Crooked Numbers

by Tim O'Mara

  “That sounds like you.”

  She smiled, stepped over to me, and wrapped her arms around me. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just angry and scared.”

  “I know,” I said, then came up with an idea. “How about you commute from my place for a couple of days? It’s a quick shot by subway into work.”

  She released me and held me at arm’s length. “You know,” she said, “for a tough guy, you can be pretty thoughtful.”

  “Don’t let that get around.” I kissed her. “Now go pack. It’s getting late.”

  Chapter 28

  IT OCCURRED TO ME AS I LAY in bed, my arm around Allison with the early-morning sun sneaking through the curtains, that this was the first Sunday in a while I’d awakened with a woman next to me. I tried to remember the last time that had happened and time-traveled all the way back to my college days, before I had joined the police. I made a mental note to do this more often.

  I slowly removed my arm, rolled off the bed, and went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. There was nothing much in the fridge, so I figured I’d better head down to the avenue and do a little quick shopping. Back in the bedroom, I was slipping on a pair of jeans when Allison turned over.

  “Leaving me so soon?” she said, her eyes barely open. “Typical male.”

  “I’m gonna run down and get some bagels and lox and the Sunday Times.”

  “Oooh, the competition.”

  I forgot about that. “You want me to pick up your paper, too?”

  “Nah. I see enough of that at work. Besides, the Sunday Times rocks.” She sat up. “Wanna do the crossword together?”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that level of commitment.”

  She threw a pillow at me. “Just hurry back, okay?”

  “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks. Go.”

  I went.

  When I got back, Allison was at the kitchen window, drinking coffee and checking out the skyline. She had put on one of my Brooklyn Brewery T-shirts and a pair of boxers. I cleared my throat so as not to frighten her. She turned and raised her mug toward me.

  “You score another two points for the coffee,” she said. “Where’d you get it?”

  I held up the bag of breakfast. “Same place I got these,” I said, moving into the kitchen. “Manhattan does not have a monopoly on primo coffee and good food, you know. That”—I pointed at her cup—“is from Hawaii.”

  “Impressive,” she said, turning to face the city. “This view is to die for, Raymond.”

  I put the bag down on the table and came up behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I said, “Yeah. I could stay here all day.”

  “I was thinking…”

  “Yeah?”

  “How did those two last night know where I live?”

  “That’s a good question,” I said. “My best guess would be they followed you home from work one day.”

  “How did they know when I—we—would be getting home last night?”

  “More than likely, they followed us from your place to the restaurant and back.”

  She put her coffee down on the countertop and turned into me.

  “That’s fucking creepy,” she said. “I’m being stalked?”

  “We,” I said. “Last night, we were being stalked.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I think we’re doing it,” I said. “You stay here for … a while, and we go on with our lives. Tomorrow, you go to the paper and I go to school. We’ll just be a lot more aware of what’s going on around us.”

  I pulled her in close and hugged her. After about a minute, I said, “It’s all going to work out.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. My mom used to say it a lot.”

  She snorted and broke the hug.

  “I could really go for that breakfast now.”

  “Go start on the paper,” I said. “I’ll bring everything into the living room.”

  “Score another point for you, Raymond.”

  “What, exactly, do I get with all these points?”

  “Let’s see how breakfast goes,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.”

  *

  Less than an hour later, I was clearing our plates off the coffee table. Allison was leaning back on the couch, the Times Magazine up against her thighs, and tapping her forehead with a pencil.

  “Five letters,” she said. “‘Mysterious award.’ Starts with an R.”

  I popped the last piece of bagel into my mouth and followed it with a sip of coffee. “Raven.”

  “What? Like the bird?”

  “Like the poem by Poe. The Raven is a big award in the mystery writing biz.”

  “Mystery writers give awards?”

  “Hey,” I said. “Journalists do.”

  “Careful, tough guy. You don’t want to start losing points, do ya?”

  “Not yet.” I got all the dishes into the sink, all the leftovers into the fridge, and all the garbage into the trash. I went back into the living room and sat on the couch next to Allison. I closed my eyes. “I’m a raven, you know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The kid from Dougie’s school? Elliot?” I said. “With the bird-watching club?”

  “What about him?”

  “He said I was a raven.”

  “Was he trying to compliment you?”

  “Ravens are smart, playful, and enjoy starting trouble.”

  “Hmmm,” Allison said. “Insightful kid. I wonder what kind of bird I am.”

  “You,” I said, finding her thigh with my hand, “are more in the Canidae family.”

  “I’m a dog?”

  “I was thinking, more like a fox.”

  She tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, lifted her other thigh, and straddled me. She put her mouth next to my ear.

  “Wanna redeem some of those points now?” she whispered.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, slipping my hands under the T-shirt that, as far as I was concerned, now belonged to her. “Absolutely.”

  She took my ear into her mouth and gently tugged on it with her teeth. I ran my fingernails down her back to just above the boxers. There’s something about that spot that kills me. Allison moved her head until our mouths met. They were happy to see each other. She broke off the kiss and leaned back. She pulled up the bottom of the T-shirt and was about to take it off, when a thought crossed her face. She turned and faced my curtainless window.

  “Nobody can see in, right?”

  “Nope. We’re the highest building around.”

  “Good.”

  She removed the shirt and went back to kissing me. I slowly ran my hands up her sides, and I believe we both “ooohed” at the same time. Then the phone rang.

  “You wanna get that?” she asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “Good answer.”

  After four rings, the machine picked up.

  “Ray? This is Elliot Henry Finch. I have something that might be of interest to you regarding…”

  “Shit,” I said to Allison. “I should get that. It’s the kid from Dougie’s school.”

  “The bird kid?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” She got off me and slipped the T-shirt back on. “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t be.” I got to the phone and picked it up. “Elliot,” I said. “It’s Ray. Sorry. I just got in and I was screening. What’s up?”

  “Screening?” he asked, obviously not familiar with the concept.

  “Yeah. It’s when you let the machine pick up, the caller starts to talk, and then you can decide whether to pick up.”

  “So, you are deceiving the person calling you into believing you are not at home … and then you either pick up the phone or you do not, depending on whether the caller is someone you wish to speak to at that moment.”


  “Yes.”

  There was silence from the other end for a few seconds. I looked over at the beautiful female on my couch as Elliot pondered the situation.

  “So,” he finally said, “I should be flattered.”

  “You should be,” I said. “You got through the screen.”

  “Even though you deceived me?”

  “I didn’t know it was you, Elliot. When I did, I picked up.”

  “Thank you, Ray.”

  “You’re welcome. So, what’s up?” And please make it quick.

  “I am on Finch’s Landing, as I am every day at this time.”

  “Okay…”

  “And I am looking at something that may be of interest to you.”

  “What is it, Elliot?”

  “Are you aware Jack Quinn is no longer hospitalized?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you also aware he had planned a trip abroad?”

  “No, Elliot. I wasn’t. How do you know this?”

  “Jack posted a message on my site this morning. He wrote he was happy to be out of the hospital, but disappointed he would have to cancel his trip to Beijing until further notice.”

  “Beijing?” I said.

  “Yes,” Elliot said. “According to the post, he was to leave Tuesday evening.”

  It was still a few weeks until the public schools would break for Christmas, but that was the joke about private schools: the more money you pay, the fewer days you go.

  “Are you guys going on break already?”

  “No, Ray. Which is part of the reason I believed you would be interested.”

  “The other part being…”

  “Jack Quinn was a friend of Dougie and Paulie.”

  “Can you read the whole post to me, Elliot?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “‘Thanks for all the calls and cards, folks. Glad to be awake and back in my own crib.’ What does that mean, Ray? ‘My own crib’?”

  “It’s street talk, Elliot. It means his apartment.”

  “Oh.” Again, he cleared his throat. “‘Missed most of you all. Disappointed I won’t be going to Beijing again Tuesday night, but my travel buddy is gone, and I don’t wanna be flying solo to that part of the world, especially after one A.M. Taking a few more days off from school. See ya when I see ya. Jack.’ That is all he wrote, Ray.”

  Cool and mysterious kid, this Jack Quinn. Too much of each for my taste. He was doing nothing to ease my bias against private school kids.

  “Ray?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sorry, Elliot. I was thinking of the message. Trying to make some sense of it.”

  “Maybe,” Elliot said, “it does not make much sense. According to his sister’s message a few days ago, Jack was in bad shape. Now that he is feeling better does not necessarily mean that he is thinking … normally.”

  “You’ve got a good point there,” I said. “Anyway, thanks for calling.”

  “You are welcome,” he said. “Will you be seeing Edgar this evening?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “He is the friend you were speaking about the first time we met, right?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “You do remind me of him.”

  “After meeting him yesterday, I will take that as a compliment, Ray.”

  “That’s how I meant it, Elliot. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Why?”

  Gotta choose your words very carefully around this kid, I remembered.

  “No reason,” I said. “I just meant I’d like to talk to you again.”

  “I would enjoy that as well, Raymond.”

  “Good-bye, Elliot.”

  “Oh,” he added. “About that screening thing you do?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You really should look into caller ID.”

  “Thanks, Elliot. I’ll do that.”

  “Good-bye, Ray.”

  I put the phone back, and Allison gave me a weird look.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “I need to get caller ID.” The look got weirder. “He wanted to tell me about a strange post Jack Quinn made on his site.” I told her about the post and Finch’s Landing.

  “Cute,” she said. “Any idea what Jack meant by canceling his trip to Beijing?”

  “None at all. But like Elliot just said, the kid’s just come out of the hospital. How much sense is he supposed to make?”

  “Good point.”

  “Now,” I said, walking over to her and lifting her shirt. “Where were we?”

  She raised her arms above her head. “An even better point, Mr. Donne.”

  *

  Having never made it to the bedroom, we were intertwined on my couch. She was still sitting on me, and neither one of us felt like moving. Our breathing seemed to be synchronized, and we both had our eyes closed. That’s when the phone rang again.

  “Wow,” Allison said. “You always this popular on Sunday?”

  “Not for a long time now.”

  She gave me a playful slap on the shoulder as the machine picked up.

  “Mr. Donne,” the voice on the other end said. I recognized it right away.

  “That’s Dougie’s mom,” I said to Allison.

  She rolled off my lap. “Pick it up.”

  I jumped off the couch and got to the phone. “Mrs. Lee. How are you?”

  “Not so good at the moment, I’m afraid,” she said. She sounded tired and confused. “Not so good at all. I’m sorry to call you on a Sunday, Mr. Donne.”

  “That’s not a problem, Mrs. Lee. What’s wrong?”

  Silence, except for the sound of breathing.

  “Mrs. Lee?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. A little more silence. “Is it possible for you to come over to the house, Mr. Donne?” She didn’t sound good at all.

  “Are you okay, Mrs. Lee? Do you need me to call nine-one-one?”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “Nothing like that. Just you. Please.”

  I looked at the clock on my DVR. It was just before two.

  “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Lee.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Donne.” She hung up.

  Allison pulled her T-shirt on and gave me a concerned look. “Is she okay?”

  “She didn’t sound like it.” I went into my bedroom. “I’m going over there. You can stay here, finish the puzzle, watch TV, whatever.”

  She stepped into the room as I was dressing. She had the boxers back on.

  “Why don’t I come with you?”

  “Thanks, but she asked for me, and she didn’t sound like she was in the mood for too much company.”

  “Okay,” she said, not happy with my answer. “When will you be back?”

  “In time to take you downstairs for Chinese food.”

  “All right.” She stepped over and gave me a hug. “Be careful, okay?”

  “I’m just going over to Mrs. Lee’s, Allison.”

  “And last night we were just going to my apartment.”

  I nodded and hugged her back. “Gotcha.”

  *

  When I got down to the street, I found Uncle Ray in front of my apartment. He was standing outside the door, cigar in his mouth, studying the buzzers.

  “Number five,” I said as I exited the building.

  “I’d probably know that,” he answered, “if you had names next to the numbers. Or—God forbid—I were ever invited by.”

  “Consider yours an open invitation, Uncle Ray. What’s up?”

  He took the cigar out of his mouth and smiled. “‘What’s up?’” he repeated. “That’s good, Nephew. Why the hell didn’t you call me last night?”

  “It was a Saturday night,” I said. “I had a date.”

  “I know. With Allison Rogers, the journalist.”

  “How’d you know—? Who called you?” I asked. “Johnson or Johnson?”

  “Their CO called me. Captain Doherty. Do I have to explain to you again that simply by virtue of our sharing a name, you c
annot have official contact with the police in this city—especially if you’re assaulted—without my knowing about it?”

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

  “You,” he said, “didn’t want me knowing you still had your nose in Murcer’s case. Still hanging around with the girl from the press.”

  “It was a date, Uncle Ray. It had nothing to do with the case.”

  “Until the assault, you mean.”

  I noticed his town car parked across the street with no one in the driver’s seat.

  “Where’s Smitty?” I asked.

  “Went to have a smoke.”

  “Can’t he smoke in the car?”

  “I don’t like people smoking in my car.”

  I looked down at his cigar. “Really?”

  “I don’t like other people smoking in my car. And don’t change the subject. Why are you still hanging around with the reporter, Raymond?”

  “We were on a date, Uncle Ray. It’s what people do when they like each other.”

  He took a drag off his cigar and let it out slowly. “You both okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He took the rest of the cigar, pressed the lit end into the brick wall, and tossed it into the street.

  “Take me upstairs and make me a cup of coffee,” he said. “I gotta be somewhere in an hour and don’t want to sit in the car. We need to talk some more about this.”

  He stepped toward the door. I put my hand on the door handle and said, “I’m just on my way out, Uncle Ray.” I realized I couldn’t tell him I was going to see Mrs. Lee. “How about we talk tomorrow?”

  He looked me in the eyes for about five seconds and smiled. “You got the girl up there, don’tcha, Ray?”

  How the hell— “How the hell did you know that?”

  “You got that look in your eyes. Like you just got laid, and it’s gonna happen again as soon as you get back. You’re screwing the lady reporter. Jesus, Ray. You can’t find a nice schoolteacher?”

  I shook my head and smiled. “We thought it would be safer if she stayed with me for a few days,” I said.

  “I bet you did, Nephew.” He took me by the elbow. “Where you going? I’ll have Smitty swing you on by.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “It’s a quick shot on the subway.”

  “On a Sunday? You can wait a half hour for the G train. Let Smitty take you. It’ll save you time and get you back to your girlfriend that much quicker.”