Sacrifice Fly (15 page)

“Then why get involved with my uncle? You had to know where this was going.”

“And be known as the
black
cop who said no to Chief Donne?” He smiled. “You’re a teacher, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna be a principal?”

“No. I like the kids too much and have all the paperwork I can handle now.”

“Then you feel me. I’m not saying I don’t want what your uncle’s offering, just don’t
want it so quick, is all.”

“See?” my uncle’s voice boomed as he approached. “I knew you two’d find something
to talk about.”

“Comparing notes on you,” I said.

“My favorite topic,” he said. “I’ll call Royce for you, Raymond. You came up with
a valuable piece of info he’s gonna want to know about, and you’re right. It’ll save
a lot of time if it comes from me. But I will tell him how you got it.”

“I can live with that.”

“You’ll have to.”

“Thanks, Uncle Ray,” I said and went over to shake his hand. He just looked at it
and said, “Yeah, right,” and pulled me into a hug. A sweaty one.

“I’ll see you at the memorial service,” he said. “You driving in with Rachel or staying
at your mom’s?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, not willing to tell him I wasn’t planning on attending.

“Well, either way, we’ll see you there. And Reeny wants to have you both over for
dinner. She’ll cook up a special meal for the lot of us.”

“That’s supposed to entice me?” I asked.

“Hey.” He gave me a playful slap on the shoulder. “She’s been taking lessons. That’s
the great thing about second wives, Jackson. By definition, they know they can be
replaced and are always looking for ways to improve.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Jackson said.

“See, Raymond? I teach more than good policing. I teach life.”

My uncle’s life lessons were often accompanied by the smell of Jack Daniels. “Whiskey
and Wisdom” my mother called it.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Be well, Nephew. Don’t let those kids get the best of you.”

“Good luck,” I said to Jackson, shaking his hand again.

“Thanks.”

“Okay,” Uncle Ray said. “Enough talk. Time to get serious here.”

“Yes, sir.”

I left them there—teacher and pupil—and found myself wondering what Royce would do
with the evidence my uncle was bringing him. And where were Frankie and Milagros?

*   *   *

A lot can happen in twelve hours, so as I was driving back to Brooklyn over the Williamsburg
Bridge, I decided to swing by the Clemente Houses again. For all I knew, Frankie and
Milagros were safe and sound, the police had their father’s killer in custody, and
my Uncle Ray would never have to give the hundred-dollar bill to Detective Royce.
A lot can happen in twelve hours.

I circled the block a few times before finding a place to park. I got out of the car
and walked toward Frankie’s building. A small group of girls was hanging out on the
concrete barrier that surrounded the small bushes. Another group—boys, about six of
them—was taking turns playing daredevil, going down the steps that led to the sidewalk
on their skateboards and bikes. In the waning light of the day, I could make out a
figure walking in my direction. I remembered the outfit before I recognized the person
wearing it.

“Mr. Donne,” Elsa said. “Raymond.”

“You working a late shift?” I asked, realizing too late the obvious answer.

“They just called,” Elsa explained. “The hostess had to go home. An emergency with
one of her kids, so…”

“Any word on Frankie and Milagros?”

“No. I was at Mrs. Santos’s when I got the call. She has not heard anything new since
you were here yesterday.”

“And she never called the police about the break-in?”

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Then she said, apologetically, “I have to go.”

“Can I at least give you a ride?”

She looked at her watch. “Thank you, but it would be quicker to take the train … because
of the traffic on the bridge.”

“Right,” I said. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“That would be nice.”

She gave me her hand. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked.

The question took us both by surprise. “I have finals next week,” she said. “And a
lot of studying and reading to get done this weekend.”

“Finals?”

“I’m taking some psych courses at Baruch,” she said.

“I have to work a cop party tomorrow anyway. At The LineUp?”

“Work?”

I explained the situation and how I had allowed myself to be coerced into helping
out Mrs. McVernon. She smiled and let go of my hand.

“Good night, Raymond.”

“Yeah.”

She headed off in the direction of the subway, but before she got twenty feet away,
she turned back. I was just about to unlock the driver’s side door.

“I guess I have to eat sometime,” she said.

I smiled. “You know The LineUp?” I asked.

“I know where it is, yes,” she said.

“Meet me outside about six?”

“That would be nice.”

“Good. I’ll see you there.”

“Good night.”

“You, too,” I said and watched her walk away.

Before heading to Queens, I drove over to the river and watched the sun set behind
Manhattan. I sat there in the car, thinking about fathers, sons, and missing kids.
I rolled down all the windows; a cool breeze was coming off the river. It almost felt
like it was ready to rain.

Chapter 12

“THERE’S A LOT OF ROOM BACK
here, Mrs. Mac.”

We were standing in the rectangular area outside the back door of the bar. My best
guess put it at about fifteen feet by forty, a bit smaller than my last apartment.

“We used to use it all the time,” Mrs. McVernon said. “Years ago. We had four or five
tables back here. Then we started getting complaints from the neighbors.” She pointed
up at the windows above us. “So, we started using it for storage. Yesterday, the Freddies
cleared out everything. Threw it in the garbage or stored it downstairs. I don’t know
why I hold on to things. They cut back the bushes and weeds, too. It was a mess. Now…”

“It looks great,” I said. “Billy’s food come yet?”

“This morning. And he sent over those two grills.”

I looked at the “grills”—two halves of an old oil drum that had been turned over,
filled with coals, and propped up on metal braces. Billy. Real “down-home” cooking,
Brooklyn–style.

Mrs. Mac put her hand on my head, pulled it down, and gave me a kiss on the temple.
“This means a lot to me, Raymond. Thank you.”

“Thank me when it’s over,” I said. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Half past noon, the first guests were arriving and gathering around the pool table.
The Freddies had placed a huge piece of plywood over the table and covered it with
a red, white, and blue cloth. This is where the plates, cups, and assorted munchies
were laid out. The cooking would be done outside, the eating inside at the booths
or the bar. Mikey and I were behind the bar, and Gloria started taking orders for
drinks. Mikey would do anything that required mixing. I’d work the taps and bottles.

I was handing a tall, shaven-headed guy two Buds. “You don’t remember me, do ya?”
he asked. I studied his face for a few seconds and was about to apologize when he
said, “I used to have hair.” He ran his hand over his scalp, scratched the hair on
his chin, and smiled.

“Neal O’Connor,” I said. “What’s with the lid?”

“I was losing it anyway, so I figured I’d give Mother Nature a hand. So this is what
you’re doing now, huh?”

“Part-time,” I said. “I’m a schoolteacher now.”

“The fuck you are. Really. Whatcha doing with yourself?”

“I’m really teaching now, Neal. Not too far from the precinct.”

“Shit.”

“You still working out of the old house?”

“No,” he said. “Got transferred over to the other side of Brooklyn. Sheepshead Freakin’
Bay. The ’burbs. Guess I spoke English too good to stay in the ’Burg, y’know?”

“Right,” I said. “I heard they’re making a lot of changes over there.”

“For the worse, man. They want it, let ’em have it.” He grabbed his two beers without
having to explain who “they” were. “See ya next round, Ray.”

“You bet.”

A group of six—four men and two women—got my attention from the opposite side of the
bar. The guys all wanted Buds; the women, vodka cranberries. Mikey was busy down at
the other end wrestling with the blender, so I put the mixed drinks together. One
of the guys tried to hand me some money. I waved him off.

“Billy says the first five hours are on him,” I explained. “If you’re still standing
after that, I’ll be glad to take your money.”

“Thanks, man,” the guy said and tossed a five on the bar.

“Thank you.” I pocketed the bill. A few more guests like that, and I’d have dinner
with Elsa paid for.

“Ramón!”

I turned and looked into the face of Victor Rodriguez. Victor had grown up on the
streets of Williamsburg and started at the precinct a year before me. He showed me
the ropes, taught me the difference between
mofongo
and
mondongo,
and clued me in to which bodegas had stashes of Cuban cigars in the back. He leaned
over the bar and pulled me into a head hug.

“¿Como estás, Ramón?”

“I’m good, Victor.”

“Bueno.”
He turned to the woman next to him. “This is my fiancée. Alice. Alice, this is Ray.
From the house.”

Alice was tanned, skinny, and in her mid-twenties. She was wearing cut-off denim jeans
and a red shirt tied so that you could see her flat midsection. Alice looked like
she’d just walked off a farm in Iowa.

“Nice to meet you, Alice,” I said. “How’d you get stuck with this guy?”

“We met at Coney Island,” she said, grabbing Victor by the elbow. As much as her appearance
said Midwest, her voice said Brooklyn, born and bred. “He chased away some lowlifes
who were bothering me.”

“You should have seen what she was wearing, Ray,” Victor said, shaking his hand as
if he’d just touched a hot stove. “A priest would have bothered her.”

“Be good,” Alice said, giving Victor a playful slap to his upper arm. “Nice to meet
you, Ray. What precinct are you at now?”

I told her I was a teacher now, and Victor added, “Ray got hurt on the job. He mistook
a fire escape for a diving board and—”

“That’s too bad.”

“Life’s like that sometimes,” I said. And then to Victor, “You’re not still at the
house?”

“No, transferred to Coney Island. Made detective. Told you my last name would come
in handy one day.”

“You did.” I considered telling him about my visit to Royce the other day, but decided
against it. “What can I get you two?”

“Bud and a vodka cranberry.”

After putting their drinks up, Victor handed me a ten. I explained the first-five-hours
rule, and Victor put a couple of singles up on the bar. I slid them back.

“Not from you, Vic.”

“All right,
maestro
. I’m going to walk my Alice around these
cabrones,
and then you and me are having a drink. And I won’t take no for that.”

“Wouldn’t think of it. Have fun. Alice.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes opening bottles and pouring pints. When I finally
had a chance to look up, the place was packed, and Edgar was sitting at the end of
the bar under the TV set. He was wearing a dark blue T-shirt with a matching baseball
cap and had the look of a kid on the first day of a carnival. I poured him a Bass
and placed a can of tomato juice next to it.

“Your best behavior, Edgar.”

He raised his right hand like a boy scout and said, “Promise.” He reached into his
pocket and pulled out an index card. “Hey, I gotta show you something.”

“Later. I’m working here.”

“This is important.” He waved the card. “Yesterday—”

“Later,” I repeated and walked down to the other end of the bar. Mrs. Mac was over
at the food table straightening up. She glanced over at me, smiled, and gave me a
thumbs-up. If I had any lingering doubts about helping her with the party, they were
erased. Taking care of cops was what Mrs. Mac did best.

A roar and a round of applause turned all of our heads toward the front door where
Billy Morris was making his entrance. The triumphant host—his loyal wife, Susie, by
his side—raised his hands in victory as he was patted on the back and high-fived.
He made a big deal out of checking his watch and yelled, “Y’all got four hours left
before you’re buying your own. So stop cheering and start drinking, ’cause at five
o’clock, I stop buying, ya cheap coppers!”

Another cheer went up, and Billy accepted a bottle of Bud someone thrust into his
hand. He took a big sip and looked over at the bar. When our eyes met, he pointed
at me. I stepped out from behind the bar where Billy took me into a bear hug and then
quickly backed off.

“I’m not hurtin’ ya, am I, son?”

“I’m okay, Billy,” I answered. “Just keep me off my knees.”

“Your knees,” he said, “are the last place I’d wanna see
you
.” He held me out by the shoulders and grinned. “Boy, you don’t look so bad. Could
afford to drop a few, but … Where ya been hiding yourself?”

“I’ve been busy, Bill. School, rehab…”

“Bullshit,” he said. “Rehab. Muscles said he ain’t seen you since you were released
from the hospital. You seeing another physical therapist?”

Billy Morris knows everything. “I’ve been busy,” I repeated.

He had a look in his eyes that told me he was thinking about pushing the issue, but
settled for “Whatever.” He turned to his wife. “You remember Susie?”

“Absolutely.” We kissed hello. “How are you, Susie?”

“Good,” she said, although her tone said something else. “The work on the house is
taking longer—and costing more—than we had hoped. But somebody”—she looked at her
husband—“keeps making the job bigger.”

“And
somebody
wanted a hot tub. I tell ya, son,” Billy said, “I ever have six months to live, I
wanna hear it from a contractor. Anyway, we are here now, and we are ready to party.
How long you gonna be behind the stick?”