Sacrifice Fly (36 page)

I knew the voice. It was just a matter of time before I realized whom it belonged
to.

“I want,” the voice said, “what belongs to me.”

I took a step closer. “And you think I can help you how?”

“I understand you are in possession of what was taken from me.”

“And if I told you I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“I would not believe you.”

“Then I’m not sure what we have to talk about.”

The light on the other side of the window gradually grew brighter, as if someone had
turned up a dimmer. I could now make out the face behind the voice. Elijah Cruz.

“Oh,” he said. “I believe that we have much to talk about.”

He disappeared for a few seconds and then returned with his hand on the back of Frankie
Rivas’s neck. I leaned in, the tip of my nose touching the screen.

“Frankie,” I said. “Are you okay?”

Frankie didn’t respond. The look on his face told me that Cruz’s grip was growing
tighter. I was about to turn and try the door again, when someone grabbed my neck
and pushed the side of my face up against the window screen.

“Son of a bitch!” I said, my teeth scraping the inside of my mouth.

“The boy is fine,” Cruz said. “That is, however, a fluid situation.” He must have
squeezed harder because Frankie groaned. “Give me what I want, and we can end this
quickly.”

“Tell me what you think I have,” I said. “And I’ll do my best to— Ahh! Fuck!” My face
was pushed harder into the screen.

“This conversation will end unpleasantly if you continue to lie to me, Mr. Donne.
The boy has told me that he has passed my property on to you. You will not ‘do your
best.’ You will simply return my property.”

“I don’t have— Goddamn it!” Something small and hard was jammed into my lower back,
and my knees slammed into the wall. “All right,” I said and tried to turn around.
“I can’t get it right now. I need some time.”

“Where is it?”

“My uncle’s office,” I said, impressed with the quickness of my lie.

“Your uncle’s office,” Cruz repeated, weighing the credibility of my words.

I braced myself for another burst of pain. None came. Cruz waited for a moment and
then gestured with his head toward the door. I was pulled out of the confessional
and into the main part of the church. Cruz stepped out and handed Frankie over to
Suit. The hand on my neck belonged to Ape.

“Mr. Donne,” Frankie said. “I’m sorry. They grabbed me—when I tried to go home—my
dad’s. They made me … tell them that … I delivered it to you.”

“It’s okay, Frankie,” I said as Suit dragged Frankie away. “It’s okay.” I tried to
take a step toward him, but Ape grabbed me by my belt and pulled.

Frankie and Suit exited through a side door. As Cruz made his way toward the altar,
Ape pushed me in that direction. I don’t remember ever wanting to hurt somebody as
badly as I did then. Ape read my face and showed me the palms of his hands as he held
them out about waist-high. He grinned, daring me. There was so much anger and fear
coursing through my body, I could barely stay on my feet, let alone make any kind
of run at this sadistic giant. We locked eyes for a few more seconds. This was not
the time to push my luck. I took a deep breath, turned back around, and followed Cruz.
He stopped at the front row, genuflected, and slipped into the pew.

“Where are you taking Frankie?” I asked.

“Please,” he said, caressing the polished wood. “Sit.”

I looked up at the altar, flanked by candles flickering through their red glass holders.
The main part of the altar was shrouded in darkness, except for a miniature spotlight
that illuminated Christ on the cross. I sat down and heard a wooden pew creak, as
Ape settled his huge frame a few rows behind us.

Again, the music stopped. I looked around and saw no organ. Recorded church music.

“The boy is safe for now,” Cruz said. “He thought he would be safe at his father’s…”
He rested his arms on the back of the pew. With his eyes up on the altar, he said,
“Are you a religious man, Mr. Donne?”

“Not for a long time,” I replied.

Cruz smiled. “There is still some faith left in you, though. I can feel it.”

“Is that why you brought me here? To discuss my personal theology?”

“There is still in you that little Catholic boy, filled with guilt and fear, who wants
to please others by doing good. That is why you became a policeman and, when that
came to an end, a teacher. That is why you have invested so much of yourself in the
well-being of Francisco. You two are very much alike.”

“How are we going to do this, Cruz?”

“It must have been very difficult for you after your father’s death,” he said, turning
to check my reaction. I gave him none. “To lose your father at such a young age is
unimaginable.”

“If your point is you know a lot more about me than I know about you,” I said, “or
that you are in charge here, consider it taken. Tell me how we are going to do this,
Cruz.”

“I told you of the fire that destroyed my childhood church. It also led to the tragic
death of our family priest,” Cruz said. “That crucifix”—he pointed up at the altar—“is
the only thing left from Father Rodrigo’s church. It became the foundation of mine.”
He blessed himself. “After the fire,” Cruz continued, “I made a decision. Someday
I would build another church. In His name. Bigger and more worthy of Him. That day
is upon us.”

Our conversation in McCarren Pool. How Cruz had spoken about his “vision.”

“The medical supply business must be very good,” I said.

“Do not play ignorant, Mr. Donne. You have just returned from a visit with Senora
Villejo. The video cameras provide more than security for my people. Surely, you must
have wondered how she can afford such a … comfortable lifestyle.”

“I’m getting the idea it has something to do with your business and your church.”

“Please. The government and the politicians are more than willing to dole out money
and tax breaks to the pharmaceutical and insurance industries. They are much more
reticent to do so for those who are truly vulnerable. The citizens who have the audacity
to be both poor and sick. I help make up the difference. The politicians do not want
to do what’s right, so I play their game against them. I can show you dozens like
Senora Villejo, who, without me, would be living day to day, not sure where their
next meal is coming from or whether this is the time their husband or child will not
get well.”

I thought back to Frankie’s grandmother. How she had called Cruz instead of the police
after her place was broken into.

“You seem to be doing quite nicely for yourself,” I said.

“God has been very good to me, yes.”

God. The government. What’s the difference?

“You will go to your uncle’s office, Mr. Donne, and retrieve what is mine. When that
is done, I will consider this matter to be concluded.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

“You do not trust me.”

“Probably about as much as you trust me.”

He laughed. “If I wished you harm, it would already have befallen you. I only wish
to have my property returned.”

“And I want the boy home safely and his family left alone.”

“We are in agreement then. No harm will come to the boy or his family.”

“Like his father?”

Cruz shook his head. “That was not done on my word. Yes, the father stole from me,
but his death did not solve anything. We are here now, are we not?”

He had a point.

“I need some time to get into my uncle’s office.”

“You will do it tonight. My men will take you there.”

I took a shot and added to my lie. “I can’t just walk into my uncle’s office. He’s
a deputy inspector. I can’t get into the building without him being there.”

Cruz considered that. “I will give you until Sunday morning. Before first light.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sunday morning at four thirty. You will have my property by then.”

Four thirty? “Or…”

“You may use your imagination,” he said.

“And what happens when this deal is completed?”

“This is not a
deal,
Mr. Donne. A deal is made when one party has as much to gain or to lose as the other.
You have much more at stake here than I. It would be in your best interest to keep
that in mind.”

Cruz could teach a thing or two to the politicians he so greatly despised about not
answering questions.

“There is a small park along the river,” Cruz continued. “A block north of the oil
tanks and across from the old mustard factory.”

“I know it.”

“There is a phone booth. At four thirty, you will answer it and be given instructions.”

“Why don’t you just give me the instructions now?”

Cruz smiled. “You have chosen your friends—and family—wisely, Mr. Donne. An admirable
quality. I failed to recognize that when we first met. The expeditious way in which
you removed your sister was impressive.”

“I’m like that when my family’s been threatened.”

“Another thing you have in common with the boy.” He paused for a bit. “You will pick
up the phone at four thirty. You will listen and act accordingly.”

“You still haven’t told me what happens to me when you get your property back. And
how do you know I won’t just turn it over to my uncle and let the power of the New
York Police Department come down upon you and your church?”

Cruz listened, and when I was done, nodded. Like he’d had his answer all ready.

“Unlike you, Mr. Donne, I am open about my faith. And I believe you when you say you
only wish the boy home and well.” He leaned forward, close enough for me to feel the
heat of his breath. “That will not happen if you vary in any way from the arrangements
I have made.” After a moment, his face turned away from me, and his eyes returned
to the altar. To the crucifix. The foundation of his church.

“As for what happens to you … we all make sacrifices.” He closed his eyes and without
opening them again, said, “You may leave now.”

With those words, Ape pulled me out of the pew and thrust me a few feet toward the
church’s exit. I turned back, hoping to get a little more information from Cruz, to
keep the conversation going, but Ape’s body blocked my view. I craned my neck to see
past him. Just before Ape gave me one last shove through the massive church door,
Elijah Cruz stepped up onto the altar and kissed Christ’s feet.

*   *   *

I stood outside on the steps of the church and watched the low clouds as they raced
against the darkening sky for what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than
five minutes. The last of the sun’s light was barely visible, and it was time to go
home. Again. I was scared, angry, tired, and in pain.

What the hell was I going to do now?

I needed help. Who could I go to, looking and feeling like shit at seven thirty on
a Friday night who wouldn’t ask any questions? I took out my cell phone and dialed
Edgar’s number. His recorded message told me he wasn’t home, but my call was important
to him and I should leave a brief message. As I was doing so, he picked up and explained
he was screening.

“You never know,” he said, then told me he’d pick me up in ten minutes.

It’s good to have friends.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on Edgar’s couch with my eyes closed, an icepack
on my head, and a cold Diet Pepsi in my hand.

“Pizza’ll be here in ten minutes,” Edgar said. “I asked them to rush it.”

“You got any ibuprofen?” I asked.

“I’ll do you better than that.” Edgar vanished into another part of his basement apartment
and returned a half-minute later with a small bottle. He rattled it like a salesman.
“Friend of mine got these in South Africa. Can’t get them here. Three of these’ll
put you right out.”

“I can’t afford to be put out, Edgar. Just give me two, okay?”

He shook a couple of small blue pills out and handed them to me.

“Two’ll do you fine. This friend? Former Special Ops. Swears by this stuff.”

“Terrific.” I chased the pills with a sip of soda. “Thanks, Edgar. I really appreciate
this.”

“Please.”

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Edgar staring at me. Dying to know the latest
developments. I could hear his breathing and imagined him about to fall over with
curiosity. When I got to the part where I called him from the pay phone, the pizza
showed up.

Edgar opened the box. “So go to your uncle. Tell him everything. He’ll help get—”

“Frankie killed,” I said. “I’m back to square one here, Edgar. Cruz has Frankie, but
I’m not sure where. I have shaky proof—at best—of any wrongdoing on his part and,
oh yeah, the guy’s a fucking freak. Frankie wouldn’t stand a chance, and I wouldn’t
put it past Cruz to do as much damage to my life as he could.”

We ate a couple of slices in silence before Edgar had an idea.

“You gotta call your buddy,” he said. “Billy.”

“You haven’t been listening, Edgar. Cruz said no variations. That means no cops.”

“He’s your friend. I got the feeling at the Q he’d do anything for you. Was I wrong?”

You don’t know how right you are, I thought. But was I willing to do that? Put a friend’s
career—or more—on the line? This was my fight. I picked it. Now I had to pussy out
and rope in a buddy to bail me out?

“You’d do it for him,” Edgar said.

I leaned back, thought about it for a few seconds, and said, “Give me the phone.”

He already had it in his hands.

*   *   *

“Can’t do much about it tonight, partner.” Billy told me he was sitting out on his
almost-finished back deck. The girls were down for the night. His wife was out with
the ladies, and he was smoking a cigar and drinking a cold beer. I had forgotten about
his daughters and was about to tell him to drop the whole thing when he said, “La
Casa Diner. Tomorrow at eight.”

“You sure?” I asked.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that, Raymond.”

When I hung up, Edgar came into the living room carrying something that looked like
a parachute. He unrolled the most comfortable sleeping bag I’d ever seen and laid
it out on the carpet. He’d probably gotten it from his friend in Special Ops.