wondering.”
She pressed the Down button for the elevator. As we waited, she said, “Anita is Frankie’s
mother’s cousin. The house was a wedding gift from her husband.”
“She married well.”
“She married rich. She wanted that life. I guess we all did. Anita, Christina, and
I would talk for hours as kids about the life we would have after getting out of here.
Anita’s dreams came true.” She drifted off for a few seconds. “Anita’s husband, John,
owns the travel agency where Frankie’s father works—worked.”
“That’s a long commute from Highland.”
“They have an apartment here in Williamsburg. John owns some buildings in the neighborhood.”
“You see her much?”
Elsa snorted. “Only during the holidays. If her husband allows her to visit the projects.
‘Slumming,’ they call it and expect me to laugh along with them.”
“Is that what Anita calls it?”
“She pretends to mimic him, but I can tell it makes her a little uncomfortable. I
think she is beginning to feel the same way he does.”
“Some people have a problem with where they came from.”
“Some people,” Elsa said, “have a problem with where they end up.”
The elevator arrived. I reached over and held the door before it could close.
“Thank you, Mr.—Raymond.”
“For what?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You came because I asked you to. Even though Mrs. Santos does not appreciate it,
I do. I feel better knowing that someone besides her church was here.”
“It’s not your church?”
“No. My mother and I are Catholics. And you?”
“Raised Catholic,” I said. “But I got over it.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I stepped inside the elevator, pressed the button for the lobby, and tipped an imaginary
cap. “Ma’am.”
As the door closed, Elsa’s smile got a little bigger. Maybe this wasn’t a complete
waste after all.
Down in the lobby, Harold was pushing a wet mop across the floor. When he spotted
me coming out of the elevator, he took the opportunity to stop his work and meet me
at the exit.
“Still no sign of Lefty, huh?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “You see any strangers around here today, Harold?”
“Strangers? Nope. Why you ask?”
“No reason.”
“Then why you ask?”
“See ya around, Harold.”
He looked at my umbrella. “How’s the leg, Mr. Donne?”
I ignored the question and left the building. I wanted to call the cops, let them
know what might have happened up in Mrs. Santos’s apartment. I decided it wouldn’t
do any good. She wouldn’t tell them anything. When I got to the street, I went over
to the pay phone and dialed nine-one-one. When the operator asked me the nature of
my emergency, I said a crazy man was outside the Clemente Houses threatening people
with a broken bottle.
If someone were watching Mrs. Santos’s apartment, I wanted them to see some police.
* * *
I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Since it was pushing six, I figured I’d head over to
The LineUp, grab some dinner, and check in with Mrs. Mac about Saturday’s party. The
place was filling up with the after-work crowd—I waved to a few cops I recognized—but
I managed to get the last stool at the bar. Right next to Edgar. Lucky me.
“They get the kid yet?”
“Hello, Edgar,” I said. “I’m fine, thanks. You?”
“Good, man. How’s the case going?”
Mikey came over, placed a bottle of Bud in front of me, and said, “Thanks again for
last night, Ray. I owe ya.”
“How’d it go?”
“Let’s just say I owe ya big,” he said. “You eating?”
“Yeah. BLT with turkey.”
“Extra B?”
“Absolutely.”
“Chips?”
I nodded.
“Glad you’re still on that health kick. Be back in a sec.”
“Anyway,” Edgar said, as if Mikey had interrupted an actual conversation, “how’s the
case going? Papers said the kid might be a suspect.”
“Edgar,” I said, “I’m not involved in any
She pressed the Down button for the elevator. As we waited, she said, “Anita is Frankie’s
mother’s cousin. The house was a wedding gift from her husband.”
“She married well.”
“She married rich. She wanted that life. I guess we all did. Anita, Christina, and
I would talk for hours as kids about the life we would have after getting out of here.
Anita’s dreams came true.” She drifted off for a few seconds. “Anita’s husband, John,
owns the travel agency where Frankie’s father works—worked.”
“That’s a long commute from Highland.”
“They have an apartment here in Williamsburg. John owns some buildings in the neighborhood.”
“You see her much?”
Elsa snorted. “Only during the holidays. If her husband allows her to visit the projects.
‘Slumming,’ they call it and expect me to laugh along with them.”
“Is that what Anita calls it?”
“She pretends to mimic him, but I can tell it makes her a little uncomfortable. I
think she is beginning to feel the same way he does.”
“Some people have a problem with where they came from.”
“Some people,” Elsa said, “have a problem with where they end up.”
The elevator arrived. I reached over and held the door before it could close.
“Thank you, Mr.—Raymond.”
“For what?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You came because I asked you to. Even though Mrs. Santos does not appreciate it,
I do. I feel better knowing that someone besides her church was here.”
“It’s not your church?”
“No. My mother and I are Catholics. And you?”
“Raised Catholic,” I said. “But I got over it.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I stepped inside the elevator, pressed the button for the lobby, and tipped an imaginary
cap. “Ma’am.”
As the door closed, Elsa’s smile got a little bigger. Maybe this wasn’t a complete
waste after all.
Down in the lobby, Harold was pushing a wet mop across the floor. When he spotted
me coming out of the elevator, he took the opportunity to stop his work and meet me
at the exit.
“Still no sign of Lefty, huh?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “You see any strangers around here today, Harold?”
“Strangers? Nope. Why you ask?”
“No reason.”
“Then why you ask?”
“See ya around, Harold.”
He looked at my umbrella. “How’s the leg, Mr. Donne?”
I ignored the question and left the building. I wanted to call the cops, let them
know what might have happened up in Mrs. Santos’s apartment. I decided it wouldn’t
do any good. She wouldn’t tell them anything. When I got to the street, I went over
to the pay phone and dialed nine-one-one. When the operator asked me the nature of
my emergency, I said a crazy man was outside the Clemente Houses threatening people
with a broken bottle.
If someone were watching Mrs. Santos’s apartment, I wanted them to see some police.
* * *
I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Since it was pushing six, I figured I’d head over to
The LineUp, grab some dinner, and check in with Mrs. Mac about Saturday’s party. The
place was filling up with the after-work crowd—I waved to a few cops I recognized—but
I managed to get the last stool at the bar. Right next to Edgar. Lucky me.
“They get the kid yet?”
“Hello, Edgar,” I said. “I’m fine, thanks. You?”
“Good, man. How’s the case going?”
Mikey came over, placed a bottle of Bud in front of me, and said, “Thanks again for
last night, Ray. I owe ya.”
“How’d it go?”
“Let’s just say I owe ya big,” he said. “You eating?”
“Yeah. BLT with turkey.”
“Extra B?”
“Absolutely.”
“Chips?”
I nodded.
“Glad you’re still on that health kick. Be back in a sec.”
“Anyway,” Edgar said, as if Mikey had interrupted an actual conversation, “how’s the
case going? Papers said the kid might be a suspect.”
“Edgar,” I said, “I’m not involved in any
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