Crooked Numbers (28 page)

“And that Thursday night?” Allison asked.

“We were running a bit hectic that night. Matthew”—she looked at her husband—“was on the phone with a client in Singapore. I was putting Chelsea to bed. She was up later than usual, and she was quite a handful.” She paused. This was painful for her to remember. “By the time things got settled down, I realized Paulie had been out for almost an hour.”

“What did you do?”

“I called his cell phone,” Mrs. Sherman explained. “He always had it with him, and we wouldn’t let him out at night without it.” She closed her eyes. “It went right to his voice mail. That wasn’t like him to not have it on.”

Allison wrote that down and waited for Mrs. Sherman to continue. It was Mr. Sherman who spoke next.

“Natalie came into my office. I had just finished my call and was placing my client’s order. She told me Paulie had not come back up yet.” He thought about that as he chose his next words. “I admit it, my first reaction was anger. We give him a special privilege, and he’s taking advantage of it, you know? I put my jacket on and went outside to find him. I know he likes to skate in Riverside Park.”

Mrs. Sherman took a few tentative steps toward her husband and then stopped. She turned to face Allison instead.

“Don’t imply that we’re neglectful parents, Ms. Rogers,” she said. “We know it wasn’t the best idea to allow him out at that time, but…”

“I won’t imply anything, Mrs. Sherman,” Allison said.

“I went over to the park,” Mr. Sherman continued. “I was about to go down the hill leading to the basketball courts, where he liked to skate sometimes. That’s when I noticed the flashing lights up the block.” He slowly sat back down on the couch. “I knew right away it was Paulie. He never stays out more than half an hour. That was the rule.” He balled his hands into fists and pounded on his thighs. “That was the rule.”

Mrs. Sherman took a few more steps toward her husband. She stopped again, and this time turned to look out the window. I wondered what she saw out there.

Allison closed her notebook and looked at me.

“I think we have enough, Mr. and Mrs. Sherman,” she said. “I know this was hard for you, and I truly appreciate your time. We are very sorry for your loss.”

Her eyes still looking out at the Hudson, Mrs. Sherman said, “Thank you.”

Mr. Sherman said nothing. He just sat on the couch, his fists resting on his knees.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Allison said, moving toward the front door. “Thank you again.”

I followed Allison into the hallway. She turned around and shut the door quietly, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. When she looked at me, I saw her eyes were filled with tears. She leaned with her back against the wall.

“That,” she said, “fucking sucked.”

“You got that right,” I said. I reached out and touched her hand. “You okay?”

“I will be,” she said, standing on her own now. “You get some good shots?”

“A few, yeah.” We started walking toward the elevator. “I don’t know if they’re good enough for your paper, but…”

“Please,” she said. “I’m sure they’re better than the ones I would have taken.” She laughed a little as she pressed the
DOWN
button for the elevator. “That would have been a little awkward, huh? ‘Excuse me, Mr. Sherman, but would you mind pounding your fists again? I missed it the first time. And this time, show more grief.’”

“I’m glad I could help.”

The elevator arrived, and we stepped inside. We rode down to the lobby in silence. After thanking Al the doorman, we walked outside to Riverside Drive. A cold breeze was coming off the Hudson, and Allison and I both zipped our jackets. We slipped our hands into our pockets and exchanged awkward looks. It felt kind of like not knowing if a date was over.

“Too early for a drink?” I suggested.

“God knows I could use one after that,” she said.

“What if I offered you a late lunch as well?”

“I might have to take you up on that.”

“I know a good sushi place over on Amsterdam.”

“
You
know a sushi place?”

“Yes, Allison. I know a sushi place.” I smiled as she slipped her arm through mine. “I’ve never eaten there before,” I admitted. “But they have good Japanese beer and a decent happy hour.”

“Is there such a thing as an
indecent
happy hour?”

“Not in my experience,” I said, and led the way to the restaurant.

I POURED ALLISON ANOTHER
sake. “Feeling any better?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. She pointed at her sake vase. “Of course, a couple of these will make most things better.”

“I agree.” I took another sip of Kirin. I like Japanese beers. Not as much as I like the American craft beers, but definitely better than the mass-produced American stuff. It’s the one thing I would admit to being a snob about: for every beer advertised on TV, there are thirty better that most people never heard of. I was planning on having a Sapporo for my next one.

“Thanks again, Ray. Having someone else there always makes it easier.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “That about as bad as it gets?”

She took another sip. “Not even close,” she said. “Interviewing the families of four recent high school graduates who thought they could make it through the flashing lights, around the barrier, and over the train tracks before the train got there. That’s as bad as it gets.”

“Wow,” I said. “Where and when did that happen?”

“Westchester. Three years ago.”

“They all die?”

“Three of the four. The fourth one—the driver—wishes he had.”

“Were they drinking?”

“Yep. Coming back from a graduation party. Had their whole lives in front of them. All four college-bound. Thought they were invincible.”

I finished off my beer. “I remember those days,” I said. “Stupid shit was done.”

“Most of us make it through. Those who don’t, sometimes make the papers.”

Our food came. We’d ordered the sushi platter for two, which I figured a lot of couples probably do. Not because we were a couple, but there
were
two of us, and it seemed the thing to order. After the waiter informed us which fish was which, I asked him for a Sapporo, and Allison asked for another vase of sake. Neither one of us had to be back at work until the next day, so …

“What about you?” she asked. “What was your worst day?” Before I could answer, she winced. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t blame myself as much as I used to.”

“Do you think about it a lot?”

“Only every time I pass a fire escape,” I said, more than a touch of bite in my voice.
Stupid.
“Sorry.”

“No, no. I understand, Ray. I still flinch whenever I see a Jeep.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s kind of always there.”

The waiter came by with our drinks. I asked for two sets of chopsticks and he handed them over. Again, Allison looked surprised.

“My sister taught me,” I said. “She said it’d impress women.”

Allison took her wooden set and separated them. “Tell your sister she’s right.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

We ate without talking for a while. I liked the way Allison dug right in. There was none of that picking around, asking if I wanted a certain piece. She knew what she wanted and she took it. It was just sushi, but I admired the attitude. When she really liked a piece, she made a low moan.

“What other advice did your sister give you?” Allison asked.

I swallowed a piece of tuna and took a sip of beer before answering.

“To take things as they come,” I said. “And to keep in mind you need time and space in a relationship.”

She moved her chopsticks through the air in a circular motion and said, “Is that what we have here, Raymond? A relationship?”

Great,
I thought.
Haven’t had this conversation for a while.

“I don’t know what we have here, Allison.”

“Good answer.” She took a sip of sake. “You passed the test, you know.”

“The keep-my-mouth-shut-and-listen test at the Shermans?”

“That’s the one.”

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Remember the offer you made the other night?”

“No, Ray,” she said. “I was so blasted out of my mind, it’s all a blur.”

“Okay, no need to ruin the mood with sarcasm.”

She raised one of her chopsticks up to her mouth and ran it over her lower lip.

“What mood is that, Ray?”

I didn’t answer. I just kept watching that lucky chopstick make its way around her mouth.

“Are you propositioning me, Mr. Donne?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

“Does that make you feel better about it? Now that it’s your idea?”

“No. I just think that—”

She turned the chopstick around and placed it on both my lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Do that thing again where you don’t talk so much.”

*

Two hours later, we were at Allison’s apartment in her bed. The curtains were pulled, the lights were turned off in favor of scented candles, and her head was resting on my chest. I couldn’t see her face, so I wasn’t quite sure if she was smiling, but you would have had trouble wiping the one off my face with a rake. Allison sighed.

“What?” I asked.

“Daytime sex fucking rocks.”

“I agree.” I moved my arm so I could rub her shoulder. “Feels like we’re getting away with something. Like we know there are things to do, but we had sex instead. I half expect my mother to come through the door asking why I didn’t make it to school.”

She patted me on the stomach. “It’s okay, Ray. Your mother has no idea who I am or where I live.”

“Good. Now I can relax.”

And I did. I found myself staring up at her ceiling, feeling my eyes get droopy and letting them close. I took in the scent of the candles and the scent of Allison. I could have stayed that way for many hours. Allison had other ideas.

“So,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking this feels real good right now. You?”

“I mean about the three boys.”

We just had sex and now she wants to talk about this?

“I wasn’t thinking about the boys, Allison,” I said, squeezing her shoulder.

“Well,
I am
and now
you are
.” She rolled onto her side and propped her head up with a couple of pillows. “I’m getting more and more curious about what happened to put the Quinn boy into the hospital.”

Looked like we were going to have this conversation. I took a few more pillows and put them behind my back as I sat up. I looked down at Allison. “Yeah, me, too. You still thinking of heading over to the hospital?”

“Tonight. I’ll catch the nurses on a shift change. There’s always a better chance to talk with them on their way out.”

“You really think you’ll get information out of any of them?”

“I told you,” she said, “some of them get real chatty after a long shift. What do we want to know exactly?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Why Jack’s there, right?”

“Right.”

“I can get a nurse or an aide to give that up without them even realizing they did.”

“Is that something they teach in journalism school? Getting people to reveal confidential information?”

She sat up. “Don’t get all high and mighty on me now, Raymond.
You
went to the hospital. And you just passed yourself off as a photographer to a grieving family.”

“Number one: that’s not a crime,” I said. “Number two: it was your idea.”

“Doesn’t make it right, and you had no problem agreeing to it. You were just as curious as I was to meet Paulie’s parents.” She readjusted the pillows behind her back. “Do I sometimes have to cross some ethical line to get a story? Damn straight. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be long for this business. Shit, the way newspapers are now, I may not be long for it anyway. You’ll be able to get everything off the wire or the Internet.”

“No,” I said. “You’re right. It just seems a bit—”

“Hey,” she interrupted. “You got into this for a reason. You were trying to help Mrs. Lee find the truth about what happened to her son. I agreed—not completely selflessly—to help you. You know how this works. You can’t stop in midstream because you don’t like the way things are going.”

“I never said I wanted to stop,” I said.

“No, but you’re starting to question my methods. I don’t appreciate that.”

That warm and fuzzy post-coital feeling was almost gone. I closed my eyes and tried to get some of it back. It wasn’t working.

“Okay,” I said, opening my eyes and looking at Allison. “You’re right.”

“Damn straight, I’m right,” she said. “Your sister teach you how much women love to hear those two words? ‘You’re right’?”

“No. I had to figure that one out for myself.”

“See,” she said, throwing her legs over mine. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Keep that up, and you might get something else.”

“You mean … this is not a one-night stand?”

She leaned in and kissed me. “It’s the afternoon, Ray. Let’s talk about the night later.”

“Fine by me,” I said, and kissed her right back.

IT WAS A SLOW NIGHT AT THE
LineUp, and it didn’t look like it was going to pick up anytime soon. Nobody was playing pool, and only three people were sitting at the bar. A couple of retired cops who were watching the news with the sound off. And, of course, Edgar.

I poured myself half a pint of Brooklyn Pilsner and went over to where Edgar was playing with his laptop. I must have been standing there for a minute before he acknowledged my presence.

“Raymond,” he said. “Absolutely brilliant idea Mrs. Mac had, putting Wi-Fi in.”

“Wasn’t that your suggestion, Edgar?”

“Oh, yeah.” His eyes were still on the screen, but he was grinning. “So, why are you here tonight?”

“Mikey called me this afternoon,” I explained, leaving out the part about getting the call while in Allison’s bed. “Said he forgot he had an early-morning fishing trip tomorrow and asked me to cover his shift for him.”

“Cool beans. Can I get another one of these, please?”