Crooked Numbers (7 page)

“Boo!” The kid stuck his head through the service window of the kitchen. “Coffee for the teacher.” He turned to me. “How you take it?”

“Cream and two sugars,” I said.

“Thank you, Boo.” Boo’s head disappeared. “You hungry?”

“I’m good, thanks. You’re Tio?”

“Yes.” He tapped my picture in the paper. “And you … have you read this?”

“Not yet, no. I woke up and came right here.”

Tio closed up the paper and slid it to me. “For later then.”

“Thanks.” I put the paper on the seat next to me. “I appreciate the meeting.”

“My cousin says you cool, I’m cool.” Tio took another sip of his coffee. “That was your boy killed over by the river, huh?”

“Former student of mine, yeah. Junior explain to you why—”

“I heard about the beads around your boy’s neck,” he said. “Junior told me you could keep me and the cops from having a conversation. That’s why you and me are having
this
conversation.”

“That’s about right.”

“What’s that mean?”

Before I could answer, Boo came back with my coffee and placed it in front of me on a napkin. While I waited for him to leave, I took a sip. Perfect.

“It means,” I said, “the detective investigating Dougie’s murder is an old friend of mine. If I like what I hear from you, I think he’ll listen to me.”

“What’s that mean? If you like what you hear? You think I invited you here so I could spin you some fairy tale?”

“I know how these guys think. I used to be one of them. They smell smoke, they don’t always want to know where the fire is.” I waited a few seconds for that to sink in. Then I came out with the purpose of my visit. “Was Dougie Lee a member of the Royal Family?”

Tio took a moment to rub the palms of his hands over the tabletop. Then he drained the rest of his coffee, took a napkin out of the dispenser, and wiped his lips. After taking a deep breath, he said, “You sure you’re not hungry? Boo makes a good omelet.”

“He doesn’t look big enough to reach the stove.”

“Boo!” Again, Boo’s head appeared at the window. “Bring the teacher the same as me. And more coffee, please.”

I had the feeling I’d just passed some kind of a test. Instead of getting kicked out on my ass, I just got invited to brunch.

“So,” Tio said. “Used to be a cop, now you’re a teacher. Ain’t you just a bit curious about why we’re meeting in a pizza shop?”

I looked around the restaurant. “You want to know what I think?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“My guess,” I said, “The Family’s got a deal with the owner. You get the space when he’s not open for business, and he gets what amounts to the best security system in Brooklyn. I watch a lot of old gangster movies, though, so I could be wrong.”

Tio smiled and rubbed his chin. “That’s good, Teacher Man. Junior was right about you. No bullshit.”

“So, no bullshit. Are you going to answer my question?”

“I don’t talk about Family members. Junior told you that, right?”

“I’m not asking about Family members. I’m asking about Dougie.”

“That’s good, too,” he said, now running his index finger and thumb over his mustache. “You pretty sure this kid of yours was not a part of my crew. Why’s that?”

“Dougie wasn’t the type of kid to join a gang.”

Tio leaned back and folded his arms. “What type of kid joins a gang, Mr. Donne?”

“Again,” I said, “the truth?”

“Please.”

Before I could answer, Boo came through the swinging doors with two plates filled with omelets, toast, and home fries. He placed them on the table and went back for the coffees. After he left the second time, Tio said, “Go on.”

I took a bite of my eggs before speaking. Red and green peppers, mushrooms, and cheese. Again, perfect.

“Take Boo,” I said. “Single mom, my guess in her upper twenties. Probably has a little brother or sister—different dad—so he doesn’t get a hell of a lot of attention at home. Mom still likes to go out and have some fun, though, so Boo’s babysitting the little one more than he should and, as bright as he is, he misses a lot of school.” I took a sip of coffee. “How am I doing so far?”

“Like you been working The Burg too long.” We both took a few bites of our food. “Boo’s my cousin. His moms is my mom’s cousin. Had Boo when she was sixteen and dropped outta high school. Had his sister two years later. Same guy, but now he’s gone. Not exactly a family man.”

“And that’s where you come in?”

“Somebody’s gotta teach the boy about life.” Tio sipped his coffee. “Teach him a skill. Keep his ass in school as long as it takes.”

“You should talk to Junior.”

“Boy’s earning, Teacher Man,” Tio said. “Junior doesn’t need what Boo needs. His moms set him on the right path young. College doesn’t come into that picture, so Junior and a high school diploma don’t necessarily need to be on a first-name basis.” I must have had a look on my face, because Tio added, “I say something charming?”

I shook my head. “Just trying to figure you out, Tio.” I took the last bite of my toast as I chose my next words carefully. “You’re obviously a smart, articulate guy. You switch back and forth between English and Street, but you’ve been schooled.”

“I got my GED. So what?”

“And yet here you are…” I stopped, searching for the right word.

“A gang leader?” he filled in for me, with the serious tone of a bad newscaster.

“Yeah,” I said. “You
don’t
fit the type.”

Tio smiled again, took one more bite of his omelet, and pushed his plate away. It was a good half-minute before he spoke.

“I grew up ’round here. Coupla blocks away. My dad did the restaurant thing in Manhattan and my mom was part-time home health care. I was ten when they split.
Legally separated
. Just like the white folks do it in the burbs. No big deal. Lived with Mom during the week and Dad on the weekends, but ’cause he worked as a cook, I didn’t see him too much. Weekend was my time to be a street kid, hang out late, run around with the wannabe bangers, know what I mean?”

I nodded. “Until your mom figured it out.”

“Got that right. No more Saturdays bouncing ’round The Burg, no more Monday mornings always being late and dragging my tired ass to school. Got me back on track, she did. But not before I saw the need.” He pointed toward the front door of the pizza place. “Kids out there that shouldn’t be, y’know? Running nowhere fast, my moms would say. Soon’s I could, I dropped out, got my GED, and started making some real moves of my own to earn some green.”

“Restaurant gigs?” I guessed out loud.

“Dishwasher, busboy, line cook. You name it. Always worked the daytime shift. Made sure I kept my nights free, though, so I could fill the need I saw.” He sat back. “Ever read Dickens?”

I leaned forward. “Excuse me?”

“Charlie Dickens, Teacher Man.
Great Expectations
?
Oliver Twist
?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve read him.”

“Last book I checked out before droppin’ out. Thought it’d be cool to be like Fagin, y’know? Buncha kids following me around, doing my shit, learning from me.”

“Stealing and dealing?”

Tio spread his hands out. “I ain’t saying. But I tell my kids to get their asses home by ten and stay in school and respect the folks you got putting food on your table.”

“What does your mom think of all this … Dickens stuff?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “She died four years ago. Got stuck by a needle shouldn’ta been where it was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is what it is.”

I finished up the last of my coffee and piled fork, knife, and napkin on top of the plate. As if on cue, Boo came out and cleared the table. He didn’t ask if I wanted more coffee, and I took that as a cue it might be time to leave.

“So,” I said. “Dougie Lee?”

Tio stroked his mustache again. “Name don’t ring a bell.”

“Any idea why someone would want to point the cops in your direction?”

“A couple,” he said. “But that’s Family business.”

“And you don’t discuss Family business outside the Family.”

“Man’s nothing without some rules.”

“I understand,” I said, feeling like a bit player in
The Godfather
. I grabbed the newspaper and slid out of the booth. Tio didn’t move to get up, so I stuck out my hand. “Again, I appreciate the meet, Tio. I know you didn’t have to agree to this.”

“We all do things we don’t hafta every once in a while,” he said, looking at the newspaper in my hand while shaking my other one. “Got a feeling you know that.”

“Life’s like that sometimes,” I said. “I’ll see ya around, maybe.”

“Maybe. By the way, the owner of this place?”

“Yeah?”

“You looking at him.”

I smiled and nodded. “Cool.”

“Yeah,” Tio the gang leader said. “It is.”

*

I was a few blocks from the subway station, wondering what to do with the rest of my Saturday, when I realized I was being followed. I normally wouldn’t have noticed, but after seeing black-and-gold jerseys this morning, it was hard to miss the two behind me, one on my side of the street and one on the other. Maybe Tio wanted to make sure I wasn’t going straight to the cops with what little info I’d gotten from our meeting. I was about to turn around and say something, when I noticed another black-and-gold heading my way. The one coming at me was wearing a matching baseball cap and speaking on a cell phone. When we were about half a block from each other, I saw she was female. Asian-looking. She ended her call, stopped walking, and waited for me to get closer.

I stopped a few feet in front of her and said, “Tell Tio I’m just going home. And thanks again for breakfast.”

She sucked her teeth. “Don’t give a shit about breakfast,” she said. “You need to come for a walk wit’ us.”

I felt the other two moving in behind me and I turned around. Two more girls, both Hispanic. They spread out so I was in the middle of a triangle.

“I’m going home,” I repeated, and tried to move past the one with the cell phone. She stepped in front of me, and the other two closed in from behind.

“You wanna get stomped, Mister Man?” the one in front asked. I could see now she was Hispanic, not Asian. “Right here on the avenue? By a buncha girls?”

“Not if I can help it,” I said, trying to figure a way out of this. Before I could come up with something, a van pulled up alongside us. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside.

“Then you either let us walk you to the subway, or”—she gestured with her thumb toward the van—“you go for a ride.”

I considered my options and knew from experience nothing good would come from me getting in the van. I thought about running, but with my fucking knees, and three young girls and a van chasing me, I didn’t think I’d get too far.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have you all walk me to the train,” I said.

“Yeah,” the girl said. “And it might hurt if ya didn’t.” She linked her arm through mine as if we were a couple. “Let’s go.”

And we did: the two of us arm-in-arm, the other girls staying a couple of steps back. The van followed along slowly, a block away.

“So,” she said, “what’d you and Tio conversate about?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” I said, and she dug her nails into my wrist. “Jesus!” I pulled my arm away.

“You want me to ask you again?”

“Not if you’re going to ask like that,” I said, looking at the red crescents forming on my wrist. “I asked him if he knew an old student of mine.”

“Kid who got hisself killed on the tennis courts?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. Without the toughness, she might have been pretty. “We seen you over there yesterday. But you ain’t no cop. Why you all up in this business?”

“I promised someone I’d look into it for her.”

She seemed to consider that for a bit and then nodded. “What Tio tell you?”

“He didn’t know Dougie.”

She grabbed my arm again and tightened her grip. “Anything else?”

“It was my only question.”

“Long meeting for one answer.”

“I got invited to stay for breakfast.”

She nodded again, understanding. “Then we shouldn’t be seeing you over on the other side of the bridge no more, right? Or having no more brunches with Tio?”

“I don’t know why you would.” Those were almost the exact words I’d said to Dennis Murcer the day before.

She loosened her grip a little, ran her fingertips over the area she’d just dug her nails into. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it, Mister Man?” Her voice was lower now, trying for seductive.

“Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Coulda been a lot worse.” We were a half a block away from the subway. She woke up her cell phone, punched a number, and said something in Spanish. She spoke too fast for me to understand it. After she ended her call, the van pulled over in front of us, and the side door slid open. “You sure you don’t want a ride? Getcha home real quick.”

“No,” I said. “I’m good.”

“Whatever,” she said, and slid into the van, taking a seat in the front as the other two climbed in the side. The van took off, speeding through a yellow light. I pulled out my cell and found Junior’s number.

“What’s up?” he said. “How’d it go with Tio?”

“Good,” I said. “Thanks again for hooking me up. Any idea why I was just accosted by a group of girls wearing Family jerseys?”

A brief pause. “Ah shit, Mr. D. What’d they look like?”

“Three girls,” I said. “Hispanic. Another one in a van. The one who did all the talking looked kind of Asian. Almost pretty, but a bit quick with the nails.” I waited for a response. After ten seconds, I said, “Junior? You still there?”

“These jerseys,” he said. “Same as Tio’s?”

“Black and gold, yeah.”

“Even numbers?”

“I don’t remember, Junior. What the hell does—?”

“Tio’s boys,” he said. “They all sport odd numbers.”

He was right. I wasn’t paying much attention at the time, but now I recalled the girls all had even numbers on their shirts.

“Sounds like it was probably China,” he said.

“Who?” I asked.

“China,” he repeated. “Chee Nah.”

“Okay. Who’s China?”