Bodega Dreams (25 page)

I didn’t know which I dreaded more, dealing with Blanca later or with the police now. I waited a minute before going down to meet the detectives.

They weren’t waiting for me inside the car like they had said. DeJesus was in the lobby, but the other one was missing.

“Where’s your partner?”

“He went to get some coffee,” DeJesus said. We headed out to the car.

A minute later, Ortiz walked out of the building and joined us. He must have been on the roof, looking down. They had made sure I wasn’t going to escape by going out the window and down the fire escape.

The last thing I wanted to do was let on that I had caught them in a lie, so I didn’t ask Ortiz what happened to his coffee.

“This won’t take long, Mr. Mercado.” Ortiz drove.

“Where you from?” I asked them but neither answered. I didn’t bother to ask again, and we rode the rest of the way in silence.

At the 23rd Precinct on 102nd between Lexington and Third, they ushered me inside. It was hot and dimly lit. Hanging from the ceiling were those yellow energy-saving lights from the seventies. It also smelled musty, like old papers, old books, old newspapers with pale brown edges and little bugs crawling everywhere.

They sat me down on a bench and told me to wait. DeJesus and Ortiz went over to a desk across the hall and started to joke around with the cop that sat there. It was busy, cops typing reports, taking complaints, talking on the phone, and I sat there totally unnoticed until DeJesus and Ortiz came back and waited with me.

“The captain has a few things to run by you.”

“What’s the captain’s name?” I asked. They didn’t answer me.

After about ten minutes being sandwiched by the two, I asked, “Will he be long?” Again they didn’t answer me.

“Look,” I said, standing up. “I am here on my own time. If you want me to cooperate with you, then answer my question. Out of common courtesy, one Latino to another.”

DeJesus, the shorter and therefore fatter of the two, showed his nails.

“You and me have nothing in common,” he sneered. “I’m Cuban, you’re Puerto Rican.” I decided not to point out that I was only half Puerto Rican.

“Take it easy,” Ortiz told his partner.

“Well, this ain’t Miami,” I said. “You’re in my backyard, so don’t disrespect me.”

“You better watch your back, Mercado,” DeJesus muttered, sneering.

“Take it easy, DeJesus,” Ortiz repeated.

“You’re so into it you smell like Boricua!” DeJesus didn’t seem to have heard his partner. “If it was up to me I’d send you all back to that monkey island of yours.” That did it, I had to say something.

“You’re from a monkey island yourself. At least Puerto Ricans leave of their own free will. Castro kicked your ass out!”

“What did you say!” DeJesus rose and got up in my face.

Ortiz stepped between us and sat me down. He didn’t say anything to his partner. Just then a door a few feet in front of the bench opened and DeJesus shut his trap.

The detectives led me into the office, where the captain sat behind a desk. I was seated in front of him and the two detectives sat on a little couch by the window. I thought about the first time I had met Bodega. It had been a similar set-up, Bodega sitting behind a desk and me sitting in front on some cheap-ass chair. Somehow even then I knew that meeting would lead me here, to the precinct. But the damage was already done. I was here and all I could do now was try never to come back. The hard part was doing that without ratting on anyone.

“Mr. Mercaydo, I’m Captain Leary,” he said, mispronouncing my name. He was a tall man with white hair and a ruddy complexion. He looked like he had been around a long time just getting ready to retire.

“You need something from me, Captain?”

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said, sliding a crime-scene picture across the desk. “A piece of his shoulder was just chewed right out.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve seen funnier things,” I said calmly. But inside I was on fire. At that minute I was mad as hell. I was mad at myself for getting into this and I was mad at that Cuban detective for being a pig. And I was mostly mad at the fact that I could do nothing about it.

“Oh yes, I’ve seen much funnier.” The captain talked as if he were bored; it was all a formality, something he had done too many times and could do in his sleep. He then opened an envelope and handed me some documents.

The Harry Goldstein Real Estate Agency. There were copies of all the building’s leases, showing ownership by that company.

“Do you recognize that agency?”

“Sure. My wife and I write them a rent check every month.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw DeJesus squirm in his chair. Ortiz just sat on the couch quietly.

“Does the name William Irizarry mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“What about the name Willie Bodega. Mean anything?”

“No.” I was in America and in America you can say that rain falls dry and you let the jury decide if it’s true or not.

“Look, son.” He folded his hands and said in a paternal tone, “I know you’re a good kid. You go to school and work hard. Your wife is expecting, you’re going to be a father. That’s great. We checked you out, you’re clean. You hopped a few turnstiles when you were fifteen, but that’s about it.” He leaned back in his chair. “You have nothing to worry about. But at times good people are led astray. They don’t know any better because they think that these people are their friends. If Bodega has got something on you, you can tell us.” Right then I knew they may have known a lot about Bodega but they had very little on him. They needed evidence, testimony, something concrete.

“I’ve no idea about this Bodega, sir. And I’m not your son.” And then, with a more respectful tone, “Sir.”

The captain leaned forward, smiling slightly. “Let me give you a scenario. You have a reporter that gets in over his head. He gets killed and then you find out that reporter was dirty. He belonged to another drug
lord. He was killed by that drug lord’s rival. It’s only a matter of time before the other guy fights back, and then what do you have?” He wanted me to say a war.

“Sounds like trouble.”

“He’s jerking us around,” DeJesus said. “He’s been seen with Enrique Guzman. If you know Enrique Guzman you know Willie Bodega.”

“Hey.” I faced DeJesus. “When Frank Sinatra was alive he’d be dining with a bunch of mafiosos every night, but you guys never brought him in for questioning.”

“Sit down, please sit down,” Leary said to me calmly. Ortiz patted the air near his friend, telling him to calm down.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve got things to do. Now, I told you what I know and, like you, I have a job to do. So if you are going to arrest me for something, you tell me what it is and let me call a lawyer. Otherwise don’t waste my time and yours.” I bluffed, because if they were to detain me, Nazario was the only lawyer I knew and that might lead right to Bodega.

“Bullshit.” DeJesus spat. Leary sighed. Ortiz just shook his head.

“You’re free to go,” Leary said. Sounded like salsa to me.

“What! Leary, come on!” DeJesus said, getting up from the couch.

“I’ll walk you out, Mr. Mercado,” Ortiz said to me. I thanked both him and the captain. I had nothing to say to DeJesus.

“Just one thing,
son.
” This time Leary emphasized the word, patronizingly. “If I see you as much as jaywalking, I’ll have you right back here, and next time I won’t be as understanding.” As if he had been. But it was all right. He had nothing and was just trying to scare me.

Ortiz was silent as we walked out of the precinct and onto the street. I was ready to walk away, but Ortiz wasn’t through.

“
Mira
, Mercado, I was raised in Jersey, but I’m originally from San Juan. I hope you understand,” he said, “that DeJesus is my partner. I didn’t like what he said about us. But, right or wrong, I have to back my partner.”

“Sure.” I understood.

“Good. Now, I really hope you told the truth. I really hope you’re clean, Mercado,” Ortiz said. “Cuz I liked the way you stood up for us.”

I
was still shaking when I got home at about eight-thirty. I wondered if I really was clean, or if I was somehow involved in all of this more than I wanted to think. But what worried me more was that Blanca might not come back. I should have bought a machine so I could check messages, but I had never gotten around to it. So I called her mother’s right away.

“Nancy?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She knew I’d call.

“Everything’s all right, see? I’m home.”

“I wish I was one of those people that stays mad, Julio. I wish I was one of those people who hates forever; you deserve it. You’ve been lying to me all this time—”

“I’m sorry, Nancy.”

“You could’ve told me the truth from the beginning and still counted on me.”

“Nancy, from now on, I swear I’ll never hide anything from you. I’ll tell you the complete truth—”

“I don’t want to know the truth,” she said. “It’s too late for it and I don’t want to hear it. Let’s not say anything right now, okay? I’m going to be staying at Mami’s for a while. At least until the baby is born. I think that’s best. Best for both of us.”

“All right,” I said sadly. “Just promise you’ll come back.”

“I’ll be back,” she whispered. Then, after a pause, “Just not, not right now.”

“All right. But you know I love you.”

“Please!” Her voice sailed a notch. “Just let me stay at my mother’s for a while, all right?”

“All right. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow with
la Hermana
Santiago to pick up some things. And Julio …” She paused. “I don’t know how to say this, but I hope you aren’t home when we get there.”

“Okay.” I was in no position to bargain. When your wife says she’s leaving you, whether it’s for a few days or months or forever, you don’t object. You just let her go. You might want to ask her if she needs money, but in our case Blanca always had more money than me.

“Do you need money?” I asked anyway.

“Do
you
need money?” she quickly replied.

“No … I’m okay,” I said, knowing I was broke. “Call me when you can.”

“Take care of yourself.” She hung up. I looked around the apartment. It was a mess, so many things out of place. All of a sudden the place seemed empty and dark. The boxes that were stacked up against the wall would remain unopened. There was no need to make this place feel like home.

The phone rang. I jumped at it.

“Nancy!”

“Nah, it’s Negra.”

“Negra, I’ve no time for you, okay?”

“Well, you better make some time, Chino—”

“Blanca just left me.” I wanted anyone’s sympathy all of a sudden.

“You serious? Don’t play with me, play lotto. You serious?”

“Walked out.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“So listen, she might call back. Can you leave the line free, please?”

“All right. I’m sorry to hear that, but you do owe me, Chino. Just remember that.”

“Negra! Get off the line!” I yelled.

“Dag, it’s not my fault my sister left you—” I hung up on her and went to wash my face. The phone rang again.

“Nancy!”

“Chino, you owe me big.” It was Negra again. I sighed and let her talk. “You owe me big.” I sort of knew what she wanted. Blanca had told me.

“Negra, what makes you think I can have your husband beat up?”

“Don’t insult me. I know who your friends are.”

“Even if I could, Negra, I ain’t having Victor beat up, all right? That’s all.”

“Come on, Chino. He won’t even know you had something to do with it.”

“You solve your own marital problems, Negra.”

“Chino, just a little bit. Get Nene to knock him around some or Sapo to bite him. Like the way they tag-teamed that reporter.” I was silent after that. How did she know?

“What are you talking—”

“Come on, Julio, don’t take me for a fool.”

“All right, all right. The cops were here, that’s why Blanca left.”

“No shit. They’ve been talking to a lot of people. But no one’s saying anything.”

“Have they talked to you?”

“Not me. But you ain’t getting out of this one. Victor. What are you going to do about Victor? I want him hurt. You owe me.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do,” I said, even though I didn’t mean it. I just wanted her off the phone.

“You serious, Chino?”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“Now, I don’t want him dead,” she said carefully. “Or broken, you know, because I want him back. I just want to teach him a lesson, thass all.”

“Of course.”

“I like his nose. Don’t let anyone break his nose.”

“Is that all?”

“Actually, leave his face the way it is, I always thought he was cute. Go for the body.”

“Of course. Look, I have to go.”

“Leave his balls alone. Like I said, I’m planning on taking him back.”

“Negra, I have to go!” I shouted.

“All right, all right.” And then, Negra allowed herself to become a bit human again. “Chino, I’m sorry about Blanca, okay. You two will patch it up.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, and Negra hung up.

I had gone to bed hoping that Blanca would call, but after two hours of tossing and turning I gave up hope. The hardest thing was falling asleep. It was as if I had snorted all the coke in the world and my eyes hurt but my brain couldn’t shut itself off. Thoughts of Blanca, the pastor, the cops, Bodega raced through my mind like the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island. I began to think at what point in time I could have done things differently. Where were those interesting lines that I could have avoided?

I tried to empty my mind, but I still couldn’t sleep. The refrigerator hummed loudly, like a Buddhist on crack. I could hear every noise in the building. A pot fell in 4F, a baby was crying in 3B, they were watching television in 2A. Every sound was magnified. I realized I hadn’t made love to Blanca in over a month.

So I got up. I turned on the television but the reception was bad. I made myself a sandwich. I opened a box where some of my books were and found
The Stranger.
Maybe I could get lost in someone else’s misfortunes for a change. I fixed up my pillow and began to read. It was a book I had once loved and carried around with me, but I knew the real reason I was reading
The Stranger
wasn’t because I wanted to drift back into the past. It was simpler than that. I was afraid and missed Blanca. And when you’ve been with someone for a long time and they leave you, the saddest part is turning off the lights.