“You were gone all day, Jimmy. Everything all right?”
“Yeah, it just didn’t go as planned.”
“This about Rocky’s case?”
“Mostly,” he said.
He’d told her nothing of Assan, not of his suspicions of the man’s possible involvement in her husband’s murder, not that he’d slipped through their fingers at the last second. He’d also said nothing of Frisano, not that he was working with him, not that he was sleeping with him. Life had grown complicated so quickly. Less than two weeks and Jimmy’s world had been turned upside down. He didn’t even know his next move, and the moon wasn’t giving up any answers. It just hung there, an orb in an endless sky, one where questions went unanswered.
“I think you should come in and get some sleep. Everything looks better in the morning.”
“I’ll be along in a moment. And tomorrow, I have to return to the city.”
“That’s a shame. Fourth of July is this weekend. The fireworks will be wonderful here.”
“I’ll try to make it back.”
“Do you think Rocky will be going back to prison?”
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”
“He’s the father. I think you know that.”
“Ma, let’s handle this month now, we’ll see where we are in nine.”
“Meaghan’s always been reckless. Now I get to be a grandmother.”
“Just think of the joy we all get from Grandma Hester.”
Maggie nearly choked on her laughter. “Oh, Jimmy, you are such a blessing. Your father would be so proud of you.”
“Maybe not today. But thanks, Ma.”
She kissed his cheek. “You do what you have to, Jimmy. You always do.”
“Couldn’t do it without you behind me.”
She patted his arm in support before getting back up, knees cracking from age. She was only sixty-two, but sometimes the city aged you. The hustle and bustle of this crazy life of New York moved the clock that much faster. He listened as she walked off the dock, but apparently, she wasn’t done with her motherly advice.
“Yeah, Ma?” he said without turning around.
“I got a phone call from Stephanie today,” she said, referencing the Calloway Theatre’s manager. “The Calloway reopens in October.”
“That’s great, Ma. You get to enjoy the summer, then get ready for work again.”
“It’s another play. A new one. It’s called Triskaidekaphobia.”
“Sounds iffy,” he said. “No one’s going to remember a name like that.”
“That’s not why I’m telling you,” she said.
“Okay, Ma, there’s a point to this, guess you should just get it out.”
“Stephanie wanted me to forewarn you of someone involved with the production.”
“Who would that be?”
“The show’s costume designer,” she said.
Jimmy stared upwards, back at the moon, his eyes moist from the air, wondering why it was taunting him. He knew what his mother was saying, and even as she still hadn’t voiced what it was, this newsflash was among the last Jimmy needed to hear. Not after the explosive sex with Frisano, not after he’d pictured himself falling for this sexy man. Something he shouldn’t want, yet something he desired with every fiber of his being. When Frisano had entered him for the first time and filled him up and made him feel special, his inner fears were washed away in a tidal wave of cravings, and only afterward did his natural fear return, pulsing deep in his heart. Damn, wasn’t his personal life complicated enough without the return of the one man he never wanted to see again, the only other man who had made Jimmy feel truly alive.
“Remy,” he said, his voice quiet.
“I just thought you should know,” she said. “Goodnight, Jimmy. Don’t stay out late.”
“Doesn’t matter, Ma. It’s already tomorrow,” he said. “Mornings keep coming, these new days, and so far, all I awake to is news I’d rather not know.”
§ § §
Jimmy was awakened by the ringing of his iPhone. He was in the small bedroom, the narrow bed the same one he’d slept on during childhood visits, but now his legs dangled off the edge. He stirred, uncertain where he was, what day it was, or what time. He grabbed for the phone before it could wake anyone else; he had a sense it was early still. He didn’t even have time to check the caller ID. He had to hope it was Frisano calling with an update.
It wasn’t.
“Good morning, Mr. McSwain, lovely day. The heat has broken, at least weather-wise.”
Jimmy had no idea who this was. He rubbed at tired eyes, looked at the phone. No name was indicated. He supposed he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way: ask.
“Who is this?”
“Eaton McDonald. You were supposed to call me.”
Jimmy was initially surprised that the influential man would take the time to call, much less remember. No doubt the powerful real estate magnate had heard through important channels just what had taken place on one of his properties—namely, Alicia House. Since it was named after his deceased daughter, he probably already got daily reports on the activity taking place there. Knowing an NYPD captain had staged an ambush with a private investigator aiding him in his efforts, had to have caught his attention. He had reputations to protect, his, and memories to maintain, hers.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Mr. McDonald. You were out of town, and now I am.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of your location. At least, as of last night. I suggest you hightail it back to the city, if you know what’s best for you.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. McDonald?”
“Men in my position only make promises,” he said. “I expect you by noon. My offices.”
Then he hung up. Men in his position didn’t wait for responses apparently.
Jimmy didn’t even know what time it was. He stared tired eyes at his quiet phone: 8:48. He’d tossed all night, finally falling asleep after four. This wasn’t the brightest way to begin the day. Truth be known, just as he’d drifted off, he hadn’t been feeling particularly optimistic about it anyway. So he got up and threw himself in the shower, wishing instead for a vigorous swim across the lake to get his blood moving.
As he entered the kitchen, dressed more for a meeting than a day at the beach, Grandma Hester pushed him down to a seat. “Breakfast first, young man. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s the most important meal of the day? Maggie, what have you taught this boy?”
“He looks none the worse for wear to me,” Maggie said. “Mother, Jimmy’s got a big day. Let him go.”
Just then they heard Meaghan throwing up from the bathroom. Maggie started to get up.
“One grandchild at a time, fine,” she said, bustling her way out of the kitchen. “Sit back down, Maggie, I think your children have learned enough of your lessons for one lifetime.”
Jimmy kissed his mother’s cheek. “Good luck, Ma.”
“Got any police line-ups you need volunteers for?”
He laughed as he exited, and then hopped in his car. It was nine-thirty, and with luck and little traffic going into the city as the long holiday weekend approached, he hoped he’d be back with time to spare.
By eleven forty-five, Jimmy had crossed under the George Washington Bridge, thinking if he went straight to West 57th Street, he’d be on time for his appointment with Eaton McDonald and thus, able to not incur his wrath. Or, he could be himself, park the car, then subway or walk over and get there when he damn well wanted. He went for option two and immediately felt like he’d taken control of the situation. Eaton couldn’t have been nicer last week, offering him a ride, opening up about his dedication to convict rehabilitation, even going so far as to recommend that Ephraim the chauffeur take him wherever he wished. Men in his lofty position rarely got there by offering free limo rides to the great unwashed. Jimmy knew he’d gotten the real McDonald this morning, and by being late, he was intentionally trying to provoke him further.
This should be fu
n, he decided.
It was closer to one o’clock when Jimmy arrived at in the lobby of Carnegie Hall Tower on West 57th Street, announcing to the guard behind the electronic counter who he was there to see. The man didn’t even need to look it up on the digital calendar. Jimmy’s entry pass had already been printed, and he was told to go to the 49th floor. He did as instructed, shot upwards, joining the throngs inside the Manhattan skyline like a mere fly. He just hoped Eaton wasn’t in a swatting mood.
Five minutes later, he was escorted by a nervous looking man in a slim-fit business suit, his hair slicked back, wire-rim glasses doing a bad job of containing his fear. He looked all of twenty, and Jimmy didn’t think the kid would last the day.
“Uh, Mr. McDonald…”
“What did I say, Eliot, about using those uhs and umms. Sign of weakness.”
“Sorry, sir. Mr. McSwain, sir.”
“Good. Go away.”
Jimmy watched as poor Eliot scurried away like a rat exposed to sunlight, shutting the door as fast as his trembling hands could. He hoped he was being paid well, at least. Jimmy, though, knew he shouldn’t concern himself with things like that, he had his own problems. And one of them was rising from behind a huge glass-topped desk, held up by what looked elephant trunks. His expression was as sour as spoiled milk.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I did the best I could.”
“Bullshit. I know your type, McSwain.”
“Last week, it was Jimmy.”
“Last week, I wanted to know what you were up to. Ever hear the expression you catch more bees with honey? I smothered you.”
“No wonder shit was sticking to me that day,” Jimmy said.
Eaton McDonald showed his irritation. He wasn’t used to people talking back, not unless they were quivering with fear of reprisal. Jimmy’s smart mouth appeared unwanted. But if Eaton was going to make a fuss over it, he was saving it for later. For now, Jimmy was escorted to a large sofa that looked out over a window that ran the full length of the office. The view faced downtown, so he could see Rockefeller Center, the Empire State Building, and further down, the new Freedom Tower that loomed over Lower Manhattan. It was impressive, a rare glimpse of the city without having to pay tourist dollars to see. He commented, and Eaton grunted like he was unimpressed. He saw it every day. Life spoils some people.
Eaton took a seat opposite Jimmy, clasped his hands together as he leaned forward.
“I told you, my family is most important to me. What you did yesterday was damaging.”
“With all due respect, Mr. McDonald, they were harboring a fugitive.”
“Yes, this man accused of killing those deli owners. I’ve been briefed.”
“He’s a dangerous man, I nearly stopped him once. He escaped, but I saved a man’s life.”
“What happens…down there,” he said, eyes drawn toward the window and it denizens of the streets below, “is none of my concern. People are shot and killed every day in this city, usually like killing like. If they want to destroy their own selves, far be it from me to stop them. What I won’t accept is the NYPD taking it upon themselves—out of jurisdiction, I might add—and put in jeopardy a worthwhile project such as Alicia House that I’ve heavily invested in. Trust me, Captain Frisano’s superiors will know of his…vigilantism.”
Jimmy reminded himself to warn Frisano, but for now, stayed on topic.
“Do you think like killed like when it came to Duvan?”
“As I said, Mr. McSwain, I feel for the direction Duvan’s life went. I spoke with him the day he arrived at Alicia House. I thought it a fitting place in which to talk, and he explained that he was looking to rebuild his life. He had some dream of being a singer. He wanted to find a new place to live. He informed me that he had fallen in love, and that he hoped I could be happy for him, despite the pain he’d caused my family. What could I say? After all, hadn’t the man paid his debt to society? Who was I to go beyond the law? Wasn’t that the point of Alicia House? To give these men a new chance?”
“Noble, indeed. Except someone had a different plan for Duvan,” Jimmy said.
“You seem to be on a fishing expedition, Mr. McSwain.”
“How so?”
“Trying valiantly to prove your friend’s innocence. You seem to be focused on Duvan.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mr. Martino is hardly innocent in this life. He sold drugs, he’s a petty common thief. Assuredly, he’s not from decent stock. His father a union worker, his mother…”
“You do your research, don’t you? What are you implying, Mr. McDonald? That one of Rocky’s own family killed Duvan? To keep them from being together? That it was a hate crime against gays?”
“I could hardly speak to motive. But I’m guessing Rocky’s newfound sexual preferences did not go over well.”
“You’re assuming a lot.”
“Oh, let’s not split hairs, shall we? I know how the world works, and so do you, even with your young age. I did my research into you, too. You’re quite interesting, on many levels. It’s no wonder Mr. Martino turned to you for help. Oh, put down your hand, outrage has no place here. We’re two men of the world, sharing our philosophies.”
“You’re the only one talking.”
McDonald grimaced. “Now, Mr. McSwain, I suggest you find other avenues to pursue in your desire to vindicate Mr. Martino. My family’s unfortunate dealings with Duvan Ahkbar are over with his demise. He, like my precious daughter, has moved onto whatever the next world holds true. Perhaps they have met there, buried old wounds. We will do the same, Mr. McSwain, in this world. So, forget me, forget about Eaton McDonald Properties. We are philanthropic, and no place confirms that more than Alicia House and its mission.”
It was like the guy was reading his own press release, and Jimmy wasn’t printing it.
“I’ll go wherever my investigation takes me, and I won’t rest until Rocky is free. If you believe whatever research you’ve dug up on me, it’s that I’m a pain in the ass when it comes to exposing the truth,” Jimmy said. “That’s the benefit of being your own boss. You can rest when you want, seek answers when you want. I’m sure you can appreciate such a work ethic, given your lofty address here and your success. I’m not your assistant, and I’m not going to shit my pants the moment you bellow.”
“Crude, Mr. McSwain.”
“But effective,” he said. “We agree on one thing, we’re done. For now. I’ll show myself out. Thanks for the conversation, it was…enlightening. I may not have learned much today about Duvan; your actions, however, spoke volumes.”
He looked outraged, his tanned face flush with anger. “I’ve never been spoken to in such a manner.”
“Then it’s about time someone did. See you ’round, Eaton.”
Addressing him by his first name in such an environment showed the ultimate disrespect, and Jimmy exited the man’s office with his head held high and a slight smirk to his lips. But he walked slowly, knowing a man like Eaton McDonald was only satisfied if he was able to get the last word in. He called Jimmy back. He was prepared to turn around, and he did.
“Something else?” His eyebrow rose.
“As I said, my family has moved on from this tragic mess. But if you persist in wanting a new suspect, I suggest you look at my daughter’s former fiancé, Gregory Anderson. He never got over Alicia’s death, and his life spiraled out of control afterwards. He made certain choices that maybe he should have admitted to before he popped the question. I believe he works as a bartender or waiter or something somewhere in the West Village, or maybe it’s Chelsea.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”
Though the location did offer up its own clue. McDonald confirmed it.
“It’s a gay bar, McSwain. I did always have my doubts about that boy,” he said. “If that’s of any help. Do you know of any?” He spoke knowingly.
“Yes, and I’m sure to someone like you, that’s quite a s
piral downward.”
Jimmy didn’t wait for anything else; he’d had enough of this snob, bigot, and elitist. As he made his way toward the elevators, he gave young Eliot a quick nod. He heard the phone buzz, and the kid jumped to attention, smoothing down his suit jacket as he made his way toward McDonald’s inner sanctum. Jimmy felt bad for him. He was about to bear the brunt of whatever wrath his boss was about to unleash. Thankfully, the elevator pinged, and Jimmy stepped on, rushed back down to the ground floor as though the car itself knew from urgency.
At last, Jimmy was back on the busy streets of midtown, breathing in the stale, summer air. A far cry from the influx of fresh air he’d tasted the last two days. The lake called to him, its calming waters and its gentle ripple. But he’d lost too much time indulging his own wants. He couldn’t rest again, not until Rocky was free and Assan was caught.
One case at a time, he told himself.
After yesterday, Rocky deserved his full attention.
For his next move, he had to wait until sundown.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
This was one coincidence Jimmy could live with.
If his two unrelated cases hadn’t already converged at Alicia House, bringing in an old case was just par for the course. His destination this busy Thursday night was a place filled with memories; he had brought a date here, he’d stopped a killer here, and he’d reunited two people who were torn apart due to miscommunication and misunderstanding. Speaking of, the name Miss Communication could have been one the club’s stars. Jimmy walked through the doors of the fabulously named Dress-Up Club, a cabaret venue that nightly showcased drag queens in their campy, vibrant best. He was at Eighth Avenue and 19th Street, and as he stepped inside, he was met by a large man in a flowing beaded white gown. A large silver wig topped his head, a pair of earrings dangling in the soft light.
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