Dead Red (13 page)

“What’s so important about this witness?”

“He told me over the phone that the pedestrian—a single working mother—was talking on her cell phone, running for a bus. I need that official.”

“Last I checked, Jack, talking on a cell phone and running for a bus were not illegal.”

“That don’t make a difference, Raymond. Insurance company knows they’re gonna pay out the ass. Got a coupla million in liability, and the victim’s lawyer is going for it all. My job is to try and reduce the payout. Anything I can find out that makes the victim look less pitiful, the better for my side.”

“Really?”

“It’s the way the game’s played, Ray. Their side makes my guys look like the bad guys, someone’s gotta level the playing field a bit.” He took a sip of his Heineken. “I’m even checking out what she was wearing that day.”

“What? Like she was asking for it?”

Jack laughed. “It was raining when the accident happened, beginning of spring. I wanna know if she was wearing anything that may have reduced her peripheral vision. It’s a full investigation. Just like when we were cops.”

“Except there are millions of dollars involved.”

He looked at his bottle and smiled. “Except for that, yeah.”

I gave that some thought until I realized too much thought might lead to a bad taste in my mouth.

“So, what do you need me for?”

“To take the wit’s statement. He’s gonna be at the liquor store tomorrow at nine. I need his statement in writing and signed. Then I need a whole bunch of shots of the intersection where the accident happened. You got a decent camera?”

“At school, yeah.”

“Take as many shots as you can, and have your sister walk you through how to email them to me. I assume you don’t know how.”

I nodded.

“You’ll be done by noon. One the latest. I’ll pay you three bills.”

“Three hundred dollars? For four hours’ work?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off three hundred-dollar bills and handed them to me. “Trust me, Ray. That’s chicken shit compared to what the lawyers bill. They can afford it.”

I looked at the money, folded it in half, and slipped it into my front pocket.

“You want this by tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yeah. My contact info’s on the card I gave you the other day.”

“Let me have another,” I said, leaving out the part where I’d given the first one to Uncle Ray. He did so and finished his beer. “Another beer?”

He gave me a look that told me I’d just asked a stupid question. I went behind the bar and got us each another. As I handed his to him, he said, “Got plans for Wednesday?”

I considered that for about ten seconds. “Not that I know of.”

“Good.” Jack took a long pull from his bottle. “I need to go out to the Island and check in with the Goldens.”

“The family of the missing girl?”

“That’s the one. Wanna go for a ride and see how the one percent lives?”

“What do you need me for?”

“Charles—Mr. Golden—has asked for a meeting with me and my
associate
. I never told him I was working with Ricky T, and I’m sure as hell not going to mention that he was killed the other night.”

“So, you want me to be your associate? Show the Goldens how seriously your agency is taking this case?”

“You’ve always been a quick study, Ray. It’s a lot easier to justify my expenses if I bring a partner along. And, just to comfort that overdeveloped conscience of yours, I’ll make the same deal with you I made with Ricky. When you’re out there on the streets taking pictures for the insurance cases, ask around about
chica
on Ricky’s phone. That way, when Mr. G asks you about your progress, you can give him an honest answer.”

I shook my head. “You got this shit down, don’t you, Jack?”

“Like I said, Ray. It’s the way the game is played. If I don’t do it, someone else will, and I’d be a lot less happy than I am now.” To his credit, he realized what he’d just said. “Except for Ricky T, y’know?”

“Yeah. Except for him.” I took a sip. “What time on Wednesday?”

“Early. Golden’s gonna work from home in the morning, then hit his office in the city for a lunch meeting with one of his clients. You know Anthony Blake?”

“The councilman from the Upper West Side, wants to be mayor?”

“That’s the one. Calls himself ‘The Magician.’ He’s a client of Golden’s.”

I shook my head again. “Golden does all right for himself, I guess.”

“Wait till you see his house. And his wife. It’ll make you feel a lot better about taking his money.”

“You’re gonna pay me for the ride out to the Island?” I asked, not wanting to bring it up until Jack did.

“Same deal as tomorrow. Three hundred for half a day’s work. You’ll be sunning yourself on your deck by early afternoon.” He gave me the lookover. “Wear what you’ve got on. What do they call that? Business casual?”

“I call it khakis and a dress shirt.”

“Perfect.”

“Without even trying.” I took another sip. “I’m going to see how things are running around here, Jack. You sticking around for a bit?”

“Yeah. It’ll be good to see the guys.” He gave the room a quick look. “Some of them, anyway. I’ll text you the address and time. So, if I don’t see you later, I’ll hear from you tomorrow after your interview.”

“That’s the deal.”

“Cool.” He looked over at the new tray of burgers and dogs one of the Freddies was just bringing in. “That’s got me written all over it,” he said, and headed off to the food table. I watched as he ran into Debbie, touched her hand, said something to her, and left her with something resembling a grin on her face.

Fucking Jack.

Chapter 11

A FEW HOURS LATER, THE COPS mourning Ricky T began leaving, and The LineUp’s regular crowd started shuffling in. Jack had said his good-byes, but not before giving his credit card info to Mrs. Mac. I was sitting at the bar when Billy Morris came up and put his arm around me. He asked Mikey for a Bud Light and another pilsner for me.

“Heard a funny rumor, Ray,” he said. I could smell that one of his last drinks had been a Jack Daniel’s. “Wanna hear it?”

“I could use a little funny,” I said. “Unless it’s about me.”

Mikey silently placed our beers in front of us and walked away.

“Damn, son. Your ears musta been burnin’.” He picked up his bottle and touched it to my pint glass. “Someone said you were gonna put in some hours with Jack Knight. Play a little PI.”

I nodded, sipped, and remembered how impossible it was to keep a secret in a room full of cops. “Just going to interview a witness for him and take some shots of an accident scene, that’s all. Then I’ll probably head out to the Island with him and act as window dressing for a client. Two days’ work and I’ll make enough to get out of the city with my girlfriend for a few days.”

Billy shook his head. “Not that long ago you two couldn’t be in the same room without the shit flyin’ all over the place.”

“I guess that was before he saved my life.”

“That
will
change your opinion of an individual, won’t it?”

“It will.” I looked up at the silent TV screen, where the Yanks were just starting their game against the Orioles. I thought I might be here for a bit. “How long you planning on hanging around, Billy?”

“Maybe an inning or two. The O’s are for-real this year, huh? I mean, here it is August, and they’re still hanging around making some noise. Got some good young guys.”

“Yeah. It’s good to have them back in the hunt.”

We both watched as the Yankees pitcher got the Orioles’s leadoff batter to swing at a low, outside pitch for strike three. Another hand touched my shoulder, and I spun around to see Edgar. He looked like he’d stopped off at home, showered, and changed before coming out. Probably wanted to look good for all the cops he figured would still be here.

“Edgar,” I said. “You remember Billy Morris?”

“Uh,
yeah,
” Edgar said as if meeting his favorite ballplayer. He reached across me and shook Billy’s hand. “How ya doing, Billy?”

“Good, Emo,” Billy said. “Good to see ya.”

Edgar gave him an embarrassed shrug and a silent smile. It’d been two and a half years since the two had seen each other. A lot had changed, including Edgar Martinez O’Brien dropping his old nickname.

“Nobody really calls Edgar that anymore, Billy. He’s kinda grown out of it, y’know?”

“My apologies,
Edgar
. Musta missed the memo.”

“No problem,” Edgar said and looked at our drinks. “Guys up for another?”

Before I could answer, Bill drained his bottle. “Always, man. Thanks.”

“Excellent.” Edgar got Mikey’s attention and did the three-finger swirly thing, signaling another round. We both looked up at the TV, where the Yanks had already closed out the top of the first. “Gotta love this starting pitching,” he said. “Gotta combined ERA of three-point-five-seven, and an average of five-point-three innings per start, over the past thirty games.”

Billy and I exchanged looks, and Billy said, “But who’s counting, right?”

It took Edgar a few seconds to get the joke—it usually did—but when it came to him, he gave an exaggerated laugh. Our beers came, along with a tiny can of tomato juice for Edgar to pour into his Bass. He handed Mikey a ten and a five. “Keep it.”

“Thanks, Edgar,” Mikey said. “You guys eating?”

Billy and I shook our heads, both of us having had our fill of the barbecue. Mikey pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the food table. “Help yourself, Edgar. Might be a bit cold, but it’s still barbecue.”

“Cool beans,” Edgar said.

“I think we’re out of those,” Mikey said.

Again, it took Edgar a bit, but he eventually gave a little laugh and excused himself as he went over to make up a plate. Mikey went back to working the bar, and Billy shook his head and smiled.

“That Edgar,” he said, “is one interesting individual.”

“You’re not gonna get an argument from me,” I said. “But I gotta tell you, he’s come in real handy the past few years.” I told Billy about my involvement in Douglas Lee’s murder investigation last year and how Edgar’s computer skills helped solve the case. “It was like watching a concert pianist at work.”

“Takes all kinds, my mother used to say.”

I raised my glass. “Cheers to that.”

We drank a little and I noticed Robby heading over to us with his four cousins in the flanking position. I got up off my stool.

“You heading out?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Robby said. “Stayed longer than I wanted to. No offense, I just promised my mother we’d be back.”

“Give her my condolences. You know, I’m not far from here. You think she’d mind if I swung by some day this week?”

Robby gave that some thought. “Give me your cell number and I’ll give ya a call in a day or two. I’m gonna have to head back upstate, and Mom could probably use the company, but I’ll leave it up to her, okay?”

“Understood.” I wrote down my cell number on a napkin and gave it to him. “Anytime. I’m pretty much open for the next two weeks.”

“Cool, Ray. Thanks.”

“Where’s Ricky’s buddy, Jimmy?”

“Had to skip out early, he said. Work tomorrow.”

“What’s Jimmy do, now that he’s back from Iraq?”

“Some sort of security. We didn’t really talk that long. I met him for the first time at the church service.”

“Right.”

We gave each other a quick hug, said we’d be in touch, and he and his four cousins left The LineUp.

“Shit, man,” Billy said as the door closed. “That’s a tough load to haul.”

“Yeah.” I thought about how I’d feel if anything ever happened to Rachel. “I can’t imagine.”

*   *   *

An hour later, I was walking home through McGolrick Park and decided to grab a bench, enjoy the mild evening, and give Allison a call. I was leaving a message on her voicemail when my phone started to vibrate. It was Allison.

“Hey,” I said. “I was just leaving you a message.”

“I know. I couldn’t get to it right away. What’s up?”

I told her how the afternoon at Ricky’s wake went and my plans for tomorrow’s insurance interview for Jack.

I looked at my watch: almost nine. “Can you swing by tonight?”

“I’m still at work. They got me out in the Bronx checking out the other driver, Michael Dillman. The guy who took one in the shoulder?”

“And?”

“And I’m having trouble tracking him down. He’s no longer at the address the taxi company gave me, and the lady who answered the buzzer said she didn’t even know his name. The phone number he gave on his application’s been disconnected.”

“Makes your job more interesting.”

“‘Interesting’ is not the word I’d use for traipsing around the Bronx after dark, trying to get an interview.”

“So come home,” I said. “Come to
my
home.”

There was silence for ten seconds. “You sound a little drunk, Ray.”

“I’ve been at The LineUp all day, Allison. I am a little drunk.”

More silence. “I’m gonna pass tonight. I want to see if my office can get me a new address on this guy. Sounds like you gotta get up early anyway and take your pictures. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, not doing a great job at hiding my disappointment. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Early afternoon, probably.”

After ending the call, I leaned back on the bench, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Okay, I was drunk. Against doctor’s orders and common sense. I was dealing with, or
not
dealing with, Ricky’s shooting—hell,
my
shooting—by using alcohol. It was my first time watching a friend get killed and my first time being shot at. I’d deal with it any way I chose.

Chapter 12

I WAS HEADING UP THE SCHOOL STEPS bright and early the next morning when I ran into Jim and Josephine Levine, who were on their way out of the building. They were dressed in matching Mets shirts and khaki shorts. Both were sweating as if they’d just stepped out of a shower. I gave Jo a quick kiss and Jim a handshake.

“What are you two doing here?” I asked. “The words ‘summer vacation’ mean anything to you?”