Chapter 19
“Please tell me you’re not smoking dope,” said Vega.
“Nobody calls it ‘dope’ anymore, Dad. And no. I don’t use drugs. Or smoke cigarettes. I don’t even drink and pass out like every other college freshman I know.”
“You got a tattoo.”
“And you killed someone—and then joked about it. I saw the tweets about what you said right after the shooting.”
“I did not joke!”
“Well, that’s what it sounded like! Somebody told me there’s footage of you on YouTube as well.” So far, Vega had managed to keep that mob incident in the Bronx today away from her. He didn’t want her seeing that. It would frighten her too much.
The tow truck was heading up to Lake Holly Motors to drop off Joy’s Volvo. There was no way Vega was going to be able to get new tires on that thing until Monday. They both needed to decompress.
“How about we go somewhere and get a bite to eat?” Joy suggested.
Vega hesitated.
“C’mon, Dad. The Star Diner’s right off campus. A lot of cops go there—not just college students. The food’s good. And it’s cheap.”
“I guess that’ll be okay.”
The diner was hopping on a Saturday night. The red Naugahyde booths were full. Even the stools at the counter had clusters of young people and cops by the register grabbing coffee on their breaks. Waves of laughter and chatter rippled through the space, ebbing and flowing like voices on a beach.
Vega and Joy waited for an empty booth. The waitress presented them with menus long enough to be chapter books. The bright lights and noise comforted Vega. Being here with Joy took away some of the anger he’d felt earlier. He could almost feel his appetite coming back. Joy ordered a salad. Vega ordered a burger. The waitress brought tea for Joy and coffee for Vega. The coffee was hot and strong. His hands felt good wrapped around the mug.
“So, this Katie girl,” asked Vega. “Is she reliable?”
“Yeah, I guess. We’re partners in chemistry class.”
“I’ll bet Katie knows a lot about chemistry.”
“Dad! You are such a hypocrite. When you were my age, you formed that band, Straight Money. You told me yourself that they were all stoners.”
“But I wasn’t!”
“Well, neither am I!”
The waitress brought their meals. Joy dug in. Vega surprised himself with how hungry he was. The hamburger tasted good. Greasy and salty. Since the shooting, Vega had felt robbed of the pleasure of everyday sensations. The sun on his face. The sweet reprieve of dreamless sleep. The tingle in his body when he thought of Adele. Even food had lost its allure. But this burger—it made him feel like maybe he could get those sensations back. Maybe they weren’t lost forever.
He asked Joy about her classes and listened but he found his mind drifting back to Katie’s eyewitness account. No way could she have seen Hector Ponce running out of those woods at six-thirty, the time of the shooting. It had to be before. But then why would he be running out of the woods?
“. . . So I talked to my advisor about switching majors . . .”
Vega nodded at Joy. But his eyes were drawn to three hulking young men who were passing by their booth. College students, he was sure of it. The first was a big white kid wearing a rust-colored knit hat with a ridiculous fringe of wool like a Mohawk. The second was black. He was wearing a Giants football jersey that was supposed to hang loose but revealed a soft, bread-dough body beneath. The third, another white kid and the shortest of the three, had on a Valley Community hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and his pants hanging loose and low, the crotch halfway to his knees like some toddler with a soggy diaper. Vega saw Mohawk glance at him and elbow Giants jersey. Giants jersey gave Mohawk a puzzled look. Then Mohawk extended his index finger and curled the others to form the shape of a gun. He pointed it at Giants jersey’s head and puckered his lips.
“Pow,” he said. Diaper boy laughed.
Vega put down his burger and rose.
“Dad?” asked Joy. “What’s wrong?”
Vega didn’t answer. He turned to Mohawk. “You think you’re funny?”
“What?” asked Mohawk.
Vega stepped out of the booth. “What kind of car do you drive?”
Diaper boy and Giants jersey backed up. Mohawk frowned. “What’s it to you?”
“I asked you a question.”
Joy rose now, too. “Dad! What are you doing?”
Vega pointed a finger at Mohawk’s face. “Answer the goddamned question.”
“Go to hell, man. I don’t have to say anything to you.” Mohawk turned his back on Vega. “Asshole,” he said to his friends. They laughed. Vega felt a heat rise inside of him. These had to be the bastards who’d threatened his daughter. No way was he about to let them get away with it. He grabbed Mohawk by the back of his hooded jacket.