Sacrifice Fly (25 page)

“I don’t know what to do now, Mr. D. That’s why I called you.”

“And I’m saying we have to go to the police.”

He shook his head. “Nah, man. Not the cops.”

“You can’t just keep running, Frankie. It’s just a matter of time before they find
you. The cops or the guy in the white van. Shit, they found me.”

“Who did?”

“The guy in the van,” I said. “And he’s got a partner.” I told him the story about
getting nabbed by Ape and Suit outside Muscles’s the day before. I left out the part
about my sister. “Did you see anyone in the passenger side?”

“Nah, had tinted windows. But damn,” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m here,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Let me bring you to Detective Royce.
He’s the—”

“But I didn’t do nothing!” he yelled. Then in a lower voice, he added, “Mostly.”

“What do you mean
mostly
?”

He put his cap back on and adjusted the brim. “My dad’s suitcase,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Had money in it, Mr. D. Stupid money.”

“How much stupid money, Frankie?”

“About ten gees, more or less.”

I leaned into him. “Ten thousand dollars?”

“In hundreds. Some fifties.” He reached into his pocket and showed me a little green.

“Not a good idea walking around with that kind of cash, Frankie. Your dad tell you
where he got that kind of money?”

He pushed the bills back into his pocket and said, “Like I said. Selling shit. But
he was lying. He ain’t never sold that much stuff in his life. Probably stole it.”

It struck me how casual he was being about his substance-abusing father who stole
shit for a living. Frankie stepped over to the railing and shut his eyes. After a
few seconds he said, “You’re right, Mr. D. Does kinda sound like a waterfall up here.
Never noticed that before.”

“Yeah, sometimes you just got to stop and smell the exhaust fumes.” After a half minute
of listening to the traffic hum by below us, I said, “So why’d you call me if you’re
not ready to go home?”

Frankie shoved his hands in his pocket and gave me a meek grin. “You know how in class
you’re always telling E to catch a clue?”

“Yeah?”

He pulled a pink piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I think I
caught one. About my dad.”

I kept my eyes on Frankie as I unfolded the paper.

“It’s a truck rental receipt,” Frankie said. “It was in the suitcase. My dad rented
a truck a few days before he … y’know.”

“So?”

“Look at it. It’s a one-way. To Florida.”

He was right. His dad had rented a truck and was going to drop it off in Florida.
“Did he tell you about this?” I asked.

“Just that he was gonna take me and Milagros away from … here … and we was gonna start
a new life somewhere like a real family. Somewhere where Milagros could ride her bike
every day, and I could play ball in the winter.” He slapped the paper. “He was serious
this time. My dad was looking out for us, Mr. D. He was gonna try Florida. My dad
was getting us away from all this shit. He was putting stuff together to start a new
life.”

And look where it got him.

“That’s great, Frankie,” I said. “Where’s the rest of the stuff from the suitcase?”

“It’s with some people I hang with,” he explained. “Gonna go pick it up after I leave
here. I’m staying somewhere else tonight. At a friend’s who’s got a computer.”

I folded up the truck receipt, slipped it into my front pocket, and said, “Let me
tell you how I see things, Frankie. First—”

“No offense, Mr. D. But I don’t got time for one of your lectures. I gotta—”

I surprised him—and myself—by grabbing his wrist. “What you gotta do is listen to
me, Frankie.” He tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip. “You’re the kid here.
I’m the adult, so just shut up and listen.”

He looked at me with fear, a new round of tears in his eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

“Too bad,” I said and immediately felt like shit. I loosened my grip. “You got the
police thinking you’re involved in your dad’s death.” He was about to interrupt, but
I cut him off. “They figured you were probably dead, but once Milagros came back,
they got to thinking maybe you have more to do with this situation than just bad luck.”

“I didn’t kill my dad, Mr. D.”

“I know that. But you know how the cops look at things. And think about it,” I said,
slipping my hand off his wrist and into his hand, like a handshake. I lowered my voice.
“Those guys your dad was so scared of, the ones who messed with me, they’re looking
for you, too. The best move—the
only
move—right now is for me to take you to the detective in charge of your dad’s case.
Royce. He’s not a bad guy. Tell him your story.”

He considered that for about ten seconds, and then said, “I can’t do that, Mr. D.”

I felt my grip tightening again. “
You can’t do that
? Let me tell you something. You don’t have a choice. I’ve spent the last week looking
for you, and I’ve been pushed around a little too much for my liking. By the same
people who are looking for you, because that shit your dad shoved into his suitcase?
It belongs to them. I finally find you, and you tell me you—”

“I called you,” he said.

“What did you say?”

“You didn’t find me, Mr. D. I called you.”

I took his hand and pushed him away from me. “You listen to me. This isn’t just about
you and your father anymore. They broke into your grandmother’s apartment looking
for what he took. You think they won’t come back and try again? With your sister there?”
I paused to catch my breath. Tears were coming down Frankie’s face again. Too fucking
bad. “Twice I thought I was done with this shit. First with Milagros at my apartment,
and now meeting you here. You can’t have it both ways, kiddo. I’m in. You’re coming
with me if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you into the precinct myself.”

Frankie glared back at me with angry, wet eyes. He pointed his finger at me, struggling
for the right words. “Fuck you.” He found them. “I came to you for help. I thought
you, out of all people would understand—I found my father dead.”

We stood, glaring at each other, waiting for the other to speak. I realized I had
just told Frankie I was the adult. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about everything
that’s happened, Frankie. I am. But if you don’t think I’ll drag you in, you’re mistaken.
I’ve come too far to let you just—”

“
You
come too far?” he said. “And you think
I’m
being selfish? Listen to you. Just because you got me into that holy-rolling white-boy
school don’t mean you’re in charge of me. You’re not my father.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m not your father. I don’t do drugs and put my family at
risk by stealing money from dangerous people who end up—”

Without a word, he charged at me. I slammed so hard into the railing that a shockwave
of pain spread throughout my midsection, doubling me over. A low rumble of nausea
started in my gut. I put my hand over my mouth and bit down on the fleshy area between
my thumb and forefinger. I’m not sure how long it took before I was sure I wasn’t
going to vomit. It was the sound of Frankie sobbing that made me look up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. D,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to…”

Fuck this. I’d been getting knocked around too much lately. And now by the kid I was
sticking my neck out for?

“Okay, Frankie,” I said, straightening myself up. My knees were yelling at me to get
back down, but I ignored them. “Do what you want. I’m out of it.”

“I don’t want you out of it.”

“Then I’ll ask one more time. Come with me.”

“I can’t do that right now.”

“Then go.” I motioned with my head toward the Manhattan side of the bridge. “Just
get the hell out of here.”

“You’re not going to help me?”

“Jesus, Frankie. That’s what I’m trying to do here. But I’m not going to help you
get yourself killed. You’re doing a pretty good job of that by yourself. I just don’t
know why you’d drag your sister and grandmother into it.”

“That’s not my fault. I didn’t do that.”

“Well, that’s what happened, Frankie. They’re in it, and the longer you keep running,
the longer this plays out into something bad.” I thought about Rachel. “Not just for
you.”

Frankie gave that some thought and took a step forward to let a Hispanic woman pushing
a stroller and dragging another kid pass. He was next to me and leaned up against
the railing. I felt behind my knees. I was hurting and glad the trip back to Brooklyn
was downhill. The only question was whether or not I was going it alone. He either
comes with me, or I’m out of it. Royce and my uncle were right: I wasn’t a cop anymore
and was probably doing more harm than good. Let the cops take it from here. It’s what
they do, and they’re good at it.

“Okay,” Frankie said. “I’ll go with you.”

I looked up. “Say that again?”

He took his hat off again and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t
want any shit to happen to my grandmother or Milagros. I’ll go with you, but I gotta
get that suitcase.”

I straightened up, wincing as the back of my legs caught fire. A low moan came from
deep inside me. It took all I had not to double over again. Frankie reached out and
held my arm.

“Sorry about that, Mr. D.”

“Me, too, Frankie. Why don’t we wait on the suitcase?” I said, not wanting anything
to get in the way of getting this kid home. “It’s safe, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we’ll have the cops pick it up.”

“Nuh-uh, Mr. D. I don’t want my friends in no trouble with the cops.”

Good point. “How about I send a friend of mine?” I was thinking about Officer Jackson.
“He’s a cop, but he’ll be cool.”

“You trust him?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then. I guess.”

“Good.” I pointed to the cell phone clipped to his shorts. “Why don’t you call your
grandmother. Tell her to meet us at the precinct.”

“Yeah, right,” he said with a smile. “Be nice to see her again. She not gonna be too
happy to go to the precinct, though. Grams don’t like cops all that much.”

“Tell her to bring Elsa with her.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. Gotta call Elsa anyways, come to think of it. Grams’s phone
is probably still outta order.”

He unfolded the phone and started dialing. I took out mine and speed-dialed Muscles’s
office to have him pick us up on the other side. As I listened to the ringing, I saw
a cop on a bike coming our way. Frankie saw him, too. The nervous look came back.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s probably just—”

“Hey!” The cop yelled, pointing with his walkie-talkie. “You two! Hold it!”

Frankie closed up his phone. “Shit, Mr. D. You called the five-oh?”

“No, Frankie. I swear. I have no idea…”

The cop started pedaling faster. “I said hold it!”

Frankie clipped the phone to his shorts again. “I trusted you, Mr. D.”

“Frankie,” I said, “I told you I—”

“Damn!” he screamed. He turned the other way and was just about run over by the two
kids on the bike. They skidded out, and the bike flipped over, sending the two riders
barreling into Frankie and me. Mostly me.

“I told you to goddamn stop!” The cop was about twenty yards away.

Frankie picked himself up, grabbed the bike off the ground, got on, and took off.

“Frankie!” I yelled, pushing one of the kids off my chest. “He’s not here for you.
I didn’t call them!” He kept pumping. “Frankie!”

He didn’t look back. He just rode toward Manhattan as fast as he could, weaving in
and out of the pedestrian traffic.

“Damn it!” I screamed, rolling myself over and pulling myself up with the help of
the railing. Someone touched my back, and I twisted around. “Get your fucking hands
off me,” I yelled into the face of the cop. “Damn it. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Sir,” he said, pointing at me. “Calm. Down. Are you okay?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not okay.” I looked over at the two kids brushing themselves off
and checking their arms and legs for injuries. “These two … kids almost killed me.”

“That guy stole our bike, mister,” one of the kids said as they both turned in the
direction Frankie rode off. “He was with this guy. They was talking. We want our bike
back.” He turned his angry face to me and said, “Sue your white ass.”

I took a step toward the kid, and the cop put his hand on my chest.

“Do you know the young man who took the bike, sir?”

“What?” I said, staring at the two assholes who just blew my chance of getting Frankie
home. “Yeah, I know him. He’s one of my kids. One of my students.”

“You’re a teacher, then.”

“Yes.” My breathing was getting steadier. “I’m a teacher.”

“And you two,” the cop said to the kids. He raised his radio. “I got two calls about
you. What the hell do you think you were doing riding around like that?”

“Just havin’ some fun, mister. Whatchoo gonna do about our bike?”

The cop took off his hat and used it to fan himself. “Why don’t you come back to the
precinct with me, and we’ll fill out a stolen property report?” He paused to give
a cop grin. “Get your parents to come pick you up.”

The boys looked at each other for two seconds, and the verbal one said, “Nah. Bike
was bootleg anyways. We’ll just walk on home if that’s okay with you.”

“Why don’t you do that? And don’t get into any more trouble on your way.”

The police officer stepped aside as the two did a junior pimp walk past us, their
punk-ass grins in full mode, just begging to be slapped upside the head. They were
about fifty feet away when the cop said, “Bootleg. Means it didn’t belong to them.”

“Thanks for the translation.”

“I take it you’re going to be okay, sir? What with the sarcasm and all?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“And the young man you were with. Your student?”

I opened up the phone and called Muscles. “I don’t know,” I said to the cop.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Try to have a good evening.”