by J D Spero
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yes. That’s fine.”
Hen had heard Miss Sally use that voice before. You can make that choice, Hen, but there will be consequences.
Consequences were never good.
More crunching. More slurping. Finally, Miss Sally’s voice came again, this time like a siren. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Hogg and Derek. Because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something I haven’t yet shared with Mr. Hochman.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“And I don’t intend on sharing it with Mr. Hochman, unless this conversation doesn’t go as planned.”
“What’s that? I don’t follow, ma’am. Sorry.”
“Mr. Hogg, Leon’s Diner is a Hubb Corp building. I need to know that your restaurant is your sole means of income in that building.”
“Sole means of income?”
A sigh. “I’ve had a suspicion for quite some time. I’m too old and stubborn to turn a blind eye anymore. As we get older, our principles are all we have left. So I can’t ignore it. It’s about time I do something about it.”
A big, heavy pause. No more nacho crunching or beer slurping. Just tea sipping.
“I’m running an investigation on the property, Mr. Hogg.”
“How?” Leon spluttered. “Who?”
“It’s an entirely covert operation. You won’t know it’s going on at all. Although it would certainly help your case if you would release your balance sheet and the other documents Mr. Hochman and I are asking for.”
“Oh.”
“We can keep it between us, keep it simple,” she sang. “If everything comes out on the up and up, you won’t have to worry about a thing.”
“You mean, rent going up?” Derek sounded like a child. “Stuff like that?”
“Oh, Mr. Hogg. If my people find anything illegal going on in my building under your supervision, rent will be the least of your problems. Trust me.”
Radio voices went on, raging louder. Leon cursed, raised his voice. Derek yelled at him. Yelled at Miss Sally too. Hen’s insides got all tangled up. A chair fell to the floor. Clatter of ceramic. Big noises. Like panic after an explosion.
Hen pulled the afghan tighter around him. He looked out the crocheted holes to see them leave, finally. They grumbled out like angry trolls.
Sleep was far away now. He couldn’t shake Miss Sally’s consequences voice. She’d given them a warning. Something bad was happening in the diner where his mother used to work. Miss Sally planned on finding out. Then, there would be consequences.
And Leon was mad as heck about it.
December 1991
Marcella had had her fill of lawyers’ offices. The décor in Mr. Hochman’s had felt like a dusty museum. Light years away from where they now sat in Mr. Gerrity’s office, which was white and modern with a distinct sterile feel. It seemed to match how she felt these days—numb.
She and Bernie sat in plastic chairs that looked like flying saucers. The Hubb Corp documents Bernie had found lay dog-eared like curled bark on Gerrity’s metal desk.
Marcella observed her son’s appointed lawyer, trying to get a sense of whether he could do the job. He looked like he had brio enough. Strong, like a wrestler. Was there any tie left to knot after looping around his thick neck? His lion’s mane of graying hair was combed neatly back. She could see it. Gerrity-lion wrestling through prison bars to free Tyler, superhero-style.
“Thank you for squeezing us in today, Mr. Gerrity. And thank you for all the hard work you’re doing for Tyler.” He’d better be working his ass off for her son.
He nodded to Marcella, impassive.
Why wasn’t he reading the stuff she brought? She waved her hand over it. “Here are the documents I mentioned in my message.”
Mr. Gerrity scanned the papers faster than a photocopier. He tossed them down too quickly. Dismissively.
He must not understand.
“Mr. Gerrity, these letters are from—”
“Hubb Corp. Yes, I can see.”
Still didn’t get it. “Hubb Corp, as in Sally Hubbard.”
Bernie cleared his throat. “Ma owned the building where Leon’s Diner is. He’s been paying her rent for over twenty years.”
Mr. Gerrity tapped a gratuitously thick pen on the desk, making the papers dance.
“One is an eviction notice,” Bernie went on. “He’d fallen behind on his rent.”
Mr. Gerrity’s deep breath inflated his bulky chest. “All right. Mrs. Hubbard was Mr. Hogg’s landlord. Mr. Hogg had been negligent on paying rent. These are common issues we find with tenant situations. I don’t see what it has to do with the incident involving your son, Mrs. Trout.”
“No, see, it absolutely has to do with it. And this incident does not involve my son. That’s the point. He’s innocent until proven guilty.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Trout. As you know, I’m representing your son in this case and—”
“Right. That’s why we’re here.” Her hands shook. She knotted them together. “Couldn’t it be seen as motive, Mr. Gerrity? I mean, if Leon owed all this money to Sally Hubbard and wasn’t able to pay?”
Mr. Gerrity nodded rhythmically as he spoke. “Mrs. Trout, I understand you are eager to find your son innocent. Please know that I’m doing everything in my power to achieve the best possible outcome. At times like these, family members often grasp at straws—”
“Grasp at straws?” She gripped the sides of the chair. “Mr. Gerrity, I don’t—”
He stopped her with a short salute. “Mrs. Trout.” He checked his oversized watch. “I’m sorry. I have an appointment.”
“Hold on.” Bernie raised his voice. Almost aggressive. “Marcella has other information that might be helpful.”
Bernie encouraged Marcella with a look. For a moment, she went blank.
“Oh.” She tumbled over her words. “Yes. Right. There’s something else. We have reason to believe. Actually, we know—and our source is good—that Leon has been using the diner as a cover for a…drug operation.” She hesitated. She’d never said the word aloud. “Cocaine.”
The pen tapping stopped. Mr. Gerrity stared at Marcella, unblinking.
She went on. “Yes. It’s true. Leon has been selling cocaine from the back room since…forever. This changes things, doesn’t it? This makes it an ‘uncommon tenant situation,’ to use your phrase. Am I right?”
Mr. Gerrity bit the inside of his cheek. “It would.” He gathered the letters carefully now. “You say your source is reliable? Who is it?”
Oh, crap. Marcella shot a desperate look towards Bernie, who nodded like this was all peachy keen. Who was she supposed to name? Tripp Trout was as reliable as a Chance card. Not an option now, anyway. That chapter was closed. His train was long, long gone, thank goodness.
She had to focus. Who could she list as a reliable source for Leon’s illegal drug sales? Who would cooperate? By now, the entire town might be complicit. Maybe even Clapp, that randy officer. Collusion would fit nicely with his Napoleon complex.
Then, an idea.
She turned from Gerrity’s intense gaze. “Bernie, Hen’s still waiting in the lobby. Would you—” She didn’t have to finish. Bernie left to take care of Hen.
Back to Mr. Gerrity. Deep breath. She pressed her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger. Focus.
“I worked for over ten years at Leon’s Diner, sir.”
Mr. Gerrity narrowed his eyes. “You are the reliable source?”
“Yes, sir.” It’s just a white lie, Marcella told herself. This was the kind of thing a mother did for her son.
“Over ten years, you say?” Mr. Gerrity twisted off the pen cap and scribbled on a legal pad. “And you were aware of these goings on the whole time?”
She looked right into the lion’s eyes. Even as she squirmed in her chair. “Maybe not at first, but yes. Pretty much.”
Just a white lie. Anyone in her position would do the same thing.
Gerrity dipped his head, a nod. Scratched onto his legal pad. “I’ll need someone else. You’re too close to the defendant. Can you get me another source? Someone who’d be willing to be a witness if and when this comes to trial?”
She deflated a bit. “Is that really necessary? I mean, as a former employee, I—”
“You’re the defendant’s mother, Mrs. Trout. If this is true, we need a more objective testimony.”
Marcella swallowed what felt like a tennis ball. Couldn’t name another waitress. No one was stupid enough to stay very long. Or, maybe Leon made sure no one stayed. Who could she name? Who else would know? Besides Tripp…
Oh, Tripp. Marcella could only think of Tyler’s deadbeat father. Dread filled her.
No. No way was he coming back. Never. Over her dead body.
“You have someone in mind?” Gerrity must’ve seen it in her eyes.
“Well, yes. But he wouldn’t work either.”
“Who?”
“Tyler’s father.”
“He’s the only one who can corroborate this story?”
Marcella bowed her head. “The only one I can think of.”
Gerrity pursed his lips. “Well, keep thinking. But, regardless, we should give it a try. Especially considering Tripp Trout has been an estranged father for the duration of Tyler’s childhood. My gut tells me we’ll need him for other reasons anyway. Can you assure me he’ll be here for the trial?”
No. Please, no. That worm sandwich was downright tantalizing now.
Ugh. Tripp would have to come back. And she’d have to convince him.
“Yes,” she said miserably. “I’ll do my best to make sure he’s here for the trial.”
The lobby of the lawyer’s office reminded Hen of the hospital. All starchy and cold. Hen was surprised Bernie came out from the meeting without Mom.
“She’ll be right out,” Bernie said. “How ‘bout we wait in the car?”
Hen was relieved to leave the lawyer lobby.
On their way to the Impala, Officer Clapp appeared like a magic trick. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes. Hen froze. And squeezed Bernie’s hand a little harder.
“Hi, there, Officer.”
Why was Bernie always so friendly to this policeman?
“I told you to call me Rob.” He grinned with all of his teeth. “Just wanted a few words with the boy, if I might.”
Bernie shuffled a little. “Mmm… Aren’t you supposed to do that sort of thing with a parent around? His ma will be right out.”
He chummed Bernie’s shoulder. “Ah, no worries. This isn’t official. Off the record, let’s say. Besides, you said yourself that you’re his guardian.”
“Still, I don’t feel right about—”
“Hey, Bernie.” Officer Clapp did that low voice thing grownups did for secrets. But Hen heard, always. “I appreciate you helping with the investigation. I know you want to find answers as much as I do.”
Bernie looked sad. Like he’d given up.
The policeman crouched down to Hen’s level. His words were sharp. “I know you got something to tell me, boy. Now’s the time to come clean. Before lawyers make it all messy and complicated. Come now. Tell Officer Clapp what you know.”
Officer Clapp took up all the space around him. Not a policeman, a cyborg. Half man. Half machine. Hen’s mouth went dry.
Then Officer Clapp did a strange thing. He took off his dark sunglasses and smiled. Even tilted his head—something Mom liked to do. He wasn’t a cyborg after all.
“There, there,” he said. And Hen realized—oh my gosh!—Officer Clapp held his hand. Kind of shaking it, like grownups do. The staring contest was still on, it seemed. That black spot stole his attention.
“Yeah? What do you say, boy?” Clapp’s eyebrows went up.
Hen felt very important. “That night…Derek’s truck was parked out front. Derek Hogg.”
Bernie sighed big behind him.
“Good boy,” Clapp said after a moment, in a tone that asked for more. He seemed almost disappointed. “You’re right, too. Derek Hogg’s truck was parked outside Miss Sally’s house at the time of the incident. How smart you are! You probably knew that before we did. You should work for us.”
Hen felt very, very important. “And then I saw Derek get into it. In the driver’s seat.”
Clapp seemed less excited now. Bernie had already told him all this. “Are you sure it was Derek getting behind that wheel?”
Hen nodded with his whole body.
“It was dark. Sometimes your eyes trick you in the dark.”
Hen remembered his book. “Not if you have night vision.”
Clapp laughed in a not-so-nice way. “And you don’t have night vision. Neither do I. Neither does Bernie here. So you can’t be sure it was Derek Hogg in the truck. Now, what else do you know about that night?”
“No. I am sure. I know it was Derek. I know him. I knew him my whole life. He walked side to side on the way to the car, like a gorilla. And he punched the steering wheel, angry-like.”
Clapp sighed again. Then he gave a too-big smile. It didn’t fit what they were talking about. He looked like a scary Halloween clown.
Hen tried to pull away, but Clapp held tight. “Now, now. Don’t you have something else to tell Officer Clapp?”
His face was back to straight lines. Serious eyes—the black speck menacing. A black hole.
Clapp leaned in closer. “Want to tell me about these beads?” His whisper was laced with a bitter odor of coffee.
Hen’s stomach turned. He’d forgotten he’d been wearing it, the beaded bracelet Bernie rescued from Miss Sally’s house. He’d meant to give it back to Tyler on Thanksgiving.
Everything had gone wrong that day. The grimace on Tyler’s face when he saw Hen. Tyler squirming on the table, calling Mom over and over. And then Clapp barging in. Pushing Tyler down. Hen had curled into a corner, shaking like a wet dog. Scary and messy stuff Hen didn’t like to remember. He didn’t like the way Clapp handled his brother. Tyler cursed and screamed and didn’t sound like his brother at all, but creepy and mean.
Why did you bring Hen here? Tyler had shouted at Mom.
The worst part was the hard shell Hen felt forming around his heart as he cried in the corner. Tyler had barely talked to him. He wouldn’t even look at him.
Why had his brother rejected him?
And now this policeman asked about his beaded bracelet.
“No,” Hen said to Clapp, surprised at his own voice. Like a grownup’s.
“Really? There’s nothing you want to tell me about these beads?”
The world went still a moment.
Caw. A crow hopped on the wrought-iron fence near the lawyer’s office—as big as a chicken and jet black. Hen shivered.
Clapp wouldn’t let up. He leaned closer, and the crow flew off. “It sure seemed like you had something on your mind when Bernie here gave these beads back to you. After we found them at Sally Hubbard’s home.”
Miss Sally. A bad feeling trickled to the surface.
Hen shook his head. No! Tears itched his cheeks, but he didn’t dare move to wipe them away.
Clapp’s movements were quick. The black speck blinked out a moment. And Clapp had the beaded bracelet in his hand. Hen rubbed his wrist where it had been.
“I’m going to hold onto this. When you decide you want to share what you know with Officer Clapp, have Bernie here bring you down to the station. Maybe we can go get an ice cream down at Stewart’s after.”
Hen held his wrist as Clapp stuffed the beads into his uniform pocket. Hen’s hand was free now, hot and moist from Clapp’s.
“Rob, honestly,” Bernie said. Finally. “I think that’s enough. His ma should really be here—”
“Right.” Clapp tapped his belt and fake laughed. “No worries. It’s all good.”
“Sorry, Rob. I mean, he’s just a boy. You gotta talk to Marcella about all this.”
“My pleasure.” His voice peaked and dipped like
an opera singer’s.
Bernie led Hen away from Clapp, and Hen felt lighter. Lighter still when he heard Mom’s voice calling after them. “What’s going on here?”
Everyone seemed to be happy to see her, not just Hen. All Clapp’s hard angles fell away. Bernie’s smile was back. Mom made everything better. She rushed over and tugged on his knit hat, and he could smell orange blossoms through the cold winter air. He didn’t care about the beads anymore. All he wanted was to get away from Officer Clapp. And go home.
“Have a nice day, Mrs. Trout.” Clapp replaced his sunglasses and smiled sideways at Mom. “See ya, Bernie.”
Mom turned to Bernie. “What was that about?”
Bernie rubbed the back of his neck. “I think we might need to have a talk with Hen.”
Hen was in trouble. Something about the beaded bracelet. He stared at his hands in the backseat of Mom’s Impala as they drove home.
“Why would he take something like that from a child?” Mom asked Bernie.
“We found it in Ma’s house, after.” Bernie tried to whisper.
“Right. He’d left it there. Couldn’t find it. He was all stressed about losing it. I’m sure he was glad you found it for him.”
Putty filled Hen’s ears. Truth was thick. Mom had no idea he’d given it to Tyler that night. It wasn’t his beaded bracelet Bernie found. It was Tyler’s. Should he tell her?
“That’s the thing,” Bernie said. “He didn’t seem glad when I gave it back to him. More like scared.”
“Well, considering the circumstances, I can’t say I blame him.”
Hen felt hot all over. Didn’t they know he was right here, in the backseat? He hated it when grownups talked like he wasn’t there. Or didn’t understand.
“Still, Clapp thinks it’s a clue or something. The bracelet. You might want to talk to Hen about it.”
Mom found Hen in the rearview. Gave him a bright smile. Hen looked at the blur of trees out the window. Kept staring until he felt the car pull into his driveway. He’d been so eager to get home. Now he didn’t know what was in store.
Minutes later, Hen sat across from Mom in the orange kitchen. She’d asked Bernie to go. Tyler was still being held at county jail. So much quiet filled the house. It seemed sad.