Uptown Thief

by Aya De León

  The thug took the bullet in the back and collapsed. Dulce shrieked and jumped away from him. The knife clattered to the ground.

  A siren wailed in the distance, and the Hummer screeched away from the curb.

  Marisol shoved the gun in the back of her waistband and gathered the screaming Dulce into her arms.

  Chapter 23

  Eva had just taken Dulce up to Marisol’s apartment when the emergency vehicles arrived. The ambulance took the bleeding thug to the hospital. Meanwhile, Serena explained to the fire department that the sprinkler system had doused the blaze in the lobby. Fortunately, the damage was contained on the first floor.

  Marisol’s body had just begun to shake when she heard a knock on her office door. She clenched her body against the wave of trembling. “Come in,” she said.

  Raul stepped into the office.

  “What the hell?” she asked. “Did your cop friends call you?”

  “Clinic security called me,” Raul said. “Unlike you, Marisol, they realize when they need help.”

  “I don’t need your help,” she said.

  “Is it true you’re the one who shot that asshole?” Raul asked.

  Marisol nodded.

  “If you don’t want to spend time in jail, then you do need my help.”

  “You wanna help?” she asked. “I hope you’re ready to back me up with the cops, because the gun is only registered in Florida.”

  “You have a clear case of self-defense,” Raul said. “But why have a gun lying around?”

  “We’ve gotten death threats,” Marisol said. “From pimps, fundamentalist Christian extremists, and nearby landlords who threatened to torch our building for bringing down property values. I hoped never to use it. But he was gonna slit her throat. Right there in front of everyone, including children.”

  “I’ll vouch for you, but I can’t promise,” Raul said. “NYC gun laws are strict.”

  * * *

  Over the next hour, Marisol told her story to two different officers.

  Raul came back into the office. “Guy’s in critical but stable condition, so no homicide. They’ll drop the gun charges, but they confiscated the weapon,” he said.

  “What about Jerry?” she asked.

  “Did he shoot up in the air the other day?” Raul asked. “The one you said was no big deal?”

  “I can’t believe he fucking firebombed my clinic,” she said.

  “I know you’re not crazy about NYPD, but I can make a call,” Raul said. “The new head of the precinct isn’t a dick like the last guy. You need to let them help you.”

  “How? Jerry got past the security guards with the firebomb. What can the cops do?”

  “Cops carry guns.”

  “Their guns aren’t worth shit unless they’re pointing at the psycho pimp in front of my building. Cops can’t be here twenty-four-seven.”

  They headed back out to the street, where the smoke was clearing.

  A woman firefighter came up to Marisol. “You’re the executive director?”

  Marisol nodded.

  “It was just the waiting room. Good thing your sprinklers activate only in the area they detect smoke. Otherwise you woulda soaked the whole building. Oughta be able to get that front room back in shape within the week.”

  “Thank you so much,” Marisol said.

  Raul walked back over to Marisol and pointed to the front door. “Has this door been open the whole time?”

  “I guess so,” she said. “But the security guards would have—”

  “Half the time, the security guards were being questioned by the cops,” Raul said. “One of them was getting treated for a minor injury. Plus, the fire department was in and out. I don’t know how well the cops had it cordoned off.”

  “Shit,” Marisol said. “I didn’t even think to—”

  “Jerry could have come back and be waiting somewhere inside.”

  “Just in the front area,” Marisol said. “The upstairs and the back are secure.”

  “I’m not leaving until we search the whole place,” Raul said.

  Marisol didn’t like it. She still suspected Raul might be trying to set her up, but she liked the idea of Jerry hiding in the office even less.

  * * *

  They searched the building, all the patient rooms in the clinic, the conference room, the medical and psych staff offices. Marisol looked into the large multipurpose room.

  Dulce sat on one of the beds, huddled beside a platinum blond African American girl rubbing her back.

  “You have people living here?” Raul asked, after Marisol had closed the door. “How did I miss that when I volunteered?”

  “It’s only at night,” Marisol said. “A limited, temporary shelter for a few clients. Women who need protection from pimps and boyfriends. Tonight’s drama is why it’s such a risk to have clients living in.”

  Raul nodded. They searched the rest of the lower floors. When they went into the supply room, Marisol remembered them on hands and knees in the dark. The adrenaline from the shooting was subsiding, but her pulse quickened again.

  Marisol shook it off, as they confirmed the last few rooms were empty.

  “I hate feeling like someone’s coming after me,” Marisol said. “I shoulda shot Jerry while I had the chance.”

  “Then you’d be getting booked for murder,” Raul said.

  “Justifiable homicide,” Marisol said. She turned away from the softness of his lips, the open caring on his face. “I need a fucking drink.”

  She swiped her card at the security door and they walked up to the fourth floor. She went right to the office’s liquor cabinet, and poured them two glasses of rum.

  For nearly an hour they drank in silence, on opposite ends of the couch. Marisol put away the better part of the bottle. She stared out the window.

  She heard every swish of fabric against the leather sofa when Raul moved, every tap of his glass against the coffee table, every swallow of liquid down his throat.

  She considered asking him to leave, but she didn’t want to be alone. She should have asked Eva to stay, or Serena.

  “You ever kill anyone?” Raul asked, out of nowhere.

  “Just once,” Marisol said. “You?”

  “Bunch of times.” He shrugged. “Part of being a cop.”

  She took another swallow of her drink.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but having been raised in part by her Catholic grandmother, the confession felt inevitable. “I came from a super fucked-up family,” Marisol said. “I finally figured a way to improve it.”

  “My sister always suspected something,” Raul said. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Nope.” Marisol leaned back on the couch with her rum.

  “You were always like that,” Raul said. “Smart and a badass, but nobody could figure you out.”

  “That’s how I like it.” She stood to refill her glass.

  “It seems like it might get lonely under that mysterious exterior,” he said.

  “Guys lust after the mystery girl they can wonder about,” Marisol said. “The yet-to-be-sorted girl. Good girl? Bad girl? The not knowing kept everybody interested. If I had slept with half the football team or gone steady with one guy for a year, I wouldn’t have been half as fascinating.”

  “How come you keep lumping me with all the other guys in high school?” Raul asked. “I wasn’t some dog. After you graduated, I had a girlfriend all through junior and senior year.”

  “So what happened?” Marisol asked. “Why aren’t you two married now?”

  “She went off to Duke,” Raul said. “Then medical school. She’s a surgeon in Ohio. Married another doctor.”

  “When do I get to learn all about you?” Marisol asked. “You’ve been pretty nosy in my alleged love life. My girls think you’re hot, even the gay ones. You must have had some luck with the ladies since high school.”

  “I don’t really care if all your girls
think I’m hot,” Raul said. “I don’t like girls, I like women. Grown, smart women who happen to—”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Marisol said, smiling. “Tell me about your love life.”

  “You first,” he said. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Nope,” Marisol said. “I’ve always been married to my work.” She wasn’t ready to tell him about her history of sex work. Or uptown hookups. But he had asked about love, not sex. “I’ve . . . dated . . . a bunch. But . . . love wasn’t really on the table . . . I lived with a guy for a while.”

  “Okay,” Raul said. He accepted her words at face value, and she felt uneasy. She hadn’t lied, but she could see he had gotten a distorted picture.

  “I dated a woman I met in the police academy for a while,” he said. “I was engaged to somebody else when I was a rookie.” He looked down at his glass. “A lot of smart women are freaked out by cops. Once I joined the force, I kept meeting these badge bunnies. Women with a thing for cops. It was cute at first, but then it got creepy. Like the guy didn’t matter, they were just turned on by the uniform.”

  “Come on, Raul,” Marisol said. “You’re good-looking, smart, friendly. I can’t believe you have trouble meeting women.”

  “Not trouble meeting women.” Raul shook his head. “Trouble staying interested. At some point, the cop thing got in the way. Either they couldn’t handle the lifestyle, or they had a thing about it, always pulling some damsel-in-distress shit to manipulate me.”

  “‘Damsel in distress’?” Marisol said. “Aren’t you here tonight on a rescue mission with me?”

  “That’s different,” Raul said. “Your building got firebombed. You shot a man trying to slit a woman’s throat. That’s calling for backup, not calling with some bullshit. I can’t tell you how many times women have called me after we had a fight or I was mad and I walked out, talking about, ‘Oh, Raul, I heard a noise in the apartment and I’m scared.’” He took a swig of the drink. “Be woman enough to say that you’re sorry and you want me to come over. I’m not turned on by helplessness.”

  “I can see how after a day of rescuing people, it would get tired pretty quick to do that at home.”

  “Bingo,” Raul said, downing the last of his drink.

  “But you stopped being a cop,” Marisol said. “Then what got in the way of your love life?”

  “Me.” Raul laughed. “I was bitter after the NYPD burned me, just sort of a brooding jerk.” He poured himself another shot of rum.

  “You?” Marisol laughed. “I can’t see it.”

  She emptied the bottle into her glass. When she set it down, it clacked loudly against the glass coffee tabletop. She stood to get another bottle and the room tilted. The back of the couch was her safety rail as she crossed the carpet to the liquor cabinet.

  “Can I get you a refill?” she asked.

  “I shouldn’t,” he said. “I can’t be hungover tomorrow.”

  She crossed back to lean on the end of the sofa. “Don’t go home,” Marisol said. “Stay.” She put a hand on his arm.

  Between the shooting and the alcohol and him showing up to help, she was unraveling. All the rules seemed absurd, irrelevant. The space between their bodies seemed wasted. He looked down and took a deep breath. “I can’t, Marisol. I—you shot a man tonight.” He looked at her. Those improbably long lashes, the brown of his eyes that hid the pupil. “You’ve been drinking. I don’t know if this is what you really want or the rum talking, or you’re just reaching out for somebody.” He looked down again. “I can’t be that guy who fills the gap. I been in love with you since I was thirteen.”

  She closed her eyes and felt the impact of his declaration. She wanted his body—but more than that, she didn’t want him to leave. “We don’t have to do anything. Just stay.”

  “I’m not capable of staying and not doing anything,” he said. “If I lie down in a room with you, I’m coming after you.”

  “Sleep on the couch,” Marisol said. “I’ll be upstairs. A whole floor away. You’d be safe.”

  “Don’t count on it,” he said with a dry chuckle. “But I’ll stay.”

  She opened the cabinet behind the couch and took down some bedding, careful to keep her balance.

  “This place is a maze. I’d never be able to find you,” he said.

  “I feel like such a punk, even asking,” she said.

  “You saved a life tonight,” Raul said. “You deserve some backup.”

  * * *

  In the morning, Marisol felt paranoid again. She ran her fingers through her hair and brushed her teeth before coming downstairs.

  “Buenos días,” she said.

  “Hey,” Raul said. He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Nine thirty-five,” she said. “I didn’t know what time you needed to get up.”

  “Oh shit,” he said. “I had no idea. It’s pitch dark in here.”

  “Heavy drapes,” she said.

  He stood and stumbled around in a tank top and boxers. She turned on the overhead light, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted, gathering up his clothes and personal items.

  She surveyed his muscled legs, his ass holding up the boxers, his shoulders and chest visible inside and out of the thin undershirt.

  “I got a meeting at ten,” he said. “Thanks for waking me.”

  Marisol waved it off as she walked him across the outer office lobby.

  He stopped at the door to the stairway. “I—” He leaned forward as if to hug her good-bye. “I should go,” he said, and headed down the stairs.

  She stood staring after him. The door banged shut at the bottom of the stairwell. She wanted to run to catch up with him. Tell him she wasn’t drunk anymore, that it wasn’t about shooting a man, that he wasn’t just some guy. Some scrap of her dream at the beach came back to her, not the image but the feeling. The way it felt so right to be with him.

  She shook her head. Noooo, girl. No. She didn’t have time for daydreams. Back at her desk, she called the insurance company.

  Eva walked into her office as she waited on hold.

  “I want you to have something,” Eva said.

  “Don’t give me a gun,” Marisol said. “I don’t think the NYPD will let me off twice.”

  “I keep my gun at home,” Eva said, and handed Marisol a key ring with two buttons.

  “A panic gizmo?” Marisol asked. “I already have one.”

  “Now you have two,” Eva said. “You know how it works. Siren button left, silent signal right. You okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Marisol said, as she took the key ring.

  Eva studied Marisol through her granny glasses. “I saw Raul leaving. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never had a guy spend the night.”

  “He just slept on the couch in my office,” Marisol said.

  “Your idea?”

  “His,” Marisol said. “He thought I had PTSD, and I wasn’t up to making good sexual decisions.”

  “I like this Raul,” Eva said. “I’m thrilled you’re dating some sort of cop.”

  “I don’t know if we’re dating,” Marisol said. “And he’s an ex-cop.”

  “The best kind,” Eva said. “Close enough to have connections, but enough distance to be loyal to you first and foremost.”

  “I hope so,” Marisol said, and dropped the panic key ring into her purse.

  * * *

  By that night, Marisol was emotionally drained and mentally exhausted. Still, when she got a call from Raul, she felt an excited pull in her solar plexus.

  After they greeted each other, he sighed. “Rough night. I’m just sitting waiting for this woman to call me.”

  “Maybe I should hang up,” she suggested. “You know, keep the line free.”

  “No, it’s okay,” he said. “I have call waiting. It’s nice to have someone keep me company while I pine away.”

  “So what is it you like about this chick?” Marisol asked.

  “She always surprises me,
” he said. “She’s tough, but she’s got this soft side she showed me last night.”

  “How do you know she won’t surprise you with something you’re not expecting, something you’re not ready for?”

  “If I was expecting it, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he said. “So I’m thinking maybe she trusts me a little, and I’m getting my hopes up.”

  “That’s obviously a mistake,” she said, laughing.

  “I know,” he said. “But now that I see she’s a really sensitive person, I’m hoping she’ll take pity on me and call.”

  “You need to work on your self-esteem,” Marisol said.

  Raul laughed. “Can you help?”

  “Yeah,” Marisol said. “With the advent of cell phone technology, you can wait by the phone and go out with me at the same time.”

  “Are you asking me on a date?” Raul asked.

  “Of course not,” Marisol said. “Just helping you pass the time while you wait for Ms. Right to call.”

  “What time you wanna get together?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a board meeting,” Marisol said. “We could have a late dinner at my place around ten?”

  “Aren’t you worried that she’ll call in the meantime?” Raul asked.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Marisol said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let me charge my phone.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Tyesha and Woof were drinking at an uptown bar that looked out over the river. She had come from the clinic’s board meeting and he had been at an industry function.

  “Look at us,” Tyesha said. “With your artist gear and my suit, we’re like some kind of romantic comedy.”

  “Or a porno.” He laughed. “The executive and the bad boy.”

  Tyesha chuckled and drank. “When I graduate and work at the clinic full-time, this is gonna be my everyday look.”

  “Will you miss your current job?” he asked.

  “Hell, no.” She ate a handful of Marcona almonds from a bowl on the bar. “Public health is my real job.”

  “I thought you said a lot of the clients you’d date anyway.”

  “More the exception than the rule,” Tyesha said. “The very first guy, for sure. The friend of a friend with my girl Lily. But it went downhill fast with the second guy.”