A Case of Redemption (18 page)

“We only want the truth.”

She frowned, which made me frown, too. She didn't want to tell us the truth.

“I'll say whatever you want me to,” Mercedes said. “Does L.D. want me to say we were together for Thanksgiving?” She sighed. “My momma was with me. If I say I was with L.D., they gonna ask my momma about it, right?”

“They will,” Nina said.

“Please just tell us the truth,” I said. “We know you want to help L.D., but the prosecution will check on your story, and if you lie, they'll be able to prove it with gas receipts or a photo showing you were someplace else. If that happens, it's not only bad for L.D., but it's really bad for you, too, because it's perjury.”

Mercedes nodded. She saw the problem.

“Tell L.D. I wanted to help, okay?”

“Of course we will,” Nina said.

“We weren't here for Thanksgiving. I got people in Boston, and we was up there.”

“Do you know who L.D. was with over Thanksgiving?” I asked.

“If L.D. didn't tell you, I don't think I should.”

“I understand that you want to help him, Mercedes,” I said as compassionately as I could, given that I was furious that L.D. had lied to us. Again. “And I'm sure L.D. thought saying he was going to see his daughter over Thanksgiving would sound more convincing than whatever he was actually doing. But now that we know he wasn't with Brianna, we really need to know where he was and who he was with. Believe me, he's not going to be upset with you if you tell us. In fact, he'll be pleased because we're not going to be able to speak to him again for a few more days, and so you'd be saving us a lot of time, and in a murder investigation, time is really valuable.”

I couldn't have blamed Mercedes had she decided to err on the side of not telling us. But she didn't.

“Have you spoken to Nuts?” she said.

“Who?” Nina said before I could.

“I'm not sure what his real name is. I think it's Milton, but L.D. always called him Nuts. I think L.D. was with him. Anyway, you can ask him yourselves. He lives in Brownsville. Tilden Houses, just like L.D. used to.”

•   •   •

Brownsville was one of the city's most crime-ridden neighborhoods. Its history with the criminal element dated all the way back to the 1930s, when it was the birthplace of Murder, Inc., the forerunner to the Mafia. Today, the streets are a collage of burned-out buildings, vacant storefronts, and rusted cars stripped of anything that could be sold. It has the city's highest concentration of public housing and nearly half the families live below the poverty level. It was not a place that I'd ever venture to at night, and even during the day I felt like I was taking my life in my hands just by walking its streets.

The Tilden complex was actually eight buildings. Because Mercedes didn't know Nuts's building number, we had to walk up to each one and see if a Nuts or a Milton was listed.

It appeared that he lived in building three, apartment 8E. At least the name beside the intercom of that unit was Morris Milton.

The intercom didn't work, so we couldn't verify we had the right guy by buzzing up. On the bright side, the lock on the front door didn't work either, and so we were able to enter the building. We had to climb eight flights of stairs to get to apartment 8E, on account of the elevator also being out of order.

When I knocked on the door, Nina looked even more concerned than she had when we visited L.D. at Rikers. I didn't blame her—I felt safer in the prison, too.

“Who is it?” said a deep voice from behind the door.

“We're lawyers representing Legally Dead. Do you mind giving us a few minutes of your time?”

It was at that moment the thought occurred to me that he might not appreciate being called Nuts.

“Mr. Milton?” I asked when he opened the door.

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing me up and down.

Nuts had the same general build as L.D., which is to say he was as big and strong as anyone I'd seen outside of an athletic arena. Like L.D., he was dark complexioned, and his head was shaved.

He differed from L.D. in one important respect, however. Nuts looked to be a stranger to human emotion of any kind.

“Th-thank you for seeing us, Mr. Milton,” I stuttered.

“Call me Nuts,” he said, which at least settled the issue of what to call him.

“Okay.” I smiled, but that didn't cause him to reciprocate. “Can we ask you a few questions?”

“ 'Bout what?”

“About L.D. and his relationship with Roxanne.”

“You said you wuz L.D.'s lawyers.”

“We are. We're looking for evidence that will show L.D. had plans to spend Thanksgiving in New York, and we were told to talk to you about that.”

This didn't seem to placate him. “Who the fuck said that?”

Nina said, “Mercedes Williams.”

Nuts must have recognized Mercedes's name because he didn't say anything more. I took the silence as an invitation.

“Did you spend Thanksgiving with L.D.?”

“You think I'm a fucking idiot?”

I reflexively took a step backward. I had the same feeling you get when in close proximity to a dangerous creature. As if making a sudden movement could cause him to strike.

“Look, I understand that you don't want to be involved in a murder trial. Nobody does, but—”

“You want me to hurt you?”

“No,” I said, and left it at that.

“Then there ain't no reason for you to still be standing there.”

•   •   •

After we left Brownsville, Nina suggested we go to Bubby's, another restaurant around the corner from my apartment to which I'd never been. Once inside, Nina said what I was thinking. “It seems pretty clear that Mr. Nuts is not going to be our star witness.”

“That depends. If we need someone to scare the hell out of the jury, I think he's the perfect guy.”

“Our client may be enough to do the trick all by himself,” she said with a chuckle. “Two incredibly scary guys might be overkill. Pun intended.”

When our food arrived, Nina was telling me about her New Year's Eve plan, which was to attend a very private party being held at a club that I'd never heard of. “The way it works,” Nina explained, “is that you get an invitation email with a passcode. You use the passcode to find out where the party is, how many people have confirmed, and who invited you, but that's all you know about it. You don't get the guest list or anything else. So all I know is that it's being held at this club on Stanton Street, and there are going to be about five hundred people there.”

“So who invited you?” She broke eye contact. “Oh no, not Mr. Married Man?”

“I know, it's pretty messed up, right? He won't be there, of course. I'm sure he's out with the wife, but this way he still gets to exert some type of control over me.”

“Why go, then?”

“Because it'll be fun. Hold on, let me rephrase. It'll be more fun than just sitting at home doing nothing. One of my girlfriends is going to come with me. She's got nothing better to do either, apparently. Which brings me to my next question: What are your plans for tomorrow night?”

“I'm still weighing several very enticing invitations,” I said.

“Yeah, sure. Rich already told me that he invited you to go out with him and Deb, and you made some bullshit excuse about needing some time alone to reflect on all that's happened in the past year.”

“Did he tell you that the party they're going to is being thrown by the parents of Mia's friend? Some guy who's a hedge fund guru. And if that isn't bad enough, it's black tie. Sorry, no thanks.”

She laughed. “I guess I'd rather stay home alone than do that, too. Hey . . . why don't you come with me? I can probably get you into my highly exclusive little soiree.”

“That sounds tempting, but I'm still going to pass. I'd really be no fun.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

“If you must know, my New Year's Eve plan is to order in the greasiest food I can think of from the diner down the block and watch the James Bond marathon on Spike.”

She laughed. “That actually sounds like fun. Just don't drink too much, okay? We have our meeting with Popofsky the next day.”

Now I laughed. “That's not until four, but I get your point. I'll be a good boy.”

L
ast year, I spent New Year's Eve alone, drinking myself into a stupor that I hoped would last the entire year, if not longer. My revelry ended shortly after midnight, however, when I vomited all over myself.

At least this year I was not going to do that. Progress.

New Year's Eve had started off pretty much as I'd predicted. I ordered a half-pound burger stuffed with Roquefort cheese, French fries and onion rings, and a brownie sundae, and wolfed them down in front of
Goldfinger
.

At eleven fifteen, in the middle of
Dr. No
, and while I was still nursing my first glass of scotch, my intercom buzzed.

“You have a visitor,” Mario, the night doorman, said.

When I opened the door, Nina was standing there smiling ear to ear and holding a shopping bag. Through her partially open overcoat, I could see that she was wearing a very tight and very short black dress, which was so low cut that it was difficult for me to maintain eye contact.

“Happy almost New Year,” she said, the smell of alcohol on her breath.

“Um . . . you, too. Come on in,” I stammered.

“I wanted to surprise you and just barge in, but you've got a different doorman at night.”

It took me a second to realize she meant that when she came over in the morning for work she wasn't buzzed up, but the evening doorman wouldn't let her go up without notifying me first. “So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” I said.

I thought I said this teasingly, but she must not have taken it that way. “Are you sorry I came over?”

“No, of course not.”

“Okay, then, I will take off my coat and stay awhile,” Nina said loudly.

“I-I'm sorry,” I stammered again, realizing my bad manners. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.”

“I'm having scotch, but I'll get you some wine.”

“No, I'm going to try the firewater again. I've already had two or three Cosmos at the party, so I think I'm ready.”

After I confirmed that she was serious, I went into the kitchen and poured Nina a glass of scotch. When I reentered the living room, Nina had stretched out on my sofa. She wasn't lying down, but sitting on enough of a diagonal so that she occupied more than half the seating area. Her shoes were off.

I handed her the glass and sat down beside her. She immediately raised her glass to eye level.

“To . . .” She hesitated.

“A happy and prosperous New Year?”

“If you like,” she said, and then clinked her glass against mine.

She took a sip. The effect of having downed several Cosmos must have worked, because she didn't seem to be in pain, as she had been the last time she'd tried to swallow scotch. “Mmm,” she added with a smile.

“You sure it's okay?”

“Better than okay.” And then, as if she'd been startled, she jumped up and said, “I almost forgot, I come bearing gifts.”

She grabbed the shopping bag she had brought and walked back to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with two cupcakes on a plate. One was green and the other looked exactly like a Hostess cupcake, down to the white swirl of frosting on the top, except that it was twice as large.

“I thought we'd share. One's mint and the other is just what it looks like.”

“Did you bring a knife?” I asked.

She laughed. “A cupcake should never be sullied by a knife or a fork. It's to be eaten from hand to mouth, and when shared, the same rule applies. So, have a taste.”

She brought the green cupcake to my mouth and I took a bite. It was sweeter than I had expected, and not very minty at all. After my bite, Nina followed, swirling the green crème filling around her tongue.

“You have to taste the crème,” she said. “That's the part that's minty.”

We finished the mint cupcake first, alternating bites, and then dug into the Hostess-looking one.

“I think we're both really due for some good luck in the New Year,” Nina said, now swirling the white crème on her tongue. “Don't you think?” Before I could answer, she said with a start, “What time is it? You don't think we missed the ball drop?”

“Now that would be a bad way to start the New Year,” I said. “But no worries, it's only a quarter to.”

I turned the television on to see Ryan Seacrest. The little timer in the corner of the screen was counting down to midnight and showed ten minutes remained in the old year. From the shearling overcoat Seacrest was wearing, you would have thought he was standing in Siberia.

At the stroke of midnight, Nina kissed me.

“What's that about?” I said, pulling slightly away, but not so far that I couldn't still feel the heat of her breath as well as smell the sweet scent of scotch.

“It's time,” she whispered, and moved back toward me without any hesitation. As a near fluid motion, her tongue took over my mouth and her weight pushed me back onto the sofa, demanding surrender from the rest of me.

It would be a lie to say I hadn't been fantasizing about this very moment. But that didn't mean that I actually thought it was going to occur. I fantasize about a lot of things these days—Sarah and Alexa being alive, my having lived a different life before their deaths, playing center field for the Yankees—and I know those things are never going to happen.

“Come with me,” Nina whispered in my ear. Without waiting for a response, she stood, and I felt an ache when she peeled her body off mine.