gas station up in Harlem.”
“Doing what?”
“I tracked down one of Spence’s dealers.”
“Why? After everything the counselors at the rehab told you, why the hell would you—never mind, I know why you do the crazy shit you do. What I don’t know is why you’d go up there on your own without any backup.”
“Because I thought I could handle it on my own.”
“But you can’t.” I looked at Cheryl and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” I turned back to the phone. “Okay, just tell me what’s going on.”
“The dealer’s name is Baby D. I confronted him and told him I was looking for my husband. He said he hasn’t seen Spence in months, but he’s lying. I know because he’s wearing Spence’s new watch.”
“You can’t bust him for that, Kylie.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jordan!” she yelled. “Are you going to give me a lecture on all the things I
can’t
do? I thought you said you’d help. Forget it.”
She hung up.
I stood there, seething.
“What’s going on?” Cheryl said.
“Same old, same old. She’s in over her head, she’s out of control, and she needs help.”
“Did you tell her to call for backup?”
“She can’t. It’s not police business. It’s her own crazy shit. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said, tilting my head at Cheryl, hoping she’d pick up the baton.
“Don’t give me that puppy-dog look,” she said. “You know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re just hoping I’m the one who tells you to do it. Well, it’s not going to happen.”
Of course it wasn’t. I pressed the Recent Calls button on my phone and tapped the top one.
Kylie picked up on the first ring. “What?” she demanded.
“I told you this morning that I’d help, and I meant it.”
“Fine. Then get your ass up to the BP station on 129th and Park as fast as you can.”
“Give me twenty minutes,” I said, looking straight at Cheryl. “In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Okay, okay,” she said. “And, Zach?”
“What?”
“Bring cash.”
I hung up the phone.
Cheryl walked over to the table, blew out the candles, then turned on the lights.
I grabbed my gun and badge from the counter, threw on my jacket, and went out the door.
Neither of us had said a word, which, in hindsight, was probably the smartest thing we could have done.
CHAPTER 16
I MANAGED TO flag a taxi as soon as I stepped out of my apartment building. The bad news was that it turned out to be a Prius—a great little car for the environment, with the emphasis on
little.
There was no time to look for another cab, so I jammed my six-foot frame into a backseat designed for five-footers, and we headed uptown.
I sat there, cramped, hungry, and fuming mad. I was pissed at Kylie for manipulating me the way she had, and I was even more pissed at myself for buying into it. The visual of a candlelit dinner gone south and the look on Cheryl’s face when I walked out the door was burned into my brain, and I tried to shake it out of my head.
The cabdriver didn’t say a word. I couldn’t blame him. Nothing says “keep your distance” like a nervous white guy dashing out of an Upper East Side apartment building and asking to be taken to a sketchy street corner in Harlem.
It was even sketchier than I expected. Harlem has changed dramatically in my lifetime. The stigma of street crime and urban decay has been replaced by trendy restaurants and designer boutiques, but the gentrification had not yet reached the corner of 129th and Park.
The avenue was dominated by the Metro-North train tracks that ran overhead. The street below was dotted by vacant lots, a fenced-in parking lot, and a combination BP station/twenty-four-hour food mart. The area around the pumps was well lit, and the driver pulled over and dropped me off there.
As soon as I squeezed my body out of the environmentally friendly little yellow box, I saw Kylie’s car parked on 129th Street. I got in the passenger side,
“Doing what?”
“I tracked down one of Spence’s dealers.”
“Why? After everything the counselors at the rehab told you, why the hell would you—never mind, I know why you do the crazy shit you do. What I don’t know is why you’d go up there on your own without any backup.”
“Because I thought I could handle it on my own.”
“But you can’t.” I looked at Cheryl and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” I turned back to the phone. “Okay, just tell me what’s going on.”
“The dealer’s name is Baby D. I confronted him and told him I was looking for my husband. He said he hasn’t seen Spence in months, but he’s lying. I know because he’s wearing Spence’s new watch.”
“You can’t bust him for that, Kylie.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jordan!” she yelled. “Are you going to give me a lecture on all the things I
can’t
do? I thought you said you’d help. Forget it.”
She hung up.
I stood there, seething.
“What’s going on?” Cheryl said.
“Same old, same old. She’s in over her head, she’s out of control, and she needs help.”
“Did you tell her to call for backup?”
“She can’t. It’s not police business. It’s her own crazy shit. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said, tilting my head at Cheryl, hoping she’d pick up the baton.
“Don’t give me that puppy-dog look,” she said. “You know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re just hoping I’m the one who tells you to do it. Well, it’s not going to happen.”
Of course it wasn’t. I pressed the Recent Calls button on my phone and tapped the top one.
Kylie picked up on the first ring. “What?” she demanded.
“I told you this morning that I’d help, and I meant it.”
“Fine. Then get your ass up to the BP station on 129th and Park as fast as you can.”
“Give me twenty minutes,” I said, looking straight at Cheryl. “In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Okay, okay,” she said. “And, Zach?”
“What?”
“Bring cash.”
I hung up the phone.
Cheryl walked over to the table, blew out the candles, then turned on the lights.
I grabbed my gun and badge from the counter, threw on my jacket, and went out the door.
Neither of us had said a word, which, in hindsight, was probably the smartest thing we could have done.
CHAPTER 16
I MANAGED TO flag a taxi as soon as I stepped out of my apartment building. The bad news was that it turned out to be a Prius—a great little car for the environment, with the emphasis on
little.
There was no time to look for another cab, so I jammed my six-foot frame into a backseat designed for five-footers, and we headed uptown.
I sat there, cramped, hungry, and fuming mad. I was pissed at Kylie for manipulating me the way she had, and I was even more pissed at myself for buying into it. The visual of a candlelit dinner gone south and the look on Cheryl’s face when I walked out the door was burned into my brain, and I tried to shake it out of my head.
The cabdriver didn’t say a word. I couldn’t blame him. Nothing says “keep your distance” like a nervous white guy dashing out of an Upper East Side apartment building and asking to be taken to a sketchy street corner in Harlem.
It was even sketchier than I expected. Harlem has changed dramatically in my lifetime. The stigma of street crime and urban decay has been replaced by trendy restaurants and designer boutiques, but the gentrification had not yet reached the corner of 129th and Park.
The avenue was dominated by the Metro-North train tracks that ran overhead. The street below was dotted by vacant lots, a fenced-in parking lot, and a combination BP station/twenty-four-hour food mart. The area around the pumps was well lit, and the driver pulled over and dropped me off there.
As soon as I squeezed my body out of the environmentally friendly little yellow box, I saw Kylie’s car parked on 129th Street. I got in the passenger side,
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