18
GLITSKY LIVED ON a one-block cul-de-sac north of Lake Boulevard and south of the Presidio. Aside from the occasional neighbor looking, usually in vain, for a parking spot, the road had very little traffic. Over the fall, a few of the grade school children on the street had started coming out in the late afternoon to play on the relatively open expanse of asphalt, at first hopscotch and soccer and then, as more of the local kids showed up, picking up teams for whatever game was on that day. Today was kickball, bases and home plate chalked on the street.
To Glitsky’s astonishment, the wildly disparate group of fifteen or more kids seemed to incline naturally toward inclusivity. The ages ranged from Zachary’s five to Austin Blake’s eleven, and everybody seemed to understand the basic rule that if you showed up and wanted to play, you’d have a place.
Even more amazing was the ethnic and gender mix; it didn’t seem a question of anybody’s enforced tolerance so much as a complete indifference to skin tones and accents. Glitsky’s kids were mostly black (with a little Jewish), but the others ran the gamut from Caucasian and Hispanic to at least three different kinds of Asian and subcontinental Indian.
Every night some parents would wander down to the sidewalk to watch the games, not to organize or supervise but simply to enjoy the spectacle. Two months earlier, enough of the parents had met this way that they decided to throw a block party. It was a beautiful warm September night, the whole block closed off to traffic and the street packed with grills, tables and chairs, and coolers full of drinks and side dishes. Glitsky, who’d lived in his duplex for almost thirty years and who couldn’t have picked any of his neighbors out of a lineup a year before, now knew the majority of them by first name. It blew his mind.
Probably only fifteen minutes remained before they’d have to call tonight’s game because of darkness. Glitsky was standing chatting idly with Natalie Soames, the mother of twin eight-year-old girls from across the street, and Austin’s dad, James Blake, another recent retiree. Abe’s daughter, Rachel, was setting up to kick with runners on second and third.
“I hear this girl’s awesome,” Glitsky heard from behind him. “Big long-ball threat.”
Glitsky looked over his shoulder. Dismas Hardy had managed to walk the entire length of the street and sneak up on him.
Rachel kicked a little blooper to second base, and the kid playing there caught it for the third out. With a minimum of fanfare or confusion, the teams changed positions.
Glitsky turned back to Hardy, introduced him to the neighbors, then said, “You jinxed her. She hasn’t made an out all day.”
“It’ll keep her humble. Is this what I’m paying you the big bucks for?”
“No. I’ve been out pounding the pavement all day and have lots to report, but I thought I’d wait till after the game, since it’s likely you’ll want a drink.”
“That good, huh?”
“You can be the judge of that.”
? ? ?
DUSK HAD FADED to black. Treya had not yet made it home from work. Rachel and Zachary were glued to a barely audible cartoon in the television room behind the kitchen.
Hardy sat at Glitsky’s kitchen table with his hands templed at his mouth. When he took them down, he said, “He ended this affair three weeks ago? In the grand scheme of things, that’s, like, yesterday, you realize.”
“Right. He was going to keep on hiding the whole thing and hope nobody would notice, but then he talked to Patti, and she convinced him that it would be better to admit it, at least in terms of PR.”
“He’s thinking about PR?”
“It appears so.”
Hardy shook his head wearily. “So they could be an item, planning how they’re going to handle this thing together?”
“That idea had occurred to me.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d wait to see if you wanted me to go ahead. As you know, I’ve been fighting my natural prejudice against husbands all along. Hal’s a pretty good guy, and he’d been shaking my faith in that eternal verity up till I heard about this.”
“And now?”
Glitsky shrugged. “It’s definitely gotten more complicated. Though, for the record, he still appears to be coming forth with the truth, even when it makes him look bad. It doesn’t much matter what we think anyway. He either did it or he didn’t.”
Hardy considered. “So you think he originally came to me . . . why?”
“He’s in law enforcement. He knows there’s a good chance he’ll need a lawyer as things unravel, so he might as well get one on board early. Better to have that covered before they arrest him.”
“They won’t do that until they find her body. Even with this affair in the mix.”
“No? How much you want to bet?”
“You really think so?”
Glitsky nodded. “They’ll find a way. Trust me.”