Shot Girl (22 page)

I stood in the middle of Vinny’s bedroom, wondering what I should do. Perhaps I could just wait her out. However, there was one problem. I had to go to the bathroom. Really bad. And to get to the bathroom, I had to go down the hall. Granted, just a short ways, but enough so that I could be seen.

I heard water running, which made my situation worse. I threw off the sheet and put on my clothes.

I poked my head back out into the hall. I could hear them talking, but I couldn’t see them. If I couldn’t see them, I figured, they probably couldn’t see me.

I figured wrong.

Halfway down the hall, Mary DeLucia’s small frame loomed large in front of me, her eyes dark and piercing.

"Good morning," she said, and from the tone of it, she certainly didn’t think it was very good.

I still had to go to the bathroom, but I couldn’t very well do that now. I willed myself to hold on for just a little longer and, as boldly as I could, met her at the end of the hall and followed her into the kitchen, where Vinny handed me a cup of coffee without a word or any expression at all.

His mother had started "stopping by" in the mornings when she thought I might be there. I had no idea why, except to make us uncomfortable.

It was working, at least on me. Vinny ignored it. He had disappointed his mother before—he became a marine scientist instead of offering to run the family’s pizzeria business and then dumped Rosie despite a two-year engagement—and had decided not to allow his mother to bother him.

My problem was that I wanted her to like me. This was completely foreign to me, since I didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of me, but I really wanted this woman to like me. So she unnerved me. And I acted like an idiot in front of her. Which made her dislike me more.

"It’s nice of you to come by and have breakfast with my son," Mary DeLucia said coldly. She always pretended that she didn’t know we were sleeping together.

"Thought he could use some company," I said, looking at Vinny for help here.

I didn’t appreciate how he quickly turned to the stove, where he was scrambling eggs, a small smile on his face.

I couldn’t last any longer. "Excuse me," I said as I fled down the hall and into the bathroom. I sat there a lot longer than I needed to, trying to get my bearings. I needed to get some stuff done this morning, but now I was going to have to make small talk with Vinny’s mother.

As I emerged from the bathroom, I heard my cell phone ringing in my bag in the living room. I bypassed the kitchen and went to answer it.

"Hey, there." It was Priscilla. "I just got on the train."

Shit. I forgot. She was coming today.

"I talked to Ned," she said. "He really wants to get together."

Great.

Obviously my silence conveyed my feelings, because she said, "Listen, Annie, it might not be that bad. He lost his best friend, and you know how he thinks college was the best time of his life. There’s really no harm in spending a little time together. I know he regrets having to take sides when you and Ralph split."

I took a deep breath. Might as well try to get used to the idea. I knew Priscilla, and once she got something in her head, you couldn’t get it out. And Ned, well, I might as well suck it up. He
did
lose a friend, and we
had
been friends once. I’d just try to make this "get-together" as short as possible.

"What time are you getting in?" I tried to make my tone light.

"Should be there by noon."

"I’ll pick you up at the train station." At least I had a good excuse to leave now. I needed to go home and shower. "Call me when you get to Milford, and I’ll meet you out front when the train gets in." From Milford, it was about fifteen minutes to New Haven.

I closed the phone and picked up my bag. I shuffled back into those oversized flip-flops of Vinny’s and went back into the kitchen, where he was scraping eggs onto plates. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to stick around and risk dribbling food on my chin. His mother looked at me with daggers in her eyes.

"Priscilla’s on her way in from the city," I said.

Vinny frowned, and I shrugged.

"She wants to get together with Ned Winters. I guess talk about Ralph or some shit like that."

Mary DeLucia’s eyebrows rose with the utterance of the word "shit." Shit. I’d forgotten to watch my language. Another strike against me. Like I had anything going for me at all.

Vinny walked me into the hall, closing the door partially behind him so his mother couldn’t see us. He cupped my cheek with his hand and kissed me for what seemed like hours but was just seconds.

"I’ll call you in a little bit," he whispered.

I nodded. "Should I call Tom?"

"About the condo?"

"I might be able to get some information."

"How will you say you know about it?" Vinny asked. "We weren’t there, remember?"

I shrugged. "I’ll think of something."

"Be careful," Vinny said. "Keep an eye out."

I nodded, knowing he probably wouldn’t be too far behind me, anyway. I kissed him again, still unwilling to say those words I hadn’t said in years to anyone. I hoped the kisses were enough.

 
It was hotter today than it had been yesterday. The heat rose off the sidewalk, and I jogged across the grass in Wooster Square. I looked back at Vinny’s about halfway across the square and saw him watching me from his window. He waved, and it made me feel safe. I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I reached my brownstone. On my way up the stairs to my apartment, I picked up the paper, shaking it out as I got inside and spreading it out on my kitchen island. The story about the shooting on the Green was the lead story on page 1. Wesley had gotten a great shot of Michael being herded into the cruiser. I scanned the story and saw the quotes from Ashley were all there.

I flipped through the rest of the paper, looking for Dick’s story about the raid at Ralph’s. I finally found it, buried on page A4 at the bottom.

 
I wondered who the "sources" were and thought about how the apartment raided was "currently vacant" as I shed my clothes and made my way to the bathroom, where I turned on the shower. I stood under the cool water, knowing the minute I stepped out, I’d be uncomfortable again.

There was no mention in the paper about anything connected to the condo at City Point. It was long after deadline when we’d called 911, so it wasn’t surprising.

Priscilla had just gotten on the train, so I had some time and stayed a few extra minutes in the shower before getting out and rummaging for a pair of khaki shorts and a tank top. The back of the shirt was drenched by my heavy, wet hair within seconds but provided no relief. I rarely put my hair up, but found a big hair clip in the drawer where my gun should be. I gathered up my locks and twisted them around and clamped the clip around them, leaving a sort of silly ponytailed look. But it was cooler, so who was I to give a shit what I looked like?

I heard my cell phone ring in the depths of my bag, performing a duet with my stomach. I was hungry; I should’ve had those eggs at Vinny’s.

As I flipped the cover on the phone, I gazed into my refrigerator, savoring the coolness but cursing its emptiness.

"Hello?"

"Are you the lady reporter?" His voice was young.

"Yes. And this is?"

"We met at the garden. And then yesterday. On the Green."

"Jamond?"

"I know you be askin’ about Michael, and I saw the paper. Ashley, she lies. She the one who got Michael in trouble, not the other way around."

"Got him in trouble how?"

"Those guns."

Chapter 29

I let the two words settle down before I asked, "What guns?"

"The ones she be sellin’."

I thought Ralph was selling guns. "She sold Michael guns?"

"She didn’ t, well, herself, but she hooked him up."

Ashley could be in on the straw purchases with Ralph. I wondered about Felicia. Did her disappearance have anything to do with this?

"Did she hook him up with Ralph Seymour?" I asked.

"Who?"

"Who did she hook Michael up with for the guns?" I asked.

"Some white dude. His name ain’t Ralph, though."

"What is it?"

"Said it be Johnny."

John Decker, aka Jack Hammer? I immediately thought back to the duffel bag he was carrying. The snapshot of his face as we drove by him last night at the condo complex had imprinted itself in my memory. Had he killed one of those girls or both to cover up his role in all this? Why was he following me?

"Do you know how I could reach this Johnny?" I asked Jamond. If Tom hadn’t rounded him up last night, I wanted to make sure he’d be able to find him.

"I don’t know." But by the guarded tone, I was certain he did know but wasn’t going to tell.

"He doesn’t have to know you told me." I made a lot of empty promises in my job, but this one wouldn’t be hard to keep. There were enough people involved so Jack wouldn’t have to find out a fifteen-year-old kid had ratted him out.

"Listen, I ain’t no snitch."

"No one has to know," I promised again.

He was quiet a few seconds, then, "I really don’t know." It was all I was going to get out of him.

Damn. "What about a phone number?"

"Michael had that."

Double damn. Michael right this very minute was spending the weekend at the Whalley Avenue jail. Where I couldn’t ask him anything. "Jamond, how involved are you in all this?"

"Not too. Michael got shit for luck, though," he said.

"How so?"

"He jus’ turn eighteen."

And was no longer a juvenile. He no longer had the protection of the system. If he managed to get himself out of this somehow, it would be on his record.

"Jamond, you shouldn’t be involved. Listen to the Reverend Shaw." Christ, what was I saying? Shaw was as much a charlatan as Ralph had been, as Jack Hammer was. But the kids obviously looked up to Shaw, as much as I didn’t trust the man. "I’m sure he’s trying to help you."

"True dat."

I needed to hang out in the hood a little bit to get the jargon right, but like most places it just wasn’t my scene. Sort of like going to Istanbul Café to see belly dancers.

"I need to go," Jamond was saying.

"Wait—" But he’d already hung up.

I stared at the phone after I snapped it closed. I thought Ralph was out of my life forever, and here he was, dead and making my life and the lives around him miserable.

My stomach growled again. I needed to get something to eat. But something light. Priscilla would undoubtedly want to have lunch somewhere, since she’d arrive around noon, so maybe I could get something at Atticus to hold me over. I felt safer going somewhere where there’d be more people around.

I furtively looked around for signs of anyone following me but saw no one. Not even Vinny.

Atticus was not that crowded, and I sat at the counter and ordered a bagel with cream cheese and a latte. I was halfway through the bagel when he sat down next to me.

"Ms. Seymour, what a pleasure." The good Reverend Shaw was always so polite. Even last night, when his property was being raided by the ATF and FBI.

Since I’d just been talking about him with Jamond, it seemed more than merely a chance meeting, but I chalked it up to the bad karma that had surrounded me ever since I’d seen Ralph last week.

I smiled as pleasantly as I could while still having nagging negative thoughts about this guy. "Good morning," I said through the cream cheese that had stuck to my teeth. I ran my tongue around my mouth to try to pull out all the poppy seeds. When I thought I’d been successful, I put the bagel down and said bluntly, "Isn’t this church time for you?" I knew Shaw didn’t have a parish of his own, which seemed odd to me.

Shaw’s wide smile looked like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. "I’ve just come from church," he said, indicating his suit and tie. He’d looked as immaculate when I saw him in his gardening clothes.

"So what did the feds find in your house?" I tried to ask nonchalantly.

He knew what I was after, and the smile never wavered. "I’m not responsible for my tenants’ activities," he said simply.

"But you said the apartment they raided was empty. At least that’s what was reported in the paper," I said, taking a sip of my coffee, keeping my eyes trained on his face to see any type of reaction.

"That’s right. I have no idea who was storing anything in that apartment." He was smooth—had to give him that.

"What about Ralph Seymour? What was your connection to him? What did you owe him that you felt it necessary to hire one of the best defense attorneys in the city for him?"

Shaw’s face quivered slightly, and if I hadn’t been looking for it, I might have missed it. My question had thrown him, even though he recovered quickly. "Ralph and I met some years back. We had both been in trouble. We helped each other spiritually."

Ralph had never helped anyone spiritually in his life. He was a goddamn atheist.

"I understand you were married to Ralph at one point," Shaw was saying, and a tone had entered his voice that told me he didn’t like questions that he didn’t want to answer, so he was going to try to turn the tables on me.

I took another bite of bagel and nodded.

"When will the story about the garden be in the paper?" Shaw asked, switching gears again.

That was supposed to be my job: throwing him off the subject. But I can be as flexible as the next guy. "Tomorrow," I said.