“I was. A cute one, too. I’ll have to show you my baby pictures one day. But now I’m sitting at a bus stop waiting to hear a proposition from a cop pretending to be a drug dealer. Supposedly.”
“How about your mother? I figured you told her about me after the incident.”
“You mean the incident where you almost got me killed? No, I haven’t told her yet.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t that be dangerous for someone in her line of work?”
“Stop acting like you know anything about us. So you know she’s on the job. That isn’t everything, and it’s the only thing you do know.”
“I know why you haven’t told her about me yet.”
I don’t say anything, giving him the dramatic pause he was probably hoping for.
“It’s because you trust me. You know I won’t do anything to hurt her, or you. Because I’m in the same line of work. Really, if I were a bad guy, do you think I’d have sat on that knowledge for three months?”
He has a point. He could have sold or bartered Lana’s identity for a good price. Even if she is off undercover assignment, that wouldn’t stop the bad guys she’d conned in the past from getting revenge. Maybe I did trust him all along, even before he saved Tasha from the tweeker. Who knows what I really feel about anything these days. Blurting out I love you likes it’s no big deal. Trusting a drug dealer who may or may not be a cop.
“So what’s the proposition?”
“The dealer in South Denver Heights I told you about . . . he’s expanding his operation into some new business, but I haven’t been able to figure out what it is. It looks like he’s using distributors who aren’t in the system or on the streets.”
“So it’s something legit?” I ask.
“I doubt that. They never establish legitimate businesses, unless it’s to hide the criminal ones. I want to stop him before he moves north.”
“I guess that could explain why you’ve been hanging around Lexington until now,” I say. Cisco’s way too smug thinking he’s read me, and I need him to know I still have my doubts. “So what do you want from me?”
“This guy, he’s the worst kind of dealer, targets kids as his main clientele. I really want to hit him hard, but I need proof to build my case. I need you to work your contacts, maybe find out who’s working for him since they aren’t the usual suspects.”
“What’s he look like? Maybe I’ve seen him around?”
Cisco checks his phone, but looks disappointed. “I don’t have it, but I’ll text you a photo soon. For now, I want you to take a look at this and tell me if it means anything to you,” he says, handing me a coffee cup.
“It means you stopped by Starbucks.”
“Take it.”
I’m surprised to find the cup has no weight to it.
“An empty cup? Gee, thanks.”
“There’s a list of names inside. No, not here,” he says when I open the lid. “I told you—too many eyes on me.”
I look around Center Street and I don’t see any eyes. Not unless he’s talking about Crazy Moses selling wares, probably stolen, from his grocery cart. Or Mr. Perez taking a smoke break in front of his store.
“Take the cup home, look at the list, destroy it. Don’t show it to anyone, don’t text or call me about the names,” Cisco says, getting up to leave.
“Destroy it? What if I forget a name?”
“You once told me you had a perfect memory.”
“Fine. I can do clandestine. Now it’s my turn. You said you have information about my father.”
“Look at the list. You have something for me, I’ll have something for you.”
“When—”
“Tomorrow,” he says, and as if he orchestrated it, Golden pulls up to the curb, my cue that our conversation is over.
Chapter 23
When I get back home, I find Lana all dressed up like she’s going out, but not like she’s working. Dressed up for a night out on behalf of the Denver vice division usually involves pink wigs, spandex, and sequins. She’s standing at my bedroom door wearing an understated black dress.
“I got out of the shower and you were gone. I figured you’d left for the game, until I realized it should be over by now.”
“I decided not to go so I can get an early start on an English lit paper and needed some snacks from the bodega.”
“Homework on a Saturday night?” Lana says, immediately suspicious. This is what I mean about having a cop for a mother. “Since when did Starbuck’s move into our neighborhood?”
“Tasha brought it for me. There’s a store next door to the theater where she works,” I lie, figuring Lana couldn’t possibly know about Tasha’s job change if I didn’t. “She knows I love me some caramel macchiato.”
“Plain black coffee works for me, though I suppose I can’t knock it until I try it,” Lana says, moving toward my desk and the empty cup. Well, empty except for the top-secret list of names.
“Wait!” I say, startling her. “You’re all dressed up, like you’re going out on a date.”
“So?”
“You don’t want coffee breath on a date.”
“Oh, you’re right. And I’m already running late, anyway.”
Now that I’ve averted an interrogation, I should just let her leave, but my curiosity is always stronger than my good sense.
“You haven’t been on a date in forever.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I’m already nervous enough about it. And it’s not really a date . . . more like a meeting . . . not even a meeting, really,” Lana says, sounding uncharacteristically flustered.
“You’re dressed kinda fancy for ‘not even a meeting.’ So . . . have I met him before?”
Lana looks at me a second too long before she answers. She’s trying to figure out how to give me no real answer without lying because she knows I’m growing suspicious.
“Why do you ask?”
“I just figured it was someone you already knew. You’ve been working so hard trying to get that permanent homicide assignment, taking every cold case you can, I don’t know when you’d have time to meet anyone.”
“In my job, you meet new people all the time.”
“Yeah, felons and snitches. Great dating pool. But it’s cool, Mom, you don’t have to explain it to me. Forget what I said about it being a long time. Not that I have much experience, but dating is probably like riding a bike.”
“I hope you’re right. So you think this outfit is too fancy? Don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. I’m being ridiculous, sounding like a girl your age going on my first date.” She tries to laugh it off, but only confirms how nervous she is.
“The little black dress is classic and you look great. Besides, I thought it was a meeting. Do you need any advice? Maybe we should have the Talk?”
“You’re hilarious. I don’t know why I’m having jitters. He . . . I mean, the guy . . . we go way back, so it isn’t like a first date. I mean, first meeting.”
“So he is someone from your past.”
She doesn’t respond, just leans against the doorjamb, crosses her arms, and stares at me a second before saying, “I can’t believe you traded the big play-off game for homework.”
Oops, I’ve asked one too many questions.
“Mom, you better get going if you’re running late.”
“Wasn’t Marco supposed to be the star of today’s game?”
I consider coming up with a story, but figure the truth might be best. “Apparently making people nervous is my thing today. Marco says he isn’t as focused when I’m in the stands watching him play.”
“Hmm,” Lana says like she isn’t buying the story, but I’m not sure which one—mine or Marco’s. Luckily she doesn’t have time to continue the interrogation, and tells me not to wait up as I walk her to the front door.
Finally, I can take a look at Cisco’s list. On the way back to my room, I’m about to turn off the TV Lana left on—the seven o’clock news, of course—when the prep spor
ts segment begins with its top story:
Langdon Prep loses in an upset. Milton Academy brought its A game, and we’re not sure if Langdon Prep even showed up. The Prepsters’ defense was no match for Milton shooting guard Anthony Hardson, while their offense was obliterated by Milton big men Roderick Wells and Tim Patrick, who shut down Langdon Prep point guard Marco Ruiz as early as the first quarter. Milton will be playing the winner of tonight’s second game, which you can see right here following the news, tip-off at eight o’clock.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. As bad as the report made it sound, LP only lost by five points, but they were expected to win by ten. Maybe knocking wood three times didn’t work and I jinxed Marco after all. I know he won’t want to talk right now, but I send him a text to let him know I’m here if he needs to.
When the sportscaster moves on to a story about major league sports and steroids, I turn off the TV and head for the kitchen in search of comfort. I could really use a chocolate shake from Treets, but it’s cold out and I’m already in my pajamas, so I settle for making a glass of chocolate milk and take it to my room. As soon as I look at the list, I understand why Cisco said it was his job to know where I go to school and why he needs my help.
There are three sets of names, separated by a line Cisco has drawn under each set. I recognize every name in the first list: Brent Carmody, Marco Ruiz, Justin Mitchell, and Reginald Dacey. Justin’s name is crossed out, probably because he was expelled from Langdon Prep last semester and is no longer in play, whatever the play is. There’s a question mark next to Reginald’s name, appropriate because I’m also curious how he fits on this list, since my first reaction is that the other names are loan shark or drug related. I never thought I’d be using that phrase in any sentence having to do with Marco, but what can I do when the evidence is everywhere?
Cisco is some kind of cop, I’m guessing DEA since his target is a drug dealer, and a pretty serious one if he’s with the DEA. Maybe Mildred and I were right about Brent’s dealing something after all, and now I suspect he’s part of that off-the-grid distribution network Cisco was talking about. Brent could be doing both—mostly dealing with a loan-shark operation as his side hustle. Brent must work for Cisco’s target, maybe Thug Number One, as a way to infiltrate the ivy-covered walls of Langdon Prep. Headmistress Smythe would surely have a heart attack if she knew. And Marco’s somehow involved. No matter how much he denies it or how perfect I thought he was, no matter how much I care about—no, love—Marco, a fact is a fact.
I assume the next set of names are other LP students because they’re vaguely familiar, so I’m surprised when I check the student directory and don’t see a single name. Then I remember why they seem familiar—I just heard them mentioned in the news report about the loss. Milton shooting guard Anthony Hardson . . . Milton big men Roderick Wells and Tim Patrick. So Brent isn’t limiting his territory to Langdon Prep. That’s right—I did see him make a deal with a Milton student at the game.
Before I can get to the last set of names, the doorbell rings. For the second time today, it isn’t the guy I was expecting, but this one I’m glad to see. Maybe he can answer at least one of the questions sure to keep me up tonight.
“Reginald—what are you doing here? Where’s Annette?”
“I had to cancel on her because I was too pissed off to go out after the game,” he says, sounding like he’s still pissed off.
“At me?”
“You need to check your boy.”
“That’s why you’re here, because Langdon lost? They can’t win every game.”
“They sure as hell can’t with Marco playing point the way he did.”
“You’re one to talk,” I say, staring into his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean? And why are you looking at me like that?”
I step closer to get a better look, but the porch light isn’t much help.
“This isn’t the time to be doing . . . whatever it is you’re doing. I’m talking to Annette right now. You had your chance.”
“Please. I’m checking your eyes for resting nystagmus,” I say, which I don’t find. Nope, his gaze is normal. His eyes aren’t bloodshot, either.
“Uh, what?”
“I suspect you’re one of Brent’s customers, just like Marco.”
Reginald looks surprised, then starts smiling like I said something funny.
“Are you going to let me in or what? It’s cold out here and this could take a while.”
“My mom isn’t home and she has a no-boys-unless-she’s-here rule.”
“And you follow all her rules?” Reginald says, stepping just a little closer, so that there’s pretty much no space left between us.
“When they work for me. Like now. Maybe I should talk to Annette.”
He must get my point because he backs up.
“So what is it you think you know about me and Brent?”
“I know he sold pot to Justin Mitchell, just like he’s selling to you. And Marco, unfortunately.”
I don’t actually believe any of that, but I’m hoping to get Reginald to correct me.
“Where Mitchell got his pot is anybody’s guess, but it wasn’t from Brent. Only thing he deals in are PEDs.”
“Steroids?” I say, remembering the news story that followed the one about Milton’s big men running all over Marco. The reporter was calling them PEDs—performance-enhancing drugs. “That’s what Marco’s taking?”
“Ruiz has about ninety-nine problems, but that ain’t one.”
“Is that what you meant when you were throwing hints at the last game? You quit because the rest of the team was using steroids and you didn’t want to go along.”
“You only got it half right. Maybe less than half. If you’d been at the game to see his play, you’d know what I mean. Nothing is enhancing his performance. Why weren’t you there, anyway?”
Before I can come up with a better story than the one even I was beginning to doubt, I gave him the same excuse Marco gave me, or at least part of it.
“I make him nervous when I’m at the game and it throws off his play.”
“He had the nerve to blame you for that performance? He’s even more a loser than I thought. But I can see why he’d want you to stay away,” Reginald says as he turns to go.
“What does that mean?”
“Like I said before, you need to ask him. And if he won’t tell you, that should tell you all you need to know.”
After he leaves, I check my phone and find Marco still hasn’t texted me back. I’m tempted to call him and do just what Reginald suggested, but I’m afraid he might finally tell me the truth, and after all the hints Reg dropped tonight, I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.
Instead of waiting for a call, after a few hours of debating with myself, I decide to make one. In Lana’s office, I find her stash of surveillance stuff and take one of her cheap disposable cell phones. They’re tools of the trade for an undercover cop, and also come in handy for cowards who want to leave anonymous messages in the dead of night when no one is around to answer.
Chapter 24
The next morning, I grab my coat and head down to the bodega before Lana wakes up. I finally fell asleep just after midnight after waiting up for her, even when she said not to, because I have a ton of questions about her mysterious date, but right now I have a few for Eddie Perez, who turned up in the third set of names on Cisco’s list. That’s probably a common name in Denver, but I know by now Cisco would only give me names he thought I had some connection to, so this is more than a coincidence. Especially since the other name I recognized in the third set is Eddie’s girlfriend and my favorite juvenile delinquent, MJ Cooper. Yeah, coincidence not so much.
Maybe because it’s Saturday morning and I arrive two minutes after the bodega opens, but it’s clear Eddie wasn’t expecting any customers so early. I find him behind the counter with his back to the store, his ear buds apparently so loud he didn’t hear the jangling of the bells ove
r the door. He turns slightly, just enough for me see him slowly draw liquid from a tiny bottle into a syringe.
I’m seeing it, but I really don’t believe it. Eddie’s a slacker for sure, a recent college dropout who I never mistook for Einstein but who I never thought would do drugs. And MJ! Just associating with Eddie could be a violation of her parole, but her name is on the list, too. I’m so surprised and angry I can barely see straight, but I don’t want Eddie to know I know, so I leave the store, wait about a minute, then go back inside, making as much noise as possible in case he’s still in there playing the role of idiot. I reach up and jangle the bells over the door myself, cough loudly, and knock over a can of soup.
“Hey, it’s Tamale Girl. Kinda early, yeah?”
“I keep telling you my name is Chanti.”
“I know, but I like Tamale Girl better. Has a certain ring to it. And you’re in here like, every Friday, for the buy-one-get-one tamales. But you’re a day late.”
“I’m not looking for tamales,” I say, wondering if PEDs make a person especially cheerful and talkative.
“So what can I do you for?”
“You’re quite the morning person, Eddie.”
“Not usually, but I am this morning.”
“Oh yeah, why is that?”
Let’s see if he admits it has something to do with that needle he hurriedly threw in the trash when he saw me coming.
“’Cause I’m taking my girl on a nice vacation when she gets back in town, somewhere with a beach. No snow to shovel, no coats or gloves, for a whole two weeks. Maybe three. I can swing it,” he says, looking very pleased with himself.
“I guess that’s the perk of being the boss’s son. He probably pays you a little better than the average cashier job does.”
“My pops? I love him but they don’t come cheaper than him. Naw, I recently came into a little money. Thought I’d spend it on my girl.”
I don’t know where he got his money, but maybe that’s how he can afford to be Brent’s customer, though it’s hard to imagine Brent doing business in the Heights. He might have people at Langdon Prep thinking he’s some kind of badass, but he wouldn’t last a day around here. He’d look so out of place that no one would trust him, for one thing. Besides, Reginald insists Brent doesn’t sell street drugs, but why would Eddie be on PEDs? Maybe they do more than sports enhancement. But I did catch him about to inject something. I hope Reginald knows what he’s talking about after what I did last night, or I’ve just added to Marco’s problems.
Guys, Lies & Alibis Page 12
