Crooked Numbers (34 page)

“You’re preaching to the choir, Mrs. Lee,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. “I just hope I’m not the only one singing.”

NOW, WAKING UP NEXT TO A
woman on a
Monday
morning—I was pretty sure that had
never
happened to me before. Allison got up first and went right to the bathroom. As she showered and put herself together for the day, I made a pot of coffee and took out some of yesterday’s bagels. I chose some clothes for the day and jumped in the shower as soon as she got out. By seven thirty, we were finally doing something together: drinking coffee. I was on my own when it came to the bagels.

“I’m not an early-morning eater,” she explained. “For me, it’s coffee until about eleven o’clock.”

“That’s not a real healthy way to start your day.”

“Yeah, well, whattaya gonna do, right?” She finished her coffee and placed the cup in the sink. “You still planning on heading uptown after school?”

“Yeah.”

When I got home last night, I showed Allison what Mrs. Lee had discovered in her son’s closet, then told her what I was planning on doing about it.

“I figure I’ll hit the pharmacist first,” I said. “Then the doctor’s.”

“And you still don’t think you should call Detective Murcer about this?”

“I will call him. Just not yet.”

“Because you want to know something before he does?”

“Because I promised I wouldn’t until we know what those capsules are.”

“Same thing, Raymond.” She went into the living room. “You want to get into some sort of pissing contest with him? Or maybe you just need to prove to yourself you can still do the cop thing.”

I followed after her. “Where the hell is this coming from? Haven’t we both been bending the rules just a little bit, Allison?”

“Yes, Ray. We have.” Her eyes filled up with tears. “And then Saturday night happened. Or have you forgotten about that?” She took a deep breath. “We could have been killed.”

I stepped forward and put my arms around her. There were a lot of things I wanted to say right then, but I uncharacteristically kept my mouth shut and just held her. We stayed that way for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m just scared, and I don’t like being scared.”

“No one does,” I said. “Look, I’m just going to head uptown, talk to a pharmacist and a doctor, and see what I can find out. If I find out anything worth going to Murcer about, I will. That’s a promise.”

“Okay,” she said. “We just need to be real careful, Ray.”

“And we are.” I let go of her. “What about you? What does your day look like?”

“I’m gonna try and stay in the office all day.” She reached down and picked up her bag. “I have to start putting my notes together into something resembling a narrative. I’ll try calling the Quinns, see if I can get a comment or some info on Jack. I’m not buying that food poisoning story. And then”—she paused—“I’m going to try and set up an interview with Dougie’s mom.”

I wasn’t too keen on that idea. “Why do you have to bother her?”

“I’m not
bothering
her, Ray. I need to interview her for the story.” She held her hand up, predicting my interruption. “A lot of what I know comes from you. I appreciate your help, but I’m not going to print hearsay just because I think the source is kinda cute and he lets me wear his T-shirts to bed.”

“It’s as good a reason as any other.”

“Better than most, actually, but I’ve got rules I have to follow.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Just go easy on her.”

“Aw, gee, Ray.” She smacked my arm. “And I was gonna bring my garden hose and stun gun.”

“That’s not funny,” I said, fighting back a smile.

“Yes, it is. You just like being the only wiseass in the room.”

“I told you, baby.” I pulled her into a hug. “I’m a raven.”

*

Even ravens sometimes have to go to work.

“Yo, Mr. D, I’m telling you, I didn’t go nowheres near her desk. I was sitting, doing my work. Why I wanna take her cell phone, anyway?” He reached into his pocket. “I got my own phone, don’t need hers.”

“That,” I said, pointing at Alberto’s phone, “should be in your book bag or locker and turned off. If Amanda followed that rule, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He shut the phone off and put it in his bag. “I don’t need her bootleg phone. I got my own.”

I’ve learned over the years that kids who steal from other kids usually have a reason why they
didn’t
steal from other kids. And it’s almost always the same reason: “I don’t need to steal her fill-in-the-blank.” Kids who are unjustly accused don’t usually tell you
why
they didn’t do it. They just say they didn’t do it. That’s really the only answer an innocent kid should come up with.

“So,” I said to Alberto, “if I were to go through your book bag right now, I wouldn’t find Amanda’s cell phone?”

“Nope.” He reached down, picked up his bag, and zipped it open for me to see inside. “You can look, Mr. D. Ain’t no phone in here ’cept mine’s.”

I got up and walked around my desk to where Alberto was sitting. I made a show of looking into his bag, even though we both knew what I’d find. Or rather, what I wouldn’t.

“Okay,” I said. “What if we were to check your locker?”

“You can do that?”

Bingo.
“Yeah,” I said. “I can do that.”

“Don’t you need, like, a … search warrant or something?”

Just like the punks at the bus stop,
I thought.
They all know their rights.
I liked Alberto. He struck me as the kind of kid who saw an opportunity, took it, and now wishes he could go back and undo what he’d done. He was no punk, and part of my job, the way I saw it, was to prevent him from becoming one. But I needed his help.

“No, Alberto. I do not need a search warrant. I can search your locker anytime I want for any reason I want. Search warrants are for cops and”—I paused for dramatic effect—“I don’t think we need to get them involved. For
now
.”

Alberto zipped up his bag and placed it back at his feet. He kept his eyes away from mine.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “I’m real busy for the next few periods.” I looked at my watch. “I’ll pick you up from your seventh-period class, and we’ll go to your locker together and make sure the phone didn’t somehow end up there. But,” I said as I went behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, “if Amanda’s phone is found and returned to her before seventh period, I’ll obviously have no need to search your locker. How does that sound, Alberto?”

He nodded. “That sounds cool, Mr. D. That’s fair.”

“Good. Now, what do you have this period?”

“Lunch.”

“Go to lunch. I’ll check in with Amanda at the end of sixth period.”

“Okay,” Alberto said as he stood up. “Cool. Thanks, Mr. D.”

“For what?”

He had no answer for that. “Just thanks.”

He left my office and hurried off to lunch. Or maybe his locker. I was sure I’d find out later. My phone rang.

“You have a visitor,” Mary informed me.

“Who is it?”

“A Mr. Smith,” she said. Then she lowered her voice. “But he doesn’t look like a Smith to me.”

“I’ll be right down.”

It took less than a minute to make it to the office. Except for Mary, the room was empty. I gave her a quizzical look.

“‘Mr. Smith,’” she said, “has asked that you meet him outside.”

“Outside?” I asked. “What’s up with that?”

“I’m just the messenger, Mr. Donne. Why don’t you run back up and get your jacket. It’s cold out there.”

“He say what he wanted?”

“Just to talk to you. Then he said he’d meet you outside. He didn’t seem too comfortable waiting around the office.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Raymond,” Mary said, as if that were one question too many. “He’s right outside. Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

“Thanks, Mary.”

I decided not to run back upstairs for my coat. If this Smith guy wanted to talk, he could do it inside where it was warm. I went out through the set of double doors and was greeted by a burst of cold air. There was nobody waiting on the steps, but somebody in a big, puffy, black coat was leaning against the metal railing, his back to me. As I walked down the steps and over to him, I said, “Mr. Smith?”

The guy turned. It took me a second.

“Tio,” I said, not even close to hiding the surprise in my voice. “What’s up?”

“Teacher Man,” he said, taking his right hand out of his pocket and offering it to me. “Just wanted to drop by and say
gracias
.”

“Okay.” I shook his hand. “For what?”

He smiled. “For the heads-up on Jerome Dexter.”

“Oh, yeah.” I got a bit worried now. “How’d that go?”

“Me and a coupla my boys had a face-to-face with the young Mr. Dexter,” he said. “Made it clear to him it would be in his best interest to start rockin’ some colors other than the Family’s. Told him to trash them beads, too.”

I buried my hands in my pockets. I noticed two boys across the street wearing what looked like the same jacket as Tio. They had their hands in their pockets also, and Saints caps on their heads.

“And…” I said.

Tio smiled. “And that’s all, folks. For a kid who don’t seem all that bright, he got wise to our position pretty quick.”

I lowered my voice. “You didn’t hurt him?”

“Teacher Man. I made you a promise and I kept it.” The smile grew. “But we made it quite clear to the boy that if we heard he was wearing our colors again, the next conversation would be a bit more … nonverbal. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“I do,” I said. “You couldn’t have told me this inside? Where it’s warm?”

He shook his head. “I ain’t real comfortable in school buildings since I dropped out. Don’t like the way they smell, y’know?”

I didn’t, but just nodded. The wind was starting to pick up. “Is that it?”

“Nah, man. I didn’t come all this way just to say thanks. Coulda done that over the phone.”

I guessed this was where I was supposed to ask what he
did
come all this way to say. So I did.

“Just wanted to let you know,” Tio said, “I owe you one.”

Really? The top guy in a gang owes me one?
I couldn’t wait to tell my mother.

“That’s okay, Tio,” I said. “I’m just glad you took care of it the way you did.”

“Nah. That was some good lookin’ out you did. Way I run things, I don’t need no knucklehead wannabe out there causing trouble. You gave me a righteous heads-up and I owe you. I don’t owe too many people. So when I do, I want them to hear it from my face. Not over the phone, feel me?”

“I feel you, Tio.” I didn’t know what else to say except, “I’ll let you know if I need something. Right now, I need to head back into work.”

He took his hand out again and we shook. He pulled me in closer to him.

“I ain’t fronting, Teacher Man. You need something, you let me know.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks for coming by.”

“You got it,” he said. He turned around and raised his hand to say good-bye.

I watched as his two boys crossed the street, and the trio walked away from the school. I went back inside, freezing, but with a stupid grin on my face.

*

Three fifteen. School was out and the kids were gone. It was a bit too cold for them to hang around the building, so clearing the block didn’t take all that much time. Not a bad day. No fights, only one kid caught cutting, and Amanda’s cell phone had made a miraculous reappearance. I hoped Alberto had learned from this.

I TOOK THE L TRAIN
to the
1
train, then walked the three blocks from the Seventy-ninth Street stop to the pharmacy that had filled Paulie’s prescription. It was probably one of the last independent pharmacies in the area, which meant I wouldn’t be able to do my grocery shopping, use an ATM, or get my digital photos processed. What I was hoping to do was find out if the pills in the bottle were what the label said they were. I stepped up to the register and asked the girl if I could speak with the pharmacist.

“And what is this in regards to?” she asked.

I pulled out the amber bottle, shook it, and gave her the truth. “I’d like to know what these pills are.”

She nodded knowingly and excused herself as she went to the back room. She returned less than a minute later followed by an older man, who wore a light blue pharmacist shirt and half-frame reading glasses. His shirt had the name of the pharmacy stitched in red just over his name,
WARREN
. He motioned for me to meet him at the end of the counter by the condoms and breath mints.

“How can I help you?” Warren asked.

I showed him the pill bottle. “I was hoping you could tell me what these are.”

He took the container, pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, and checked out the label. I had ripped off the part of the label that had Paulie’s name on it. I left the name of the drug alone.

“You have reason to believe they’re not what they say they are?” he asked.

“That’s about right,” I said.

“Found them,” he looked at the label again, “in your son’s room and don’t know how they got there?”

I gave him an awkward smile. “How’d you know that?”

“I get parents in here six, seven times a month asking me to identify pills they found in their kids’ rooms.”

“Good to know I’m not the only one,” I said, going for slightly embarrassed.

I was half expecting some sort of lecture, but all he said was, “Gimme a minute. I’ll run it through the database.”

He stepped back over to the computer at the other end. I took the opportunity to check out my prophylactic options. If this thing I had with Allison kept on moving forward, I’d need to stock up. I grabbed a twelve-pack of condoms—optimist that I was—just as the pharmacist returned.

“Well,” he said, “Good news, I think. They are what the label says they are.”

“For ADHD, right?”

“Yep. I take it these were not prescribed for your boy.”

“No,” I said. “They were not. And you’re sure they’re ADHD meds?”