do I know she wasn't pushed?"

  "Hey, hey! Don't start that! Don't even think that." Ivan jumped up from his desk and crossed the room. "Don't start that."

  "What do you think, I'm stupid? You think the police are stupid? Who are you kidding? I'm so fucking mad at you I could—"

  "What, you want to hit me? Go ahead, hit me." Ivan jumped up and danced on his toes in front of Marc. Older, fatter, his stomach rolling over his belt, his dukes up.

  "Oh, come on, you guys." Marc moved in to push Ivan away. "Come on, Anton, you don't mean this. Give me a hug. Huh? You're not mad, are you? Come on, we've seen worse than this before, right?"

  "When are you going to wake up?" Anton cried. "This is the worst. There's nothing worse than this. It's you I want to kill. You're supposed to be the sane one."

  "You see cops in here? They came; they looked around, they left. Don't worry about the cops. The girl was an illegal nothing. They don't care about this.

  We got friends in the cops, don't we, Marc? Isn't your best friend a cop?"

  "You ruined my life!" Anton cried. "Who's going to pay me for this?"

  "Now don't talk that way. It was an accident." Marc rubbed his brother's shoulder. "Nobody ruined anybody's life."

  Anton shook him off. "What was an accident? The assault on my wife? That was an accident?"

  Marc glanced at Ivan. "Yeah, that was too bad."

  "She wasn't going to tell who did it. She wouldn't even tell me, you bastards. But now that the girl is dead, she's a different person. I wouldn't count on her keeping her mouth shut about anything. I'm fucked, understand? I don't get over this, and neither do you." Anton punched the air. Marc stroked his shoulder. "I hate you."

  "Her name was Lin," Ivan said softly.

  Anton ranted on. "I don't give a shit. This was supposed to be so easy, a no-brainer. You knew a pregnant girl. Roe and I wanted a baby. And what do we have here—the biggest fuckup in history!"

  "Hey, Heather didn't want him," Marc interjected fiercely.

  "Heather wanted him." Anton pulled away from his brother and began punching the arm of the sofa. "I'm going to get him now. Where is he?"

  Marc and Ivan exchanged looks.

  "Where is the baby? I'm not kidding. I'll put you both away for this. I swear."

  "We don't think it's a good idea," Marc said.

  "What do you mean it's not a good idea?"

  "Let it go. The girl had a cousin. The cousin has the baby." Marc looked embarrassed for the first time.

  "It's funny, 'cause she didn't act like she had anybody." Ivan glanced at him angrily. "She was a scared little—"

  Anton put up his hand. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know this. You both disgust me."

  Ivan protested. "Oh, no, this isn't me. This has somebody else's signature on it."

  "You always try to pin everything on somebody else. You won't take responsibility for anything. Damn it, you know I wouldn't hurt a fly," Marc protested.

  "Same old story," Ivan rolled his eyes.

  "Paternity is easily established these days, but I don't give a shit. I just want to know where my baby is," Anton said.

  "He's not yours anymore. We have to distance ourselves from this thing." This from Marc.

  "I have cops at my place going through my things. They think I'm a wife beater. A child stealer. I'm not going to let this go."

  "Face it, Heather isn't the baby's mother. The thing is, this girl came on to both of us. She wanted it, didn't she, Ivan? There was no victim here."

  Anton held up his hand. "I don't want to hear this. I don't care."

  "It wasn't me. I like blonds," Ivan said suddenly. "And I can prove it."

  "I don't give a shit. Tell a lawyer, tell the judge. It's not my problem. Just tell me where the cousin lives."

  Marc looked uneasy. "There's a little bit of a problem with that."

  "With you there's always a problem." Anton punched the air.

  "Listen to me, this is a problem. She came from around here, but she's married to this well-off Chink. They're connected to the Mob."

  "How do you know?"

  Ivan laughed uneasily. "She came looking for Lin. That's how we knew where the baby was. She even left her number. Lin never told us. Annie got scared and told us last night after the girl was dead." "Why'd she have to die?" Anton's face was white.

  "She was sick. Who knows about these girls? Now we all have to get checked. It really bums me."

  "Oh, God. You guys are pigs."

  "Yeah, so? Anyway there are these guys watching us."

  "Well, sure. The cops, the media, a lot of people are watching you."

  "Uh-uh. These guys are I-tals. Buildings burn down around here. Things happen—you know what I'm talking about. You don't mess with those people."

  "Oh, give me a break. I'm not going to worry about some pizza maker. That baby's mine."

  "Not anymore. Your wife gave him back."

  "Don't make me mad," said Anton.

  "It's a fact. She gave it back," Ivan said.

  "She changed her mind. Now she wants him back," Anton insisted.

  "Too late. Lin gave it to her cousin. It's on Long Island," Ivan said.

  "Shut up, you jerk," Marc snapped.

  "How do I know that? How do I know he's alive? How do I know you didn't get rid of him? How can I believe any of this?" Anton raged.

  "Guess you'll have to take our word for it."

  "No, I refuse. After what happened, I can't trust you."

  "You have to let it go, Anton. We don't want any more trouble." Suddenly Ivan was the serious one. "One of our girls got pregnant. We tried to do a good deed. It didn't work out. The woman gave her baby to her cousin, then jumped out the window of our factory. That's all we know. It's got to stop there."

  "I did a lot of things for you, covered up your fuck-ups for years. You owe me."

  "This is out of your control."

  "You owe me."

  Ivan heaved a sigh. "You don't understand, Anton. You don't know how it is down here. It's delicate."

  "You killed a girl, and you care about 'delicate'?"

  Ivan crossed the space between them with one leap and was pummeling his cousin before Anton could finish the sentence. "Don't you dare accuse me!"

  "For Christ's sake, give him the name." Always the one to smooth things over, Marc went to the refrigerator. "Want a beer?" he offered the other two. No one answered. "Big deal, so all right. You want the name, I'll give you the name." He popped the top of a beer can, held it out to Anton. "There, happy now?"

  Anton's nose was gushing blood, but he took the can. "Yeah."

  CHAPTER 42

  You did what?" Lieutenant Bernardino glared at April.

  A boss's anger always made her head swim. She could feel herself regress to the state of terror she'd endured in ancient times, back when Bernardino had been in charge of her life. "Gotta go," she murmured, avoiding his eye. "Is Baum back yet?"

  "You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay here and translate that fucking tape. How could you do that to me, after I left you alone to do it your way, huh?" He really didn't like the Chinese interview.

  April was back on the other side of the desk in the lieutenant's visitor's chair, reminding h
erself he wasn't her boss anymore. Fear of him receded quickly, but now the heat rose in her body again, beading up her forehead. The sweat and puking came in waves now. April checked her watch. She had to go.

  "So, what did she say?" Bernardino demanded.

  "She said her job was to watch the door. You know what that means." She picked up a file from Bernardino's desk and fanned her wet face. "Let her sit in an interview room for a few hours, then try her again. I don't think she was anywhere near the place when the death occurred. Her boss must have called her at home and asked her to come down and cover for him after the girl was dumped. She didn't know the girl had been beaten. When are you going to talk to the Popescus?" Breathe in, breathe out.

  "Soon."

  Breathe in, breathe out. "One of them was probably messing with her. Maybe both. When I asked Annie what the victim was doing there at night, she said the girl liked to sleep there because it was quiet."

  "Oh, yeah? So these jerks were running a flophouse for the girls, too?"

  "This gives me an ugly idea." April closed her eyes. She was feeling really sick.

  "You want to share it?"

  She shook her head. Give me a minute, will you?

  He drummed his fingers on the desk. "April, you with me?"