Underground. Like that." Carnova looked off into space. "He changed this year, some."
"How?"
"It ain't important," Carnova said, looking back at Finch.
"What about the night of the Fourth?"
"He picked me up on Plum Street. I got in the driver's side and he scooted over, like he usually did. He wanted to go to the riverfront, but I told him I needed some money."
"For what?"
"I wanted to cop some T's and B's. It was my birthday, and I wanted to get real high. So I said, 'Gimme your bread.' But all he had on him was a twenty-dollar bill. I said, 'Shit, you can do better than that.' And he says, 'I can give you a check.' " Carnova hooted with laughter. "I can't take no checks. So I drove down to the bank, there on Fifth, and I says, 'Gimme your damn bank card and I'll get some money.' And he says he don't have no bank card, when I know damn well he does. So I smack him with the back of my hand." He slashed the air with his hand. "I said, 'Gimme that bank card.' But he won't. So I pull over and hit him again. He starts crying and says now he don't use no bank card. And I start waling on him ..."
Carnova's voice died off.
"Why didn't he try to get away?" Lennart said.
"He was strapped in with the seat belt." He started to say something else, then swallowed it.
Finch stared at him for a long moment. "You're lying about this, aren't you, Terry? About Lessing being queer."
"No, I ain't lying," the kid said defiantly. "I'm telling you the truth."
Art slapped the kid -hard enough to knock him off his chair. The other cops didn't move a muscle. Carnova sat on the floor for a second, looking stunned.
"What'd you hit me for, man?" the kid said with the true innocence of stupidity.
"I felt like it," Finch said between his teeth. "I may feel like it again."
Carnova began to smile. "Sure. You wale on me as much as you want. My old man used to wale on me. See what it gets you."
He got to his feet, brushed off the seat of his pants, and sat down again at the table. "See what it gets you," he said, giving Finch a fierce look.
Finch leaned back in his chair. "So you beat him up because he wouldn't give you money."
"That's what I told you," Carnova said sullenly.
"According to the coroner, his skull was fractured twenty-eight times, Terry. Six of his ribs were broken. Both collarbones. The hyoid bone in his neck. His right arm." Finch stared at the kid coldly. "Why'd you, do that, Terry?"
The kid ducked his head. "I don't know why," he whispered.
Finch reached out and grabbed Carnova by his hair, jerking his head up violently. "You don't know why!" he shouted, looking directly into the kid's eyes.
The boy tried to pull away, but Finch had a good grip. After a time the kid stopped struggling and sat there, staring at Finch. A blush filled both of Carnova's cheeks, and his eyes teared up with pain and indignation.
Finch gave the kid's head a good yank, then let go, flinging his hand away as if it was contaminated. The kid kept staring at him, tears running down both cheeks, almost as if he was sorry for what he had done.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said angrily. "He was good to me, most of the time. He gave me things."
For a second I thought Finch was going to hit him again. But Art held back.
"So you killed him for being good to you?" he said dully.
"No, man!" Carnova said in an anguished voice. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with both hands. "I didn't mean to kill him. He just . . . he kept provoking me. He wouldn't give me the money."
Carnova sobbed suddenly. It was startling, coming from a kid like him -like hearing an animal make a human sound.
"I drove from one bank to another, all over the fucking town," he said, beginning to cry in earnest. "I kept giving him chances, man. But he wouldn't come across. It was my birthday, man, and he wouldn't come across!"
Carnova sobbed again. "I was real high, from celebrating. High on T's and B's. All I wanted was a few more dollars so's I could score again. I
"How?"
"It ain't important," Carnova said, looking back at Finch.
"What about the night of the Fourth?"
"He picked me up on Plum Street. I got in the driver's side and he scooted over, like he usually did. He wanted to go to the riverfront, but I told him I needed some money."
"For what?"
"I wanted to cop some T's and B's. It was my birthday, and I wanted to get real high. So I said, 'Gimme your bread.' But all he had on him was a twenty-dollar bill. I said, 'Shit, you can do better than that.' And he says, 'I can give you a check.' " Carnova hooted with laughter. "I can't take no checks. So I drove down to the bank, there on Fifth, and I says, 'Gimme your damn bank card and I'll get some money.' And he says he don't have no bank card, when I know damn well he does. So I smack him with the back of my hand." He slashed the air with his hand. "I said, 'Gimme that bank card.' But he won't. So I pull over and hit him again. He starts crying and says now he don't use no bank card. And I start waling on him ..."
Carnova's voice died off.
"Why didn't he try to get away?" Lennart said.
"He was strapped in with the seat belt." He started to say something else, then swallowed it.
Finch stared at him for a long moment. "You're lying about this, aren't you, Terry? About Lessing being queer."
"No, I ain't lying," the kid said defiantly. "I'm telling you the truth."
Art slapped the kid -hard enough to knock him off his chair. The other cops didn't move a muscle. Carnova sat on the floor for a second, looking stunned.
"What'd you hit me for, man?" the kid said with the true innocence of stupidity.
"I felt like it," Finch said between his teeth. "I may feel like it again."
Carnova began to smile. "Sure. You wale on me as much as you want. My old man used to wale on me. See what it gets you."
He got to his feet, brushed off the seat of his pants, and sat down again at the table. "See what it gets you," he said, giving Finch a fierce look.
Finch leaned back in his chair. "So you beat him up because he wouldn't give you money."
"That's what I told you," Carnova said sullenly.
"According to the coroner, his skull was fractured twenty-eight times, Terry. Six of his ribs were broken. Both collarbones. The hyoid bone in his neck. His right arm." Finch stared at the kid coldly. "Why'd you, do that, Terry?"
The kid ducked his head. "I don't know why," he whispered.
Finch reached out and grabbed Carnova by his hair, jerking his head up violently. "You don't know why!" he shouted, looking directly into the kid's eyes.
The boy tried to pull away, but Finch had a good grip. After a time the kid stopped struggling and sat there, staring at Finch. A blush filled both of Carnova's cheeks, and his eyes teared up with pain and indignation.
Finch gave the kid's head a good yank, then let go, flinging his hand away as if it was contaminated. The kid kept staring at him, tears running down both cheeks, almost as if he was sorry for what he had done.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said angrily. "He was good to me, most of the time. He gave me things."
For a second I thought Finch was going to hit him again. But Art held back.
"So you killed him for being good to you?" he said dully.
"No, man!" Carnova said in an anguished voice. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with both hands. "I didn't mean to kill him. He just . . . he kept provoking me. He wouldn't give me the money."
Carnova sobbed suddenly. It was startling, coming from a kid like him -like hearing an animal make a human sound.
"I drove from one bank to another, all over the fucking town," he said, beginning to cry in earnest. "I kept giving him chances, man. But he wouldn't come across. It was my birthday, man, and he wouldn't come across!"
Carnova sobbed again. "I was real high, from celebrating. High on T's and B's. All I wanted was a few more dollars so's I could score again. I
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