“My source said he got your number to the girl, and she called you,” I say.
“Yeah. She called.”
“So break it down for me.”
Playing both sides can get frustrating and even confusing. You have to have a script in your head, be quick with a comeback just in case. Even when I was a cop and Luna was my partner, I played him, hid the fact that I was using blow. Had to lie to him on more than one occasion. I was pretty good at it. Now that I think about it, I’m sure he did the same, but his passion was sex.
“Your snitch works fast, ’cause she call quick.”
“My source is one of the best. I swear you use the word ‘snitch’ one more time, unless we’re really talking about a snitch, I’m gonna kick your ass from this car.”
“I got ya.”
“So tell me how the conversation went.”
“She sound cute, but I played hard with her for a little bit, acted like, ‘Who the fuck are you to call me?’ Some shit like that. We settle on a quarter and a meet tomorrow at noon at the circle park.”
“How you gonna recognize her?”
“She say she gonna be carrying a pink purse and wearing a white puffer coat. I made up something about myself, too.”
I notebook everything he says like it’s for real.
“Okay. Calling it a day. A short workday ’cause we got what we need. I’ll pick you up at around ten thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll set up somewhere near the meet spot, see if she shows. What are your plans today?”
“I don’t know. Play some games on the box. You know. Whatever.”
“Keep your cell near just in case something comes up, all right?”
“A’right.”
I pay him for the day and give him a little extra because I had to lie.
Fifty-Five
Fatigue. Something to get used to. Again.
The alarm surprises me. I tap it off and sit up. Still tired. Good sipping rum will help that. All the sugars. I need all the help I can get. I’m meeting Leslie at Rebellion for drinks, maybe something to eat.
After I shower, I slip into my jeans and my favorite designer black V-neck. Trying to impress, I guess. What can I lose? She’s already lost.
I walk to Rebellion. It’s on 18th Street, near S, and a nice walk for a cold evening. Not so far that it’ll be unbearable, but far enough to get the blood flowing, so that rum will warm up the body after.
I smile before I walk up the stairs to enter. There’s no reason to smile, but I heard somewhere that smiling, even a fake smile, can shoot some mild adrenaline to the brain and, if you do it enough times, even reboot it. I know she’s not there yet because she’s always late, but I have to give it a try. And yeah, I sorta feel something. So I smile again.
Lucky for me, I spot a couple of stools at the end of the bar. It’s only five thirty, and people are beginning to fill the room.
I take off my coat, put it over the end stool, and sit. I pull the other stool close to me so I can save it for Leslie. I get my boy’s attention behind the bar. He finishes serving another customer and walks over.
We knock knuckles and he says, “Seeing more of you these days, Frank.”
“Yeah, you’re too close to my home, and that’s dangerous.”
Chuckles and says, “Bourbon or Zacapa?” ’Cause he knows me well. That’s dangerous, too.
“Double Zacapa. One cube.”
“Comin’ up.”
A young, college-aged girl walks up. She smiles. “This seat taken?”
“Yes. Sorry. She’s on her way.”
Slight smile this time, and she turns and walks to the other side of the bar. The person on the other side of the stool I’m saving is also a young college-type girl, but with another equally young man. If Leslie weren’t about to show, that stool would be more than available, maybe this older guy in his midforties, too.
The bartender sets my drink down. “Anything to eat with that?”
“Maybe when Leslie gets here.”
“Haven’t seen her for a while. That’s nice.”
“Yeah.” And I shoot him a fake smile, but don’t feel anything.
Leslie shows up at about 6:40, which is early for her. I’m impressed. Also impressed with the outfit I see she’s wearing after she takes off her overcoat—tight-fitting maroon corduroy pants and an unbuttoned, fleece-lined plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt.
Damn.
I pull out the stool for her.
“You look nice,” I say.
A soft smile is the answer I get.
She sets her purse between the stools, at her feet, carefully folds the overcoat and places it on top of the purse.
I’m almost finished with my drink, so I signal my guy behind the bar. It takes him a few seconds, but he walks up.
“Hey there, Les,” he says, and stretches his tattoo-ridden arm across the bar counter to offer his hand.
They shake.
“How’re you doing? It has been a while,” she says.
“Everything’s good. As you can see, things are busy here.”
“Happy to see that.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Moscow Mule.”
“You guys want a menu?”
“I’m good for now,” she says, and looks at me.
“I’m good, too. I’ll have another one of these, though.”
Leslie sets her cell phone on the counter.
“How’s the trial going?”
“I convinced my client to take a plea.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“Never good when you waste the court’s time with a trial you know you can’t win.”
“Sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry. I’ve been there before.”
Bartender returns with our drinks, serves hers in a copper cup, the way it should be served.
“Thanks,” she says.
He taps the counter with his knuckles and goes to the next customer.
I finish what remains of my first Zacapa, slide it over.
“I’m afraid to ask what news it is you have,” she says.
“I’m going to be honest. It’s not good.”
She sips her drink, looks up after like she doesn’t want to hear it.
“Al’s been having a sexual relationship with his CI,” I say.
“Oh shit.”
I notice the young woman sitting next to Leslie turn toward me.
“That’s why he doesn’t want IA to get to her,” I say a bit more discreetly.
“What the hell was he thinking?”
“He wasn’t.”
“Have you met with her?”
“Yes.” I sip some more.
“And?”
“And she confirmed they’re having a thing, but said it was her who initiated it, not him. Not that that matters.”
“It doesn’t.”
“If it means anything, she’s not going to tell Johnny at IA, if they get to her. She doesn’t want to jeopardize the extra income. Ching, ching, baby.”
“How noble of her. Does Al know you know?”
“Of course he does. It’s up to you whether you want to tell him you know.”
“If it gets out, I’ll deal with it. That’s enough to get him fired or, at the least, kicked out of NSID to work behind the counter at Court Liaison for the rest of his career. And that’s hoping he gets through the shooting.”
“Well, the good news is I can’t see how it has anything to do with the shooting. The CI said she only heard the shots, but by that time she was a couple of blocks away and didn’t know where they came from.”
“Dammit, Al.”
“Yeah.”
“Anything else you want to tell me?” Like she senses there’s more because she can still read me well.
“No.”
I don’t want to go there until I know more.
“I’m just following through with the decedent’s associates. Couple of thugs. It’s like I’m trying to reach f
or nothing, but I still gotta try.”
“I understand.”
I know what I want to reach for now, but I trash the thought.
Fifty-Six
Second drink in for Les. Fourth for me. Candied bacon on the side. One tasty-looking piece left.
“It’s yours if you want it,” I say.
“And I do.”
She picks it up between two fingers, nibbles it at the edge, then takes a nice bite. Her eyes roll up, savoring it. Something she does with food. Don’t think she realizes it. I can tell she’s more than buzzed. Never could hold her liquor, more of a wine person. I’m also feeling a bit more than buzzed. They pour well for me here.
Two businessmen have now taken the place of the young couple that were sitting beside Leslie. They’re nursing fine single malts and deep into some political conversation. The guy on the other side of the one sitting next to Leslie will occasionally peer over, looking at her, like he’s trying to catch her eye, but only gets mine. I think the last glare scared him off, but we’ll see. What makes him think I’m not with her? She might be my wife, for all he knows. Rude fucking bastard.
“Want to order something else to eat?” I say.
“No. The two orders of candied bacon did me in. Go ahead if you want to.”
“Naw. I’m good.”
This feels strained, not like it used to be with us, where we enjoyed each other’s company. I feel like she’s here only because she has to be, nothing having to do with me.
“I’m sorry about everything.” I don’t want to say it, but it comes out anyway.
She turns to me. “I’m sorry, too.”
Didn’t expect that.
“You didn’t do anything.”
“I know I didn’t, but I can still feel sorry for all that has happened.”
Damn, I want to hold her, smell her hair again. Perish the thought. I’ll only embarrass myself. Again.
She finishes her drink.
“Want another?”
“No. I should be going.”
“You sure?” Like I’m begging.
“I’m sure.”
She reaches for her coat and her purse underneath. Takes out her wallet.
“I got this,” I say.
“Okay. Thanks,” I’m surprised to hear her say.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I Ubered it.”
She looks at her cell, taps the Uber icon.
“In fact, there’s one two minutes away.”
“All right, then.”
She stands, puts on her coat. The rude bastard watches while she does.
“Keep me in the loop, Frankie.”
Frankie?
“I will.”
I stand, step to her and give her an awkward hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. She shoots me an uncomfortable smile, turns and walks out the door. I should walk her out, but she’d probably kick me back, so I return to my drink.
Fifty-Seven
I’m about the only one left in here. Even the suits are gone. I think I’ve had one too many. I know I’ve had one too many. I don’t want to be the last one out, so I pay my tab and leave.
Temperature has dropped a few more degrees. I put on my leather gloves and stagger toward home.
From 18th, I cut up Florida Ave. The Third District is on V, the next block down. By the time I cross 16th to W, I feel like I’m on autopilot. I walk on the Meridian Hill Park side. This cold air needs to do its job and start sobering me up, but not so much that I won’t be able to sleep when I get home. Should’ve cabbed it. Fingertips are starting to tingle. These gloves aren’t lined. More like driving gloves.
When I get close to the end of the park at 15th Street, I notice a couple of younger-looking kids taking the steps out of the park onto the corner. Looks like they’re about to cross to the other side, possibly make their way south on 15th, but then they see me.
I get close enough so that I can make out their faces. Couple of fucking juvies. And they’re not waiting at the corner for a cab or because traffic is so heavy they can’t cross. I know the fucking look. I could cross the street, but that would only postpone the inevitable. They’d follow. I decide to stand my ground like I learned when I was a rookie cop, even as a kid growing up in DC. You don’t give up your ground. I feel for my weapon’s grip. It’s secured in an in-the-pants holster and placed near where my wallet would be. I’ll keep my hand there until I’m sure they don’t have a gun or any other kind of weapon. They might just try to strongarm me, which I’m pretty sure would be a mistake on their part.
They break apart, like they’re going to let me cross between them. I take my hand off the grip of my gun in case there’s going to be a fight. Last thing I want is the gun falling out of the holster. It has a retention grip, so it’s better that my hand is not gripping it unless I’m fighting for my life. I move to walk along the curb, but they move in the same direction. They’re not crackheads. Look like a couple of corner mopes who want to make some extra cash for a new pair of shoes or some shit like that.
They don’t have to ask. I know what time it is. I keep an eye on their hands as I try to pass between them.
The fatter of the two blocks my path, while the thinner moves behind me. I feel something sharp poke my left side, but I think/hope it didn’t penetrate my skin. I’m so drunk I might be impervious to pain and not realize.
“You know what this here is, right?” Railboy asks.
Damn, he can’t be more than fifteen years old.
I’m worried he might try to search for my wallet himself, feel my gun instead, so I turn so my left side is toward him. Bigboy moves to my front. He looks a few years older. I see the knife Railboy is holding with his right hand. It looks like an old-style switchblade. It’d cause some damage.
“I can see now what it is,” I say, but try not to sound too calm.
Bigboy moves to my right side, grabs my arm to escort me. I don’t fight him off because the knife is too close to my rib area.
“Let me give you my wallet. No need for all this.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Railboy says.
We begin to walk up the short flight of stone steps at the edge of the park where the shrubs make better concealment. This ain’t good, but again, the knife is too close for me to try to break away. One quick thrust and that could be it. Stupid position I got myself into.
“Okay, now, I have a wallet with some cash and credit cards.”
“Get up them stairs,” Bigboy orders.
At this point, that’s probably the best thing I can do, get up there and get a bit of distance between us. Not ideal, but even a foot or so away from me is better than this. Fucking gotta be kidding me, letting myself get caught up in this.
They lead me up the steps and then toward the bushes.
I turn so Railboy’s knife is at my stomach now, and Bigboy is to my left. I step back. Railboy thrusts the knife toward me, but not in an attempt to stab, just scare. I stop.
“Don’t be a fool, big man. Jus’ give us what you got, and it better be fucking good,” Railboy says.
“No problem. I’ll even give you the PIN numbers for the cards I have. Just don’t hurt me.”
“C’mon, now,” Bigboy says. “Give it up.”
I can still get stabbed at this distance if he gets an eyeball on my gun, unless he freezes for a second. That’s not a chance I wanna take. I pull out my wallet and hold it up so they can see. Bigboy stretches his hand out to take it from me, but I throw it at Railboy’s feet and at the same time back up a couple more steps and draw my gun. It takes them by surprise, Bigboy looking at the wallet on the ground and Railboy at the Glock pointed at his head. I’m about two feet from both of them, so I keep it at a tuck position so they won’t try to slap it out of my hand.
“You know what this here is, right?” I say.
Bigboy finally realizes. He steps back.
“Make one fucking move and that’ll be the end of both of you. Tryin’ to run will just g
et you shot. Drop the fucking knife at your feet.”
Railboy hesitates. I put my finger on the trigger so he can see.
“They say you can get me at nineteen feet, but that’s if my weapon is holstered. I’ll drop your ass before the first step, and then I’m gonna shoot Bigboy’s kneecaps out. Drop the knife. Now.”
He drops it, almost like it’s involuntary.
I was right. It’s an old switchblade, black handle, shiny long blade. The tip of the knife hits the stone walkway, next to his toe, takes a little bounce and falls to its side.
“Slowly kick the knife toward me.”
“What you gonna do?”
“Cap your ass unless you do what I say. Gently kick it over.”
He does. The knife stops just to the side of my right foot.
“Get on your knees,” I demand.
“C’mon, now,” Bigboy says.
“You keep saying that,” I say while taking a couple more steps back.
I grip my gun with both hands now, more directly at Railboy’s head.
“Do it.”
They are reluctant, but they obey.
I notice my wallet on the ground between the two of them. It opened, but not so my badge can be seen, just the credit cards.
“Hands on your heads and clasp your fingers.”
“You a cop, ain’t ya?” Railboy says.
I don’t answer.
I kneel, pick up the knife with my left hand, and walk around Railboy, to his right, so I don’t go between them.
“What ya gonna do, sir?” Railboy says.
“Sir?”
“Yes, sir. We weren’t gonna use that knife. Just scare you is all,” Railboy says.
“Well, you managed to scare me, but just a bit.”
I get behind Bigboy, still holding the knife in my left hand. I put the gun to his head, pat him down and search his pockets, find a baggie of weed and drop it on the ground to my side.
“C’mo—” He stops himself.
“Just let us go. You ain’t gonna see us around here again,” Railboy says with a quiver in his voice.
“Make a move and your boy here gets most of his head blown. Brains look like little marbles on the ground when that happens.”
I stand and grab Railboy by the fingers of his clasped hands and squeeze hard.
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