Lights Out (27 page)

Jake’s cell rang and he thought,
Shit, not already.
Then he saw it was Ken, the Pirates owner calling, but he didn’t want to deal, so he powered the phone off.

Then, a couple minutes later, someone started knocking on Jake’s door. He ignored it, staying with his head covered, and then he heard the door open and his mother said, ‘Jake? Jake?’

Jake didn’t answer, hoping she’d go away, but she came over and tapped him on the arm and said, ‘Jake? . . . Jake? . . . Your team owner’s on the phone,’ and he knew he had to say something so he said, ‘Tell him I’ll call back.’

‘I think you should talk to him,’ Donna said. ‘He said there’s some story in the news—’

‘I’ll call him back.’

Donna waited then said, ‘He said it has to do with some girl accusing you of—’

‘I said I’ll call him back,’ Jake said.

‘Is it true? I mean, is what he said—’

‘No, it’s not true.’

‘But he said it’s on the news—’

‘So you think everything you hear on the news is true? It’s not true, all right? It’s total bullshit, and I’ll call him back later.’

‘Okay,’ Donna said. ‘Whatever you say.’

Jake didn’t feel like he fell asleep, but he must’ve, because when he rolled over and looked at the clock it was almost six thirty and there was a much bigger commotion outside. He didn’t even want to go over to the window to look because he figured they had cameras aimed up there, and a grainy picture of himself hiding out in his parents’ house, looking like he was afraid to go outside, was the type of photo op he definitely didn’t need.

Even though he had to take a leak badly, he stayed in his room because he didn’t want to get into it with his parents - especially his father. He knew his old man would flip when he heard the news. Actually, Jake was surprised that his father hadn’t started banging on the door already to try to drag him out of bed to give him the lecture from hell about his partying and womanizing.

He turned on the TV, channel-surfing for a while. On ESPN, no one was talking about him, but on one of the channels there was a picture of him - a headshot from the Pirates yearbook, the one they always showed on TV - and the commentator was talking about how a fourteen-year-old girl had filed statutory rape charges against Jake Thomas in San Diego. Jake couldn’t believe how bad it sounded, as if he were some kind of pedophile or something, and he turned the TV off in disgust.

He decided he had to see Christina as soon as possible, before she got too many wrong ideas about him. He packed a carry-on bag with a few outfits, and then, after poking his head out the door to make sure no one was around, he headed downstairs.

He went through the living room and dining room into the kitchen. He was starving and had to have something to eat, so he took out a bowl of chicken salad and, standing at the counter, had several quick bites. Then he put the bowl back in the fridge and guzzled down some Diet Coke straight from the bottle. When he closed the fridge, his father, standing right behind him, said, ‘Where the hell you goin’?’

‘Jesus,’ Jake said. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’

‘Answer me. Where you runnin’ to?’

‘I’m not running.’ ‘You make me sick, you know that?’

‘You don’t know the facts.’

‘I know enough facts. What do you think’s gonna happen now? You run and this whole thing disappears?’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘So you gonna tell me you don’t even know this girl? She’s making it all up?’

‘What difference does it make? N o matter what I do you’re always gonna find some way to shit on it. Think whatever you wanna think.’

Jake went around his father and left through the back door. ‘Go ‘head, run!’ Antowain called after him. ‘Run all you want, but it ain’t gonna get you nowhere!’

Jake took the secret passageway out to Avenue J. There was no one around but he walked fast, with his head down, so he wouldn’t get spotted.

He thought there might be reporters or paparazzi at Christina’s house, but there weren’t - not yet anyway. He rang the bell, working out in his head what he’d tell her. He knew it would take a lot more than some bullshit about Leonardo DiCaprio and Enrique Iglesias to win her back this time.

Al Mercado answered the door and, seeming pleasantly surprised, said, ‘Hey, what’re you—’

‘Is Christina here?’

‘Yeah, sure, but how—’

‘It’s okay, Daddy. You can go.’

Christina had come up behind her father.

‘Yeah, okay,’ Al said. ‘You two talk. I mean, I’m sure you have a lot to talk about. Go ahead.’

Al left, and Jake said to Christina, ‘Look, it’s not true, all right? I know it looks bad, really bad, but it’s all bullshit. These people, the girl and the father, have been trying to extort money from me for months. I swear to God, you can talk to my lawyer and agent and ask them. I danced with that girl, that’s it. Nothing ever happened between us. I didn’t kiss her; I didn’t even hold her hand. Hell, I didn’t even know her name till her father called, asking for money.’

Jake expected Christina to curse him out or slam the door in his face.

He was very surprised when she said, ‘Don’t worry. I believe you.’

‘Yo, Ry.’

Ryan had just made his way through the huge crowd in front of the Thomases’ house. He looked over to his right and saw Jamal, the kid from across the street, with a friend of his whom Ryan had seen around the neighborhood before.

‘Hey,’ Ryan said.

‘Crazy fuckin’ shit goin’ on here lately, huh?’ Jamal said.

‘Yeah,’ Ryan said.

‘You think J.T. did it, man?’

‘Got me.’

‘Yeah, he did it,’ Jamal’s friend said. ‘Why’d she lie?’

‘Girls always be lyin’ ‘bout that shit,’ Jamal said, ‘tryin’ to get money.’

‘Naw, he’s gonna go to jail. You’ll see.’

‘Hey, that guy find you yesterday?’ Jamal asked Ryan.

‘What guy?’ Ryan said.

‘Yesterday afternoon guy came by asking where Ryan Rossetti lives at. He said he was a friend of yours.’

‘So you told him where I live?’

‘Yeah, I told him. Why? He didn’t come to your house?’

‘He was probably that guy who tried to kill me.’

‘Oh, shit.’ Jamal was scared. ‘I woulda told the cops, man, but he said he was your friend and shit. I mean, I didn’t mean to—’

‘It’s cool,’ Ryan said. ‘It’s over now anyway. The cops shot him - he’s dead.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Jamal said. ‘That’s fucked-up.’

‘Yeah, but it’s good fucked-up, you know what I mean?’

‘Why was he comin’ after you?’ Jamal’s friend asked.

‘No idea,’ Ryan said. ‘But at least it’s over now. See ya later.

’ Ryan continued up the block, trying to decide whether to go to Christina’s. He couldn’t wait to be with her, but then he figured it would be a better strategy to give her a little more time. She was probably a mess right now, waking up and finding out that her fiance was a child rapist. But once that all settled in she’d realize how she’d blown it with Ryan, the guy who really loved her, and beg him to take her back. He figured he’d get a phone call from her sometime today - tomorrow morning at the latest.

He walked along Flatlands to the Arch Diner and ordered a stack of blueberry pancakes and a ham and cheese omelette. For the first time in a long time he was excited about the future. Maybe he wouldn’t get the fame and the fortune that Jake had, but he’d have a wife who loved him, a nice house, two great kids, and he’d own a successful business. After a while, he’d forget all about the fuckups of the past, and maybe someday he’d even realize that not making the big leagues was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He wolfed down the food and then went to look for his car. Although parts of Friday night were still hazy, Ryan was certain his car had to be near Vinny’s Bar, and that the only reason he hadn’t been able to find it that night was because he’d been so smashed.

Ryan explored the area near Vinny’s, walking around for several blocks in each direction, but nothing looked familiar. Then he had an idea and called information on his cell and got the number for the city’s parking violations office. He explained that his car was missing, and he wanted to find out if it had been towed. After talking to several people, he finally found out that his car had in fact been taken to the tow pound at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and that he could go pick it up tomorrow, Monday morning.

Ryan went home. He hung out in his room for a while, smoking cigarettes, listening to Big Tymers and LOX and checking out the latest posts on the AOL and BET boards. The same old bullshit was being discussed, so he went to iTunes and listened to tracks from the new SA Smash album and downloaded the joints he liked. Then, while listening to the downloads, he went into Photoshop and started designing a flyer for his new painting company. He came up with several possible names for the business: EZ Painting, Brooklyn Painters, Painting 4 You, Expert Painters. He wasn’t crazy about any of them, but he knew the perfect name would come to him eventually. He surfed around and copied and pasted some images he liked into a file, then superimposed them onto an image of himself in a painting uniform that Christina had once taken. The flyer took shape quickly, and as soon as he had a good name for the company -maybe Brooklyn Painters wasn’t so bad - he planned to print out flyers and start posting them around the neighborhood.

Ryan became so absorbed in working on his computer that two hours went by in what seemed like twenty minutes. At a little after one o’clock, he went down to the living room to watch the Jets game. His father was already there, in his easy chair. Rocco didn’t look at Ryan when he came into the room.

Ryan sat on the couch. ‘What’s the score?’

Rocco continued staring at the TV. ‘First possession. Jets’re driving.’

They watched the game together, acting like yesterday had never happened.

Later, at around four thirty, Ryan went out to buy cigarettes. The crowd near Jake’s was mostly gone. There were maybe ten or twenty people, including a few cops, and a Fox News van was parked in front.

On a lamppost on the corner Ryan noticed a couple of flyers -one for a plumber, and one for someone offering guitar lessons. The flyers were very plain - on white paper and no graphics. Ryan knew his flyers would really stick out, especially if he printed them on colored paper. But before he put them up he’d have to hire two or three guys to work for him. He wished he’d asked Jamal and his friend if they were interested. They probably would be, because Jamal had told Ryan a few weeks ago that he wasn’t making a lot of money deejaying and that he was looking for something part-time. Hiring workers wouldn’t be too difficult, and once Ryan had his crew and a first job, things would snowball. Before he knew it he’d have multiple crews, trucks, and plenty of money.

At a grocery store on Flatlands, Ryan bought a pack of Camels. He lit up in front of the store, cupping the flame with his hand. When he looked up he noticed a dark-skinned guy passing by who was looking at him in a funny way. The guy glared back over his shoulder at Ryan a few times, then got into a car. Suddenly Ryan felt like he’d seen the guy somewhere before, maybe recently, but he couldn’t figure out where or when.

Ryan smoked half the cigarette, then tossed the butt away toward the curb and went a few stores down to the deli where Andre worked. He leaned close to the window to see through the glare of the streetlights, which had just been turned on, and saw Andre working at the counter. Ryan went inside and Andre, who was making a sandwich for another customer, saw him right away and said, ‘Yo, what up?’

Ryan waited while Andre finished making the sandwich and rang the other customer up at the register.

When they were alone, Andre said, ‘Yo, man, so what the fuck happened?’

‘You didn’t hear?’ Ryan asked.

‘I heard what’s on the news, but what happened to you? They said you got shot or somethin’.’

Ryan explained how someone had shot at him and then how the shooter had been killed.

‘Damn, shit’s fucked up,’ Andre said. ‘And I can’t believe what they sayin’ about J.T. A fourteen-year-old girl?’

‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ Ryan said.

‘What? You knew he had it goin’ on?’

‘Nah, I had no idea. But I knew he isn’t the guy everybody thought he was. It was hard to get people to listen to me when there’re parties for him going on and everybody thinks he’s this big hero, you know what I’m saying?’

‘Yeah, now I know,’ Andre said. ‘When I go home tonight I’m gonna throw out all the shit he signed for me. I’m gonna throw out my Thomas jersey too. Paid a hundred bucks for that shit at Modell’s, but I ain’t goin’ around dressin’ like no child molester.’

A woman came into the store, and Ryan said to Andre, ‘You’re busy - I better go. But I just wanted to ask you - you like working here?’

‘It’s okay ... . Why?’

‘I’m starting a painting business. I thought you might wanna come work for me.’

‘To paint?’

‘Yeah. What do you make here, minimum?’

‘Yeah, somethin’ like that.’

‘How’d you like to make ten bucks an hour?’

‘That’d be cool. But I don’t know how to paint. I tried to paint my room once - shit got all fucked-up.’

‘Don’t worry - I’ll teach you.’

Ryan told Andre that he’d give him more details about the job once things got rolling, and then they high-fived over the counter and Ryan left the store.

Ryan lit another cigarette, took a couple of drags, then jaywalked across Flatlands. He heard the car before he saw it, and when he turned his head it was too late. It was speeding right at him, and the driver - the dark-skinned guy - looked insane. Ryan was starting to scream when the bumper slammed into him. He tumbled over the hood, against the windshield, and was catapulted off the side of the roof onto the street.

When they heard the knock on the door, Jake said to Christina, ‘Don’t get it.’

He kissed her harder, his body pounding and grinding against hers.

There was another knock.

‘Coming,’ Christina said.

‘Wait, I’m about to blow too,’ Jake said.

‘I was talking to my father.’

‘What?’

‘My father - he’s knocking.’

‘Ah, come on.’

‘Wait one sec’

‘Jesus.’

Christina wriggled out from under Jake. He collapsed onto his stomach, cursing into the pillow.

‘Be right there,’ Christina said, putting on panties, then a long T-shirt.

Jake was still muttering as Christina opened the door.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ Al said, ‘but I thought you’d want to know—’

‘What is it?’

‘Ryan was in an accident.’

‘Oh, my God. Is he okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, his mother called and said he’ll be fine - a car hit him and he broke some bones.’

‘Oh, God, that’s terrible ... . Why did his mother call?’

‘I don’t know. I guess she just wanted to let you know.’

Now Jake came over to the door, naked, with a hard-on. Christina didn’t notice it at first, but Al did and looked away quickly.

‘What happened?’ Jake asked.

‘Put something on,’ Christina said.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Jake said, and put his hands over his private parts.

Al repeated what he’d heard from Ryan’s mother.

‘Who hit him?’ Christina said.

‘She didn’t say,’ Al said. ‘Anyway, I’ll let you two get back to . . . See ya later.’

Alleft.

‘God,’ Christina said to Jake. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Shit happens,’ Jake said.

‘But I hope he’s okay. Maybe I should call or something.’

‘Oh, shit, look at the time,’ Jake said. ‘Better rock ‘n’ roll.’

‘You’re going
now}’

‘Gotta get to the airport, baby.’

‘But it’s’ - she looked at the clock - ‘not even eight o’clock.’

‘I got a ten-something flight.’

Trying to look disappointed, Christina said, ‘I wish I could come with you.’

‘Me, too, but there’s no reason to. I mean, I’m booked solid all week. And now, with all this rape shit coming down, I’ll be on the phone with my lawyers all day, every day. You’ll just be stuck in my living room, watching TV.’

‘But at least we’d be together.’

‘Yeah, but you have your job and your father and everything. Besides, soon we’ll be married and see each other all the time.’

‘That’s true,’ Christina said, ‘and it’ll give me something to look forward to.’

Jake went to the bathroom to shower, and Christina wondered if she was doing the right thing. Maybe when Jake came back she should just tell him she changed her mind, she wanted to call off the wedding. He could go back to Pittsburgh, and she’d never have to see his lying, rapist face again.

Yesterday morning, when she found out what Jake had done to that poor girl, she told her father that if Jake called to tell him to go to hell, and then her father said, ‘Let’s not be hasty.’

‘What’re you talking about?’ Christina said. ‘He raped a girl; he’s the world’s biggest asshole.’

‘First of all, they’re not talking about rape; they’re talking about statutory rape. There’s a big difference.’

‘I can’t believe you. You’re actually defending him?’

‘I’m just saying you can’t rush to judgment. The media loves taking the victim’s side in these types of cases. Jake’s probably innocent.’

‘I don’t really care if he’s innocent or guilty. Our whole relationship’s stupid - I should’ve dumped him years ago.’

‘You’re not dumping him,’ Al snapped. Then he smiled and said, ‘I mean, I know you wouldn’t do that to me. How would you feel twenty years from now if I get sick or I have a stroke—’

‘Will you stop it?’ ‘—and you’re married to some guy, some Brooklyn guy, a housepainter or whatever? If I get sent to some nursing home to waste away because we’re both broke?’

‘I can’t believe you—’

‘And you’ll know things could’ve been different, a lot different, if you just went through with the wedding.’

‘So you want me to spend the rest of my life with a guy I don’t love just so you can have some money?’

‘It’s not me; it’s both of us, and it doesn’t have to be the rest of your life. Marry him for a year, maybe two years, then divorce him. You know how much you’ll get in any settlement? Millions. And that’s for what? Staying with a guy for a couple more years who you’ve been engaged to for six years. It’s not exactly torture. I mean, you wouldn’t’ve gotten engaged to him in the first place if you didn’t like him, right?’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Yes, you can.’ He forced a smile, then said, ‘You’re twenty-four. When you’re twenty-six and you have all that money you can marry whoever you want to marry. Just do it, Christina. I’m telling you, if you don’t you’ll regret it someday. We’ll both regret it.’

Christina knew her father was hitting her with another guilt trip, but she was starting to see his point. It would only be for a year or two, and Jake would be away most of the time playing baseball.

‘But how do you know I’ll be able to get a divorce?’ Christina asked.

‘That’s easy,’ Al said. ‘The way he runs around, all you’ll need is a detective with a camera and you’ll get all the evidence you need for a big settlement.’

Christina felt like she had no choice. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and she had to go through with it.

So later, when Jake showed up at her house, looking like a mess, with bags under his eyes, begging for forgiveness, swearing that he’d never had sex with that Mexican girl, that it was all some big plot against him, Christina still wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but instead she said, ‘Don’t worry. I believe you.’

Then Jake kissed her and she felt totally grossed out, but she put on a good act and made him think that she was into it. Later, after they had sex, she felt even dirtier and more disgusting, and she went into the bathroom and nearly threw up. She managed to get hold of herself and get back into bed, but she feared she hadn’t been convincing enough. Jake couldn’t be
that
stupid - he couldn’t actually believe she wanted to be with him. He had to know she’d faked those orgasms and that he repulsed the hell out of her.

Jake returned from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and held up two linen shirts - one beige, one off-white. ‘Which do you like better, the Boss or the Valentino?’

‘The beige one,’ Christina said.

‘I like that one too. But you think it’ll go with these shoes?’ He held up his black Gucci loafers.

‘Yeah, I do.’

He considered it, then said, ‘Nah, gotta go with the Boss, baby. Gotta go with the Boss.’

Jake continued getting dressed, putting on a mustard-colored suit that looked like something a pimp would wear.

‘I really wish I could come with you to Pittsburgh,’ Christina lied.

‘Me too, baby.’

A few minutes later the doorbell rang.

‘That’s my ride.’

Christina put on a nightgown and went downstairs with Jake. In the vestibule he held her and told her how much he’d miss her. She wanted to vomit in his face. Instead she kissed him as passionately as she could and even squeezed out a few tears.

Then Jake opened the door, and cameramen and reporters were there, shouting questions. Christina was embarrassed to be on TV without makeup, and she knew Jake must have set this up, tipping off the reporters that he was at her house, but she didn’t let her anger show. She played the part of the outraged, loving fiancee and told the reporters that the charges against Jake were ridiculous and that he was ‘the best fiance in the world.’ Then she kissed Jake and held it for the perfect photo op.

After they answered some more questions, Jake walked away toward the limo. Before he got in, he turned back and blew a little kiss. Christina waved and cried some more for the cameras. Then, finally, Jake got in the limo and was gone.

Christina rushed upstairs. She brushed her teeth three times and took a long shower. When she got out she still felt dirty. She took the sheets off the bed and put them in the laundry - the smell of Jake’s cologne was lingering, and she feared it would stick around forever.

As she was getting dressed, the doorbell rang and her father called out from his bedroom, ‘Can you get that? I’m in the bathroom!’

Christina finished getting dressed quickly, then went downstairs, figuring it was more reporters. But then she opened the door and saw a gray-haired man showing a badge.

‘Christina Mercado?’ the man asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Detective Ed Noll, Sixty-ninth Precinct. Is Jake Thomas here?’

‘No, he left for the airport.’

‘Which airport did he go to and when did he leave?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I need to talk to him right away.’

‘He had nothing to do with that girl in San Diego.’

‘It’s not about the girl; it’s about something else.’

‘What is it?’

Noll hesitated, then said, ‘It has to do with the shooting in front of his house.’

‘The shooting? But you guys solved that already. It was that guy from the projects, right?’

‘We have two suspects in custody who claim that Jake Thomas shot Marcus Fitts on Friday evening.’

‘What?’ Christina said. ‘That’s crazy.’

‘Were you with Jake that night?’

‘No, I was home.’

‘Did he tell you anything about the shooting?’

‘No, but—’

‘Which airport did he go to?’

‘LaGuardia, but—’

‘When did he leave?’

‘A few minutes ago, but—’

‘Airline?’

‘I don’t under—’

‘What airline?’

‘United, I think.’

Noll made a call, telling whoever was on the other end to pick up Jake Thomas at the United terminal at LaGuardia and to bring him back to Brooklyn.

When Noll hung up Christina said, ‘Look, I don’t get any of this. How could Jake’ve shot somebody? He doesn’t even have a gun.’

‘We recovered the probable murder weapon on Stillwell Place and we’re still running tests on it.’

‘So you have a gun. What does that have to do with Jake?’

‘We just have to question him.’

‘Why? I don’t understand.’

‘The suspects we have in custody, Kemar Nelson and Manny Rojas, are claiming that Saiquan Harrington, who was killed in a shoot-out with the police, told them that Jake shot and killed Marcus Fitts on Friday evening. Ordinarily we wouldn’t believe a couple of punks, one of whom shot and wounded an officer, but we have a credible witness, a judge, who puts Jake at the scene. Look, Jake may very well have had nothing to do with the shooting, but we just need to talk to him and get to the bottom of all this.’

Noll left, and Christina went upstairs, deciding that this had to be a big misunderstanding. She knew Jake, and she knew he wasn’t capable of murder. Statutory rape, yeah, but not murder. She took out her cell - noticing there were two missed calls from Ryan - and called Jake to warn him that the cops would be waiting for him at the airport. Jake’s phone rang, but he didn’t pick up, so she left a message.

Christina called in late for work and continued getting ready. As she put on her mascara, she realized that if Jake was even accused of murder and the story made it into the news, it would be a disaster. The thing with the girl was bad enough, but any involvement in a murder would be too much. People would assume he had to be guilty of something, and it would cost him millions.

The doorbell started ringing repeatedly, and she figured Noll had come back and was pressing the button again and again. Jeez, that guy was such an asshole.

Christina went down the stairs and marched toward the front door.