Sacrifice Fly (17 page)

“Nothing. That’s the third time in five minutes that you’ve surprised me.”

She put on a serious face. “Do I look like the Shirley Temple type?”

Not in that dress.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just … I don’t … Let me get that margarita for you.”

Along the way to the other end of the bar, I opened a few Buds and poured three pints.
By the time I brought Elsa’s drink to her, she was engaged in a deep conversation
with Edgar. Edgar said something I couldn’t hear, and Elsa threw her head back in
laughter.

“What’d I miss?” I asked.

Elsa thanked me for the margarita and took a sip. “Edgar was just telling me a story
about his work. A conversation he overheard.”

“Overheard or eavesdropped on?”

Edgar got defensive. “I may have … accidentally … tapped into the wrong line. It’s
easy to make a mistake with all those wires.”

“And so hard not to listen after you … accidentally tap into the wrong line.” I thought
about Edgar’s trick earlier in the week with the cell phone. “Edgar,” I said, “is
a bit of a techie.”

“Techie?”

“A high-end nosybody.”

“And Raymond,” Edgar said, catching the look on my face, “is one heck of a guy.”

“Yes,” Elsa agreed, her eyes resting just above the rim of her margarita glass as
she took another sip. “He seems to be.”

“Is this the ‘something’ you mentioned earlier?”

“Billy,” I said, turning to the voice. “Didn’t see you there.”

“I’ve added stealth to my long list of admirable qualities.” Billy raised Elsa’s hand
and brought it to his lips. “Billy Morris, ma’am.”

“Elsa Ramos.”

“Raymond hinted that he had someone coming by, but he neglected to elaborate.”

Edgar stuck out his hand. “Billy. How are ya? Edgar Martinez O’Brien.”

“Nice to meet ya, Edgar.” Billy studied Edgar’s eager face for a few beats and said,
“We know each other?”

“No, no,” Edgar said and cleared his throat. “I’m a friend of Raymond’s.”

“Then we know each other now.” Billy looked from Edgar to me and asked, “You guys
work together?”

“Not yet,” Edgar said.

“No,” I corrected. “Edgar is … just a friend.”

“Just a … I gave Ray those—”

“Who was just thinking about leaving,” I said.

Billy clapped Edgar on the neck. “Ahh. Too early for that. We’re just getting started.”

“Yeah, Ray,” Edgar said. “We’re just getting started.”

“We,” Elsa jumped in, “have dinner reservations for six o’clock.”

“Yes,” I said. I looked around the bar and over to the food table. “Things seem to
be under control. Maybe we should think about heading out.”

“You gonna leave my Q early? You know the rules, son.”

I gestured with my eyes at Elsa. “Sometimes we gotta break the rules, Billy. Based
on … exigent circumstances.”

“I hear that,” Billy said and took a deep breath. “Don’t mean I gotta like it. Mrs.
Mac needs, I can always jump behind the bar for a spell. But we are going to get together
soon. You gotta come over and see the new digs.” He placed his hand on Elsa’s back.
“Maybe you can bring a friend. Or something.”

“That would be nice,” I said.

“And I’ll do my best about that other thing,” he said. “The van plates.”

“Thanks.”

I grabbed my umbrella and explained to Mikey that I had to leave. Before he could
argue, I walked out from behind the bar. I said a few quick good-byes and made it
over to where Elsa, Billy, and Edgar were. Billy gave me another hug.

“Take care of yourself, son.”

“You, too, Billy.”

Elsa took my hand and said, “It was nice meeting you both.”

“You, too.”

“Same here, Elsa.”

I told Edgar to make my apologies to Mrs. McVernon and escorted Elsa out of the bar
into the hot Brooklyn air.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“For the six o’clock reservation idea. I haven’t been around those guys for a long
time. I forgot how exhausting they can be.”

Elsa smiled. “I am … something, aren’t I?”

“All right. That was just something I told Billy,” I explained. She gave me a blank
look. “He asked if I had a date, and I didn’t know what to call it so…”

“I understand. Really.”

“Good. The restaurant’s only a few blocks away. I figured we could walk it, and then
I can get you a car service back to your place.”

“We’ll see.” She took me by the hand again. “We’ll see.”

I found myself liking the tone of her voice the more she spoke. Asking her to dinner
had been a good idea.

“Hey, Teach!”

I tightened my grip on Elsa’s hand and picked up the pace a little.

“You gone deaf?”

I stopped and turned. Jack Knight had a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other.

“Go back inside, Jack,” I said.

He took a few steps closer and said, “You ain’t gonna introduce me to your friend?”
He squinted at Elsa. “You datin’ civilians now, huh? That figures.”

To Jack, any member of the nonwhite, noncop population was a “civilian.” It was a
much more acceptable word in public than “nigger” or “spic.”

“Go back inside, Jack.”

“Your boyfriend tell ya what a great and honorable policeman he was, Missy?”

“I was hoping to hear about it over dinner.”

“Ouch,” Jack said. “She speaka the English real smooth there. She do the horizontal
mambo the same way?”

I let go of Elsa’s hand and stepped in front of her. She held on to my elbow as I
said, “Watch your mouth in front of the lady, Jack.”

“It’s nothing, Ray,” Elsa said. “Let’s go eat.”

“Yeah, Ray,” Jacked mimicked. He took a drag of the cigar and exhaled it slowly. “Go
eat. Then go home and eat a little more.” He winked. “Spicy. You gonna tell her about
the time you chased the street monkey up the fire escape?”

“You’re pushing it, Jack,” I said.

He took another couple of steps. Ten feet separated us now. Elsa tried to turn me
by the elbow, but I wouldn’t let her. I moved my right foot slightly forward, shifted
more weight onto the right leg, and held the umbrella at my side.

“Let’s just go,” Elsa said.

“I think Jack wanted to apologize first,” I said.

“Looks like you’ll be missing dinner then.” Jack bent over and placed his beer and
cigar on the sidewalk. “’Cause I ain’t apologizing for shit.”

“Please, Ray.” Elsa tried pulling me. “He’s drunk. It is not worth it.”

I shrugged Elsa’s hand off my elbow and said to Jack, “You never did learn how to
behave in front of real people, did you?” For effect, I added, “Whack.”

“And you never learned when to shut the fuck up.”

“Not when I’m right. No.”

He shook his head and laughed.

“That’s what it’s all about, ain’t it? You being right.”

“Think what you want, Jack.”

“Oh, I will,” he said. “I will.”

He looked down at the ground, pushed off on his back leg, and came at me. He was drunk
and not all that graceful, so I was able to sidestep his charge. He spun away, and
his momentum carried him into a pile of garbage bags and tied-up newspapers. Jack
got up, rubbed his hand across his mouth, and smiled.

“I’d like another shot at that, Teacher.”

I spread out my arms, telling him I wasn’t going anywhere. As he gathered himself
together, I took a quick look at Elsa, who was standing between two parked cars.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I want to go,” she pleaded. “You don’t need to—”

I held up my hand. “In a minute.”

Jack approached me, slower this time, realizing speed was not on his side. I eased
into the middle of the sidewalk and balanced my weight evenly. I was thinking maybe
I had been lucky the first time. Jack had quite a few inches and pounds on me and
seemed to learn from his mistake.

“Just say you’re sorry, Jack, and you can go back to drinking yourself into a stupor.”

Jack smirked as he crept closer, his breathing heavy but rhythmic. He was about three
feet away when he threw his right hand at me. I leaned away from it, only to realize
too late it was a feint, and he was able to smack me across the face with the back
of his left. I stumbled back a few feet, where someone caught me.

“The fuck is this?” Billy Morris said, holding me up by my armpits. “Ain’t no dancing
allowed out here.”

Jack took a few steps closer to us. Billy stopped him with a pointed finger.

“Enough!” Billy said. “You both seem to have gotten your shots in, so just cool the
fuck out.” He turned to Elsa and said, “You okay?”

She nodded.

“You,” he said to Jack. “Get inside and drink.”

Jack picked up his cigar and beer and tipped an imaginary hat at Elsa. “Ma’am.” He
strolled down the sidewalk and into The LineUp.

“And you,” Billy said as he picked my umbrella off the ground. “I expect that shit
from the Whack, but you? Damn, Ray. Go have dinner with your friend.” He reached into
his pocket and pulled out a tissue. “Wipe the blood off your face first.”

Billy turned away and headed back inside. I touched the tissue to my nose and it came
away red. Shit. Elsa took the tissue and wiped my face. When she was done, she walked
over to an open garbage can and dropped the bloody tissue inside.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

Elsa shook her head. “That was just … stupid.”

“I know. Jack gets out of control sometimes.”

“I was talking about you.”

“Me?” I asked. “I was defending myself.”

“No. You thought you were defending me.”

“Elsa…”

“Three times I asked you to stop. You didn’t listen.”

“He was verbally abusing you. I wasn’t just going to let—”

“Do I look so helpless, I need my honor defended?” She took a step back and pointed
at a red mark on her dress. “That is blood. Your blood.” She paused. “I almost didn’t
come here because I was worried about the cops at the party. Too much … testosterone.
I didn’t think I had to worry about you.”

“You didn’t. You don’t.”

“You could have walked away from him. He was drunk. Instead you had to prove you could
stand up for yourself. Stand up for me. I have had too much of that … that machismo
shit.” She waited for me to come back with an answer. When I didn’t, she said, “What
would you say to your students if they acted as you just did?”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “This was completely different.”

“Because he started it?”

I tried to keep my tone calm. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

She shook her head. “You are not so different from that Jack as you would like to
believe.”

“What’s that?” I asked, ignoring the little voice inside my head telling me to shut
the fuck up. “Some of the psychology crap they teach you?”

She looked at me with what could only be called pity and shook her head. She looked
up and down the avenue and crossed.

I followed her to the other side. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“Home.” She pointed at a bus sign. “I can take this.”

“Elsa. Can’t we just have dinner?”

“Not tonight. I’m sorry.” She looked over my shoulder. “The bus is coming.”

I turned around and saw the blue and white city bus making the left under the BQE.

“Let me take you home,” I tried.

“I can take myself home.”

The bus pulled in front of us, opened its doors, and let off a handful of passengers.
I thought about getting on the bus with her. Telling her about my trip to Highland,
the clue I had found. She would see by my actions what kind of man I really was.

Maybe she already had.

Chapter 13

“HOW’S THAT FEEL?”

“Like someone’s sticking a hot needle into the back of my legs.”

“Excellent.” Muscles Marinaccio looked down at me and grinned. “That means you’re
doing it correctly.”

I did another one. The sharp pain began just below my knees and turned into a bright
light as it moved its way north.

“I must be doing it very correctly,” I said, exhaling and easing back into a squatting
position. “Because it hurts like a bitch.”

“That’s the lactic acid rushing into the muscles,” he continued. “If you’d been doing
these consistently for the last four years, you’d know that. Also, it wouldn’t be
hurting so bad.”

I was on a piece of gym equipment that required me to wrap my hands around two rubber
grips, squat, and then stand up, raising the padded bar connected to the weights.
Once my legs were straight, I was to count to three and then slowly—“Very slowly!
There are two parts to this exercise!”—return to my original position. I’ve seen pictures
in textbooks of similar devices that were used during the Spanish Inquisition to punish
the unfaithful. This one was used to punish delinquent patients with torn ligaments
behind their knees. As Muscles watched, I did five more, for a total of ten, and stopped.

“I said this to you four years ago, Raymond. You didn’t just tear the meniscus.” He
touched below the back of my right knee and brought his finger up and around the kneecap.
“You tore your ACL and pretty much fucked around with both patellas.”

“Don’t get so technical, Doc.”

“How about this? Your knee bone ain’t exactly connected to your leg bone the way God
meant it to be. That dumbed down enough for you?”

“Sorry.”

“You should be.” Muscles reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two white pills.
“Take these,” he said.

“Ibuprofen?”

“Wintergreen. Every time you exhale, I get hit with a faceful of vodka. Where the
hell’d you go last night?”

I popped the mints into my mouth. “Every bar between The LineUp and my apartment.
I had some thinking to do.”

“You pissed off at your liver?”

“Just pissed,” I said, and told him about last night’s aborted date with Elsa and
the fight with Jack Knight.

“No offense, Raymond,” Muscles said, “but Jack could break you in two.”

“He was drunk.”

“That would just give him more reason to want to. That why you’re back here today?
After all these years of neglect? Tired of getting sand kicked in your face?”