‘Where the fuck you been?’ Carlos demanded.
‘What?’ Ryan said.
‘You said you’d be gone a half hour.’
‘What time’s it now?’
‘Past two o’clock.’
Ryan realized he must have spent more time than he’d thought driving around looking for that CD, because he’d been gone about an hour and a half.
‘Sorry,’ Ryan said. ‘There was a long line at the bank. I lost track of time.’
Carlos was circling the car, as if inspecting it for damage.
‘The car’s fine,’ Ryan said.
Looking in the window, Carlos saw the wrapping from the CD.
‘That’s where you was at? Damn CD shoppin’?’
Ryan wanted to give a good explanation for this, but all he could come up with on the spot was, ‘No.’
‘Hey, Ryan.’
Ryan turned and saw Tim walking toward him. Franky was trailing a few feet behind.
‘Hey,’ Ryan said, knowing right away, by the look on Franky’s face, that Franky had ratted him out.
‘Had a nice long lunch, eh?’ Tim asked Ryan.
‘I was at the bank,’ Ryan said.
Tim looked almost as unconvinced as Franky.
‘The guys said you left at twelve thirty,’ Tim said.
‘So I ran a little late,’ Ryan said.
‘That’s why you came down here?’
‘There also seems to be an issue about what happened yesterday . . . about the accident your friend was in.’
‘What about it?’
‘Franky and Carlos say you left because of some girl. That true?’ Ryan looked at Franky, who was looking away. Then he said to Tim, ‘No, it’s not true.’
‘Fuckin’ liar,’ Franky said.
‘Fuck you,’ Ryan said.
‘Hey, cool it,’ Tim said to both of them. Then to Ryan,
‘Look, I’m not here to point fingers, all right? I only care about one thing - getting a job done on time. If we go over on this job, I can’t use the Fiorellas as a reference for the next job and I’ll lose out on word-of-mouth. You see what I’m saying?’
‘Yep,’ Ryan said.
‘You think this is a joke?’
‘Nope.’
‘Good. Now, back to yesterday. Just so we can clear this up so you guys can get back to work, what’s the name of your friend who was in a coma?’
‘Stevie.’
‘Stevie who?’
‘Stevie Marks.’
Stevie Marks had been the first baseman on the South Shore team, but Ryan hadn’t seen him since high school graduation.
‘What hospital is he in?’
‘What difference does it make?’
‘I just want to give them a call,’ Tim said.
‘If they say your friend is a patient there, Franky gives you a big sorry and we put this behind us.’
Ryan knew he was fucked.
‘This is bullshit. Why do you have to check up on me?’
‘See?’ Franky said.
‘What’d I tell you?’
‘Just give us the name of the hospital,’ Tim said.
‘We’ll make one call and put this all to rest.’
‘So what’s this?’ Ryan said.
‘You don’t trust me?’ ‘I don’t like to be lied to,’ Tim said.
‘I’m not
saying
you’re lying, but if you’re not how about just clearing it up?’
Ryan glared at Tim as if disgusted by him. Then he gave Carlos a similar look. He didn’t bother looking at Franky.
‘You know what? Fuck all of you,’ Ryan said, and stormed away. He expected Tim to call after him, try to get him to come back, but Tim didn’t say anything.
Ryan was pissed off about it for a while, but then he decided that if Tim was willing to let him quit over something like this, who needed him? It wasn’t exactly like Pay-Less Painting was the best job on the planet. Ryan didn’t have a lot in savings, about two thousand bucks, but hell, he could probably even start his own painting business. After he got a few jobs under his belt, he could do a little advertising, get some word-of-mouth going, and before he knew it he’d have steady business. Then he could start hiring other crews, buy a truck, and expand to other neighborhoods in Brooklyn. In a year or two his business would be bigger than PayLess, and Tim O’Brien could kiss Ryan Rossetti’s Italian ass.
As Ryan turned up his block he noticed that the crowd in front of the Thomases’ house was gone, and he hoped that meant Jake had gone back to Pittsburgh. Then maybe Christina would realize that she’d made a huge mistake, and Ryan would get her a ring and start his painting business, and everything would work out the way it was supposed to.
Ryan reached his house and headed toward the stoop. He was planning to go straight up to his room and pass out and not wake up till tomorrow morning when he heard the two loud pops. He didn’t realize somebody had shot at him until a couple of seconds later when his knees buckled and he was lying on the ground.
A car screeched away up the block. Everything went black.
‘So you sure you’re okay?’ Ken Jarvis, the Pittsburgh Pirates owner, asked Jake for what seemed like the gazillionth time.
‘Fine,’ Jake said. ‘It’s all cool. Really - you don’t gotta stress.’
‘Well, this is a huge relief,’ Ken said. ‘When I heard this morning that there was a shooting at your parents’ house and that you were
there,
I naturally started thinking the worst. But you say you’re okay.’
‘Yes,’ Jake said, rolling his eyes, wanting to get off the fucking phone already.
‘Great,’ Ken said, ‘that’s really wonderful - fantastic. Actually, I’m on vacation right now - Santorini. If I couldn’t reach you I was going to get on the next plane to the States. You’re the most important member of this franchise, by far, and we hope you’ll be an important member of it for years to come.’
Ken’s bullshit was so strong Jake could practically smell it all the way from Greece. Yeah, Ken was calling to make sure his superstar was okay, but he also knew that if Jake Thomas left the Pirates after next season the franchise would be toast, so he was trying to show Jake how much he meant to the team by calling him from Santorini during his vacation.
The truth was, there was no way in hell Jake was going to re-sign with the Pirates, but to keep his market value as high as possible Jake and his agent had been dicking Ken around for months, making out as if Jake loved the city of Pittsburgh, and playing for the Pirates, and wanted to remain with the team for the rest of his career.
‘It’s always great to hear how much respect you have for me,’ Jake said. ‘And I think you already know how much respect I have for you and for the whole Pirates organization.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful to hear,’ Ken said, soaking all that shit up. ‘So when do you leave New York?’
‘I’m supposed to leave Monday morning.’ ‘Can’t you get out any sooner? Maybe I’m being paranoid, but until the police resolve this it sounds like it could be a dangerous situation there.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. But there’re a few things I need to take care of first.’
‘Maybe you should get a bodyguard then. Should I send one over?’
Thinking about how he had to get rid of that gun at some point today and how having some goon bodyguard hovering over him would make that next to impossible, Jake said, ‘Nah, it’s all right -really.’
After assuring Ken again that he was fine and there was nothing to worry about, he finally got off the phone and went downstairs. It was eight A.M. and he could still hear the commotion outside. He peeked through the curtains in the living room and saw cops, reporters, and fans standing around the yellow police tape. Jake was sick of this shit. He would’ve loved to take Ken’s advice, say sayonara to Brooklyn, and get on the next flight out, but he didn’t want any negative PR. Although he was pretty sure the cops had believed his story that he was in the kitchen, grabbing a bite to eat at the time of the shooting, he knew that if Cornrows got caught that could fuck everything up, and he wanted to be in town to deny everything in person.
Then, of course, there was also a chance that Marianna Fernandez would go public with her rape charge at midnight tonight. If that shit hit the fan, Jake wanted to be in Brooklyn, to catch a photo op with Christina so the public could see right away what a happy fiance he was and how Marianna’s story had to be bullshit.
Jake went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was still nothing to fucking eat in the house - just leftovers from the party the other night. Even the cabinets were filled with shit he couldn’t eat - cereal, bread, pasta, rice, crackers, cookies. Searching in the back of the fridge, behind the trays of lasagna, he finally found some protein - a chunk of cheddar cheese and an unopened log of Hebrew National salami. He wolfed down the cheese and took the salami up to his room.
Sitting on his bed, he took a few bites of salami and then called Christina.
‘Hello,’ Al said, sounding half-asleep.
‘I wake you?’ Jake asked, not really caring if he did.
‘Who’s this?’
‘JT’
Suddenly upbeat, like he was happy to have a ringing phone startle him out of a deep sleep, Al said, ‘No, no, hey, I’m wide-awake. How’re you doing?’
‘I’m fine. Chrissy there?’
‘Yeah, but, hey, I just wanted to congratulate you about setting the wedding date. That’s really terrific. I called yesterday, but you weren’t home.’
‘Thanks,’ Jake said.
‘So is Chrissy—’
‘It’s gonna be great having you as part of the family,’ Al went on. ‘I wanted to take you out to Nino’s last night to celebrate, but Christina didn’t think it was a good time. I’d love to take you out some other time, though. How long you in town?’
Tired of listening to Al kiss up to him, Jake said, ‘Sorry, I’m kind of in a rush. Is she there or not?’
‘Sure, Jake, I’ll get her. Congrats again. Hold on.’
Al was gone for a long time, maybe a few minutes, and Jake wondered if the old man had fallen back asleep. He was about to hang up and try Christina’s cell when Al picked up and, sounding pissed off, said, ‘She’s still sleeping.’
‘Tell her it’s me.’
‘Could you just call back a little later?’
Jake rolled his eyes, said, ‘Do me a favor, when she wakes up, make sure she calls me right away. There’s something on the news about me, and I don’t want her to get all freaked out about it.’
Al wanted to know what was going on. ‘No big deal,’ Jake said. ‘Just a guy in front of my house got shot.’
‘Shot?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘I had nothing to do with it,’Jake said quickly. ‘I mean, the only reason my name got in the news at all was because it happened in front of my house. It’s not like I was there or anything. So anyway, just tell Chrissy it’s all cool, okay?’
‘Sure, Jake. N o problem. It’s really nice of you to call. And I’ll be sure to—’
Jake hung up. He did some push-ups and isometrics; then he remembered that he had a weight bench and some barbells in the basement. At least, he used to have them - he hadn’t used them since he was in high school, and his parents might have gotten rid of them.
He tossed on Calvin Klein sweats and an Honro T-shirt and went down to the basement. Although there was paneling on the walls and indoor-outdoor carpet, it was a mess with boxes and other shit everywhere. In the back room, near the boiler, Jake spotted the weight bench. He had to move boxes out of the way to reach it, and then he dragged the bench to an open space.
After hunting around awhile, he finally found the weight bar and some plates. He brushed off the bench the best he could, then put on the weight - a fifty and a twenty on one side, and seventy pounds in tens and fives stacked up on the other. The bench was so rickety that when he lay back on it he thought it might collapse. He imagined how stupid he’d feel, breaking his neck while benching in his parents’ basement in Brooklyn.
He did a couple of sets and was in the middle of his third when his mother shouted, ‘Jake, you down there?’
Jake didn’t answer.
‘Jake!’
‘What?’
He couldn’t hear what the hell she was saying.
‘What?’ he said louder.
‘A detective’s here - he wants to talk to you!’ Jake almost lost control of the bar.
‘Fuck.’
‘What?’
‘Tell him to come back later!’
‘He says he has to talk to you now. It’ll only take a few minutes.’
Jake knew he had no choice. ‘All right, one sec’
Trying to keep his cool, he went upstairs. He entered the kitchen and saw a gray-haired white guy in a cheap suit sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in front of him.
When the detective saw Jake he stood up quickly and said, ‘Hey, how are you?’
‘What’s up?’ Jake asked.
‘Sorry to bother you. Just had a couple of things to ask you and clear up - if you have a few minutes, I’d really appreciate it.’
‘Shoot,’ Jake said.
The detective took out a business card and a pen and handed them to Jake.
‘First off, my son’s a big fan. You think you could . . . ?’
‘No
problema,’
Jake said. ‘What’s your son’s name?’
‘Trevor . . . But he calls himself Trev.
T-R-E-K’
‘How old’s he?’
‘Gonna be seven next week.’
‘You should’ve brought him over to meet me.’ ‘I don’t bring him on police work.’
‘Yeah, guess that makes sense. You don’t want the kid to get shot, right?’
Jake scribbled his name illegibly on the card and handed it back to the detective.
‘Thanks,’ the detective said, beaming, like he really did think that getting Jake Thomas’s scribbling on the back of a business card was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
‘Yeah,’ the detective said, still smiling stupidly, ‘he’ll get a big kick out of this.’
‘So,’ Jake said, ‘how can I help you?’
‘Oh, right,’ the detective said, putting the card away in his wallet. ‘By the way, my name’s Noll - Edward Noll, Sixty-ninth Precinct. I know you already talked to Detective Jennings last night, but the investigation’s proceeding, and there’re a few things I just wanted to run by you. This’ll take a couple minutes, tops.’
‘I’d like to help any way I can,’ Jake said, smiling politely.
‘First off,’ Noll said, ‘I was talking to your father just before. . . . He was telling me how Ryan Rossetti stopped by here yesterday.’
‘Yeah . . . So?’ ‘Your father said Rossetti’d been drinking and attacked you. Then, when he left, he threatened your life. Is that how you recall it?’
‘Why do you want to know about me and Ryan?’
‘We’re just checking out every possibility,’ Noll said. ‘I mean, Rossetti attacked you yesterday, right? It’s conceivable he came back here later with Marcus Fitts to try to attack you again.’
‘But Fitts is the guy who got shot, right?’
‘Maybe they had a dispute. Rossetti shot him and fled the scene.’
Jake thought it all through quickly. He would’ve loved to pin the shooting on Ryan - exaggerate the story, say,
Yeah, he said he was gonna kill me - go arrest the fucking prick.
But he knew Ryan was friends with Marcus and Cornrows, and if Ryan got arrested, Cornrows would get arrested, and then Jake would be totally fucked.
‘You got it all wrong,’ Jake said. ‘Ryan and me, we just exchanged a few words. It was nothing.’
‘So he didn’t have his hands around your throat?’
Jake laughed. ‘That’s what my father told you? That guy . . . Man. Nah, it was no big deal - really.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Swear to God, nothing happened.’
‘What about when Rossetti left here?’ Noll asked.
‘Didn’t he threaten to kill you?’
Jake laughed again, like this was the biggest joke of all. ‘No, of course not. Something you gotta understand - my father and Ryan’s father . . . there’s been bad blood between them for years. And as far as my father’s concerned a Rossetti’s a Rossetti, if you know what I mean. Don’t listen to anything my father says about any of this. Did you talk to Ryan?’
‘Not yet. He didn’t return home last night, and his mother doesn’t know where he is.’
‘I’m telling you, there’s no way Ryan had anything to do with any of this. It’s obvious this was just some kind of gang-related thing.’
‘Why is that obvious?’
‘The guy was dressed like he was in a gang, wasn’t he? I mean, wasn’t he?’
‘He had associations with the Crips, but that doesn’t mean the shooting was necessarily gang-related.’
‘I’m just saying. . .’
‘We’re gonna check out every possibility,’ Noll said, ‘but if you say nothing happened here between you and Ryan yesterday, you’re right - Ryan probably isn’t involved. I just had one more question for you.’
‘About Ryan?’
‘No, about you. I know you told Detective Jennings last night that you were in the kitchen eating when you heard the shot.’
‘I was.’
‘But we spoke to a woman across the street - Renee Gardner. When she heard the shot last night she looked out her window. She said she saw you going into the house right afterward.’
Mrs Gardner had been living across the street from the Thomases for years. She was old when Jake was a kid. She had to be eighty now.
‘She made a mistake,’ Jake said. ‘I wasn’t there.’
‘She sounded pretty sure—’
‘You’re saying I’m lying?’
‘No, but—’
‘Come on, you can’t trust anything that old lady tells you. I mean, what’s she, a thousand years old?’
‘She’s in her sixties.’
‘Still. She’s probably senile.’
‘She’s a civil court judge downtown. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her mentally.’
‘Oh,’ Jake said. ‘Look, I don’t know what . . . Wait, I know -she probably saw my father, not me. Yeah, that must’ve been it. My dad was out there first, right after the guy got shot, to see what was going on. She probably saw him going back into the house and figured it was me.’
‘You don’t really look like your father.’
‘Look, I wasn’t out there. I don’t know what else you want me to say.’
‘I guess you’ve said enough. You’ll be around the rest of the weekend anyway, so if I have any more questions I can run them by you later. Oh, and thanks for the card. I know Trev’s gonna love it.’
When Noll was gone, Jake opened the refrigerator and took a swig of milk from the carton. Then he closed the refrigerator and punched the door as hard as he could. Pain ripped through his fist. He screamed and opened the freezer and started searching for an ice pack. He couldn’t find one, so he took out some ice cubes, wrapped them in a dish towel, and put it on his sore, aching hand.
‘Was that you screaming?’
Donna had just entered the kitchen.
‘Oh,’ Jake said, as if he’d forgotten, ‘yeah.’
‘What happened to your hand?’ ‘Nothing.’
‘Then what’s with the ice?’
‘The refrigerator door closed on it.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘No idea.’
‘Poor thing. I hope you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘If you’re feeling well enough. I was just outside - the reporters wanted to know if you’d answer some questions.’