Street Dreams (28 page)

“Where? At MacFerren Park?”

“At the park, yeah, but also at the coffee shop. Late at night. Sometimes twelve, sometimes one. Sometimes even later. I seen
him ’cause I check the garbage there. Twenty-four hours, so lots of fresh garbage.”

“That makes sense. Which coffee shop?”

“Boss’s.”

“The place about five blocks down on the corner?”

“That’s the one. I seen Germando there. Lots of times. He likes the banana pancakes.”

S
omeone was hitting me
over the head, just pulverizing my brains to dust. In horror, I could see the tissue flying around, splattering on the ground,
but still the pounding wouldn’t stop. It took several minutes before I could translate the repulsive nightmare into sound.
… Someone was knocking on my door. When I opened my eyes, I felt my heart racing, smelled the sharp odor of sweat that was
evaporating off my skin. Shaking from cold, I wiped the wetness off with my damp sheets. I knew I had a breakfast appointment
with Hayley Marx, and I wondered if I had overslept and it was she. But checking my alarm, I still had a half hour to go.
Ordinarily, I would have been angry at being awoken prematurely, but it was a relief to bury the evil specter.

Street dreams, they’re called, all too typical for new cops. First-year med students dreamed of a bleed-out from Ebola; first-year
lawyers dreamed of arriving in court dressed only in underwear. So far as I knew, only cops dreamed of getting their heads
blown off. I got up, my stomach in a knot, and threw on my terry-cloth robe.

Then, on the off chance that it
might
be Koby, I took off the terry robe and put on a silk one. I took a few quick moments to preen in front of the mirror; then
I quickly brushed my teeth and rinsed out the bad taste with some no-name brand of electric green mouthwash. I was still mad
at him, sure, but I wanted to look decent and smell good.

I checked through my peephole.

It was Oliver.

I was disappointed on so many levels, I couldn’t even begin to analyze my feelings.

I opened the door and tried to keep my face neutral. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and gold tie. He had shaved
and smelled nice—a fresh scent without the cloying sweetness common in most men’s cologne. His silver-streaked black hair
was slicked back, but a chip was falling across his forehead. “I’m meeting Hayley Marx for breakfast, Scott.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

I hesitated, then let him in. He walked past me, so I closed the door. He glanced around my living room as if it were foreign
territory to him. It wasn’t, of course, but it was a lot barer than when he had last seen it. I had taken away all my personal
effects, intending to pack up and bid the place good-bye, but I had never got around to the actual jump. The atmosphere was
about as warm as Motel 6.

“You’re moving?”

“No.”

“A fan of the minimal look?”

“What do you want, Scott?”

“How are you doing, Cin?”

“I’m doing lousy. Why is none of your business.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Accepted. I have to go—”

“Can you give me a minute?”

“Why should I?”

“Maybe because you owe me?”

“
Excuse
me?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You know, you should have called me, Cin.”

I stared at him.
“What?”

“I
said
”—his eyes bore into mine, but his voice got softer—“you should have
called
me.” A pause. “You know, last year after it all happened. I must have left fifty messages. I left those messages because
I cared about you. Surely you could have found the time to return just one of them.”

We maintained eye contact.

He said, “You don’t want a relationship with me, fine. I’m a big boy. No prob. But you could have just been nice about it.
You know how that works—asked how I’m doing, how my cases are going, was Daddy giving me a hard time. You know … chitty-chatty.
You never had trouble talking to me when you wanted to talk.”

He dared me to respond. I didn’t accept the challenge.

“I was there when you needed me,” he said softly. “I was
good
to you. You owed me civility.”

“I wasn’t uncivil to you, Scott.”

“You weren’t uncivil, no. You weren’t
anything
to me. As far as you were concerned, I was a fucking nonentity.”

A good defense was a well-placed offense. “Nothing I did compared to how vile you were to me Sunday night. I was in shock
… in
severe
shock … and your wretched selfishness just about put me over.”

He broke eye contact and turned away. “You serious with this guy?”

“Not in the least,” I said.

“Then what’s the problem? So I’m a racist. I’m not a nice person. But I was nice to you. I never kissed and told, and believe
me, I had lots of opportunity for that.”

I gave out a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t think it would have been good for your career.”

“Your father can’t do a thing to me so long as I do my job well. And I do my job very well. I could have made you look bad,
Cindy. I could have made you look bad and your father look even worse. You know gossiping is a cop’s pastime. It would have
enhanced my image to brag about nailing the boss’s daughter … made you both look like clowns. But I didn’t because I
cared
about you. So all I’m saying is … is … I’m saying you could have called.”

I started to answer but then checked my psychological armor. When I stopped a moment, I didn’t like what I felt. I thought
how hurtful Koby’s silence had been and I had only known him for a little over a week. I’d known Oliver for a very long time
and he had come through for me. He had been there when I needed a shoulder to cry on, when I needed a warm, strong body to
get me through some terrible nights. He had tucked me into bed and fixed me breakfast in the morning … made sweet love to
me.

He was a jerk, but I’d been one, too.

My eyes watered. “You’re right. I should have called. My state of mind wasn’t too great right after … and then … I don’t know
… I just didn’t bother. I apologize.”

He gave me the strength of his eyes. “Rather formal … but accepted.”

He deserved better. I swallowed dryly. “Scott, I am so very,
very
sorry.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I really am.”

“Hey …” He came over to me. “Hey, it’s fine.” He put his hands on my shoulders, then drew me to him. I sobbed on his white
shirt. Everything came crashing down: this dreadful, stark apartment, the shock of the accident, my horrible first year on
the force. I clutched his shirt as I wept on his chest. He wasn’t the one I should be crying to and I was very resentful.
He threw his arms around me. “Hey, the score’s settled, old girl. It’s fine.” He patted my back. “I mean it. It’s fine. Stop
that!”

I sniffed. “Thanks for not gossiping about me.”

“Thanks for not gossiping about me. I’m certain I had a lot more to lose than you did.”

I laughed and so did he.

“Are you all right, Cindy?”

“No.” I wiped my tears. “But I’ll be okay.”

He was still holding me. It felt good, but it wasn’t what I wanted or needed. I kissed his cheek and broke it off. “You’ve
been a good friend and I don’t have many. I should keep that in mind.”

He nodded. “Thanks. That was nice.”

“I really do have to meet Hayley.”

“Have time for a cup of coffee tomorrow?”

“Scott, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Maybe not for you. For me, it would be a great idea.”

“You’re dating one of my good friends.”

“I’d take you back in a heartbeat.”

“It wouldn’t work, Oliver.”

“I’m not so sure.” He approached me from behind, slipped his arms around my waist. My robe was loosely bound, and his hands
started to touch skin.

Again I pulled away. “You’re good, Oliver, but I’m trying to be better.”

“That’s no fun.”

“I’m trying to pull my life together. Please? Please, please,
please?”

He frowned. “At least, tell me you were aroused.”

“I was aroused.”

“You fuck him?”

My face got warm. “Stop it.”

“Is it true what they say about bla—”

“Oliver, get the hell out of here.”

Still, he stalled. “So how are the kids?”

“What kids?”

“Didn’t your friend go to the hospital with the kids in the accident? What was the guy’s name again?”

Like he didn’t know. Oliver, like my father, was an excellent detective. Those kinds of details would never slip his mind.
“Yaakov.”

“Yeah, but you called him something else at first.”

“Koby.”

“Like the basketball player? What the hell kind of a name is Koby?”

He was delving for more info. I said, “It’s short for Yaakov— Jacob. When he moved to Israel, he started using his Hebrew
name, Yaakov, which is also Jacob.”

“Why does he have a Hebrew name?”

“Because Koby’s Jewish.”

Oliver laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Convert?”

“No, he’s born Jewish. He’s an Ethiopian Jew. Can we switch the subject? Better still, can you leave and then I can get dressed?”

“Don’t let me stop you. You never answered my question. Did the kids in the accident pull through?”

“You know, Scott, I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Koby since the accident.”

“Ouch!” Oliver said.

“No big deal. I told you it was nothing.”

“Sure you don’t want that cup of coffee?” His smile was downright charming. “Talk it over with Uncle Scottie? Hmmm?”

I was down, he looked good, and it was tempting. But the past year had made me just a wee bit smarter. I kissed his cheek.
“You were right to call me on my bad behavior. Let’s leave it on a high note.” Before I could weaken, I stepped out the door,
waiting for him to follow. When he did, I closed the door behind me, hoping I didn’t lock myself out. “I won’t bother to tell
Hayley about this.”

“What’s to tell? Nothing happened.” He smiled. “You still have time to change that.”

“Oliver, leave me alone or I’ll sic the Loo on you.”

“Bringing out the heavy artillery, huh?”

I smiled. When in doubt, punt to Dad.

After breakfast and girl talk/therapy with Hayley (no mention of Oliver’s visit, of course), I arrived at the station house
a few hours before I was due to go on shift. I looked up any kind of information I could on Hermano or Germando. I didn’t
know his last name because Alice Anne hadn’t known it, but there was a section for distinguishing marks and the tiger tattoo
qualified under that category. When I typed it in, I was shocked at Alice Anne’s accuracy. A lesson well learned: Never discount
anyone.

Germando El Paso was now eighteen and a half, with a warrant out for his arrest for unpaid traffic citations, specifically
a speeding ticket and three parking violations. In the past, he’d been picked up for two DUIs, and his license was currently
suspended, but hey, when did that ever stop bad guys from driving? He had also been arrested for a misdemeanor possession
of marijuana, and had a sealed juvenile record. Since he wasn’t on probation, he had no probation officer. But there had been
a juvenile officer who had worked with him. I took down his name and gave him a call.

I got voice mail, so I left a message.

I went down into the locker room and changed into my uniform. Homicide Detective Justice Brill snagged me right before I entered
the roll-call room. Brill was in his mid-thirties, around five-ten, and good-looking in that seamed Steve McQueen/Paul Newman
kind of way. They didn’t make movie stars like that anymore. Instead, it was all these slender pretty boys that I could probably
beat in an arm wrestle. Brill was married but had a penchant for frequenting gentlemen’s clubs. I stayed clear of him.

“We think we found the SUV. It was a stolen vehicle with stolen plates, but you did get the last four digits right. Good for
you.”

“You impound it?”

“No, I put it up on eBay.” Brill smiled, his eyes oozing sincerity. “You did a good job, Decker.”

I took the compliment with grace and aplomb, and a gallon of salt.

He said, “Here’s the thing. The front bumper of the car was an inkblot of smashed body parts, but the rear bumper was clean.”

“She wasn’t hit on the rear bumper.”

“Very good, Decker, I see gold in your future.” He rolled his eyes. “Now since the plates were stolen, the lab dusted it for
prints. Guess what?”

“There were none.”

“Bingo. But the lab did find a smear of fresh blood on the top right screw, where you screw the license plate onto the bumper.”

“Was the smear enough for a partial?”

“There was a partial, but nothing popped up in the system.”

So much for that. “Did the blood match the victim’s?”

“We don’t know for sure because the tests are preliminary. But the lab did run a simple ABO—victim’s blood was O, the smear
was B. There was nothing else on the plate.” He looked at me. “Any ideas?”

He was giving me a hurdle to jump. I thought about it for a moment. “And the lab didn’t find the B blood type anywhere else
on the SUV?”