Stealing Time

by Glass, Leslie

  "Wei."

  The sound of a stranger on her parents' phone struck April with another wave of nausea. The hot, dizzy feeling swept over her, filling her mouth with water. The heavy traffic had been moving along at an even pace. Suddenly it was slowed almost to a stop by the yellow arrow of a street sweeper ahead of them, cleaning the roadway at rush hour. Her gut clenched. She grimaced and closed her eyes.

  "Wei?" the voice said again, more urgently this time.

  "Who's that?" April asked in Chinese.

  "It's your mother, who you think?" Also in Chinese.

  "What's the matter, Ma?" April asked, instantly feeling better.

  Skinny Dragon Mother made a little crying sound. "I very sick."

  "Too bad," April said, feeling better still. The dragon did sound pretty weak and pitiful, but April wasn't going to let it bother her.

  "Come home right away. Maybe I die."

  "That's terrible." April tried to put a little concern in her voice, but wasn't entirely successful.

  "Come home right away. Need doctor."

  Skinny hated doctors. She would never say she needed one without a very good reason. A reflex of filial thoughtfulness crept over April in spite of herself. "Is Dad there?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Anyone there?"

  "Dog here."

  "I mean someone who could help you."

  "You police captain. You supposed to take care of me; mother comes first."

  "Ma, listen to me. I'm chasing a killer right now. I can't come home and take care of you."

  "Killer more important than me?" Skinny screamed.

  "Be reasonable, Ma; you hurt me last night. That doesn't make me feel like caring for you." April found this surprisingly easy to say on a cell phone while Mike was driving the Camaro with the siren blasting. "You made me sick. I was sick on the job. I threw up and lost face in front of the whole department. I was on my knees because of you. You think I have sympathy now because you don't feel well?"

  "What's wrong with you, ungrateful worm?" Skinny wailed.

  "Gee, I'm not sure. Maybe my heart, maybe my liver. Maybe my brain. It's hard to know. Only the person who poisoned me would know for sure." The siren screamed, but so did her mother.

  "Oh, ni, you bad girl," Skinny cried over the siren.

  "If I'm bad girl, then a bad mother must have raised me," April shot back. She heard a scream on the other end of the line.

  "I best mother!"

  "Best mothers don't poison their daughters to get their way."

  "You were sick before, only try to help, ni. You better now?"

  "You made me sick because you don't want me to be happy. You don't want me to choose my own husband, my own life." They passed the road sweeper and sped up.

  "What's going on?" Mike asked.

  Sai attempted a death rattle on the other end of the line.

  April didn't answer Mike and didn't care what noises her mother made. "Too bad. You got yourself sick when you cooked up that poison in the kitchen. Just because you didn't want me to be happy, you probably smell and feel as bad as I do."

  "Maybe I die. Then who take care of your father?" Skinny countered.

  Uh-oh. April wasn't up to a possibility as loaded as that. "Better not die; he'll find another wife to take your place."

  Skinny made a clicking noise that April interpreted as "Not a chance; you'll get him for sure."

  "What was the shit in the kettle?"

  "None of your business." But at the thought of a successor wife she changed her mind fast. "Dragon bones; sour herbs," she admitted.

  "Must have been some low-quality, very sick dragon. I bet those bones were black, huh. That's what you get when you use cheap ingredients." "You okay, nil You learn lesson?" Sai asked, almost meekly.

  What lesson? Skinny never even articulated why loving a non-Chinese was such a big deal. If she'd said, "Look what happened to Lin Tsing for messing with a Caucasian; look what happened to Heather Rose," then maybe she'd have a point that April could think about. They could have discussed it. Skinny could have gotten to know Mike and judged for herself whether he was a good man for a woman—of any culture. But Skinny was a wrathful dragon. She couldn't tell a good man from a bad one, was interested in her own prejudices, not facts.

  "M, you come home and take care of best-quality mother," Sai Woo said in her most guilt-inducing voice.

  "Drink lots of fluids. Call Mr. Wang. Maybe he knows what to do for bad dragon bones."

  "M, you mad at me?"

  "Yes."

  "You coming home after you catch killer?"

  "Not like before, Ma." April finished telling her mother off in Chinese and hung up the phone.

  "What was that all about?" Mike asked, looking at her strangely.

  "Oh, nothing much. My mother took some black dragon bones, and it made her sick."

  "The same ones that got you?"

  "Yeah. She wanted me to come right home and take care of her." April shook her head. Mothers!

  "You want to take a detour and check on her, queridaT'

  "No way. You know we've got local people waiting for us. Let her wait."

  "How are you holding up?"

  "Me?" April took a deep breath, testing. "I feel great, just great." And it was true.

  "Good, here's Ring Road." Mike slowed down and took a right.

  "Nice area," April remarked.

  "Looks like he beat us." Mike pointed out the long blue limo in the middle of the next block. The light turned red. He ran it.

  CHAPTER 49

  They were all crowded in the kitchen, peering out the window into the shady backyard with the two big oak trees and the dogwood that was still in bloom. Nanci had come in to get some formula for the baby. She took a bottle from the six remaining on the kitchen counter, twisted off the cap, and replaced it with a sterilized nipple. Anton Popescu walked around the house, searching for a way in. Frankie followed him from window to window, ending up by the back door, guarded by Joey. The top half of the door was glass, partially covered with a white, see-through curtain. The four people inside had a good view as Anton rattled the knob and rapped on the glass, his face distorted by rage.

  "Let me in! What's the matter with you people?" he cried.

  "Look at that asshole," Joey muttered.

  "You're no cop," Milton said through the window.

  "I just want to talk to you. What's the big deal?"

  "You can talk when the cops get here," Milton replied.

  "What cops?" Anton was undeterred.

  "The cops are looking for you. So hang around, you'll get arrested," Milton said.

  "I didn't do anything. Come on, be smart. Let me come in and talk to you. I don't have any weapons. How could it hurt you to hear what I have to say?"

  Seconds passed. Milton and Anton assessed each other. No one else moved.

  "What's your problem?" Anton cried through the door. "I just want to talk."

  "Let him in," Nanci said suddenly.

  "Yeah, let's let him in. We'll make a citizen's arrest," Frankie agreed.

  "Just keep your shirt on." Milton turned to Nanci. "Why do you want him in here?"

  "I want to talk to the man who killed my cousin," she said, eyes narrowed at the man behind the curtain.

  "Are you crazy?" Milton said. "Why?"

  "There are four of us. What's he going to do?" she said.

  "If he has a gun he could kill us all." Milton put his arm around his wife's shoulders. "Be reasonable."

  "He came in a limo. Be reasonable yourself, Milton. What's he going to do, shoot us and get back in the car?" Nanci reached up and squeezed the hand on her shoulder, then kissed the baby's head.

  "What can he do, scare us to death?" Joey laughed.

  "Yeah," Frankie seconded.

  Milton shook his head at them. "You're all nuts." Still, he went over and unlocked the door. Nanci was holding the bottle. The baby was bobbing his head at her chest, whimpering for food. She backed
away to the living room entrance, her face pale.

  "Go ahead, let him in," she whispered.

  But Anton had heard the bolt turn in the lock. He plunged through the door before Milton had a chance to open it for him. Inside he stopped, squared his shoulders, and examined the four adults one by one. "I'm Anton Popescu," he said momentously.

  Joey circled him, gave him a few little exploratory shoves.

  Anton was solid; he didn't move. But his face reddened. He addressed Milton. "Who's the boss here? You?"

  "Yeah, sure, this is my house. You wanted in, you're in. What do you want?"

  "I want to talk, that's all. Why the gun?" He glared at Joey.

  Milton's hands snaked out to Joey's pocket; he felt the bulge there and groaned. "Shit. Joey, I said no guns. Go outside." He pointed at the door.

  "Aw, please," Joey raised his hands in supplication. "If he behaves, I won't touch it. How's that?"

  "You can't be armed and stay in here with the baby. Go on outside, cover the back door."

  "Go on," Frankie told him.

  Joey gave his friend a hurt look and went out the door.

  "Come on in here." Milton waved his arm for Anton to go into the living room. Then he whispered at Nanci to take the baby and go upstairs. Instead, she went into the living room, settled in the rocking chair by the fireplace, and teased the baby's lips with the nipple. The baby took it and started sucking. Milton frowned at her, but she was busy and didn't notice.

  Anton made himself comfortable in an armchair before he began speaking. No longer upset by the thug with the gun in his pocket, he radiated confidence. "I want to thank you for taking care of my son Paul this week. He looks great."

  "You barge in here saying you're a cop when you're not a cop. Now you say the baby is yours. You sound like a liar to me." Milton stood in the center of the living room. Frankie hung out by the front door. Anton seemed undaunted by the hostile atmosphere.

  "I have to take him back now," he said evenly. "I'd be glad to give you some compensation for your trouble."

  "He's not yours. He's not going anywhere," Milton said.

  "I'm afraid he is, and I want to do this in as gentlemanly a way as possible."

  Milton almost laughed. "You must be crazy. You're not taking our baby."

  "I said I would compensate you for your trouble."

  "How much?" Nanci asked.

  "Nanci!" Milton flared up. He exchanged glances with Frankie. Frankie had already lost his patience. He was moving around nervously, a sign of imminent attack.

  Nanci stopped chewing on her lip. She had two strong men in the room. She wasn't afraid of Anton's bluster. "I want to know how much the baby's worth to him."

  Anton gave her a big smile. "How much do you want?" he asked affably.

  Nanci glared at him. "No price. He's my own blood, my cousin's baby. How could anyone put a price on him? I just want to know how far you'd go."

  Anton nodded at her, then at Milton. "I understand how you feel. I'm prepared to be generous with you."

  "How generous?"

  Milton took over. "Yeah, don't play games with us. What kind of offer are you making?"

  Anton looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

  "For the death of my cousin," Nanci told him calmly.

  "That was unfortunate." Anton rearranged his face to look sympathetic.

  "It's more than unfortunate for me," Nanci murmured, stroking the baby's forehead with a finger as he drank.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, but I didn't have anything to do with it. That's a separate issue."

  "Not to me."

  "What do you expect from me?" Now Anton's face was that of a negotiator. It looked open, flexible. He had his eye on the suckling baby.

  Nanci had her eye on the hall clock. She still thought help was on the way. Milton moved from the center of the room to his wife's side.

  "We want Lin's murderer punished, that's all."

  Anton shifted in his chair. "Look, I can see there's been an unfortunate misunderstanding here. Paul belongs to me and my wife. She's his mother, I'm his father. There's no room for negotiation about this. I don't have any choice here; I have to take him back where he belongs."

  There was a silence for a few seconds; then Joey burst in from the kitchen. "This guy is an asshole. Look at what he did to Nanci's cousin. I'm not sitting still for this. Let's take care of him." He appealed to Frankie.

  Milton responded, "I thought I told you to stay outside."

  "Joey, you're not related," Frankie put in. "It's not for you to say what punishment is correct."

  Anton propelled himself out of the chair. "Hey, I just came for my baby. You touch me and I'll prosecute you," he said sharply.

  Joey moved a step closer to him, threatening. "Oh, we're really scared of a guy who rapes and kills little girls."

  "Okay, that's enough." Milton crossed the room and took Joey's arm. Frankie joined them. From far away there came the faint sound of a police siren.

  Nanci let out the breath she'd been holding. April was there. Thank God, it was over. She cuddled the tiny baby who'd caused so much turmoil. He was feeding, unconcerned, in her arms.

  With the three men in a huddle by the front door, Anton moved, in one step, to where she sat with the baby. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm really sorry. I didn't expect it to end like this."

  The other men had been threatening. This one seemed finally to be intimidated by the siren. He really appeared to be coming over to apologize to her. Earlier, he'd been aggressive but normal. He'd never acted like a killer or a rapist. He'd just acted the bully, like a lot of men did. And now he was deflated by the arrival of the police. Nanci didn't have time to adjust her grip on the feeding baby. In fact, she didn't think of it. She thought Anton was sorry. He stood beside her, leaned over her, and in a second he'd taken the baby out of her arms and was headed out the back door with him.

  CHAPTER 50

  There was something terribly serious about the blue limo, unlike anything else with wheels parked on this Garden City street. The car was long and wide, and even from a block away it was clear the thing had leather seats and a phone and a TV. The fancy car with its emblem and its shiny paint and its driver sitting inside made a clear distinction between the kind of people who rode around in conveyances like that and the kind of people who didn't. The car was a symbol of power that indicated how carefully and importantly those driving in it had to be treated. In the police department, these people held the ultimate rank the officers were taught to respect and fear.

  As they drove toward the car, April couldn't help thinking of Anton's wife, Heather Rose, who had come from the same melting pot as she but had so much more promise as a child and such a different fate. By outward appearance, Heather Rose was superior to April in every way. Somehow, she'd been able to study during the years April had had to work. She'd been smart enough to go to a great university, fortunate enough to attract a man of wealth and influence. It occurred to April that she must be used to riding around in limos with her husband. But Heather Rose's marriage to a professional man, and the wealth April's own mother so wanted for her daughter, hadn't exempted Heather Rose and her family from torture and shame.

  The phone call to her mother had also made April think of shame. All her life Skinny had shamed April, made her feel like a worm. It was unsettling to think that Mike Sanchez had done more for her self-respect than her own parents, and even more shocking that he was willing to take a detour to check on Skinny even though she hated him. This made April ashamed of her mother.

  As the Camaro approached the limo, April started to feel even more anxious. Half a block from the house, Mike slowed the car and turned off the siren. Instantly, all became quiet on the street. April swallowed, breathed in and out a few times, testing for nausea and dizziness. She still felt all right.

  "Maybe this'll be easy, and we can go check on your mother soon," Mike said hopefully. She touched his hand on the wheel.

  "I have t
o admit, I didn't want you in this when it started," she said slowly.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I love you."

  It was the first time he'd said it in English. She felt his mustache and his warm lips. Her anxiety intensified. The air in the car seemed to get colder, not warmer as it should with the heat of their love. She wanted to say she loved him, too, but instead she said, "Do you feel that?"

  "What?"

  She frowned. "You don't feel it? Cold?"

  "No."

  "Maybe it's just me." She unholstered her gun, checked out the 9mm, then cradled it in her lap. The quiet lasted only a few seconds. Before they had time to formulate a game plan, the unmistakable sound of a shot came from behind the house. Mike braked hard. April was thrown forward into her seat belt and recovered her balance as Mike reached for his gun and dove out of the car into the line of fire.

  "Wait!" The word wrenched from her throat. It wasn't what she was supposed to say.

  "Cover me," Mike ordered over his shoulder.

  She was supposed to do it without question. In the middle of a power surge, though, April reverted to type and rankled at the command. Their situation had changed. He was no longer her supervisor. She was the squad supervisor. He didn't outrank her. So who was in charge here, who was supposed to take the lead, be in the line of fire? All this in a split second.

  What she was supposed to do was get out of the car, position herself somewhere behind Mike, and cover him. But she was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of inadequacy. "Wait," she said again.

  But either Mike didn't hear her or he wasn't going to wait. He was out of the car and across the sidewalk before she could say anything else. He hit the edge of the lawn as Anton appeared around the side of the house, running toward his big shiny car. Clutched close to his chest was a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket, and the bundle was screaming. Behind him more shots were fired. A young man with a handgun ran out from behind the house and dove behind a large oak tree.