Sacrifice Fly

by Tim O'Mara

  “Mr. Donne,” Royce said, “you didn’t tell her that you were police, did you?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything. Until she asked. When she found out I was Frankie’s teacher, she lightened up a bit.” I thought back to the spacious backyard and the light breeze moving through the maples. “Then I found the hundred and I was asked to leave.”

  “She didn’t ask for the bill back?”

  “She seemed to want me and it off her property as soon as physically possible.”

  Royce pondered that for a few seconds before saying, “And he was down here?”

  “That’s what she said. Why?”

  “I called his place of business,” Royce explained. “Around the Horn Travel. They said he hadn’t been in for a few days.”

  “He owns some apartment buildings, right?”

  “Yeah. I guess he coulda been busy with them, but they made it seem like they hadn’t heard from him in a while.”

  “Covering for the boss?”

  “Maybe.”

  I wiped some sweat from my forehead. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” he said, changing his tone to remind me who was the cop here. “Next time you take a field trip, you better have a bunch of kids with you. Because of you, I may have to take a two-hour ride up to the Hudson Valley tomorrow.”

  “Hour and a half if you go seventy,” I joked. If Royce found me funny, he was hiding it well. “I brought you a clue, Detective.”

  “Fuck your clue. You stepped on my toes, Mr. Donne. Even though your uncle is not my direct superior, I don’t like being made to look like I dropped the ball.”

  “Don’t worry. My uncle read me the riot act on this one.”

  “Good.”

  I looked up and down the block. Before going down the steps I asked, “You wouldn’t want to give me a ride home, would you?”

  “Actually,” Royce said, tapping the side of his bag, “I’m here to work out.”

  “So … you weren’t looking for me?”

  “I come here on the odd weekend when I’m called in … unexpectedly … and can’t get home to my own gym. By my house.”

  “I hear you. And again, I’m sorry.” I took the first few steps toward the sidewalk and then remembered something. “You get anything off that bill?”

  He smirked. “Not gonna bother running it for prints if that’s what you mean. I’ll just get a mix of the kid’s, the cousin’s, yours, P.O. Jackson’s, and Inspector Donne’s. Called in the serial number to the feds. Waiting to see if it rings a bell with them, but I’m not waiting by the phone.”

  “Good luck to you, Detective.”

  “And to you, Mr. Donne. And, no offense, but the next time you get an idea about this case, give me a heads-up, okay?”

  “No offense,” I answered, “but I thought I did.”

  If he said something after I went down the steps, I didn’t hear it.

  As I waited for the light to turn, my biggest concern was whether I was feeling well enough to have a cold beer with lunch. That changed when I started to cross the street and almost walked head-on into a van that screeched to a stop in front of me. Asshole.

  I took a few steps to walk around the front. Its windows were tinted, so I didn’t have the pleasure of making eye contact with the driver. The van pulled up three feet, blocking my path. What the fuck? I counted to five and then tried again. Again I was blocked, and this time the side door slid open. I looked inside and saw the driver, his huge hands on the wheel and the eyes in his very large head looking forward. There was nobody in the passenger seat.

  “You got a problem?” I asked the driver.

  No reaction from him, but from behind me came a low voice. “Get in, Mr. Donne.” Something sharp touched my lower back, telling me it would be a bad idea to get overexcited at that moment.

  “Just get in,” the voice repeated. “Before your detective friend comes back and your time at the gym becomes a complete waste.”

  There was nothing but metal floor in the back of the van, and the only light came from the small, rear-door window. A solid partition separated the back from the front, so I couldn’t see the driver. The guy with the knife got in the back with me and held on to a leather strap connected to the side door. I couldn’t tell where we were going, only that the driver was making a lot of lefts and rights, and making them harder than he needed to. I had to make my way to the rear of the van and grab the door handle to have something to hold on to, or I would have rolled all over the back. My knees were screaming. The guy with the knife watched me as I tried the door handle. Locked. He gave me a smile that sent a wave of fear down to my toes.

  “You want to tell me what this is about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

  He put his index finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

  Another sharp turn, and my head hit the metal door. The guy kept on grinning, enjoying the ride. He closed up the knife and slipped it inside his jacket. Now that my eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, I could see he was wearing a dark blue business suit. I tried studying his face, looking for any distinguishing marks. Nothing.

  “Watch your head, Mr. Donne.”

  Okay, I thought. He knew my name, so any discussion about his having mistaken me for someone else was worthless.

  “The Clemente Houses,” he said. “The old precinct. Highland. Field trips are very educational. I am sure you will find this one very much so.”

  I took a breath. I wanted to speak, but my pain and fear were making it hard to form the right words. I tried anyway. “Why don’t you just—?”

  Suit shook his head and again placed his index finger to his lips.

  “No more talking,” he said. “When we get to our destination, you will listen. If all goes well, you will have a nice walk home and enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

  About a minute later—after a few more hard lefts—the van came to a stop. I heard the driver get out, and then he appeared as the side door slid open. Suit put on a pair of sunglasses and exited the van. He held out his hand for me to follow. I moved across the floor on my butt and, ignoring his hand, slid myself out.

  Suit grabbed me by the elbow and squeezed. “If you draw any attention, you will go back inside the van and not get out again for days. Do you understand me?”

  I tried to free my elbow, but couldn’t. “Yeah,” I said. “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  He released my arm and pushed me into the driver, who placed his hand on my shoulder. This guy was dressed in a sweatsuit the exact color as his partner’s business suit. He was also about twice my size. His big head and long arms gave him an apelike appearance.

  “You recognize this block?” Suit asked.

  I looked around, and as my eyes readjusted to the bright sunlight, I felt my stomach clutch as I realized exactly where we were. Across the street from where the three of us were standing was the building where I had my accident and a kid had died. Except for a few overgrown weeds on the front steps and a faded, yellow NO TRESPASSING sign on the front door, it looked exactly as it had five years ago. Just like it looked in my nightmares. I thought the city would have knocked it down by now. Or at least sold it to some real estate developer. How the hell did these guys—?

  “Of course you do, Mr. Donne. Good. Then we do not have to waste a lot of time discussing what we know about you and your history.”

  Anger was mixing with my fear. I got the nerve up to say, “What the fuck do you—?”

  Ape squeezed my shoulder, almost bringing me to my knees.

  “As you can see,” Suit said, “not much has changed on this block. Even now, a beautiful Sunday afternoon, it is empty. Nobody on the front steps, no kids riding their bikes in the street. A shame. With the market the way it is, someone could do quite well here. But maybe some things are meant to stay unchanged. To remind us of our pasts, yes? As a teacher, you are familiar with what they say about those who refuse to learn from history?”

  I thought it was a rh
etorical question until Ape squeezed my shoulder again. I nodded and said, “Yeah.”

  Suit smiled. “So,” he said. “The lesson here is we need to be very careful what doors we go through. We never quite know what will be on the other side. And we need to ask ourselves, ‘Is it worth the risk? This search for knowledge?’” He turned to me and said, “Would you care to go inside, Mr. Donne? I understand that a part of the fire escape still clings from the back wall.”

  “No,” I said. “You’ve made your point.”

  “I do not think we have,” Suit said. “Yet.”

  “You want me to stay away from Frankie’s,” I said. “And the police.”

  Suit grinned and looked at his partner. Ape did not grin. Suit said, “That is a bit of a … cliché, isn’t it? No, we are not here to tell you to stay away from anything. In fact, we wish for you to continue with what you are doing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You are very good at this,” he said. “And you can talk to certain people who would, for obvious reasons, not wish to talk to us.”

  “Like the police?”

  “When you talk to these people, we want to know about it. Immediately.”

  “And why would I want to do that?” I asked, right before Ape tightened his grip. This time I did go down. Hard. My fear, nausea, and anger now had pain to keep them company.

  “Because if you don’t,” Suit said, looking down at me, “that is when the harm will come to you.” He leaned over. “Much more harm than this.” He reached into his jacket pocket, and I was sure I was going to see his knife again. Instead, he pulled out an envelope and tossed it to the ground in front of me. “Now,” he said, “excuse one cliché … we will be in touch.”

  Ape let go of me, and I had to hold out my hands to avoid hitting the ground with my face. I watched as the two of them got back into the van—a white van, it occurred to me—and drove off. No back license plate for me to commit to memory. Just like that, they were gone. I picked up the envelope and got to my feet. I looked around. Suit was right. The street was empty.

  I opened the envelope. Another wave of fear and nausea coursed through my body as I realized what I was looking at. A photograph of my sister Rachel’s front door.

  Chapter 14

  YOU DON’T JUST HAIL A CAB in the middle of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. That’s a Manhattan thing. In Williamsburg, if you need a car quick, you call a service and hope for the best. I remembered there was one around the block and got there as fast as I could. I checked my pockets for cash and only had a twenty, so I hit the ATM a few doors down from the car service and got another hundred. I got lucky; a driver was just pulling in. I got in his backseat before he could get out of his car.

  “I am off duty, sir,” he said. “Perhaps if you went inside.”

  I showed him two twenties. “I need to get to Queens real quick. It’ll take less than a half hour.” As he pondered the bills in front of his face, I took out another. “Twenty more if I can use your cell phone.” I had left mine home since I had only planned to go to the gym.

  “Twenty dollars,” he said, “just to make a phone call?”

  “Sixty all together. The ride and the call.”

  He took the sixty bucks, put the car in gear, and handed me his phone. I dialed Rachel’s number and got her voice mail.

  “Rachel,” I said, trying to mix a little calm in with the sense of urgency, “if you get this before I get to your place, go upstairs to the…” —what the hell was their—“the Burkes’s. I know. Just do it. I’ll explain when I get there.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I closed up the phone and was about to give it back to the driver. Instead, I dialed nine-one-one and told the operator that I’d heard gunfire. I gave my sister’s address and hung up before she could ask any questions.

  “You said one call,” the driver said.

  “Just drive,” I said, handing the phone over the seat.

  We flew past what little traffic there was on the BQE and the Long Island Expressway. There was a bit of a snarl on Queens Boulevard, but the driver took the service road and cut down a few side streets, getting me in front of my sister’s apartment building—right behind the patrol car responding to my anonymous nine-one-one call—in just over twenty minutes. The guy had earned his sixty bucks.

  I looked around. No white van. I went straight to the front door as the police officer was radioing back to his command. They might be able to track the call to the driver, but I didn’t really care. I buzzed Rachel, and she let me in.

  “What the hell was that all about?” she asked as I entered her apartment. I smelled coffee brewing. Rachel looked me over and considered my appearance.

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  “Food shopping. I just got in. What the hell—?”

  I reached out and hugged her. After a while, she said, “Ray? What is it? Is it Mom?”

  “No,” I said, letting her go and taking a step back. “No. Mom’s fine. I guess.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I looked at my little sister. If something ever happened to her … because of something I got involved in …

  “Can I get a cup of coffee first?”

  “Yeah. Sit down. Give me a minute.”

  When she went into the kitchen, I stepped over to her window that looked out onto the street. The patrol car had gone, and there was still no sign of the white van. Ape and Suit had wanted to scare me with that photo. They had succeeded. Would they show up? Or was that picture just to let me know that they knew about me? Like the trip to the scene of my accident. Who were those guys?

  “Ray?”

  I turned around to see my sister holding a mug of coffee in each hand. I went over to her and she handed me mine. “Now, talk,” she said.

  I took a sip and let it work on me. “Remember Frankie?”

  “The missing kid?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “The one whose father you found murdered?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “What’s going on, Ray?”

  I brought her up to date: Frankie’s grandmother’s apartment, the trip up to Highland, Uncle Ray, and the two guys who’d just taken me for a ride. When I was done, Rachel waited a full minute before talking.

  “You borrowed my car so you could play private eye?” she asked.

  “That’s not what I did, Rachel.”

  “It’s exactly what you did, Ray. I can’t believe you.” She walked over to the window. I was about to ask her not to do that, but she turned back. “No, that’s not true. I do believe it. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from Dad.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  “Did you even think about the repercussions? How playing Sam Spade might come back and bite you in the ass? Or worse?”

  “Rachel,” I said, “if I had any idea that something like this could have happened, I’d never have gotten involved.”

  “That’s just it, Ray. You didn’t think past what you wanted to do. How getting your cop rocks off might affect others.”

  “Come on, Rache.”

  “No,” she said. “This is the kinda shit Mom says Dad used to pull, only with him it was the long hours, the road trips, no sleep. Why do you think he had the heart attack?”

  Shit. “This is nothing like Dad,” I said. “I was trying to help a kid. You told me the other night how great it was I was reaching out to someone.”

  “Reaching out, yes. Not sticking your nose into official police business.”

  “Now you sound like Uncle Ray,” I said.

  “Better than sounding like Dad.”

  “I do not sound like Dad, Rachel.”

  “Yeah, well … here we are, Ray.” Her eyes filled up. “Here we fucking are.”

  I took a step toward her. She held out her hand. “Don’t.”

  “I need to make sure you’re safe, Rachel.”

  “I’m a big girl, Ray. I can protect myself.”
<
br />   “Not from these guys,” I said. “Trust me.”

  I could tell she wanted to argue the point, but the look on my face must have stopped her. In a low voice, she asked, “So what do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to take that trip to L.A. your boss wanted you on.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Call him,” I said. “He’d be thrilled, right?”

  “Probably,” she said as she thought it over. I’ve never known Rachel to respond well to having decisions made for her, and she was not one to scare easily. I was prepared to give her as much time as she needed. Up to a point. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I’ll call Les. Tell him I changed my mind about going. He’s gonna give me shit about the ticket price, but too bad. I’ll go to L.A. You call Uncle Ray.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  “You said these guys scared you, Ray. I can see that. That’s the only reason I’m willing to go on this trip. You have to protect yourself now, too.” She walked across the room and came back with her phone. “Call Uncle Ray. Now. You can both take me to the airport.”

  I took the phone and said, “You’re a lot tougher than you used to be.”

  “Which is why my boss wants me on this trip. I’ll be packed in fifteen minutes.”

  Rachel left the room, and I called Uncle Ray’s house. I got Reeny again, and she gave me my uncle’s cell phone. He was between holes when he picked up.

  “This better be good,” he said.

  “It’s me.”

  “Nephew! Twice in one week. This must be my—”

  “I’m in some trouble, Uncle Ray,” I said, and then told him why.

  “I’m on my way,” he said. “Less than half an hour. Stay away from the windows, and don’t answer the door. You see anything makes you think twice, call nine-one-one.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Ray.”

  “Thank me when I get there,” he said, and hung up.

  I went into the kitchen and helped myself to another cup of coffee. I looked out the window that faced the courtyard. The trees were all green now and stroller marks crisscrossed the grass. Each corner of the lawn had a picnic table with benches. Rachel and I would have dinner down there once in a while. Sandwiches and a beer from the gourmet deli up the block. The six-story buildings did a good job keeping the sounds of Kew Gardens from getting in. We always seemed to wind up on the grass, telling stories about growing up and how weird it was that we both ended up in the boroughs our parents couldn’t wait to move out of. We had outgrown the tree-lined streets and manicured lawns of Long Island and wanted more. Things only the city could offer. To not be like our parents. To make different choices. Different mistakes.