“But what is it?” asked Joy. “Jewelry? Clothing?”
Torres asked Yovanna in Spanish. Yovanna told him. Even with Joy’s limited Spanish skills, she could translate Yovanna’s “de-ve-de.” Vega wished the girl would just keep her mouth shut.
“You took a DVD from her?” asked Joy. “Why would you do that?”
“I’ll give it back once I’ve had a chance to look at it, okay?”
Torres turned to Yovanna. “Perhaps I can hold it for you, querida. Until we can sort this out—”
“You can’t do that,” said Vega in English. “It’s evidence in a police investigation.”
“Work with me, carnal,” Torres muttered. “I’m trying to keep you from getting arrested for kidnapping, you dig?” Torres turned back to the girl, his voice soft and sweet in Spanish. “Would you like that, querida?”
“I want it back,” she replied.
“And you will get it back, I promise,” said Torres. “But you need to calm down.”
Yovanna nodded. She took a deep breath and stopped arguing. Torres held out his hand to Vega. Reluctantly Vega reached into his jacket pocket and handed Torres the DVD.
“I need it back, Freddy.”
“Of course. But right now, we’re working on de-escalating the situation.” Torres slipped the disc into a pocket of his zippered hoodie. “See? Wasn’t that better than a show of force?” Torres shook his head. “Honestly, Jimmy. When will cops figure out that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”
“I’m usually dealing with manure,” said Vega. “Vinegar and honey seldom come into it.”
Torres turned back to Yovanna. “I will keep this safe for you, querida, until we can get hold of your family and figure out the best thing to do here, okay? In the meantime—” Torres switched to English and looked at Joy. “This girl really needs some mittens and an extra layer of clothes. You know that spare clothes room I showed you in the basement?”
“Sure,” said Joy.
“Take her there and get her something warm to wear.” Torres turned back to Yovanna and explained where Joy was taking her. To Vega’s surprise, the girl willingly followed his daughter. Vega watched them walk off down the hall.
“Wow. I gotta hand it to you, Freddy. You know your stuff.” Vega rapped a knuckle against his. “I’ll take that DVD now.”
“Don’t you want to see what’s on it?”
“When I’m out of here.”
“Listen, Jimmy—if there’s one thing I know as a principal, it’s teenagers. That girl ain’t going nowhere with you unless you give her back her DVD, know what I’m saying?” Torres had slipped into street vernacular. The neighborhood had that effect on people, no matter how they spoke elsewhere.
“No can do, Freddy.”
“You’re not using your gray matter, carnal. We can make a copy.”
“I need the original.”
“So? You keep the original and she gets the copy.”
“I don’t want to take a chance on compromising the contents.”
“We’re not going to compromise it. You think you’re going to get her home any other way? I bet you don’t even have her mother’s phone number. And she sure as hell ain’t gonna give it to you the way you’re acting.”
Vega hesitated.
“Listen,” said Torres. “Most of my computers are dinosaurs, but I have one up on the fourth floor that will do the job. Take a look. See what you think. If you’re not down with that, fine, man. It’s your call.”
“All right,” said Vega.
“And while we’re up there,” said Torres. “I want to show you the new roof gym I’m installing. Joy wanted you to see it before you left.”
Vega didn’t really care about the roof gym but he didn’t want to say that to his old friend. “Will Joy and Yovanna be able to find us?”
“I told Joy I was going to show it to you.” Torres grabbed his coat from his office. “C’mon, Jimmy. The front door’s locked. You’re safe. Besides, the longer you stay, the more likely people are to get cold, give up, and go home.”
He had a point.
The Bronx Academy of Achievement had once been a tool and die factory and it still possessed an industrial sense of itself. The ceilings had exposed ducts running across them but everything was painted in cheerful blocks of color so it reminded Vega less of a factory and more of a modern art museum. Vega could still smell the fresh coat from yesterday as he and Torres climbed the stairs.
“What’s on the DVD?” asked Torres.
“Can’t tell you that.”
“Ah. Police business.” Torres chuckled. “Funny. Even after all these years, I still can’t picture you as a cop, man. You don’t have that killer instinct.”
“The mob at your front door might disagree,” said Vega. “And besides, having a killer instinct doesn’t make you a cop. It makes you a killer. Most cops I know lead pretty tame lives off the clock.”