by Tim O'Mara
I filled in all the information I could regarding Milagros and Frankie: addresses, schools, and names of family members. I had no phone numbers with me. When I got to page three, the rest had to be filled out by a licensed social worker. I held up the pages to signal I was done. Elaine excused herself from Milagros and came back over.
“That,” she said, “is one well-adjusted, tough cookie.”
“She tell you anything about Frankie?” I asked.
“About as much as she told all of you. It’ll take some time before she trusts anyone besides her brother.”
I wondered how much time we had.
“Can you finish that up on the way to the hospital?” Royce asked, pointing at the pages in Elaine’s hand.
“Shouldn’t we wait for the grandmother?”
“Might save some time if we got the girl over—”
Royce cut himself short as something over my shoulder caught his attention. I turned and saw Elsa holding the swinging gate open for Mrs. Santos, who eased through, her walker in front of her. Right behind them was the guy from the church I’d met the other day. Elijah Cruz.
“The grandmother,” I said to Elaine and Royce.
We all watched her make her way over to Milagros and bend down to exchange hugs with the little girl. They both started crying. When the embrace ended, Mrs. Santos held Milagros by the shoulders and said, “¿Dónde está Francisco, chica?”
I couldn’t hear the girl’s response, but it was followed by more tears and a shake of the head. Mrs. Santos was not pleased and stood up slowly. “Ay dios mio,” she said and turned to Elsa and Cruz. Milagros said something to the three adults, and Elsa shot me a look. Yeah, I raised my voice to a little kid. I know. The four of them spoke for another half minute. When they were done, Cruz came over to us.
“Mr. Donne,” he said, shaking my hand. “Again you have proven yourself to be a true friend to this family.”
“Milagros showed up at my door, Mr. Cruz.”
“Ah,” he said. “Because Francisco trusted you with his little sister. Don’t underestimate your contribution to the girl’s safe return.” Cruz turned to Detective Royce and said, “I am Elijah Cruz, Detective. I … represent the family. Can we take the girl to Mrs. Santos’s home?”
“Not right away, Mr. Cruz,” Royce explained. “Procedure is we have to get her checked out by a doctor first and then file some paperwork. But yeah, by the end of the evening … I don’t see why not.”
“Good,” Cruz said. “Good.” He turned to Jackson and offered his hand. “Elijah Cruz.”
“Police Officer Jackson, sir.” Jackson caught Cruz checking out the golf clothes he was wearing and added, “I was called to Mr. Donne’s when the girl showed up. Sir.”
Cruz smiled at the explanation and turned back to me. “Can we talk, Mr. Donne?”
“Sure,” I said and waited.
Cruz said, “Privately.” And then to Royce and Jackson, “No offense, gentlemen.”
They both shrugged, and Cruz and I walked over to the swinging gate. I waited for him to say whatever it was that needed to be said in private.
“The girl,” he began, “has said nothing about Francisco?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Santos is rightfully upset about this, Mr. Donne.”
“I know how she feels.”
“Yes.” He turned toward the window, away from where his face could be seen by Royce or Jackson. “Is there nothing she said to you about her brother?” he asked. “That you haven’t shared with the police?”
“Why would I withhold information from the police, Mr. Cruz? I was the one who wanted them brought in the other day.”
“And, I assume, the one responsible for the three patrol cars that showed up at Clemente shortly after you left?”
I ignored the question. “Milagros told me what she’s told everyone tonight. Nothing.” I gestured over to where Elaine was talking with Elsa and Mrs. Santos. “Ms. Stiles, the school counselor, feels that Milagros doesn’t trust anyone but her brother. It’ll be a while before she says anything.”
Cruz nodded. “She has good reason to feel that way. She and her brother have been through much these past few days.” He fingered the patch of hair under his lower lip as he looked over at Frankie’s grandmother. “Is there any more that I can be doing?”
Now, you want my input?
“Yeah,” I said. “Milagros has to get examined by a doctor before she can be placed. They”—I gestured toward Royce and Jackson—“called the hospital.”
“Which?” When I told him, he shook his head. “No.” He walked over to Royce and asked, “Ms. Stiles is a licensed social worker?”
“That’s why she’s here.”
“The family may choose a doctor to examine the girl, correct?”
Elaine overheard that and came over. “Yes.”
“Then we will go to the family’s doctor.”
Elaine looked at her watch. “He has office hours on Sunday evening?”
Cruz smiled. “He will be in his office.” He took his cell phone off his belt and dialed a number. “You will accompany us, Ms. Stiles?”
Elaine looked at Royce and me. We shrugged.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Good.” Cruz walked away and spoke into his phone.
“He’s from the grandmother’s church,” I explained to Elaine. “He works in the medical field. Sort of.”
“Can he get a doctor at this hour?” Elaine asked.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Cruz returned in less than a minute. “It is settled. Dr. Matos will expect us in twenty minutes. Is there anything else, Detective Royce?”
“We’ll need to interview the girl tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe she’ll decide to answer some of our questions. The grandmother might be some help in that area.”
“Yes,” Cruz said and offered his hand to Royce, Jackson, and me. “Tomorrow then.” He gave Royce a card. “Senora Santos has no phone at the moment, so this would be the best way to reach her.”
The way this guy made building superintendents and doctors appear, I figured he could have done something about getting an old woman a phone.
“Good night, gentlemen. And Mr. Donne, again, our sincerest gratitude.”
“Glad I could help,” I said.
Cruz returned to Frankie’s grandmother, Milagros, and Elsa. Elsa looked over and gave me something that was not quite a smile.
Elaine got my attention and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ray.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Elaine. I owe you one.”
“Let’s just hope we get Frankie home now,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s hope.”
She went over to the other group and put her hand on Milagros’s shoulder. Milagros smiled and looked back at me. She took a deep breath, ran over, and stopped in front of me. I crouched down again. My knees were buzzing.
“Milagros,” I said. “I’m really sorry for raising my voice like that.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Donne,” she said. “My daddy used to yell sometimes.”
Great. Now I’m like her dad.
“No, Milagros. It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. But Frankie said you would understand.”
“I know he did, honey.”
“He also said he’s gonna call you.”
I crept closer. “What did you say?”
Elijah Cruz came over before she could answer.
“Let us go, Milagros,” he said, taking her by the hand. “We need to get you home.”
“Good night, Mr. Donne,” Milagros said.
“Can you give me one more minute, Mr. Cruz?”
“We do need to get her home, Mr. Donne. I’m sure you understand.”
Why did everyone assume I’d fucking understand when I didn’t understand a goddamned thing? I stood up, trying to hide my pain and fr
ustration.
“What do you mean, he said he’d call me?”
She made as if she hadn’t heard me. They all left the detective squad together, leaving Royce, Jackson, and me standing by Royce’s desk. “You feel okay going home by yourself?” Royce asked.
“Yeah.” I looked over at Jackson. “I think I’m covered.”
Royce picked up his briefcase and jacket. “Then I guess we’ll call it a day,” he said. “One long fucking day.”
He wasn’t going to get an argument from me. One kid home safe, the other still out there. Milagros’s words stuck in my head: Frankie said he’d call you. When? I thought. From where?
This was turning into a game I didn’t know how to play.
Chapter 17
I MADE IT ALMOST TO THE TOP of the subway stairs before I had to stop. My fellow travelers brushed past me, annoyed, as they went on their way to their very important jobs, pissed off they had to navigate around the guy who was out of breath and practically doubled over his umbrella. Knees throbbing with pain, hungry from skipping breakfast, and working on less than two hours of sleep. What the hell was I doing going to work today? I closed my eyes, waited for the pain to subside, and tried to avoid the obvious answer.
Like it or not, it was Monday morning. And on Monday mornings, teachers go to school. I was a teacher.
Not a cop, as my Uncle Ray was quick to remind me. That’s why he had one stationed outside my apartment when I left this morning. Jackson’s replacement had offered me a ride, but I chose my regular routine and told him I’d see him later, outside the school. I should have taken him up on the offer, but I wanted to prove I could take care of myself. It was time to cut the shit, get back to my life. I had a pile of paperwork waiting for me on my desk that wasn’t going to get done by anybody but me, and a group of eighth graders who were not going to get exposed to the poetry of Walt Whitman or the complexities of basic algebra by the Education Fairy.
A few students were hanging around the front of the school, too cool to be early, most of them waiting until just before the side doors closed; a couple were playing tag, slapping each other’s book bags. A rather large guy was leaning up against the rusty metal fence. He was dressed in an army jacket and matching pants. He had one foot up against the fence and a cigarette burning in his left hand. Too old to be a student, too young to be a parent. Probably an older brother or cousin dropping someone off and grabbing a quick smoke before heading off to work. As I neared the opening, he straightened himself up and blocked my path. I stopped with about three feet between us.
He put the cigarette in his mouth and looked me over, starting with my shoes and slowly making his way to my face. A smirk crossed his lips. “You Mister Donne?”
I said, “Yes,” and took the time to check out his face. He had to be at least twenty. A mess of brown whiskers I’m sure he’d call a mustache lay between his nose and upper lip. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the kind of complexion my mother would have described as olive, with pimentos. I didn’t know him. “May I help you?”
He took the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a lungful of smoke. “Yeah.” Like something out of a bad western. “You can stop hasslin’ my girlfriend.”
“I teach here, man.” I gestured with my head at the building. “Middle school. I don’t know your girlfriend. Try the high school around the block.”
I took a few steps to go around him. He matched those with his own. We were now too close for comfort. I could smell the smoke on his breath, the sweat coming off the rest of him.
He looked down at my umbrella. “She said you’d be the cripple.”
I took a step back. “What’s your name?” I asked.
He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked it into the street. He rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the name “Zeke,” which had been tattooed into the hairless part of his arm. It was homemade, probably made with the ink from a ballpoint pen. The kind of thing you might do when killing time in a juvenile detention center.
I nodded. “Like I said, Zeke. I don’t know your girlfriend.” I started to make my way around him again. “I really have to—”
He stepped in front of me and grabbed my arm.
“Lisa said you been hasslin’ her. Gettin’ her pops all upset and shit.”
“Lisa?” I said. “Lisa King?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s your … girlfriend?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Lisa’s fourteen.”
“So?”
“So you’re, what? Twenty?”
“What can I say?” He grinned, spreading out his arms. “I like ’em young.”
“Her dad know you like ’em young?”
“Ain’t none of his business,” Zeke said. He took his right index finger and poked me in the chest. “Yours neither.”
Yeah, I thought, taking a calming breath and waiting for the small circle of pain to spread out and go away, today would’ve been a real good day to stay in bed. It was about thirty seconds before I thought of something to say.
“Tell ya what, Zeke. Why don’t we go inside and talk about this?” I made a show of looking around at the kids and teachers heading into the building. “Too many people out here minding our business.”
“Nah,” he said. “I ain’t going inside. You think I’m stupid or somethin’?” Before I could answer, he added, “’Sides, I got things to do and people to see.”
Busy guy, Zeke. “Okay,” I said. “You want me to mind my own business? You got it. I gotta get to work now.”
I moved around him yet again, and again he grabbed me. This time, one of my fellow teachers noticed. Josephine from the second floor.
“Everything okay, Mr. Donne?” she asked.
“Yeah, Jo. Fine. Do me a favor, though, will ya? And ask School Safety Officer Jenkins to come outside? Tell her I need to touch base with her.”
She hurried up the steps into the school.
To Zeke, I said, “You might want to leave now. Officer Jenkins has the power to arrest, and, what with you trespassing and all … You got people to see, don’tcha?”
“What the fuck, trespassing?” He took his hands off me and held them up in the air. “I’m just standing outside a public building. ‘School Safety Officer Jenkins,’” he mimicked. “Fucking wannabe cop.”
“Threatening a public schoolteacher. Guy like you”—I let him notice as I took a long look again at his tattoo—“on probation. Not going to look too good to your P.O.”
“Fuck you know about my P.O.?” He grabbed my shirt again. I had my umbrella in one hand and my backpack weighing me down. This would have been a good time for one of my uncle’s patrol cars to swing by.
“Z!” A voice came from behind us. “Z!”
We both turned to see Lisa King entering through the gate.
“Whatchoo think you’re doing, Z?” She stopped a few feet away. “That’s my teacher!”
“You said he was bothering you,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m taking care of it.”
“You not taking care of nothing, Z. Get your hands off him.”
His grip on my shirt tightened, and he gave it a twist. I looked over my shoulder at the street. Still no blue-and-white.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Lee. I told you about talking to me like I’m slow.”
“Then why you acting slow, Z?” As Lisa squinted at her boyfriend, he let go of my shirt. I took the opportunity to lean my umbrella against the wall, freeing up both hands. “What? You think I’m gonna be impressed? You coming down here, messing with my teacher?”
“Wasn’t gonna beat him up,” Zeke said. “Gonna scare—ask—him to leave you alone is all. You said he was—”
“I know what I said, and I’m handling it.” She paused for a few seconds, and then added, “I’m not a little girl.”
And at that moment, for the first time in the nearly two years I’d known her, Lisa King, all fourteen years of her, actually looked like a teenaged girl.
“Everything okay out here, Mr. Donne?”
Officer Jenkins was making her way down the steps of the building with purpose.
“I think so, Jenkins.” I turned back to Zeke. “Now that Zeke here has his hands off of me, I think I’ll be fine.”
As Zeke considered that, he looked at Lisa and then at Officer Jenkins, who was now within pouncing distance. His breathing grew deeper. The longer he contemplated the situation, the more I picked up the staleness of his breath. If I listened real closely, I could probably hear his mind working this over.
He had put himself in an unwinnable situation. Hit me, and his girlfriend was going to give him a world of shit. And he’d face an altercation with a school safety officer. A female school safety officer. Let it go, and he’d be backing down. In front of his girlfriend. I didn’t believe old Zeke here had the brainpower to ease himself out of this one. I tried to help him out.
“Just let it go, Zeke. Officer Jenkins and I’ll go inside, and you and Lisa can talk about this. You showed her you’re looking out for her. Leave it there.”
His eyes glazed over as he looked me in the eyes. I’m not sure he heard me.
WHOOP! WHOOP!
The four of us turned toward the street where a blue-and-white squad car was making a U-turn in front of the building.
Zeke grabbed my shirt again and twisted hard. “Fucking mother fucker!”
“I didn’t call them, Zeke,” I said. “I’m out here with you.”
Over Zeke’s shoulder, I saw two cops getting out of the car. They were about ten seconds away. Too far.
Zeke pulled me toward him. The pressure was too much for my already overworked knees, and I fell. It took all I could to not scream out loud. With his hand still grabbing my shirt, he looked down and grinned. I slipped my left arm through the book-bag strap so that it was hanging only on the right shoulder. Zeke cocked back his free arm and made a fist. He looked up to make sure he was being watched.
“Hold it!” one of the cops yelled.
“Z!” screamed Lisa. “Don’t!”
Zeke wasn’t listening. As he turned his eyes to me again, I let the book bag slip down, and with all the strength I could summon, swung it up as hard as I could. It hit him square on the left side of his head, spinning him around, and knocking him down to my level. The momentum threw me the rest of the way to the ground, where again I found myself looking up at Zeke. This time he was stunned, ignoring the blood oozing from his nose, and as he brought his arm back again, he was grabbed and wrestled to the ground by Officer Jenkins. One of the cops came up behind her and took over, while the other cop placed a knee on Zeke’s back and reached behind his own back to get a pair of handcuffs.