Steel tapped a finger on his watch, a Shinola he recently purchased, and glanced at Marisa. She rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out through her nose. She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest, the arms tightening by the second.
Steel scanned Williams’ office. He’d been in there numerous times but never really taken the time to observe it. For as much as he obsessed about everything, he could be so absent-minded at times. Williams wasn’t a flashy guy. Little had changed from when he’d moved into the office. The furniture was standard, with an old desk, which appeared to be a cubicle moved into a room with four walls, and a compact refrigerator next to a filing cabinet. Phillies and 76ers magnets decorated the filing cabinet. A square window without any blinds or drapes let half the sun’s strength into the area and streaked either side of the office as it moved throughout the day. The other half of the sun was blocked by tall office buildings of downtown Philadelphia. Crumpled pieces of paper circled a plastic trashcan against the wall to Steel’s right, and he inwardly chuckled, envisioning Williams’ chubby arms shooting the paper like a basketball but missing. A permanent aroma of Williams’ musky cologne acted as the office’s air freshener.
Steel raised his eyes at a picture frame. A family portrait hung on an off-white wall to the left of Williams’ desk. Husband and wife stood in a prom pose with two children in front of them. Williams wore a black suit and orange necktie, his hands positioned around his wife’s waist and a brilliant smile across his face. His two young daughters stood waist high to their parents with big smiles with some teeth missing, probably taken by the Tooth Fairy. Williams’ wife’s hands were placed on her daughters’ shoulders. The little girls’ orange dresses matched their mother’s, which matched Williams’ tie. Steel figured he had taken that photo at church. Williams made it clear to all that he was a Christian—a Baptist to be exact. He attended a predominately African-American church every Sunday and, when needed, filled in as pastor. He often reminded his colleagues of his plans of retiring when the time was right and then of dedicating himself full-time to his church.
Steel thought of the time Williams had asked him to attend, but he’d respectfully declined the offer. He believed in a higher power but couldn’t bring himself to subscribe to a specific organized religion; he needed something concrete.
Steel and Marisa heard footsteps behind them but didn’t turn around. Williams’ musky cologne gave away his presence. The door whined as he closed it. He mumbled a hello, looked annoyed, swung his hips around his desk, and turned to face them. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around his chair. His police badge hung from his neck, dangling just under his breastbone. He wore a black tie and a crisp white dress shirt. His pants had a perfect pleat down the center that could cut a finger to the touch, and his shoes sparkled so clean that Steel and Marisa could’ve caught their reflections in them.
They waited for Williams to settle in before speaking.
Williams lowered himself into his seat and banged a handful of papers against his desk, straightening them, then sat back. He folded his hands and laid them on top of his bulging gut, then moved his eyes back and forth between Steel and Marisa.
“So, what’s going on with your caseload, specifically the Hitchy file?”
Steel rubbed his hands together. “Sir, I have little to go on.”
“What do you have?”
“There weren’t prints or witnesses or a weapon retrieved, forensics barely has anything. This past week, I interviewed everyone who could’ve known something…his customers, his friends, everyone, but nothing. I would’ve interviewed everybody in the entire city, door-to-door if I had the time…but we don’t live in a perfect world.”
“What about the funeral?” Williams said. He oscillated back and forth in the desk chair, his stare visible through burgundy tints.
“I went. It was a small burial…about fifteen people showed up. Hitchy didn’t have family. Most of the people were there to support his girlfriend, Venice. But I did talk to Hitchy’s guys…” he raised his arms and made quotation marks with his fingers, “…they don’t know nothing. I interviewed every one of them and hit them with questions from all angles. Showed them pictures of Hitchy’s dead body to rattle them. But nothing.” He leaned back. “You know how that goes.”
Williams dug his elbows into the desktop and massaged his forehead. After roughly ten seconds, as Marisa and Steel waited patiently, he said, “You two are aware of the six homicides that just happened, right?”
Steel bit his tongue and held back words. He never liked being talked down to, even if Williams’ intent wasn’t that. If he’d just perceived it wrong; either way, it bothered him. Marisa adjusted her body in her seat; she could feel the tension building in the room.
“Maybe I should pull you off this case, put a senior detective on this one. I’ve got some smaller cases, more evidence for you to train Marisa on. I have a feeling this thing isn’t over with Hitchy dead. You know how this works. Somebody kills him, and one of those guys you saw at Hitchy’s funeral goes after that person?” Williams ran a finger over his right eye. “Who is that person we’re looking at again?”
Steel was well prepared and reached under his chair for a manila folder filled with computer printouts that had everything he needed to know about Knee. He opened the file and shuffled through a few pages as a long “ah…” came from his mouth. He whistled a few times and acted as if he was brushing up on Knee’s file, but that couldn’t be further from the case. He didn’t need a summary; he’d memorized the whole file the previous night. Steel had known this meeting was coming. After one week, and well past the crucial first forty-eight hours, and no leads, nothing from the public tip hotline, no new evidence from the crime scene, and a growing homicide rate in the city, he’d known a case review was in order. Williams was on top of everything.
Steel began, “Real name’s Arthur Anderson, thirty-one…been in and out of prison his whole life and served eight months as a juvenile. Later on, he did a year here and there.” He held out a hand and flipped it back and forth. “A total of three years in prison to be exact. We’ve busted him before for possession, got ‘em for an ounce of marijuana and an insignificant amount of cocaine. Also took him in for assault, and also armed robbery once. Narcotics has been on him for a while, but they can’t connect anything to him yet. They’re still trying to build a case against him and his crew. Knee and his buddies are making a lot of money, though, we know that. And Knee was suspected in a drug-related murder of a nineteen-year-old kid a few years ago, but, again, there wasn’t enough evidence. But the rumors around his neighborhood pointed to him. The kid was found dead in a back alley, shot in the face and with both his hands chopped off. And Knee wasn’t originally from Philly, says here he was born in Jersey, in Newark. The family moved him here when he was four. From what I could tell, his parents are hardworking people, both still alive. The father’s a contractor; and the mother, a homemaker. Looks like the mother and father had some problems with him, and his brother. He’s got one brother. We were called to the parents’ home a few times to break up fights between Knee, the brother, and the father. The brother’s in jail now…doing six years for armed robbery. What I’ve gathered on Knee is that he’s ruthless—a born leader. He’s got teenagers working for him who idolize him and do whatever he says and an organized, smart, cunning network. He never does the grunt work. He’s got three people below him who’d go to jail before he could be touched. It’s hard to pin anything on him.”
Steel closed the file. “The reason we haven’t brought him in is that he’s in Florida, Miami, ah, South Beach. I didn’t have anything to go on, anyway. Figured I’d wait him out, but his flight home is tomorrow. As soon as he gets in this city…he’s mine.”
Williams’ bottom lip grew as he lifted his eyes and thought for a moment.
Steel leaned a hand on the desk. “Keep us on the case, Dan. Give me a little more time. I won’t l
et you down.”
“You know what I’m hearing from up top. They’re in my ear. I’m all over the place here, got more cases than we can handle. We’ve got to knock some of this off the books. Something’s going to give…a little break. It always does. But we have to dig.” He pounded the desk. “We don’t need a drug war. Lord knows we don’t need a drug war, right now.”
“And I will knock it off. Trust me.”
Williams eased back and folded his arms across his chest, rocking slowly. “You know, I’m hearing it with this YouTube thing now too, right?”
Steel didn’t react.
Williams’ hard, serious eyes softened and focused on Marisa, and then Steel. “So, how’s this guy treating you? He showing you the ropes?”
“Yeah, learning, working, hope to get out there soon.”
Williams pressed his left palm onto the desk and wiggled his large rear-end out of the chair, then stood, and Steel and Marisa followed his lead. He squeezed his back and grimaced. Steel assumed pains of a former but now aging weightlifter.
“You all right there, Lieutenant?”
Williams slowly shook his head. “Dear Lord, it stinks getting old.”
Marisa laughed, and Steel let out a single and fast, “Ha.”
Williams drifted over to the door and swung it open. He waved his hand as his wristwatch caught the reflection of the ceiling light. Steel and Marisa inched forward, once again taking in the trail of his cologne.
Williams straightened his posture and stood with an air of wisdom and experience about him, hands in his pockets, confident, as his shadow covered the door while the sunlight beamed on it. “Enjoy your holiday, you two, if I don’t see you.”
“You too,” Marisa said.
“Same to you,” Steel said.
As Steel walked out, he hoped to keep his word he’d just given a man who he had an enormous amount of respect for.
18
The station had been quiet all day and even quieter at 6 p.m, and Steel and Marisa strolled through the lobby to go home. There wasn’t much they could do until they questioned Knee. Steel had reviewed other cases he had in his caseload of just over 100—cold cases, cases he’d been waiting for leads on—but he couldn’t fully focus on them because of the Hitchy case, the immediacy of solving it. Over that past week, he and Marisa had interviewed more of Knee and Hitchy’s associates, checked in with Venice and questioned her about some of those people, and double-checked with forensics but nothing, nothing gave—nothing worth pursuing. He’d ruminated over the past few days and was infuriated with his inability to build a case. His stress levels were hitting the roof, leaving him with insomnia, constantly flushed skin, and heart palpitations. He feared the case would go cold, or worse, cause a chain reaction. A message had to be sent through the streets, one case at a time. If the Hitchy case happened to go cold, who knew the violence that could spring from it?
Steel yanked the door open for Marisa, and the sun’s bright light reflected off car windows and office buildings only to find their eyes. Both squinted. Though the humidity had calmed over the past two days and was now manageable, the air was still thick. A few fireworks cracked through the sky in the distance, and Steel figured it was the work of amateurs, probably kids who couldn’t wait to set them off.
He took one look at her as she stood, hair swaying while searching through her purse, half-smiling, a relaxed demeanor, and thought she looked the best he’d seen of her since they’d first met. He didn’t know if she had done something different with her appearance, or if it was the byproduct of getting finished work for the evening and the chemical high that provided. Or if it was a yearning of his, something deep down in his heart, reminding him of an aching sense of loneliness he’d felt ever since he’d buried the memories of the woman who’d left with a piece of it a long time ago.
She smiled and turned to him, and it was sincere, as if she was genuinely happy at the moment. “It feels good out here today…wish I was on the beach somewhere.”
He smirked. “Yeah, you and Snooki.”
She bobbed her head and pouted. “Stop, not like that—maybe the shore, Atlantic City or something, or Vegas, anywhere other than home. Ya’ know, go to the beach, gamble a little…” she thought for a second, “too old for the clubs, maybe get a tan…eat some fudge, I don’t know.” She slapped his forearm, smiling. “It isssss the Fourth of July. But, work this year. What are you gonna do, you know?”
“Fudge—what’re you, ten? You can’t go to the clubs, but you’ll get fudge? After one hour on the beach, I’m done. There’s nothing to do. Since I hit thirty, I’m like a chaperon in those clubs at the shore. I’m past my time for that.”
She studied his eyes, her smile something wild, then said, “Fudge is my weakness, don’t judge. I’m like a big kid when it comes to fudge.” She inhaled and stopped smiling. “You have plans for tonight? Setting off some fireworks?” she said and winked.
“Nah,” he said and shook his head but smiled after the fireworks comment had sunk in. “I’m probably gonna take it easy…just relax. You?”
“I’m heading over to my parents’ house now. My family’s having a barbecue tonight,” she waved a hand, “for the holiday. They do it every year.”
Steel twisted his neck at a car flying down the street and yelled, “Slow down!”
They both stared at the car until it shrank and disappeared.
He shook his head, annoyed. “Guy’s gonna get somebody killed.”
“You wanna stop by my parents? Keep me company.”
“Ah…I don’t know.”
“Come on, stop and get something to eat. I’m going there now. They have so much food.” She nudged his elbow. “Stop being a boring old man and come by.”
He didn’t have a response, incapable of thinking of a sarcastic, witty one-liner that he’d usually have ready at all times, and went with it, taking it as a sign from the subconscious mind telling him he’d rather spend his night no other way than with her.
She froze him with her gaze; her eyes sank his heart with one glance. Negotiation time was over; his control and tough external appearance over as well. He would’ve followed her into traffic at that point.
“You’re coming,” she said. “My family welcomes everybody.”
“All right, I’ll come by for a little.”
“Get in your car and follow me there. It’s in South Philly… it’s not that far from the Phillies stadium.”
“All right,” he said and wished he hadn’t criticized Sam Kelly earlier about listening to everything his wife told him to do. He was barking at her command and had only known her for a week.
They ran down the stone steps and hooked a quick right into the parking lot. A sign hung over the metal fence: AUTHORIZED PARKING ONLY. The two pressed their key fobs, and multiple beeps echoed throughout the lot.
As he opened the car door and lowered his buttocks into the seat cushions, he thought of this situation. Is this just a friendly invitation? Is she trying to start something? How would this interfere with work? Am I misreading this? What if she’s just being nice? Is my interest in her clouding my judgment? Am I reading this whole situation wrong? Who cares, just go with it. What if it doesn’t work out? What if I try and she rejects me? I can’t handle that. So what if she does? Go and see what happens. Why am I thinking this much? What the fuck! Ah, fuck it! He shook his head violently and turned the key in the ignition so hard he thought it’d snapped. Sweat seeped from his scalp and moistened his hair. Damn, he wished he would’ve bought a pack of cigarettes at the convenience store. Nobody else worries like you do. Stop! Stop! He breathed deeply.
Steel hated uncertainty, and although Marisa had shown signs of interest, they were partners and co-workers. They had a job to do. He hadn’t been searching for this, and he frowned to himself at how unprepared he was for it. If he wasn’t reading it all wrong. His logical mind scolded him and sent a reminder not to shit where he eats
, but his emotional mind convinced him to go with his gut. He wondered how Marisa was getting to him so quickly; if it had been anyone else, he would have declined. But over that past week, she’d grown on him more and more. He thought about her as much as he did the Hitchy case. And he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t felt this way in years. There was something about her he couldn’t put his finger on—maybe her witty personality or her strong sense of independence, he didn’t know, but he liked it. Didn’t hurt that, to him, she was one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen. He couldn’t figure it out and floated the idea in his head that he felt that way because they were spending a lot of time with one another, working the case. Then he combated it by telling himself that that was how people met—through getting to know one another—if at work, then so be it. God, his neurotic mind tortured him at times. Just the same as he worked as a detective, analyzing and over-thinking everything, he did with relationships in his life. He might have been an expert in the detective game, but he was far from it in the relationship game.
He’d had three girlfriends over the past five or so years, and each had ended in a bad breakup. They’d wanted more than he had been willing to give. He had never been able to make that final push. Maybe they’d abandoned him, too—like she had. As a socially awkward loner, he didn’t easily let people in, trusted few. If someone failed his trust tests, they were permanently banned from his inner circle. That was what seeing the most gruesome aspects of life, and the worst of humanity had done to him. He’d seen best friends, family members, and business partners turn on one another in cold blood. He never let his guard down. He didn’t know much, but he knew he hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time—not since, well, her. He still couldn’t say her name. And this Marisa thing had all happened so soon. He wondered if she felt this way at all. She’d probably think he was crazy for thinking this way, but one could only hope. Nevertheless, she’d sparked his interest—and it scared the hell out of him.
The Highway (A Benny Steel and Marisa Tulli Novel - Book 1) Page 12