of chocolate ice cream. I let them slide down as I looked at the darkened skyline outside my kitchen windows. The city may never sleep, but it does rest its eyes every once in a while.
On my way back to the bedroom, my cell phone started ringing. In the dim light, it took me a few rings to find it hiding on the coffee table. I didn’t recognize the number, but given the events of the last day, I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Ray. It’s Jack.”
“What the—Jack. It’s…” I looked at the digits on my DVR. “… Not even three in the morning. I told you, I’d call—”
“Shut up, Ray, and get dressed. We both know you weren’t sleeping.”
“How do you know that?”
“This your first time being shot at, right?”
“Yeah.”
“My first time? I slept like a baby for days.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Woke up every two hours, cried for a bit, and then hit the bottle.”
In spite of my fatigue and nightmare, I laughed. “That’s good.”
“I’ll be outside your apartment in five.”
Maybe I was still dreaming? “Jack, I’ve got my girlfriend over. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just got a call from that buddy of mine at the nine-oh.”
“Okay…”
Pause. I could hear that he was in a car. “You dressed yet?”
“Jack, you’re not making much sense. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is you and I are heading over to the Southside.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“My buddy just told me they found a DB in the East River Park.”
Please, I hoped I was dreaming. “How does that concern me?”
“Because this particular dead body,” Jack said, “used to be a teenager, and next to this teenager the cops found a bike and a Beretta Px4 semiautomatic pistol. It’s also less than two blocks from where Ricky T was shot.” He paused for effect. “You dressed yet ?”
“I’ll meet you out front.”
* * *
It took me a few minutes to convince Allison that I had not, all evidence to the contrary, lost my mind, and that I’d call her from the crime scene. Of course, she wanted to come, and of course, I said no. She seemed to go along with it, but I knew she didn’t approve. I promised I’d be back for breakfast. This whole conversation took place as I was getting dressed, so I was able to keep my word to Jack and was out front in five minutes.
“Any shit from the missus?” he asked as I slid into the passenger seat of the vintage Ford Mustang he must have bought to complete the image of a PI. To his credit, this question was asked as he handed me a large cup of coffee.
“A little,” I said, taking a sip. “She’s on the phone with her paper now.”
“I forgot she’s a reporter.”
“Your buddy say who caught the case?”
Jack smiled. I didn’t like it when Jack smiled. “You’re gonna fucking love this, Ray.” He made an illegal left at the light, and I remembered I needed to buckle up. “Remember Detective Royce?”
“You’re shitting me, right?” I said. Royce was the detective in charge of the Frankie Rivas case a few years ago. He knew he never got the full story of my involvement in getting Frankie home, but chose not to pursue it. It was one of those times where my last name—and another’s willful ignorance—helped me out.
“I am shitting you not.” Jack made a quick right and headed toward the river. “He’s gonna flip when he sees your white ass, huh?”
“He’s not going to see me, Jack. I don’t know who your buddy is, but there’s no way either one of us is stepping foot on that crime scene.”
“Don’t need to.” He turned around and pointed with his thumb at the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and two boxes of coffee on the backseat. Promoting the stereotype. “I’m bringing refreshments in exchange for the possibility of some inside info that just might be pertinent to one of the cases I’m working on.”
I took another sip as I deciphered that latest bit of information. When I was done, I
On my way back to the bedroom, my cell phone started ringing. In the dim light, it took me a few rings to find it hiding on the coffee table. I didn’t recognize the number, but given the events of the last day, I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Ray. It’s Jack.”
“What the—Jack. It’s…” I looked at the digits on my DVR. “… Not even three in the morning. I told you, I’d call—”
“Shut up, Ray, and get dressed. We both know you weren’t sleeping.”
“How do you know that?”
“This your first time being shot at, right?”
“Yeah.”
“My first time? I slept like a baby for days.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Woke up every two hours, cried for a bit, and then hit the bottle.”
In spite of my fatigue and nightmare, I laughed. “That’s good.”
“I’ll be outside your apartment in five.”
Maybe I was still dreaming? “Jack, I’ve got my girlfriend over. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just got a call from that buddy of mine at the nine-oh.”
“Okay…”
Pause. I could hear that he was in a car. “You dressed yet?”
“Jack, you’re not making much sense. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is you and I are heading over to the Southside.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“My buddy just told me they found a DB in the East River Park.”
Please, I hoped I was dreaming. “How does that concern me?”
“Because this particular dead body,” Jack said, “used to be a teenager, and next to this teenager the cops found a bike and a Beretta Px4 semiautomatic pistol. It’s also less than two blocks from where Ricky T was shot.” He paused for effect. “You dressed yet ?”
“I’ll meet you out front.”
* * *
It took me a few minutes to convince Allison that I had not, all evidence to the contrary, lost my mind, and that I’d call her from the crime scene. Of course, she wanted to come, and of course, I said no. She seemed to go along with it, but I knew she didn’t approve. I promised I’d be back for breakfast. This whole conversation took place as I was getting dressed, so I was able to keep my word to Jack and was out front in five minutes.
“Any shit from the missus?” he asked as I slid into the passenger seat of the vintage Ford Mustang he must have bought to complete the image of a PI. To his credit, this question was asked as he handed me a large cup of coffee.
“A little,” I said, taking a sip. “She’s on the phone with her paper now.”
“I forgot she’s a reporter.”
“Your buddy say who caught the case?”
Jack smiled. I didn’t like it when Jack smiled. “You’re gonna fucking love this, Ray.” He made an illegal left at the light, and I remembered I needed to buckle up. “Remember Detective Royce?”
“You’re shitting me, right?” I said. Royce was the detective in charge of the Frankie Rivas case a few years ago. He knew he never got the full story of my involvement in getting Frankie home, but chose not to pursue it. It was one of those times where my last name—and another’s willful ignorance—helped me out.
“I am shitting you not.” Jack made a quick right and headed toward the river. “He’s gonna flip when he sees your white ass, huh?”
“He’s not going to see me, Jack. I don’t know who your buddy is, but there’s no way either one of us is stepping foot on that crime scene.”
“Don’t need to.” He turned around and pointed with his thumb at the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and two boxes of coffee on the backseat. Promoting the stereotype. “I’m bringing refreshments in exchange for the possibility of some inside info that just might be pertinent to one of the cases I’m working on.”
I took another sip as I deciphered that latest bit of information. When I was done, I
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