The Odds (27 page)

When she entered the house, she knew something was different. Sounds were different. He’d come down on his own. She could hear him in the kitchen, so she hurried past the stairway to see if he was all right. He jumped. She jumped. Several of the cupboard doors were open.

“Please don’t fall.”

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t stay awake. My English teacher sent me to the nurse.”

“I’m not surprised. I heard you. You stayed up even after I went to bed.”

“For a little. I was … still trying to take it all in. What … what were you looking for? In the cupboards?” Before leaving for school, Joel had changed Nick’s dressings and Meg had taken him breakfast—a bowl of dry cereal, a glass of milk, a thermos of coffee—and a ham sandwich for lunch. So it wasn’t food that he needed.

He held on to the sink, then to a chair back. “I’m going to need to sit for a minute.”

She held the chair steady and he sat down where he had the night before, leg extended.

“Look,” he said, “I was just trying to see what there was …”

He was being sneaky. Tears came to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“I’m not what you hoped.”

The sad, wistful look on his face made him closer to what she did want. His nice self. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry to hold on. In a couple of days, we’ll be safe with the irrigating. You’re getting good with the crutches. You just need clothes and something in your pocket.”

“I can’t take any more money from you, if that’s what you mean.”

She suddenly realized what he wanted. “I’ve put together what you’re going to need. My father’s cards. The charge cards will be expired, but you might be able to use them to open another account one day. I wrote everything down for you. I’ll get them.” She got up and started to the basement door. “Are you hungry?”

She was biting back tears. Then she saw he was upset, moved. She wanted to touch him. Tentatively, she reached forward and touched his arm. He took hold of her hand and squeezed. “I like it here,” he said. “I think you’re great. All of you. Every one of you.”

“Thank you.”

“You, I know the best.”

“Because I talk. I boss everybody around. It isn’t lovable.”

“It’s lovable,” he said in a quiet voice. “You’re fantastic. I’m sorry for any asshole thing I ever did to you.”

They were quiet for a minute. She sat and made a quick dab at her eyes. “I don’t want you to go. They don’t, either. We can’t help feeling that way. It’s just … life.”

He shook his head. “You need somebody to take care of, I guess. The thing is, you deserve better.”

She liked him again. He was right again.

“You ever notice something,” he said after a while. “Your phone hardly ever rings here.”

“Joel has a few friends who call sometimes.”

“This morning, it was ringing off the hook.”

“Really? Maybe the school office,” she said uncertainly. But she didn’t want puzzles now. She wanted to sleep. Then to get up, buy him clothes, figure out how to make some money. The kitchen clock told her she had two, maybe three hours until she had to walk back to the school. Remembering the Midol, she dug into her pocket and handed the pills over. “This’ll help you sleep,” she said. “I’m going to try warm milk.” She put the milk on the stove to heat and went to the basement, moving fast, so the milk wouldn’t boil over. Alison had put an old bureau down there. She opened the top drawer and took out a wallet that had her father’s papers in it. She held the wallet close for a moment before she went upstairs.

When she handed the wallet over, Nick didn’t look inside at first. He took the pills she told him to take. He watched her pour and drink milk. Finally he opened the wallet and studied her father’s cards for a long time, punctuating his thoughts with almost imperceptible nods.

   MELINDA KUCHENKA, THE WOMAN who now worked the pizza shop, looked up when Colleen came in. “Your guy hasn’t showed. Honest.”

“Actually, I need to talk to your boss. When does he come in?”

“Well, it’s complicated. There’s the older one, George, who pops in from the back room every once in a while.”

“He’s not the boss?”

“Well, he only does accounts. The guy who trained me works the shop at night, but the one from the back room put that sign out about hiring and he’s the one who pays.”

“Complicated.”

“Jim is the night shift, but he wants me to stay on. Says he has other businesses. The thing is, I don’t know who’s in charge. Who do you want to talk to?”

“The accountant will do.”

“My best guess is about three, three thirty he’ll come in.”

Colleen said, “I’ll wait.”

“You want anything?”

“Not right now.” She wandered outside as casually as she could, noted the sign in the window and, making a decision, called Farber. “You have a chance to get somebody into the job at the pizza shop if you have an undercover person to spare. There’s a sign in the window, the place is, you know, shaken up, and the owners, from what I can tell, are dying to hire someone. I’d move right away.”

“Janowski,” he said.

She agreed Janowski would be good.

“Thanks.”

She paced a bit, looking at the neighborhood she used to live in. Some of the places were looking good, some not. Still, it felt like home, familiar. She went back inside and sat pretending to do her reports with a can of Coke on the single table in the place, the one she’d sat at when she talked to Nick.

She had a drawing of Nick made from the prison photo. She was going to pretend she knew only the name Nick Banks and only the Pittsburgh part of his history.

A girl came into the shop. Colleen assumed the kid was going to order something, but she heard her ask about putting in an application. Melinda handed over a piece of paper and said, “He wants name, phone number, and experience. Just jot it down. Experience, I doubt,” she said, winking at the kid, “but he really needs somebody for evenings.”

What was the matter with these people? The girl looked very young. Alarmed, Colleen got up and walked to the counter. “Excuse me. I think you should tell him for evenings he should have a man in here, not you or any female of any age.”

“I’ll tell him.”

The girl, writing, looked vastly disappointed. After a while, she handed the paper over and left.

Just then, the back door opened and the same gruff man she’d seen before came out into the room.

“Oh!” Melinda jumped. “I never can get used to that door opening. This woman said she needs to talk to you.”

“What? About what?” he said. His eyes darted suspiciously to her, behind her.

“Could we sit for a minute? I just need a minute of your time.”

“Application for you,” Melinda handed him a piece of paper.

The man Colleen knew was Markovic stopped on his way around the counter to take the piece of paper. He appeared to be glad of the interruption Melinda had provided. “We’re hiring,” he said to Colleen.

“I noticed your sign,” she said easily. She pulled out her identification badge and showed it. “I won’t take long. I need to ask you a few questions about this man.” She showed the drawing.

“Don’t know him,” he said after looking hastily.

“Perhaps we should go into your back room,” Colleen said. “If you like.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

Colleen said, “Fine, then. I need to get your name and some ID.”

“George Victor. I don’t have my wallet on me. It’s in the back room.”

“Okay, go get it.”

Markovic got up, bristling. The front door opened again and Potocki came in.

Markovic returned to the table and showed a driver’s license that said he was George Victor.

“Okay, Mr. Victor,” Colleen said, writing it down. “And your position here is?”

“Assistant manager and bookkeeper.”

“Thank you.” She wrote. “This is my partner, Detective Potocki.”

Each man acknowledged the other with a glance. She said, “Look again at the picture. Look carefully. We have reason to believe you know him.”

“She’s the one was here before, looking for your worker,” Melinda said, surprising them all. Colleen held up a hand to caution Melinda from saying more.

Markovic pretended to take a second look. “He worked here. A couple of days. The picture is not very accurate. So. What’s he done?”

“We don’t know that he’s done anything. We would like to talk to him. Where can we find him?”

“He lives somewhere around here. He just quit on me. No word, nothing.”

“You didn’t take his address?”

“No.”

“How did you pay him?”

“I … didn’t get around to paying him anything. Well, some. Under the table, if you want the truth. He seemed to want that.”

“Did you try to find him?”

“No. I just closed up for a couple of days until we could rehire.”

“What is this man’s name?”

“Nick Banks.”

“Did you know him before?”

His head wagged vaguely back and forth. “No.”

“How did he hear about the job?”

“He just passed the shop, I guess.”

“You know anything about him?”

“No. What’s he done? I mean, what is this about?”

“We think he was present in a shooting death. We need to talk to him.”

“He … killed someone?”

“A couple of men got into a fight, it looks like.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help.”

“Did he say anything about where he’d go if he left? Did he leave you any clues as to where family was or anything like that?”

“Let me think. I’m trying to remember. He was from Ohio.”

“Ohio?”

“Yes. He said something about a mother living there.”

“Ohio is kind of big. Did he mention a city?”

“Something small, I can’t remember the name. I’m sorry. Maybe if I saw a map. Since he did mention Columbus, maybe near there.”

“Columbus, then. Thank you for that. By the way, just one thing before we go. I’d bet that girl that applied is too young for the job, especially for evening hours. But anyway, from the police point of view, having a guy in here at night is smarter all around.”

She and Potocki walked outside, and both automatically scanned the street before they walked away. “What did you think of him?” she asked Potocki in a low voice.

“I had no trouble seeing him in prison clothes.”

“We’re going to have to call in the press soon. I hate to put Banks out there, picture and all. Kissel, I mean. All I know is, we better find him before Markovic does,” she said.

They drove back to the office. Potocki said, “One of the prisons Kissel did time in might be the best bet for finding somebody who knows where he’d be. Tomorrow the two of us ought to go up to Allenwood.”

She calculated. A three-hour drive? Four? “You think?”

“See if guards or other prisoners can shake something loose. We can start out early.”

“Let’s talk to Christie.”

“And Farber.”

“Him, too.”

“Want to start out at seven?” Potocki asked.

“Sounds right.”

   MEG WALKED, THINKING ABOUT whether she should make up flyers for housecleaning and distribute them along the way at the houses that seemed well kept. She found herself in front of Doug’s Market. Heaving a deep breath, she went in to find the manager. “I don’t know if you cashed the check yet, but I wanted to make sure it was good. My … aunt can be very flaky. So if it wasn’t, I want to work it off.”

The man gave her a long curious look. “You’re a character. I haven’t cashed it yet. Tomorrow. How was the roaster, the chicken?”

“Delicious.”

“Hmm,” he said, finally smiling.

“I’m putting in applications at a couple of places. Are you taking applications?”

“For work? Are you good at the register?”

“You want to try me?”

“I might, I might.”

“How many hours a week do you need? I mean, I have school, but it’s almost out. I’m looking for something more or less full-time, and I see you close at six, so—”

The man worked to catch her eyes. “I could put you on a couple of days three to six. Try you out. You want that?”

“Yes! I mean, I just have to check on another job that would be more hours. If it comes through— I’m sorry. I just need to take whatever’s best.”

“You don’t think you’re a bit young for all this work?”

“I’m old enough.”

“Look, you come back if you want to try it. I watched you adding up the groceries in your head when you were buying. You brought your bill to within pennies of the check. You’re good.”

“It was thirty-nine eighty-two.” She blushed.

He nodded some more, scratched his lip, and murmured, “If we do try it, maybe we should keep it unofficial. I don’t mind getting in trouble, not for a good cause, but somebody might try to stop you working… .”

“I understand.” She looked at the cases of food hopefully. Did employees get to take outdated things home?

“We get food stamps here. And some down-and-outs come in here. Some are addicts. Would you be shocked by any of that?”

“No. I can handle people.”

“I bet you can. Tomorrow after school, then. Minimum wage is— Well, never mind. I can manage five an hour. No records. No deductions.”

“Three o’clock,” she said. Even if she got only one day, it would still come to three hours at five dollars an hour and maybe some food.

On the way back home, she stopped at the pizza shop again. The woman working the counter was busy, so Meg waited, sitting where the woman who interfered about the application had sat. When Nick worked here, he’d had a radio playing. It seemed friendlier.

The woman finally acknowledged her. “You’re back.”

“You think he’s going to call me?”

“Not likely. The detective told him you were too young.”

Detective. To cover her alarm, she tried to keep talking. “I don’t know why it was any of her business whether I work here.”

“She wasn’t mean about it. Said they needed a guy here at night. I kind of agree.”

“What was she here about?”

“Something about a shooting. I wasn’t supposed to listen in, and I’m not supposed to talk about it. Drama in the neighborhood, huh?”

“I guess.”

So the police were closer. She would have to tell Nick.