by Tim O'Mara
Obviously flattered by that, Hex paused and said, ‘Tio say that?’
‘Word for word.’ Truth was, having not spoken directly with Tio, I had no idea what he had said.
Hex looked at Boo who said, ‘Heard it myself, Hex. Tio knows you in the know.’
Hex nodded. ‘Respect,’ he said. ‘If MoJo’s been buying on the L, it ain’t from any of my boys. We may be what you call competition, but we keep in touch and all. Making sure we don’t shit in someone else’s pot, ya feel me?’
I nodded. He went on.
‘Only guy I don’t check in with is out in Canarsie.’ The last stop on the L train. ‘This guy some Casper the Friendly Ghost-looking motherfucker. I heard he mighta been putting dice on his merch.’
‘Pretty white, huh?’
‘So white they call him Al. Like in Al Bino. His skin so pale you can see his internal organs, know what I’m sayin’? Got them pink eyes like those white bunny rabbits.’ He gave a fake shiver. ‘That kinda white freak even me out.’
Guy like that shouldn’t be too hard to get info on. ‘You don’t happen to know—’
‘We never exchanged business cards, if that’s what you gonna ask next.’
I was silent for a few beats, taking the opportunity to look at Missouri and Boo. Neither one of them seemed to have anything to add to the conversation, so I stuck out my hand to Hex. ‘I appreciate your help.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he said. ‘You be sure and tell Tio I helped you out.’
‘I will.’ The three of us were about to head off when I thought of one more thing. ‘Hey, Hex,’ I said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Just out of curiosity. Where’d you get the name?’
‘When I’m not doin’ business, Magnum, I’m playing dice. Don’t play pool, no fantasy football bullshit, and I don’t bowl. I’m a dice man.’
I gave that some thought and it hit me. ‘Hexagon.’
He pointed at me. ‘I thought you was too smart to be a cop.’
SEVENTEEN
‘I can take care of myself,’ Allison said when I returned home and apologized for the late change of plans. ‘I heated up some leftovers and watched a chick flick.’ She was cleaning off a few dishes. ‘You learn anything useful on your field trip?’
‘More than I expected about dice games,’ I said. ‘A little bit about who MoJo may have gotten the heroin from. It was amazing how offended this guy Hex was by my even suggesting he was selling heroin laced with fentanyl.’
‘I’m not surprised, Ray. Any self-respecting dealer suspected of lacing his heroin with fentanyl is not going to stay in business very long. You lose a lot of customers that way. Literally and figuratively.’ She finished washing her last dish, turned around and leaned on the counter. ‘You know anybody out in Canarsie?’
‘I’m sure I do but none that come right to mind,’ I said. ‘I’ll give Billy Morris a call in the morning.’
Billy and I used to work the streets together in Williamsburg when we both came out of the academy. Our relationship ran the way many cop relationships go: we went from inseparable, to separated, and eventually to a couple of guys who got together over beers once in a while, telling stories that just got bigger and better with each retelling.
Never, Billy once told me, let the truth get in the way of a good story.
‘There is something, though,’ Allison said.
‘What’s that?’
‘If MoJo didn’t buy from his usual dealer, this guy Hex, then maybe he didn’t buy the heroin at all. Why would he go to a dealer he doesn’t trust? That’s – and MoJo is a case in point – risky business.’
I thought about that. ‘So someone gave the heroin to MoJo? Someone he trusted enough to take drugs from?’
‘That’s one possibility,’ she said. ‘Put your police cap on, Ray.’
I did. The first thing I came up with was, ‘It’s highly unlikely that someone stashed the stuff on MoJo without his knowing because that’d be kinda hard to do before or after he was shot.’ Even I could tell I was searching for an improbable possibility.
‘True.’ She wasn’t buying it, either. ‘It’s also possible MoJo took the stuff off someone else, the temptation was just too much and got an unexpected jones for a hit, and—’
‘Edgar said MoJo was a sponsor for some of the members of his support group. He could have been protecting someone else.’
‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘But that still doesn’t explain—’
‘How the heroin and fentanyl made it into MoJo’s system.’ I walked out onto the balcony, careful to leave my police cap on. I looked out at the skyline. ‘Is it too late to call your guy at the ME’s office?’
Allison put her hands on my shoulder. ‘It’s almost ten. My guy at the ME’s office does have a life outside the ME’s office, Ray.’
‘I’d like to reach out to him tomorrow. Can I do that directly or do I have to go through you.’
‘I’ll call him in the morning and tell him you’ll be calling. Or I could ask your questions for you.’ She paused, studied my face, and shook her head. ‘But you don’t want me to do that.’
‘I don’t. My questions; I should be the one to ask them. And the way it usually goes is that more answers will lead to more questions and I don’t want to play phone tag.’ I pulled her close. ‘You OK with that?’
She squeezed me. ‘Just remember, Ray. This is my guy at the ME. You can’t have him. I’m just loaning him to you for a while. You can get your own guy.’
‘That’s funny.’
‘I do what I can.’ She broke from the hug. ‘Wanna see my latest article before I upload it to the site?’
‘I’d be honored,’ I said.
‘Grab a couple of beers and I’ll meet you back here in a minute.’
Again, I did as I was told and read Allison’s latest.
FROM WHITE NATIONALIST TO AMERICAN TEEN
A YOUNG MAN’S JOURNEY OUT OF NYC WHITE SUPREMACY
Second in a series by Allison Rogers
Harlan S. enjoys skipping stones. Up here along the Hudson River, close enough to hear the traffic rumbling across the George Washington Bridge as it moves into and out of New York City and New Jersey, it’s not easy to find good, flat skipping stones. But that doesn’t stop Harlan from looking and using what he can.
‘My dad used to take us camping upstate,’ he tells me. ‘We’d fish and hunt. The only supplies we brought were our guns, fishing rods, sleeping bags and our tent. Everything else we needed, we took from the land. He used to tell us that was the only way we’d survive if there were ever another war because the next war would be the last war.’ He pauses to let out a breath. ‘When we weren’t gathering wood for the fire or hunting for food or swimming in the lake, we’d skip stones.’ He looks up at the line of trucks coming over the river into Manhattan. ‘Once I saw my dad skip one seven times. I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.’
Listening to Harlan speak about his father, a White Nationalist, I can hear the little boy who once looked up to his dad, like all little boys should. Now, Harlan is hiding from his family, afraid to go back to the world in which he was raised. A world where little boys and girls are carefully taught to hate those who don’t look like they do, pray like they do, think like they do.
He finds a pretty decent flat stone and sidearms it into the river; it skips four times. Not bad, but it’s not seven.
When I ask where he wants to go from here, Harlan shrugs. ‘Out west, I guess. Somewhere I can finish up school, work outside, maybe go to college. Maybe even back upstate.’ He looks north up the Hudson. ‘Maybe I can get a job along the river while finishing up school.’
Now that he’s away from his family, I can’t help but be curious: why doesn’t he just leave New York and start all over?
‘I’m sixteen,’ he reminds me. ‘My mom has some people out in Colorado and Wyoming, but I’m having trouble tracking them down. They kinda … disowned us because of my dad’
s – our family’s – beliefs. I use the computers at the libraries when I can, and tried to look them up. I called a few times, but I don’t know if they’re the right ones because no one’s calling me back.’
If they invited him out west, would he go?
‘I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘I left without saying goodbye to anyone. I’m not worried about my parents, they’ll be fine, but I have two little sisters. I need to make sure they’re OK. My dad’s been on edge lately, really getting more and more angry.’
At? ‘The government,’ Harlan tells me. ‘The schools, the media, the Jews, Blacks, Asians. Socialists. Hell, he’s angry at everyone these days.’
He picks up another stone, but even I can see this one is not made for skipping. He rolls it around in his hand for a few seconds like Mariano Rivera deciding just how nasty a cut fastball he’s going to deliver. Finally, Harlan rears back with all he’s got, leg kick and all, and throws the rock halfway to New Jersey.
‘My sisters,’ he repeats. ‘I gotta make sure my sisters are OK.’
I ask him if he wants to have dinner with me so we can talk some more. I try to tempt him with burgers, pizza, Thai food. Has he ever had Thai food?
He says that the shelter where he’s staying tonight has him on supper duty and he has to leave me soon. ‘I gotta set the tables and serve the meal tonight. I don’t mind. I used to do it at home all the time. Only difference is that tonight I gotta do it for fifty people, not five.’ Another pause. ‘And for people who don’t look like me.’ He thinks about it and says, ‘Tonight’s Fried Chicken Night. Maybe that’s something I can learn to do. Cook. I can do that anywhere.’
As we go our separate ways until next time, I can’t help but be impressed by the thing I hear most in his voice. Through all the fear and worry about his sisters, one thing comes out in every word he speaks.
Hope.
‘Wow,’ I said when I was finished. ‘This is what you were doing today?’
‘Yep. You’re not the only one who’s meeting interesting people these days.’
I reread the last paragraph. ‘Most writers cannot interview a kid who’s run away from his White Nationalist family and end on a note of optimism, Allie.’
She raised her beer bottle for me to toast. ‘I am not most writers, Raymond.’ She squinted at me. ‘I thought we had established that.’
‘We did,’ I said. ‘I mean I know that. Was this meeting planned?’
‘He called me this afternoon and said he had a few hours before having to get back to his new shelter. Not too many things with Harlan can be planned these days.’
I looked at the beginning of the piece again. ‘Is he staying up by the GW Bridge?’
‘He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. And before you ask, I didn’t bring up Duke Lansing, either. I figure I’ll wait for the next interview. If there is a next interview.’ She took another sip of beer. ‘So, is it ready to post?’
‘You need to ask? It’s great.’
‘Just being polite.’ She pressed a few buttons and the laptop made a whooshing sound. Her piece on Harlan was out there for the whole world to read. ‘Now, my day is officially over.’
‘Before I get ready for bed, I think I’m gonna give Billy Morris a call tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow.’
‘Billy? It’s after nine. He doesn’t pick up his phone after nine, even I know that.’
‘I’m planning on leaving a message. I have a question that I guess can wait until tomorrow, but I wanna be his first call in the morning.’
‘OK.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Don’t be late if he somehow picks up.’
‘Voicemail and brushing my teeth, Allie.’
I stepped back onto the balcony to make the call. Sure enough, his voicemail picked up and I left a message asking him to give me a call first thing in the morning.
EIGHTEEN
First thing in the morning, my cell phone went off. Billy Morris.
‘Mornin’, Partner,’ he said. ‘First thing enough for ya?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. ‘You can run a wake-up service when you retire.’
‘Still having too much fun to think about retiring, Ray. Plus those girls of mine seem to be set on going to college and they’re much smarter than their old man. They ain’t gonna settle on a state school and just a bachelor’s.’
I rolled over to see if the phone had awakened Allison. She wasn’t there and I realized the shower was running. ‘You married smart, Billy. Good thing the girls got your wife’s genes.’
‘And my wife still looks good in those jeans, son.’ An oldie, but goodie. ‘Now, what can I do you for?’
Almost right to the point. ‘What do you know about the Canarsie drug scene?’ I asked. ‘With an emphasis on the heroin trade.’
‘Whoa, son. I thought you were calling to get together or some shit. What’s this line of inquiry about?’
I loved when Billy talked Cop. ‘Just like I said, I need to know what you know about Canarsie and drugs.’ I knew I’d be telling him the whole story soon.
‘About as much as you know about the National League Central, I’d suppose. I got a little bit of knowledge but I’m more of a Brooklyn West kinda guy. You know I’m dealing mostly with The Chosen People these days.’ He meant the Jewish communities in Sunset and Borough Parks. He may have three bars on his uniform these days, but he was still a street cop and it didn’t matter where those streets were. Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, West Indians, Orthodox Jews: Billy Morris was the United Nations of cops. ‘But I got some of my peeps over there,’ he said. ‘Whatta ya need to know?’
I told him what I had learned last night about the ‘Albino’ guy who was maybe dealing heroin at the end of the Canarsie Line. I also told him where I got the info and how the whole thing got started last Thursday on the roof of my school.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I heard about that. Shoulda known that was your place of work. You just keep on steppin’ in it, don’tcha son?’
‘I walk where I walk, Billy.’
‘Right. Anyway, I may know someone who can help ya. What’s your schedule look like the rest of today?’
I told him about the memorial for MoJo upstate and that I hoped to be home in time to have dinner with Allison.
‘Speaking of whom,’ he said. ‘I’ve been reading her stuff. She’s really good, son. You gonna put a ring on her finger soon?’
‘You been talking to my mother again, Billy?’
He laughed. ‘I’m just saying, smart and beautiful is a helluva package for guys like us, Ray.’
‘You’re preaching to the choir. So, what about your guy?’
‘Keep your cell phone on and on ya at all times. I’m gonna reach out now – he keeps the same hours we do, only more of them – and I’ll ask him to get back to you with anything solid before the end of business today. If you don’t hear from him by tomorrow – let’s say noon – holler back and I’ll put a fire under his butt for ya.’
‘I don’t need anybody’s butt on fire. I just need some info here.’
‘I gotcha, son. My bet is he’ll get back to ya sometime today. Just bring your phone to bed with you. Richie works a long day.’
‘Richie.’
‘Richie Hebner, my guy over in Canarsie. You’d like him. He’s one of us.’
‘Good looking and loyal?’
‘You just described my dog, Ray. But, yeah, you feel me.’
Now how come that sounded natural when Billy Morris said it? All those extra years on the streets, I guessed.
‘Thanks, Billy,’ I said. ‘I really appreciate this. Next round’s on me.’
‘You know what I always say: we’re all gonna die a beer up or a beer down, Ray. But I will take you up on that as long as it’s soon. Let’s do The LineUp with the ladies. It’ll be nice to see Mrs Mac again, and you and I do not see each other enough. One barbecue a year just don’t cut it.’
‘I hear ya,’ I said. ‘Talk to you soon, man
.’
‘If not sooner.’
An hour later, I was shaved and showered, and dressed for a casual outside memorial service. Allison checked me out. ‘Not bad. You sure about the no-tie look, Ray? Nicer shoes, maybe.’
‘It’s informal, Allie. And I don’t think I have nicer shoes.’
‘I’ll put that on our shopping list.’
That was the first time I had heard we had a shopping list. I was about to comment when my phone went off. I didn’t recognize the number, and considered not answering because Edgar was due to pick me up any minute. I pressed the green circle anyway, thinking there was a small chance it was Billy’s guy calling me already. It was.
‘Raymond,’ he said. ‘Richie Hebner, Billy’s friend from Brooklyn South.’
‘Richie. Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’
‘Just wanted to check in. Billy doesn’t ask for enough favors so when he does, I wanna get right on it.’
‘He does bring that out in people. You don’t have any info for me yet, do you?’
‘I’m ninety-nine percent positive I know who you’re talking about. Not many guys fit the description you gave Billy. The one I’m thinking about’s got about as much whiteness as the NBA, know what I’m saying?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I just wanted to touch base, let you know I’m on it. When I find out more, I’ll give you a call and we can meet. Not the kinda stuff I usually like to talk about on the phone. Let me see what I can dig up today and maybe we can meet tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow works,’ I said if only because that’s what he offered. Sooner would be better, but I didn’t say that. ‘Thanks.’
‘Thank me tomorrow, man. Keep your phone on, OK?’
‘It always is, Richie.’
‘Billy told me that about you. Tomorrow then.’
‘Thanks again, Richie.’
NINETEEN
The drive north to Ulster County took an hour and a half. We had the windows rolled down as the temperature was now in the low seventies. There are few more pleasant smells than springtime in the Hudson Valley. The mix of freshly cut hay and horse manure – yes, horse manure – could easily make you forget you were less than ninety miles from the city. I knew from previous trips up this way that the smell of fresh apples would be permeating the air come September.