I grab him under the armpit and pull him out so he’s in a safer position on the bank. The heels of his feet are scraping the edge of the water.
“The rest is up to you,” I tell him, and then grab my suit coat to make my way back up to the car.
“I don’t think I can walk,” he snivels.
I turn to look down at him.
“That look you had out there, when you turned from me to the sky and you realized it was over—what was the first thought that came to you?”
He looks up at me, not quite sure how to answer.
I don’t expect him to, so I say, “You keep that thought with you. Don’t forget it ’cause if there’s ever a next time I’ll let you sink.”
He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
I turn away and walk back to the car.
Eighty-one
I wash out the interior of the Toyota and then I park it about a block south of my house. I never expected to keep this car; I knew that when I bought it. Good thing about Toyotas is they are among the top ten most stolen vehicles in the District.
I strip off my suit in the laundry room and let it fall to the ground. It’ll never be the same. Doesn’t matter how good the dry cleaner is. They’ll never clean out what can’t be seen. I’ll let it dry on the ground and then watch it burn.
I don’t draw any lines, or drink scotch, or drop Klonopin. Just shower and sleep.
The first thing I do in the morning is take another long, hot shower. Then I dress comfortably—khakis and an old faded blue T-shirt.
I make some strong coffee and sit at the kitchen table to have a cigarette with it. I remember my cell is powered off, so I turn it on.
A few messages. A few calls. Some of the numbers I don’t recognize.
Leslie called again, but didn’t leave a message. Luna called, asking me to call back when I can, “Nothing urgent.” Davidson called, but didn’t leave a message. Miriam’s dad, Ian Gregory, left a message: “I don’t know what to say except how thankful we are for what you did. Miriam is in a recovery room, resting now. The doctors say she’ll be fine. I look forward to your call.”
I’ll call him, but not now.
I haven’t had much time to think about Leslie. I definitely want to talk to her. I fucking miss talking to her, seeing her on a regular basis, even if it is mostly at her office.
My cell rings, startling me. I look at the display. It’s Luna again.
“What the fuck you keep calling me for?”
“Damn, Frankie, you’re a hero,” he says.
“It’s too damn early for me to talk shop.”
“It’s a working man’s time.”
“Call me later. I’m not working.”
“Seriously, though, you’re a fucking hero around here.”
“You fucks got it all wrong. I’m just good at breaking the rules.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing, then.”
That’s so good I almost spit out my coffee.
“Davidson said he talked to you at the hospital, so you know about Little Monster?” he asks.
“Yeah, good job. Happy it wasn’t a cop.”
“Me too, but this one was all you, brother.”
“Shut the fuck up already.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Well, enough said, then. Tell me how the warrant went otherwise.”
“Damn, I haven’t been home yet. That’s how good it was.”
“Happy it’s you, not me,” I say. “Was it one of his stash houses?”
“No big quantity of narcotics, but some PCP that looked like it was more for personal use so I don’t think it was a stash house. Lot of guns though. Lots. We’re thinking it was a safe house. A crash pad. You’d probably like to know: we got Cordell Holm in there.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah, in bed with a minor.”
“Girl or boy?”
“A little girl. She was reported missing out of DC more than four months ago.”
“They’ll like him in prison,” I say, and have a fleeting thought about how Lenny Claypole might be able to work off the title to his truck. Just putting the word out to the right prisoners is all that would take.
“You get a boy named José in there? I don’t know the last name, but he’s Angelo’s brother.”
“Yeah, we got him, too. He had a gun on him. Lot of the main crew was being held up there. More than likely because of the shooting. Why?”
“I know him from sitting on the house I got that girl Amanda out of. He’s one that got away from you all. That’s all.”
“He’ll be visiting his brother soon enough. Let’s do drinks later this week.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll call you.”
“All right, partner, you stay safe,” I say, and then disconnect.
Eighty-two