Zee always felt like he was having an out of body experience when he gave these speeches. He normally struggled to talk to one person, much less this packed auditorium at Tarrytown Middle School. When he attended school here a few lifetimes ago, Kris Collins would do all the talking for him. Just as he had at his trial. He was indebted to him for the rest of his life, which might not be that long if this latest stunt didn’t go well.
When Zee finished the prepared talk, he opened it up to questions from the audience. There were none—just blank looks. He wanted to think that these presentations were making a difference in the kids’ lives, and steering them toward the right path, but he knew they were more about himself and his own recovery. Most of the students were too young to remember him from his playing days, anyway. He was just another guy to them.
On the flip side, the teachers and principal very much remembered Zee Thomas. Not just from that magical summer in the Bronx, but from his days growing up in Tarrytown. He mingled with them afterward, but once the speech ended so did his superpowers. When the conversations grew into a painful struggle for him, he excused himself and made his way out.
As he did, he spotted the student he was looking for. But not until Bailey Reed had already noticed him, and was heading in his direction. This was unexpected, but would make things easier.
The shaggy-haired kid appeared nervous. He reminded Zee of himself at that age. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Thomas, my name is Bailey.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bailey.”
“I think your tattoos are cool.”
Zee didn’t think so. A couple from recent years were special to him, but he couldn’t even remember getting most of them. They were a daily reminder of those wasted drug-filled years.
“My dad is your biggest fan. Do you think it would be possible that you could meet him sometime—he’s been really sad lately, and I think if he got to meet you, he’d feel a lot better.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Why is he sad?”
“He lost his job a couple years ago—the Kerstman thing—and hasn’t been able to find another one.”
Zee just nodded.
“You know how you said at the assembly that you started playing baseball because you would have a catch with your father every morning before school?”
“I do.”
“Me and my dad used to do the same thing, but lately he always wants to be alone. He never wants to have a catch anymore.”
The mention of the baseball catch was like a gut punch for Zee. “Have you talked to your mom about this?”
“She’s mad at him all the time. And when she yells at him, he just says he wants to be alone and wanders off.”
When Zee got to high school age, the catches with his father became few and far between. His father would say he was too busy with work, and Zee was focused on hanging around with Kris and partaking in typical teenage hijinks. But he also remembered his father wandering off and wanting to be alone, and the fighting with his mother. It was an all too familiar story. As illogical as it was, Zee thought if he could have forced his father to have a catch on that fateful morning, he could have prevented what had happened.
“How about I drive you home, Bailey? Maybe we can surprise your dad.”
“You mean it?” he said with excitement.
The boy followed Zee to the parking lot, where Sophie was waiting for him. When Bailey laid eyes on her he started to hyperventilate, and suddenly lost his ability to speak. “I see you two have a lot in common,” she said with a brilliant smile.
Sophie drove her red 1947 Chevy pickup truck to the Reeds’ house, with Bailey sitting nervously between them in the front seat. Zee couldn’t believe that the boy lived on the same street that he and Kris grew up on. They parked in front of a modest house, only a couple lots down from Zee’s childhood home, and he fought off the memories. There was too much at stake here to lose focus.
Sophie waited in the truck as Zee walked Bailey in. The door was locked, and there was no answer when they rang the bell. “I guess my dad’s not here,” Bailey said. “Some days he says he’s out looking for a job, but my mom says he goes to Starbucks and drinks coffee and reads the paper all day.”
“Where is your mom?”
“She’s a waitress at Shea Polo’s. She’ll be home around four-thirty.”
Zee knew the place well; it was his favorite restaurant growing up here—best pizza in Tarrytown—and he remembered his father taking their entire Little League team there after big wins … and losses. It was always a winning game if they ended up with a slice of Shea Polo’s pizza.
Bailey wasn’t tall enough to reach into the hanging plant on the porch and retrieve the spare key, so Zee helped him out. When they entered the house the boy excused himself and ran to his room. Zee took the time to case the downstairs and gather some of the information he came for.
The boy soon returned, holding a baseball glove. He handed it to Zee. “I bought it for my dad for Christmas. I’m hoping it will make him want to start having those catches again. And if you could sign it I think it would make him really happy.”
It was late afternoon when Alyson dropped me off in front of the apartment building in Brooklyn Heights, and it was already starting to get dark.
Alyson was heading back to the office for a few hours to catch up on a couple of cases, and hinted that it would be nice if I prepared dinner for her when she returned, adding, “That is, if you don’t have plans with any washed-up teen stars tonight.”
Obviously she wasn’t up to speed on Candi’s comeback. But I promised to cook her the best meal of her life, which she knew was Collins-speak for I would order takeout.
Before I exited the vehicle, she handed me a Christmas gift—a Beretta 92FS pistol. I tried to hand it back to her.
“What are you going to do if Gooch comes back with a tray of Christmas cookies? I can’t be saving your ass 24/7.”
She had a point, even if I was more likely to shoot myself by accident than protect myself from an intruder. But I agreed to take it.
As I headed for the building, I turned back and said, “If I haven’t mentioned it, thanks for sticking your neck out for me last night … or should I say your nose.”
“Which reminds me, since you were the cause of the bloodstains that ruined my living room floor, you’re not getting your security deposit back.”
Sounded like a fair trade, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to debate it. “Technically, it was your blood.”
“Just try not to add any more to it tonight, okay?”
Proving that a middle-aged dog can learn new tricks, I entered through the fire escape to avoid inciting the pugs. The moment I set foot in the apartment, something didn’t feel right. I froze, counting to ten before taking my next breath. If I reached ten without hearing a sound, it would mean that I was just being paranoid. That’s how all the legendary bad-asses roll.
When I got to eight-and-a-half I heard a clicking noise coming from the spare room where I stored my things. My first instinct was to make a run for it, but I realized this needed to end, one way or the other, and the next encounter I might not be packing a gun, or have the element of surprise on my side.
I took off my shoes and skated across the floor. I positioned myself next to the door, wrapped my perspiring hand tightly around the gun, and bolted into the room. I flipped on the light, hoping to startle the intruder. “Freeze!” I yelled like I was starring in a bad cop show.
But the sudden flash of light disorientated me more than the intruder, and I didn’t see the kick heading right toward my midsection. I fell to the floor, and this time the toe of the shoe connected with my ribs. The next one hit my wrist, dislodging the gun.
My attacker swooped up the gun and pointed it at me. But when we realized who each other was, we both screamed.
“Libby—what the hell are you doing here!?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I live here! You’re the one who’s breaking and entering.”
She looked like a rabid animal. It was always strange to see her not under control. But she was greatly affected by the attack in her college days, and could turn into the Incredible Hulk when someone sneaked up behind her. It’s also why she took all those martial arts self-defense classes to protect herself … or knock the crap out of her ex-husband when he entered his own office.
When she realized that she was still pointing the gun at me, she turned back into Libby. She dropped the gun on the floor as if she didn’t know how it got in her hands and helped me to my feet. We both took deep breaths, and I said, “Let’s start again, Libby … why are you robbing my apartment?”
“I wasn’t robbing anything.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“It became clear to me that you’re up to something, so I decided to find out for myself.”
I noticed that she had been going through my desk files, and the electronic ones on my computer. I also took note of her designer business suit. “FYI—next time you break in here, you should use the fire escape. Alyson’s dogs get riled up when someone comes through the front door.”
She looked at the rips in her pants like it was the first time she’d noticed. “Thank you for the tip, but to repeat my earlier statement, I didn’t break in—Rudi left a spare key with me.”
“Did she also give you access to my computer?”
“No, but you always leave the passwords in the top drawer of your desk—you’re a creature of habit. I have a duty to protect our children.”
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“No—I also want to say that you need to give the money back, Kris.”
“Stay out of it, Libby.”
“You already dragged me in … and our children. The FBI came by for a visit today—he told me about this guy, the Grinch.”
“When you’ve tried enough cases as a defense lawyer, Libby, you’ll learn that the FBI’s definition of the truth is whatever helps them meet their agenda. And it’s Gooch. The Grinch had more Christmas spirit.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better. And these people can get to you anywhere, anytime, anyplace.”
“As can my ex-wife, it seems.”
“Even the private investigator I hired to follow you is one of them—Jacqueline, if that’s really her name. You always think you can charm your way out of these matters, but these people aren’t playing around.”
It took a couple seconds for what she said to fully sink in. “Whoa, whoa, whoa … did you just say that you hired a PI to follow me?”
“Do you ever listen? She wasn’t a PI, she was working undercover for Stone Scroggie.”
“That’s not the point, Libby—you owe me an apology.”
“You’re the one who pulled a gun on me, and brought this Scroggie character into our lives.”
No, that was actually her father. “Fine, I’ll be the bigger person. I’m sorry, Libby … I apologize.”
I waited. And waited. “Well …”
“Well what?”
“It’s your turn.” Getting an apology from Libby Wainwright was like trying to get a slice of pizza away from Duma.
“I will use my turn to tell you that you are suspended without pay from Wainwright-Collins & Rudingo until further notice.”
“That’s your apology?”
“And while on suspension, you will be in charge of watching our children during their holiday break from school.”
“I thought I was the one bringing ‘danger’ into their lives?”
“You are less likely to try to pull off any shenanigans with them around. You love them too much to place them in harm’s way.”
Before I could argue, or threaten to call the cops on her burglar ways, her phone rang.
The call was brief.
“It was Alex,” she said.
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, but Zee isn’t. He’s been arrested.”
Upon my boss’s request, I changed into a more professional look of an Oxford and khakis with a sport jacket. But because I was now suspended, I refused to wear a tie.
I left a note for Alyson, explaining that I’d gotten an offer from another washed-up teen idol … this time Zee Thomas.
Since Alyson had the Volvo, Libby did what Wainwrights do, and called her car service. Fifteen minutes later a large black SUV that looked like something the president would travel in, arrived outside the apartment.
It drove us to police headquarters at One Depot Plaza. I knew many of the Tarrytown PD, which I thought might be helpful in resolving this matter. But upon our arrival, it was clear that the local police had been pushed aside by the FBI.
I followed Libby into the interrogation room, where Zee was being double teamed by my good friends Agents Falcone and Boersch.
“And what exactly are you holding my client on?” Libby said, her eyes locked on Falcone.
“A Mrs. Mary Reed filed a complaint that a valuable necklace was taken from her home today. An investigation revealed that Zee Thomas had been in the house earlier in the afternoon. In fact, he was the only one in the house besides the Reeds’ thirteen-year-old son. So we brought him in for questioning.”