The Odds (20 page)

Mac read the bags. “Power Times Three.”

“You in this, too?” K asked Zero, who had been silent.

“Yes.”

“Way to go. Split ’em up, five in each pocket. This works, we’ll have more lessons. You each bring me back one twenty-five in exactly three hours, the other twenty-five is yours to keep. We go from there. I’ll be one street over from where I drop you. You want to try it?”

They said they did.

Then K said, “You ever tell anybody you saw me, talked to me, ever, it’s real bad for you. Not my fault. Other people above me get violent. Talk is the one thing they won’t tolerate. But it’s a great business, wellrun.” He pulled the bundle back. “You sure you’re up to this? You can shut up through anything?”

“Yeah,” Mac said.

“What are your names?”

“Pete MacKensie. Mac. He’s Sean Zero.”

“I need to know where you live.” They told him and he wrote it down. “Who you live with?”

“Mother,” said Zero. “He lives with his father,” he said about Mac, trying to bring himself into the conversation.

“Memorize these words: ‘I don’t know nothing.’ Say those a hundred or two hundred times if you have to. You can do that, nothing bad will happen.”

“We can do that.”

“Give it a go.”

They got out of the car. They could tell he watched them getting to work. Mac knew they looked natural. He started right away, walked up the street with some guy, talking. Real natural. He cut into an alley with another and came back. He gave a look to Zero—meaning, look smart, do something, but when he turned around, the van had gone. Well, they had the shit anyway.

In three hours, they went a block over to meet K and he was there. He gave them each two more bundles and said, “We’re still on trial, but keep going. And one more thing. I really need to talk to Carl. You find him for me—and don’t say anything to him, just tell me where he is—there’s money in it for you. Can you do that?”

“No problem.”

The third time they met with K was Tuesday. The selling had gone well, but they didn’t have any word on Carl yet. They had hoped Joel might know something, but he didn’t. When they reported they didn’t have any information, K nodded sadly and looked upset, angry.

Mac said, “I’ll find him.”

K winked and said, “Good boy. I knew you were a good kid.”

   HE WATCHES AFTER HER AS she leaves the room, crying. Good. Grow her up some. He’s landed in a nest of babies.

He tries to imagine the report on the news—what the girl was keeping from him. In his mind’s eye he sees Markovic in front of the big TV in his fancy basement watching the news and going ballistic. The guy he hired, Earl, is dead. His enforcer gone, his apprentice enforcer disappeared, and maybe his target gone. Markovic never took well to losing his bets.

   COLLEEN WOKE EARLY ON the holiday, did laundry, read the papers, lingered over her coffee. She worked it out that the half of her that Farber said could take the day off would relax, and the other half that was Homicide would go in. There was little she could accomplish with the labs closed and everybody in holiday shutdown, but it would feel like something.

Anyway, there wasn’t a hamburger or a hot dog in her refrigerator and she wasn’t in much of a holiday mood.

She went in at nine instead of eight, feeling recklessly idle. Potocki was already there, tapping away at the computer. “You, too,” she said.

“My private mover for the furniture pieces isn’t coming until three. I figured I could do a little something.”

“You stay at your old house last night?” Too personal. She was sorry she asked as soon as she did.

But he answered. “No. Why?”

“Oh. Just more comfortable.”

“Yeah, it would have been. But I didn’t, partly because I told Judy I was going to leave and it seemed important to keep my word. Believe me, I couldn’t tell you why. These things are crazy.”

He kept working and she went to her desk to make notes, hearing the fluffing sound her shoes made on the carpeting as she walked the empty space. She would try harder to find that kid, Carl, again, who struck her as someone who might know lots more than the usual.

The silence was strange. Nobody had put on a pot of coffee. No phones were ringing. No voices. Every once in a while a crackle of paper. Tap of Potocki’s computer keys. Very few people around. Nellins and Hrznak were the only ones with a really hot case, and where were they? Off buying hot dogs or something.

Outside the prison-bar windows, it was a gorgeous May day.

Ten o’clock, she figured, wasn’t too early to call Christie, but his cell phone rang and went to voice mail.

Suddenly she felt nervous. She decided to call the hospital.

The first thing she heard made her gasp. “We don’t have him on record.”

“No, yes, he’s in 1017.”

“Just a moment.”

Her heart thumped with terror.

The operator came back on. “He’s been released.”

“When?”

“It says today.”

“On a holiday?”

“They get them out when they can.”

Colleen called Christie’s house, but there was no answer. Was he in transit? She rattled around with her questions and was just about to try them on Potocki when her phone rang.

“You called?”

“Hey, Boss, they told me you were released.”

“Released to outpatient chemo. We’re on the way home now.”

“So this is good, right, getting out?”

“You bet. Who wouldn’t want to go home? I talked them into it.” His energy had suddenly flagged on the last line.

“Good, good. But they’re keeping up with your treatments?”

“Unfortunately. No, seriously, they’re giving me a lot of … special scheduling. I have to be grateful.”

“I was just checking in. I was going to come up to the hospital.”

“Give me a couple of hours to get settled. You can visit me at home.”

“Really? You’re up to it?”

“Make me work my brain a little.”

“But how do you feel?”

He paused. “Oh, you know, the jokes about death being preferable.”

“Is it nausea?”

“That and weakness. Hard to describe.”

Weakness did not become him
. That was like a line from something. What? “I’ll be over later, then.”

Had you told her ten years ago she would end up in this job, attached to a man who didn’t read, didn’t love her back, she would have told you it was impossible, she was smart, she was saner than that.

   HE SAT IN A CHAIR WITH A lap rug over his knees. He was wearing a sweater. It was almost eighty degrees out.

“Greer. Come on in, have a seat.”

“Hey, there you are. Boy, everybody misses you. They want you to take care of yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s gorgeous out. Don’t you want to sit outside?”

“The sun is too hard on my eyes. Plus I’d see everything I should be doing in the yard. This”—he points to a thermos—“is tea. It might still be warm. You want some?”

“Sure.” She didn’t, but it seemed only civil. “Let me pour.”

“You’re still working your overdose?”

“Yeah. Spent most of the afternoon in the park showing pictures of Carl, the kid who knew BZ. A nice alcoholic couple told me they used to see Carl using the library. That’s all I got, all afternoon. How are you doing?”

He fussed with the lap rug. “I’m on something experimental. Marina kicked up a fuss and they switched me. I had my first new treatment today.”

“I’m counting on your forty years at least. I hope for fifty, fifty-five. I’ll hobble around with you, cleaning up the city.”

He laughed. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“You’re a funny kid.” She nodded and he changed the subject. “How is everyone treating you over in Narcotics?”

“I’m only half Narcotics,” she grumbled. “Remember I was supposed to make friends with the guy who worked the Dona Ana? I blew it. The guy was going to meet me for a drink but he never showed. Now the pizza shop is closed.”

“Closed? That says something, eh?”

“It’s a puzzle. He was a
nice
guy on the surface. New in town, he said, and I sort of believed him.”

“The guy ran?”

“Maybe.”

“You checked him out?”

“Potocki is checking. The name he gave is Nick Banks. Whoever he is, I’m supposed to keep putting moves on him.”

Christie looked worried. “Are you okay? You feel danger?”

“Danger? No. …”

“What?”

“I feel stupid. If you’d asked me, apart from the case, I would have said he was okay. A good guy.”

“You can’t always untangle from the charming ones. He was a charmer.”

“Yeah. Was.”

Christie sipped his tea. “Glad to see you’re dating!”

“Come on. I’m in a real pickle here. The thing is, all I care about are the homicides. And the new one, the one Hrznak and Nellins got—Boss, Farber just took it away from me. I’m so angry—”

“You’re worried Nellins and Hrznak can’t handle it?”

She gave as small a nod as she could. “I mean, I started it. And then I get in there yesterday, and they don’t even have the guy’s prints classified yet. I would have had results yesterday. Tomorrow, they say. I have to wait till tomorrow because it’s a holiday. And … it’s still their case, not mine. But in my mind, it’s mine.” She looked at him challengingly.

“Take your assignment and swallow. You’re going to be a big help to Narcotics.”

Although she knew perfectly well he was very politic on most days, it made her angry to think of him as being a company man—old boys, don’t rock the boat, all that.

“While you’re doing what you have to do, you can get very buddy-buddy with Nellins,” he was saying. “Hrznak won’t be so easy but—”

She interrupted, “Hrznak is the primary.”

“Hmm. Nellins will talk to you. If you keep pushing the Narcotics angle, you can get in if you’re clever.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing.” She added, knowing how her boss felt about children, “There are kids roaming around in these houses with the more dangerous types, and we’re supposed to keep hands off? Because Farber wants big fish?”

“People want to leave a name behind,” he said, not without sympathy. “But you’re my kind of police, for what it’s worth.”

“Thank you.” Colleen looked around. His kids must be with their mother. “You’re not alone here?”

“No, no. Marina is upstairs reading. She wanted to be sure we had time to talk. I could call her.”

“No, I was just worried you’d need something and not have anybody here.”

“Are you kidding? She took off work all week, even though I told her not to. She’s quite a nurse. She’s making some kind of soup tonight she thinks will cut the nausea. We’ll see about that.”

“You have to eat.”

“That’s what she says. Anyway, it’s just sick food here tonight or I’d invite you.”

Did she sound as if she was begging for dinner? To erase that impression, she asked, “How are your kids doing?”

“Well, we talked to them about everything so they wouldn’t get that feeling that there were secrets being kept. We let them know the scoop, let them ask questions. I hope that’s the right way. How does a person know what to do?”

“You did right. You’re going to get better.”

“Am I?”

“Too many people are determined. There’s power in thoughts.”

“There are a few people who hate me. More than a few. Couple of them are in jail,” he chuckled. “Probably cursing me.”

“Visualization is supposed to be good. You should do it. First picture the bad cells swaggering, then the drug weakening good and bad both, then the bad ones looking surprised, like what’s going on, and the good ones perking up and getting stronger.”

“Like a cartoon.”

“Right. So, I’ll leave you with that and I’ll get going. Thanks for the time.”

“Hey, Greer, you take care.”

When she got outside, she dialed up Potocki. “Just checking in,” she said.

“Have I got some surprises for you.”

“Really? They ran the prints after all?”

“No. They’re saying they can’t get a good technician until tomorrow. You coming in?”

“I could.”

“You have other plans?”

“Not really. I could come into the office.”

“Greer, you don’t have to put in twenty-four hours. I was just—”

“I’ll come in for the surprises. They better be good, though.”

“Well, right now I’m starting for the old house to meet the movers. I could use your company in two hours, say at the new place; I’d be grateful for it. And if you by any chance have time for dinner, we could order something or eat out. I don’t have a grill yet, so I can’t make a picnic.”

She had a grill, but the thought of playing hostess was more than she had energy for. She got an inspiration. “You like fried chicken?”

“I love fried chicken. It’s lethal in my family, but I love it anyway.”

“I could bring over a picnic. Chicken, fixings, and I’ll make a salad.”

“That would be … great. Really, perfect.”

“Okay, done. You going to make me wait for my news, then?”

“It’s only two hours. Give you something to look forward to.”

   POTOCKI PRECEDED HIS NEWS with a tour of the house, which now had a few bits of furniture in it. They walked around, drinking cold beers from bottles, and ended up back at the kitchen. “Nice. It’s going to be nice. So, spit it out, Potocki. What do I finally get to know?”

“I cracked a couple of codes,” he said, fetching a file folder from the kitchen counter and taking it into the living room.

She followed and sat on the sofa, the stiffness of which told her it was the classic studio bed that probably served for guest bed the first couple of years of the marriage.

He explained he had tried “Roy D. Mott.” “Roy Mott.” “Mott Roy.” Then, finally, surprisingly, there it was. Dermott Roux. Detroit. Missing child. Picture of a young boy, hard to distinguish the features, but—he plunked down the picture and she stared long enough, and there he was, Dermott Roux.

The kid didn’t like his name, she guessed. Messed around with an altered combination of vowels and consonants. Then took a street name, and that’s how he’d disappeared. Dermott Roux. Short life.