by Sean Huxter
“Knowing Jeremy must be somewhere on the streets, I did some asking around. This gentleman offered to do some digging. See what he could find out. But Jesus... I didn't expect...”
“This gentleman? He's a street bum for fucksake!”
For a second I thought he was going to hit me right there on the street. Don't kill the messenger.
“Look, Mister Brothers,” I started.
“Don't fucking talk to me!” he shouted. “Jon, what the fuck am I paying you for?”
“Look, Mister Brothers,” I persisted. “It should be a simple matter to contact Boston PD and ask if they found... someone matching your son's description. Without an ID they'd have no leads, and they wouldn't have come to you.”
Brothers was beside himself. He certainly didn't want to trust my word, or the word of anyone like me, even to tell him the time, but absolutely he had serious desire to doubt my story.
The two men turned and crossed the road back to the library. Brothers turned around. “Don't ever fucking
talk to me!”
Like I was gonna...
Chapter 5 Two days later on a cooler day, after some rain came down (thank you, blue plastic tarp) I was sitting on the benches in the shade again watching some mothers lift their kids up onto the shiny, well-worn golden backs of the bronze sculptures of the tortoise and the hare, when I saw a man standing next to the ticket booth on the corner of Dartmouth and Boylston. My corner. It was Mr. Brothers. His Polo shirt was a different color today.
He was hopelessly scanning left and right, pacing back and forth. No sign of the lawyer.
Shit, I thought. I knew he was looking to talk to me, and I wasn't so sure I shouldn't just cover my face with a copy of Loose Change and saunter eastward down to Clarendon and hide.
Shit.
I got up and walked to the kiosk.
“Oh, Jesus. Thank god.” He said. “I never thought I'd find you.”
“Why would you want to?”
“Look, I'm sorry for my behavior on Sunday. I sent Fennelly out to find Jeremy, and well, I expected it to be difficult, but... I never expected it to be too late. I took it out on you.”
“Ok, so...”
“I called the Boston PD and they confirmed they had found a kid about Jeremy's age, and I came in for an ID and … well, as I said, it's too late now. But I wanted you to know that you were right, and I had no right to rip into you. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I thought you were running an angle, trying to get some money or something. I don't know.”
I didn't want to bring up the fact that Fennelly did talk money...
“But... look, this sun is killing me. Can we sit somewhere?” The sun was out from the clouds, and it was heating up a bit. I suggested the Starbucks up by Back Bay Station. We walked. I checked to see how I smelled. I passed inspection. We entered the shop and sat at a table farther back along the wall. Brothers ordered two lattés.
“The police informed me that Jeremy overdosed. They said he was alone. No foul play suspected. He died in the alley with no one around him. They said the dope might have been bad.”
Likely true, I thought. Sad, too, I thought.
“You don't know me, and I don't know you, but let me tell you a story. Then I'm going to ask you a favor. Deal? You can say no and walk out now if you like.”
Free latté. I was staying.
“I run a contracting business in Norwood. We do rather well. Construction. Mostly pavement. Everyone has a driveway, it seems. We just made a killing on the new school.
“Jeremy was always a... shy boy. Didn't like football, didn't like baseball, hated basketball, wouldn't be caught dead …” he faltered momentarily. “He wouldn't wear a Bruins hat... none of that. Loved weird books, loved the movies, he and his mother used to go to New York and take in some of the Broadway musicals. Sounds so stereotypical, but that was just so... him.
“Look, I know he wasn't... normal, you know? He was... that way.”
I've heard it put many ways. Not knowing Jeremy, I could only nod to prod him onward.
“Well naturally we never saw eye to eye. And when I wanted him to get involved with the family business, he wanted nothing to do with it.
“His mother accepted him for what he was. I just couldn't. I know it was wrong of me, but dammit, he was my son, and he was... not all I had hoped for.
“But for the sake of his mother, I put up with him. Until one night on the Cape we came home from dinner early and found him... with ... a neighbor's kid from up the street. An older boy. 18 or so.
“I couldn't help myself. I blew my top. I mean I went ballistic. I can't even remember what I said, but I know I told him to pack his shit and leave and never contact us again. I wanted to have the neighbor kid arrested, charged with... god knows what... but that would only make things worse. Everyone would know.
“Marsha, god rest her, she hit me. She hit me so hard in the face I can still feel it.
“But still enraged, I told her to shut up – that Jeremy was no son of mine.
“I thought I had lost it all that night. But Marsha didn't leave me. I thought she would, but she didn't. And I haven't seen Jeremy since. To her credit, Marsha was sure she could make me see the error of my ways, but it never happened.
“And now it's too late.”
“I'm so sorry to hear it.”
“Yeah... me too. Marsha, God rest her, she's the reason I'm here. Damn me, but I thought if I kept up my hard line Jeremy would straighten himself out and come crawling back. I'd accept his apology and he'd start work in the business. Stupid...
“In the end it was Marsha made me see, but only because she was sick. She made me promise, see. She took out her Bible and made me swear an oath on it to find Jeremy and bring him home. She died clutching that book.”
The latté was cold by now and I sipped it anyway.
“That's the story. Sorry it was a bit long-winded.”
“It's ok. I understand,” I said. And I did.
He glanced at me, for a moment I could see that look again, like he couldn't care less if I understood or not, who the fuck was I anyway? But he was here, and he was talking, so I just let it slide.
“With Marsha gone, I realized I had pissed away a life with my son, and I was ready to make up for it. I mean a few years have passed, and I managed to learn a thing or two... it's just the way the kid is, isn't it? Why should that stop us from being a family?
“Hard as it was, I set out to find him. I swear I was going to face him and ask him for his forgiveness. I swear. I was going to hug him and tell him I accepted him no matter what he was.
“And I was late. Three fucking days late.”
Yeah. Life sucks that way.
He sat there, sipping his cold latté, quite quiet now. He sat and stared out the front window onto the street. He lowered his head and said this:
“So here comes the favor I mentioned.”
Here it comes, I thought.
“Would you please ask around and find out something about him? I mean from his friends. Whoever he hung around with. I want to know what happened to him after that night on the Cape. Where he went. Who he hung with. What he was like... on his own. I'd pay you. Fair amount of money too. See, Marsha left a trust in Jeremy's name, and I can't bring myself to empty it – not after what I've done. I'll give it to you if you can provide me with some details about Jeremy's life.”
“Why me? Why not just hire a P.I?”
“Look, I won't bullshit you. I could hire a private detective. Hell, I could hire an army of them. But how do you think it'll be if I sic them on the alleys of Boston? What information do you think they'd get asking you guys about some kid? You live here. You know people. You'd be far better at finding out what I want to know.”
I considered it. I knew a few of the people he hung with. I could do it. And everyone can use money.
“How will I get in contact with you?”
“Here.” He handed me a small, not-so-new cell
phone. “It's yours. I'm on speed dial and you can call me at any time. With whatever you find out, no matter how trivial. Keep it off when you're not using it. It'll help save the battery charge.”
I looked at the phone, flipped it open, I mean it
was an older model, and hit a few buttons. Yeah, I could figure it out.
“Ok, I'll ask around. I'll fill you in with what I find, but I am not promising a rosy story, and I don't know how you'll take what I find out.”
“It doesn't matter. No matter how good or bad, I want to know. You call me. Any time. Day or night.”
Chapter 6 I sometimes sleep in a shelter. Pine Tree Inn on Harrison. It's a first-come-first-serve facility a half-mile down from Chinatown, but it's not a long walk and I can get a good shower. I left there and walked up Stuart Street towards the Common. I wanted to talk to Miko some more.
Miko and his skater crew were there as usual. Taking a break from all the hard work. I called Miko over.
“So? You get some money for turnin' in Spinner? I want my share.”
“I didn't turn him in. He's dead.”
Miko just looked at me. “You shittin' me?”
“That's why you haven't seen him since Wednesday.”
“Shit.” He looked back at his buds, then turned back to me.
“I need to know something about him. What can you tell me?”
Miko sat down on a low concrete wall, holding his deck in front of him. “Shit, man. Shit. Kid was ok, you know? He wasn't gonna make it on the street though. Not the way he was going. Said this was just temporary. We all know that's bullshit. But he insisted. Temporary.
“The kid had plans. Was gonna find work, earn a degree, get somewhere, ya know? Was gonna open up a contracting business outside town. In the 'burbs somewhere. Newton, Norwell, Norwood, some place like that.
“'Miko,' he used to tell me, 'Living well is the best revenge.' Told me about how he was gonna show his dad who was the better man. He believed it. But as far as I knew, the kid had nothin'. No talent, no skill, nothin' but drive. He had
me believin' he'd do it too. For a while.
“But I seen him at night with men. Men in suits. In alleys. He said he was making fair coin and was going to put it all together and go to BU or some shit. I don't know how he was gonna do it, he quit school just weeks before graduatin', and he didn't even have his high school diploma. But he said he knew people and they could get him in. Was always talkin' bullshit like that.
“But he always swore one day he'd walk into his father's office and throw down his business card and show him.
“Couple of months back, he seemed to shut up about it. No more pipe dream. Just sank back into the dope and men. Like he just gave up.
“I guess he'll never do it now.”
Miko got up, took his skateboard and went back to what he was doing before I interrupted.
“Oh, Miko. Who was his dealer? Was it you?”
“Hell no.” Miko came back, rather angrily, wielding his deck like a weapon. “You want to know who his dealer was, it was Marcus. Now fuck off.”
Marcus. Jesus...
Chapter 7
Officer Turley was standing next to his cruiser and I was sitting on a concrete pillar just outside the Common.
“Yeah, the father called HQ and asked about a kid fitting the description. It was his kid alright. Poor bastard. He had to do an ID at the morgue. And when he found out from the ME that the kid had HIV, he nearly lost it.”
“HIV?” I said. “You sure?”
“Yeah. But that's what you get for – doin' what he was doin'. For money in dark alleys. The kid wasn't even twenty yet.”
That would explain why the kid stopped talking about his future plans... no future as he saw it. Probably didn't know the strides made in HIV treatment over the last decade. It's not the death sentence it used to be. Not like it was before I got to the streets.
“You heard anything about Marcus lately?”
“Marcus? We haven't been able to take him down, if that's what you mean. That son of a bitch knows how to hook 'em young and string 'em along until there's nothing left. Bastard has no qualms about delivering tainted product, as long as it's not to those with the real money.”
“Thanks, Officer Turley.” I got up off the pillar and walked back into the Common where I took out the cell phone Brothers gave me and hit 1 on the speed dial.
I told him some of what Miko had told me. I told him that Jeremy had been collecting money with the hopes of getting back to school, and I told him that he kept talking about being a success, just like his old man. I even told him about wanting to go into the paving business. I just left out the part where he wanted to do it only as revenge against his old man. I felt no parent needs to know that.
I also left out the part about knowing the kid had HIV. No need for him to know that either.
“Thanks for calling. Thanks for telling me. It's not much consolation now, but it helps to know he had a plan at least, that he was trying, you know?”
“Sure.”
“Got one more for you.”
“Go ahead.” I wondered if I'd ever give Spinner's father enough information for him to leave me alone now. I wondered if I'd ever see a dime from him.
“I want to know who his dealer was.”
“Why?”
“Any information I can take to the police is worth paying for. Can you find out?”
“Sure. Meet me on my corner, and I'll have some info for you then. I think it's time I cashed out.”
Brothers hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “No, you're right. I'll bring the cash Marsha had in Jeremy's trust fund. It's not much, but you earned it.”
I walked and pondered. I cut across the street to the Gardens and walked up the bridge, looked down at the passengers in the swan boats, being paddled around a small pond for no damn good reason. I never understood the fascination. I kept going until I reached Arlington Street, crossed it and went down my alley, 437, glancing just briefly up to 422 where Jeremy's body was found.
Most people, as I've hinted, get from Arlington up to Dartmouth along Boylston or Newbury. I took the alley. I ended up at my corner where I sat in the shade of the Copley Square trees and waited, wondering how much to tell Brothers when he showed.
Chapter 8 Brothers walked up to the kiosk and, rather than getting up, I gestured him to come sit on a bench in the shade. He did.
He held out his hand, and for a moment I checked it for unexploded devices or sharp teeth. Finding none, I shook it. What? It's not often someone like me gets an offer of an open hand.
“You earned this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown envelope that had what must have been a half-inch of bills in it. It was sealed.
“There's more than a couple thousand bucks in here. I just wanted to make sure you know how much I appreciate the time and effort you put in.”
I took the envelope and put it in my pocket. “Thanks. That's very generous.”
“No less than you earned.” He sat, looking around at all the tourists walking by. He saw a young family frolicking on the water feature and sighed. “You can't ever get it back, you know?”
I remained silent, simply nodding. Damn right.
“You raise them hoping for the best. You give them your love, your time, the sweat off your brow, and you expect you'll die before they do. And then you go and do something so stupid you can't ever take it back.
“Life's a bitch, Mr...” he looked at me as if I had just arrived. “You know, I have no idea even what your name is.”
I told him.
“I hope you'll keep in touch. If you find out more about Jeremy, I'd still love to hear more.”
“Sure.”
And then he got up. He stopped, turned and said, “Did you ever find out who his dealer was?”
This was the question I had been pondering. But if it helped the police find his son's murderer, why not?
“Name's Marcus. He deals to lots of hom
eless. The police know who he is, what he does, but they haven't been able to touch him. He holds people in terror. Not sure I'd like
my chances if he knew I mentioned his name.”
“Marcus... ok. Thanks. I hope you'll stay in touch. And if I can do anything for you...”
I just smiled and patted the envelope.
“You know, you'd make a great P.I. yourself.”
“Yeah, that's me. The Homeless Private Eye. Just look me up on my corner. Any day. Nine to Five. No case too big. No case too small.” I hesitated to laugh too hard in the presence of a grieving man.
Brothers walked away.
Chapter 9 A month or so later I woke up on a misty morning, a bit chill, folded my blue plastic tarp and tucked it under the dumpster. An ambulance whipped past the Arlington end of the alley. Then another. Then a cop car and several more behind. The noise was getting loud.
I walked out to Arlington, up a few to Public Alley 422 where Turley stood, not letting anyone in who wasn't wearing a badge.
“Sorry. No way,” he said to me. “Crime scene.”
“What happened,” I asked.
“Another body.”
“Jesus. Another OD?”
“Not much info at the moment, but it's a wicket mess back there. About half-way down the alley, almost exactly the same spot that kid was found back in July. I can't say anything more.”
“Know who?”
He looked at me as if I had asked him if he could count to three. Then he glanced both ways, saw no one around, and leaned in and said in a low voice. “Might be Marcus.”
“Marcus? As in the dealer Marcus?”
“The same. No confirmation yet. As I said, it's a wicket mess back there. But to me it looks like Marcus. Still... Marcus was, you know, fat. This guy's emaciated, like he had anorexia or something. Skin drawn, what was left of it.”
“Jesus. Any ideas how he got it? He's not the type to OD on his own stock.”
Turley lowered his voice even more. “Not off-hand, but it was wasn't no OD. It was fucking brutal. What I saw, we're talking legs smashed, not just broken. Cuts all over. Hands cut off – I hope to hide his identity, but I think they were hacked off while he was alive. Eyes look like they were blowtorched. I ain't seen anything like this in all my years with the PD. But you didn't hear any of this from me.”