The Outsider

“Your sister is funny,” Lauren said.

  “I’m not sure I agree with that, but she is sweet.”

  “Is she raising Emilio on her own?”

  “Yeah, though my parents help a lot.”

  “It’s great your family is so close.”

  Gray nodded. “How about your family? You close?”

  “Both my parents passed away.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. They got a really late start to having kids. They were already retired when they adopted me.” Lauren walked quietly for a long moment, then changed the subject. “Thanks again for inviting me. This was really fun.”

  “I’m glad you could come. I’m so proud of Sam. You don’t know how hard she’s worked to—” Gray stopped midsentence, when a car raced around the corner and stopped abruptly at the curb. The Chevy from earlier, the one that had gone after Arturo.

  “Let’s go,” Gray said, taking Lauren’s hand. He tried to sound calm, but he could hear his heartbeat and blood whirling in his ears.

  The man stepped out of the car and under a cone of lamplight. He stared at Gray for a long moment. There was something familiar about him. Then Gray saw the tattoo on his neck. In gothic script, the word RAZOR. He knew the name. Ramon “Razor” Ortiz. Arturo was in a blood feud with the Ortiz clan. Razor thought Arturo had killed Razor’s older brother. It hadn’t been the FBI in the cars chasing Arturo, it was Ortiz’s crew. Three other men got out of the car. Gray stepped in front of Lauren.

  “We follow Alvarez and looky who we found.” The man flashed a grin to the others, then turned back to Gray. “What’s the rush, Hernandez?” Razor remembered Gray too. Gray supposed that he would. He’d been only two years behind Gray in school.

  “We’re leaving.” Gray’s voice was composed, though he felt the sweat beads on his forehead. He whispered to himself. No fear.

  A bottle smashed near them. Lauren wriggled her hand free. She seemed to be reaching in her coat pocket for something. Gray and Razor had a brief stare down. Razor then smirked. Surprisingly, he gestured to sidewalk ahead of them. “You can go.”

  Gray didn’t like the sinister grin, but he didn’t stop to question the offer to leave. He lightly clutched Lauren’s arm and began to lead her away.

  But then Razor made an eh-eh sound in his throat. “You can go,” he said, “but she stays.” He licked his lips, which raised the hairs on the back of Gray’s neck.

  Gray deliberated. There were four of them—not good odds. But he wouldn’t be leaving Lauren. He stood his ground, and Razor got in his face. Gray’s heart was hammering now.

  That’s when he heard the roar of the motorcycle and Razor Ortiz flew like a rag doll, landing ten feet away. The man on the bike whipped around. He held the throttle with one hand, a long two-by-four in the other. An urban knight.

  Gray yelled at Lauren to run. One of Ortiz’s crew rushed up to Gray. The guy got into some half-assed karate stance, but went down with only two jabs to the face. The biker’s lance then knocked another man off his feet.

  Gray felt a body blow, knocking him to the ground. A heavyset guy was on top of Gray now, wheezing, sweat dripping from his fat face. But then the man screamed and put his hands to his eyes. Lauren stood there still spraying his face with pepper spray. Gray pushed the man off of him and jumped to his feet. Gray’s eyes started to water, the mist of the spray lingering in the air.

  The biker pulled up next to Gray and flipped up the visor on his helmet. “You kidding me? How many times this gonna happen to you?”

  “I—”

  Arturo looked at the four men who were still on the ground. “You best get out of here. Go!”

  Gray and Lauren sprinted back to the safety of the gallery. They heard Arturo’s bike in the distance.

  “Who was that?” Lauren said, her breath in rasps. “You know those guys? Why are they after you?”

  “Not me,” Gray said.

  “Then who?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Gray and Lauren took a cab to an all-night diner downtown and he told her the story. About how he, Sam, and Arturo grew up in the same apartment building. Sam, raised by a single mother who struggled with alcohol. Arturo, by a drug-dealing bully of a father and beaten-down mother. About how the three in eighth grade had been arrested for joyriding in a stolen car. Arturo had boosted the vehicle and supplied the six-pack of beer. Gray’s dad hired a lawyer for them all, and the guy got them into a diversion program. Gray never forgot that lawyer. He was the first adult to not talk down to him. He wasn’t a big guy, a skinny Jewish fellow with a beard, but he seemed like the most powerful man in the world when he got them off with a slap on the wrist. A summer of outpatient group therapy for youth in distress. The counselor made them all read S. E. Hinton’s The Outsiders. Gray wasn’t sure why back then. One of the only times he’d ever seen Arturo close to tears was the day the counselor asked each of them to name the character they most identified with. Arturo refused to participate. But Gray knew that Arturo saw himself in Johnny Cade, the greaser who was neglected and abused by his parents. And he knew that Arturo wanted to be strong and cool, like the character Dallas Winston.

  “Dally had it figured out,” Arturo said.

  “Figured out? I guess you didn’t read to the end of the book?”

  “I read it,” Arturo said. “His problem was that he went soft about Johnny.”

  “I don’t think that’s what the author meant to—”

  “You gotta stay hard or the world’ll fuck you up,” Arturo insisted. “And, besides, that hot girl in the book liked Dally the best; girls like the bad boys.”

  That last part was fair enough.

  After more coffee, Gray and Lauren walked the tree-lined path along the reflecting pool that led to the Lincoln Memorial. Lauren hadn’t said much, just listened as he reminisced. She was a good listener. He’d noticed this about her at the court. She could assess a person, a room, a situation, and acclimate perfectly. A byproduct of a proper upbringing, elite private schools, he presumed.

  “That summer Arturo’s dad went after his mom. Arturo grabbed a baseball bat. It resulted in a fractured skull for the old man, and a trip to juvie for Arturo.”

  “Oh my God,” Lauren said.

  “By the time we were seniors in high school, Arturo was already the school and neighborhood’s main drug dealer, and was working his way up the organization. It’s funny, though, even when we went our separate ways my senior year, he always looked out for me and Sam. I’d come home from the library and he’d be hanging with his crew outside the complex, and he’d call out to me, ‘What’s up, Ponyboy?’”

  “He called you ‘Ponyboy,’ like Ponyboy Curtis?” Lauren asked.

  Gray nodded.

  “But you two don’t talk anymore?”

  “No.”

  Lauren seemed to know not to ask more. They stood at the top of the steps of the Lincoln Memorial looking out at the reflecting pool, Washington Monument, and Capitol dome cascading in the distance.

  “Arturo’s just a criminal now,” Gray said.

  “A criminal who saved us,” Lauren observed.

  “Not the first time,” Gray said.

  CHAPTER 25

  Gray stuffed the thick SAT prep books into his backpack, his last night class before the big test. It wasn’t one of those fancy courses, Princeton Review or PrepMatters, that cost more than his family made in a month. It was a free class, put on once a week by a college student who was earning credit toward her social work degree.

  Jane had the look and idealism you’d expect from a young woman who’d teach such a class. She had a plain face—she was plain in most respects—with her practical shoes and frayed college sweatshirt. She was walking proof of what Gray’s mom always said about inner beauty shining through. Gray had a crush on her, if he was honest about it.

  Jane was at the door saying good-bye to the Rojas sisters
, two of the only five students who’d taken the course. Gray purposefully hung back.

  “So, you think you’re ready for the test?” Jane said, as she packed up her things.

  “Thanks to you, yes.”

  “You’re gonna do great,” she said with that enthusiasm of hers.

  “I thought I knew the content pretty well,” Gray said, “but I would’ve never guessed there were so many tricks and strategies to just taking the test.”

  “You won’t need any tricks.” She twisted around as if to make sure the others were gone. “Hey, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way—and I know you said you’re applying to D.C. State—but, well, your practice scores, they’re impressive. Have you considered looking into the Ivy League?” She hesitated. “I mean, there are scholarships…”

  Gray smiled, “I’ll look into it.” He spared her his sob story about needing to stay nearby to help out at the restaurant because of his dad’s health.

  “Hey, are you hungry?” Gray asked. “My family has a pizza place, and I thought, you know, as a thank you, we could—”

  “Ohhhh, I’d normally love to,” Jane interrupted. “But I can’t tonight.” She looked into his eyes. “My boyfriend’s meeting me for dinner after class.”

  The dreaded “boyfriend” line. He hoped it was true and not just a sad dodge. The security guard who escorted Jane to her car mercifully appeared in the classroom’s doorway.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Jane pulled out a pen and scribbled something on a sheet of paper. “You call me when you get your SAT results. We’ll go out then to celebrate. But I’m buying.” Gray waved good-bye, knowing he would never see her again.

  Outside, the wind blew hard, the cold air stinging his face as he made his way out the tall fence that surrounded the high school. The next two blocks were the most dangerous at night.

  He walked quickly on the broken sidewalk, trying to stay in the shadows. The headlights of a car approached. He could hear the loud bass from the vehicle’s sound system. He kneeled next to a parked car, pretending to tie his shoe, until the music trailed off in the distance. He kept walking, relieved that the night would go without incident. Until he heard a voice call out from the stoop of a dilapidated row house.

  “What you got in the backpack?”

  Gray turned to the stoop. There was the flare of a lighter and bellow of smoke. A kid stepped from the shadows. Angel Ortiz, the heir apparent to the Ortiz throne. The family had run this patch of gloom since before Gray was born. Angel had dropped out of school last year. He was decidedly no angel. Two figures, one holding a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag, materialized from behind Angel.

  Gray kept walking.

  “I asked you a question, motherfucker.” Angel skipped down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

  “I don’t have anything. Just some books,” Gray said.

  “Just some books,” Angel repeated in a mocking, exaggerated Caucasian accent. His friends chuckled at that.

  “Why you talk so funny? You trying to be some white college boy?”

  Gray had heard this before. Gray’s mom insisted on proper English, and even bartered with a speech therapist to clean her house in exchange for sessions with Gray and his sister. Beyond his diction, the kids at school somehow took offense at his scholastic endeavors. It had been a season of shoulder bumps and indignities in the halls of Obama High. But it was nothing Gray couldn’t handle.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Gray said.

  Angel laughed. “He don’t want any trouble,” again with the mocking voice. Angel’s friends were on the sidewalk now. They wore hoodies and hard faces. Angel jabbed a finger in Gray’s chest. “If you don’t want no trouble, then why you over here?”

  “Look, I don’t—” Gray doubled over as Angel sucker punched him in the stomach. For most people, an unexpected blow like that would put them out of commission for two, maybe three minutes. Time for the body to reset, to replenish the oxygen stolen from the lungs. But Gray had spent every Sunday since he was ten at the boxing club with his father. He could take a hit. He’d long wondered if he’d ever have to use his father’s training outside the ring. He realized that he’d have little choice tonight. And when you’re on the ropes, his father always said, don’t forget to still play offense.

  Gray jolted upright, and threw a hard right in Angel’s face, bringing him down. One of the others took a swing, but Gray bobbed, then returned with an uppercut to the jaw. He went down too. Gray turned to look for the third guy, but then felt a hard blow to the side of his face, the sound of shattering glass. He was on the ground now, his vision blurry. He touched his face and felt wetness. The others then started kicking him. He curled up in a ball, caging his head with his arms. He took a boot to the ribs. A heel slamming his head against the pavement. He was seeing flashes of light and dark, starburst. He started to fear that they were going to kill him.

  Then, the beating suddenly stopped.

  Through the haze, there were figures moving about.

  When they came into focus, Gray saw Arturo. He had a metal wand—like the cops use—and was bringing it down on Angel and his goons. It reminded Gray of an orchestra conductor, or even a ballet dancer, the way Arturo gracefully moved about, the wand slicing the air until it landed with a sickening thud.

  Things finally went still. He saw Arturo’s hand. Gray grabbed for it and pulled himself up.

  “Leave you alone for one fuckin’ minute.” Arturo examined Gray’s face. “Looks like we’re gonna have to get you stitched up.” Arturo ripped off his shirt and handed it to Gray to put on the gash. He then put Gray’s arm around his shoulder to help him walk.

  “Impressive muscles and tattoos,” Gray said. “But you know I’ve got a girlfriend, right?”

  Arturo blurted a laugh. “You wish.”

  Angel Ortiz looked up from the ground. His face was bloodied. He then moved like he was trying to get to his feet.

  Arturo let out an exasperated sigh. “Some people just don’t learn.” He gently removed Gray’s arm from his shoulder. He then stomped Angel back to the ground.

  Arturo looked at Angel’s two friends. They averted their eyes, stayed down. Arturo then grabbed Angel by the back of his hoodie and pulled him to his feet. He called out to the others.

  Their eyes lifted to Arturo, who held up semiconscious Angel by the collar.

  “They got the message, man,” Gray said.

  Arturo said, “I want you to tell your crew what happens if you mess with us.” He looked at the two boys on the ground, cocked his arm back, and hit Angel square in the face.

  Gray saw Angel’s eyes roll back in his head before he hit the curb. The sound was the worst part. The crack of skull hitting pavement. Then Angel Ortiz’s last ragged breath.

  CHAPTER 26

  Emma Milstein clenched the wheel of her Toyota with her right hand, her cell phone with her left. She was stuck in morning traffic on the Beltway.

  “Sounds like you wasted your night,” Cartwright said into the phone.

  “The whole thing is a waste of time. Arturo Alvarez has an airtight alibi for the Franklin fire and Dupont Underground killings, he was in prison. I know we need to talk to him, but his connection to the convenience store and the law clerk is thin.” Next week would be Thanksgiving. And soon, December 5. And they had nothing. Acid crept up Milstein’s throat.

  “That’s why they call it an investigation, I guess,” Cartwright said. “Are you coming in to the office or heading straight to HQ?”

  They had an appointment with the FBI general counsel’s office to learn more about the convenience store owner’s lawsuit against the Bureau. It might explain why the victim’s father wouldn’t talk to them. And hopefully provide some useful information so they could stop focusing on the bullshit leads, like Alvarez. “It depends on traffic. Don’t wait for me if I’m not at the field office in time. I’ll just go directly to headquarters.”

  Milstein heard a beep on the line. “I go
t another call coming in, I’ll talk to you soon.” She clicked off.

  “It’s Simmons,” the junior agent said, all business.

  Cartwright always joked that the young agent admired Milstein, and tried to mimic Milstein’s demeanor. Milstein kind of liked it.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Scott asked me to get some information from Google relating to the Franklin fire.”

  “Right. They got back to you?”

  “Yeah, they ran a report listing every time someone searched for the newspaper reporter’s name.”

  “They get any hits?”

  “After filtering out the junk, they found multiple hits for Adam Nowak and, in particular, searches looking for his home address.”

  Milstein felt a rush of adrenaline. A possible break. If the person who searched for the reporter’s address was who broke in to steal his research, it could identify the perp.

  “Can they tell us who?”

  “Not a person, but a location.” Agent Simmons paused a beat. “I’ll e-mail you the details, but the searches were on a computer located at One First Street, Northeast.”

  “Do we know who owns the place?”

  “Kind of,” the agent said. “It’s the Supreme Court.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Gray sat behind his desk, tired from the late night, but electricity was still flowing through him from the encounter with Razor Ortiz and his evening with Lauren. He slugged down more coffee and tried to focus on his work. He was getting close to having a complete first draft of the Jando opinion about illegal search and seizure. It wasn’t the sexy Filstein case on the president’s drone program, but Gray treated Jando like it was the most important decision of the term. His own Marbury v. Madison. He also had to finish a speech the chief was giving later that evening at Georgetown Law.

  Lauren appeared at the doorway to his office. She too looked tired, her hair pulled back, small crescents under her eyes. “Hey,” she said. She gave a fleeting smile, dimples indenting her cheeks.

  “Hey.” He let it linger for a moment. Then he noticed she was carrying a bankers box. “What’s in the box?”