Sacrifice Fly (4 page)

I took my hero and began the five-minute walk down to my apartment. The Avenue was
packed: people shopping for dinner, some for clothes, and others running into the
local hangouts for a quick drink before going home.

Shit. It was Tuesday. I’d promised Mikey I’d take his shift tonight. I looked at my
watch. Seven thirty. I went over to the car service around the block and lucked into
a driver just getting on duty. Two minutes and five dollars later, he dropped me off
at The LineUp.

Chapter 4

EMO THE MOLE’S REAL NAME
was
Edgar Martinez O’Brien, and Edgar was as proud of his Puerto Rican–Irish heritage
as he was of the job that had earned him his nickname. I poured him a pint of Bass
and placed it next to his can of tomato juice as he fiddled with his cell phone.

“Thank you, sir,” he said and raised his glass to toast. “Five, seven, four.” Which,
to those of us in the know, meant that Edgar had five years, seven months, and four
days until he could collect his pension from the New York City Transit Authority.
Edgar did communications work for the subway system. “Nice surprise seeing you here
on a Tuesday, Raymond.”

“Helping out Mikey,” I said. “He’s got a big date.”

“Oh, yeah?” Edgar said. “With which hand?”

He looked around to see who was laughing. No one. Kevin and Petey—two ex-cops who’d
put their papers in on the exact same day over four years ago—just gave him blank
stares and went back to watching the weather on the silent TV above the bar.

Edgar cleared his throat and lifted his cell phone. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Not in the mood right now, Edgar.”

“Watch.” He ignored my response. “I mean, listen.”

He motioned with his head to where Nicky G was on the pay phone, leaning against the
wall, the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, and the racing form folded under
his arm. Edgar pressed a few buttons on his cell and then held it out to me.

“Get a load of this.”

“Edgar, I’m busy. Just—”

He pushed the phone at me. “Just listen. Geez.”

I took the phone to shut him up and put it to my ear.

“Honey,” a raspy voice said. “I sweartagod, I just got here. I’m gonna grab a quick
burger with the boys—maybe watch a few innings—and come right on home.”

Nicky G lying to his wife. And I was listening to it on Edgar’s cell phone.

I handed the phone back to Edgar. “Nice trick,” I said.

“Trick?” He grabbed the phone. “Took me half an hour to set that up. Had to get special
wiring, a miniature—”

“It’s also illegal, Edgar.”

“Illegal, shmillegal. I’m just having some fun.”

“Don’t let any of the guys around here in on your fun. Or Mrs. Mac. They might take
your fun away from you.”

Edgar folded up his cell phone and stuck it in his pocket. He took a sip of Bass and
replaced it with a little tomato juice.

“Whatsa matter, Ray?” he asked. “Bad day with the kiddies?”

“School was fine. Leave it alone, Edgar.”

I reached under the bar, pulled out the
Daily News
and handed it to Edgar, knowing the sports section had a better chance of shutting
him up than I did. As he flipped to the back pages, I went down to the other end of
the bar to tend to the two twenty-something ladies who were finishing up their light
beers.

“Two more?”

“Please,” said the one on the right. “Do you know if those two officers from last
Tuesday night will be coming in tonight, Ray?”

Last Tuesday? It took me the same amount of time to get their beers as it did for
me to remember last Tuesday night.

“Mullins and Glass?” I said. “I don’t know. They may be with their girlfriends.”

“They got girlfriends?” the one on the left said.

“That didn’t come up in conversation?”

“No,” the one on the right said. “It did not.”

“Must have slipped their minds.” I looked over my shoulder. “You want me to see if
Edgar’s available?”

“Emo?” they both whispered. “When we want a date with a cop wannabe, we’ll let you
know,” the one on the left said and then slammed the bills in front of her. “Could
you give us some quarters for the pool table, Ray? I feel like slapping some balls
around.”

I did as they asked and got a couple more for Petey and Kevin. Nicky G—now finished
lying to his wife—was also finished with his burger. I put another vodka tonic in
front of him. Back at the other end, Edgar was tapping the newspaper.

“You see the San Diego game last night?” he asked.

“I don’t have satellite.”

“Gotta get that package, Ray. Great investment. You should talk to Mrs. McVernon about
putting one in here. I could even install it if she wants. Be great for business.”
He tapped the page again. “Guy pitched a complete game shutout. Eighty-four pitches.”

“Eighty-four pitches?” I said.

“Yep. Bee-you-tee-full.” He closed his eyes. “That’s … nine point three pitches per
inning. Talk about getting the job done.”

“How’d the other guy do?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“The other pitcher. How’d he do?”

Edgar moved his finger along the bottom of the box score and said, “Heh. Pitched a
three hitter, struck out six. Walked none. Tough loss.”

I nodded. A good pitcher will do that. Your opposite number’s up there on the mound
throwing bullets, you’d better come out with your A game.

“Hey, that reminds me,” Edgar said. “Mets’re on. You mind?”

I grabbed the remote from under the bar and switched the TV to the Mets game.

“I’m keeping the sound off, though.”

“No problem, Ray,” Edgar said. “It’s only the Mets. Geez, what is the matter with
you tonight? You sure you didn’t have a bad day at work?”

“My day was fine, Edgar.”

“Bull dinkey. C’mon. You can tell me.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You’re
the only one around here tells me anything.”

I looked into Edgar’s desperate eyes and felt like going back to the other end of
the bar. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “I was over on South Third and Driggs
today, looking for one of my students.”

“Isn’t that the block where the cops found a DB this afternoon?”

“How did you…?” Edgar had a police scanner. Also illegal. “I called it in.”

“You? Called in a DB?”

“The DB…” I said, “… the dead body was my kid’s father.”

“Shit,” he said. “They know who did it?”

“Not unless I missed something in the last couple of hours.”

“You find the kid?”

“No.”

“Think he did it?”

“See, Edgar,” I took the remote and put it back under the bar, “that’s why no one
around here tells you shit. You run your mouth too goddamned much.”

He raised his hands, put a sad look on his face, and said, “Sorry.”

The sound of beer bottles hitting the bar came from behind me. One of the ball-slapping
ladies was holding up two fingers. When I walked the two beers over to her, she said,
“And two shots of Jack.”

I poured them and told her the round was on me.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“To apologize for men everywhere.”

She looked at the two shot glasses and smiled. “It’s a start.”

I went back to work. Busy work: moving the bar rag around, washing out pint glasses,
and cutting up lemons and limes. All the while, keeping one eye on the floor behind
the bar. One overlooked spill or piece of ice and I could find myself on my knees
and calling it an early night. I looked over at the ball game and then at Edgar, who
was giving me the wounded-puppy look.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” he said. “You know I get excited about this stuff. I don’t know
the kid, I just—”

“Okay, Edgar. Relax. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. It’s been a long day.”

“No, no. I should be apologizing to you. I mean, it’s your student out there, missing.”
He looked up at the game, and with his eyes still on the TV, he said, “What’re you
gonna do now?”

“About what?”

“About the missing kid. His old man getting killed.”

“Edgar, you miss out on the last five years of my life? I’m not a cop anymore.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what? You think this is—” Just over Edgar’s shoulder, the front door opened and
Mrs. McVernon walked in. What was she doing back here? I came in over an hour ago
and she went home. She gave me a small smile and gestured with her finger for me to
join her at the other end of the bar. Maybe she came in to save me from Edgar.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“I need a favor,” she said, fingering the small gold replica of her dead husband’s
badge that hung from a chain around her neck. She did that whenever she wanted to
remind her audience of her husband. “It’s a big one, I’m afraid. So you feel free
to just say no.”

“Okay.”

“I just got a phone call from Billy,” she said.

It took me a second. “Morris?”

“Yes.”

“And…?”

“You know he has his yearly barbecue with the boys?”

My old partner’s “Q” was the social event of the spring for about fifty or sixty cops
each year. I’d missed the last couple.

“Yeah,” I said, not wanting to talk about it. “What about it?”

“Well … it’s this Saturday … and he’s having work done on his house that’s lasting
longer than the contractors said.”

I nodded. I looked down the other end of the bar, hoping a thirsty customer would
give me a way out of this conversation. No luck.

“So,” Mrs. Mac continued, “he wants to have the Q here.”

“Here?” Christ. “What’d you tell him?”

“That I would get back to him after I worked out the details.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Mac. You’d need to clear out the outside area for the grills,”
I said.

“The Freddies will do that,” she said, referring to the twin Dominican brothers who
worked the kitchen for her and whose parents showed little imagination when it came
to naming their baby boys. “Billy said he’d have all the food delivered here and I
can order enough beer to handle the extra business.”

“Sounds like a good deal, Mrs. Mac.”

“Yes,” she said, again playing with the miniature badge.

“But…?”

“I want … I need … you to work it for me.”

“I don’t work on Saturday,” I said, a bit too harsh.

“That’s why I’m asking for a favor, Raymond.”

“Mikey’ll be here. You won’t need me.” And I don’t need this.

“That’s not true, Raymond,” she said. “You know those boys. You can handle them. Make
sure things don’t get too … rowdy.”

Right.

“Mrs. Mac,” I said. “I haven’t seen Billy—or ‘the boys’—in a long time.”

“He said five years.”

“You had a long talk with Billy, Mrs. Mac.”

“I’m sorry to ask, Raymond, but it would mean a lot of money for the bar, and I love
those boys dearly, and my Henry would roll over in his grave if he knew I missed an
opportunity to help Billy out.”

This woman could give lessons in guilt. Her Henry graduated from the police academy
with my uncle about a hundred years ago. As Uncle Ray worked his way up the ladder,
Henry McVernon stayed on the streets, eventually making detective. A couple of years
back—not long after he’d bought The LineUp—it caught up with him in the form of a
massive heart attack. Just like my father. I wasn’t the only ex-cop who picked up
a weekly shift at the place to help his widow keep it going. No wages, just tips.
And now a favor. A big one.

“You don’t think Mikey can handle it?” Why should she? I didn’t.

“He’s coming in early, but no, not by himself. I need you.”

“I appreciate your confidence, Mrs. Mac, but I don’t think I’d be too comfortable
around all those guys.”

“Like I said, Raymond. Feel free to say no.”

I thought I just did
.

“Mikey’ll work the bar?”

“With a little help from you. I hope.”

“And Gloria’s going to be here?”

“She’s bringing her sister. The Freddies will do the cooking.”

It sounded to me as if Mrs. Mac had already said yes to Billy.

“You told Billy that you’d be asking me to work it?”

“He couldn’t have been happier,” she said. “In fact, he says it will help ‘dispel
the idea’ he’s had that you’ve been avoiding him.”

“I haven’t been avoiding anybody, Mrs. Mac.”

“You have nothing to explain to me, Raymond. I’m just passing on what Billy said.”

After a few seconds, and against my better judgment, I heard myself say, “Then how
could I possibly say no?”

“You’ll do it?”

“I’ll work the first couple of hours.”

“And we’ll see what happens.”

“Yeah.”

She came around the side of the bar and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you, Raymond.
And if my Henry were still alive, he’d thank you, too.” She took me by the hands and
stepped back. “What’s that smile for?”

“Your Henry should have taken you into the interrogation room with him. Suspects wouldn’t
have stood a chance.”

“Don’t think the idea didn’t cross his mind, young man.” She squeezed my hands. “Thank
you, Raymond. And remember, it’s a school night. Last call is at eleven thirty.”

“Go home, Mrs. Mac.”

“Yes,” she said. “This time to stay.”

As she passed behind Edgar, he put his hand in the air. Mrs. Mac grabbed it, gave
it a kiss, and said, “Good night, Emo.”

“What was that about?” Edgar asked as the door shut behind Mrs. Mac.

“Billy Morris is having a party here this weekend.”

“The Q?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The Q. And don’t get any—”

“Oh, come on, Raymond,” he pleaded. “I will sit here at my end of the bar and keep
my mouth shut. I promise.”

“Edgar…” Asking Edgar to keep his mouth shut in a room full of cops was like asking
a cat to pay no attention to the canaries at the window. “You ask one unsolicited
question or bother anyone with one of your
tricks,
I’ll throw you out myself. You understand?”

“Jeez, Raymond. I’m not a kid, you know.”

“Tell me you understand, Edgar.”