Sons of the City (19 page)

Nick smiled at us knowingly. “Great minds …”

“You’re an idiot, right?” Donna was asking. “You ever been down there?”

“Yeah …?”

“You happen to notice all the little TV cameras?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Buster. “I guess that is pretty dumb.”

“You think?”

I looked at Nick, he gave a shrug and a half smile. “Well,” he said, “maybe not-so-great minds.”

The dispatcher cut in again. “Twenty-C-Charlie.”

I keyed the mike on my shoulder. “Twenty-C-Charlie.”

“Requesting assistance in identifying and locating the hung carrier.”

We all looked at each other and laughed. I recognized the dispatcher as Debbie, one of the regulars on the Southwest Division band. She didn’t have to ask who was on the air—she had been around for years, she knew the voices of all the cops. Which meant there was probably an angry captain or two standing over her shoulder.

“What are you going to tell her?” Jeff asked.

“The truth, of course,” I said, and keyed my mike. “Radio, I don’t think the hung carrier is in the Twentieth, you might want to check the other districts.”

“OK, C-Charlie,” Debbie said.

Nick and Mutt were smiling at me. Jeff wasn’t sure quite what to think. Didn’t matter—my job was to protect my cops, not dime them out.

We hadn’t heard anything from Buster or Donna for a couple of minutes, and Nick started to get a little worried.

“They better not be off the air,” he said. “This is too good to waste.”

“I got it!” Buster almost yelled. “The perfect place we can go.”

But he didn’t say where, he just drove on in silence. So we just sat there, listening to dead air, our dreams of the big surprise fading fast.

Then Donna came on again. “I forgot to tell you, I ran into Michelle today.”

My heart took a nosedive into my stomach.

“Michelle?” Buster asked.

“At least I think it was her. She really looked different, she had a perm, her curly hair was all over her face. Jeez, where you goin'?”

“I told you, it’s the perfect place. Where’d you see Michelle?”

“I was driving through Westmount on my way to work, I stopped by that fruit store, you know, on Locust? She was coming out as I was going in, I think she was pretending not to know me.”

I was having trouble breathing. I didn’t know who might be listening to this.

“That’s strange,” said Nick. “I thought I saw Michelle in Westmount, too, the other day. But I wasn’t sure it was her.”

I looked at Nick, Jeff, and Mutt. “We got to find these jokers before the bosses do. Let’s split up, start looking.”

Nobody moved.

“Let’s go,” I said impatiently.

“Go where?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know, just get in your fucking cars and go.”

They glanced at each other, and moved away from my car. They knew something was going on, but they didn’t know what it was.

I was just about to get in my car—though I had no idea which way to go—when my pager went off. It was Doc’s number, with 911 after it—an emergency. I was only a few steps from a pay phone, and I called the number.

“You listenin’ to this?” Doc asked in a low voice, like he didn’t want to be overheard. There was real worry in his voice.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to try to find them.”

“Well, you better do it quick. Lanier’s in his office, listenin'. He’s got this funny look on his face.”

“Do something to distract him. Shoot him or something.”

As I hung up, Donna was saying, “You sure about this? I don’t want anyone seein’ us.”

“Look around,” said Buster. “Ain’t no one gonna see us.”

It was quieter in the background, Buster had probably stopped the car, maybe even turned the engine off.

“See?” said Buster. “I told you I was a fuckin’ genius.”

Nick, Jeff, and Mutt were looking at me, waiting to see what was next.

“I told you guys to get on the fucking street. Now go!”

They didn’t argue, they got in their cars, and we all took off at the same time.

“So I went up to Michelle,” said Donna.

“Let’s talk about her later,” said Buster.

I stepped on the gas, pushing past the campus bookstores and coffeehouses. But where was I going? Where the hell was I supposed to turn?

They were quiet again, they were probably kissing. Good, I thought, let ‘em kiss, let ‘em fuck, just keep Donna’s mouth shut.

“Michelle was so nervous,” Donna broke in, a little out of breath. No, I thought, Donna’s the one who’s nervous, so all she wants to do is talk.

“Aw, c’mon, relax,” said Buster. You could hear the frustration in his voice. He wasn’t any more happy than I was.

“You know what was weird about Michelle?” Donna was asking. “It was like she was trying to be someone else.”

I felt sick. This was not happening. There was a sound in the background over the radio, getting louder. It was a deep, rapid thumping.

“What do you mean, someone else?” asked Buster, curious now. “Like she was working undercover?”

“Thought you weren’t interested.”

The thumping noise seemed familiar, what was it? Then I realized—that was the sound of a helicopter passing over. But it wasn’t passing over, the noise level stayed exactly the same. Which meant that if it was a helicopter it would have to be hovering right over Donna and Buster’s car. That didn’t make sense, what would a helicopter be doing hanging around in West Philadelphia?”

“Chopper Alley!” Nick shouted over the air.

That was it—the medevac copters coming into HUP usually had to wait for clearance, sometimes you could see them hovering over the railroad tracks that ran between the river and Penn. We all called it Chopper Alley. I wasn’t happy Nick had just told the world where Donna and Buster were, but at least now I knew.

It wasn’t far from where I was—just down Civic Center Boulevard to the parking lot where we had our after-work summer keg parties. A dirt road led up an embankment to the railroad tracks, and once you were up there, the trees were tall enough so you couldn’t be seen from below. Buster was right, it was perfect.

I flipped on my siren, praying its whoop-whoop-whoop would cut far enough through the night air for Donna and Buster to hear.

“Somethin’s going on,” Donna said.

It was working.

“Whatever it is,” said Buster, “they’re comin’ this way.”

I sped past the parking lot and bounced up the embankment through the darkness. When I reached the tracks, my foot was still all the way down on the gas pedal, but I was going too fast, Donna and Buster’s car was right there in front of me. I slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel, and then I was heading back down the embankment, not on any road now, just through trees and thick brush, and big rocks were banging and scraping on the bottom of my car.

“Holy shit,” I heard Buster say.

It lasted only a few moments—I came out onto another dirt road at the bottom of the embankment, and I was finally able to stop. I jumped out of my car and saw Donna and Buster running down the hill toward me.

“Sarge!” Buster yelled. “You all right?”

I took a deep breath and waited until they reached me. “Your mike’s been on for the last twenty minutes,” I said. “Everything you’ve said has gone out over the air.”

Even in the darkness, I could see them both turn pale.

“Everything?” Donna asked.

“Yep. And now everyone knows where you are. So get back up to your car, shut off your mike, and get the fuck out of here before the fucking Commissioner or someone shows up.”

Buster was already jogging back up the hill, and Donna turned and followed. “Meet me at the Shop-Now,” I yelled after them. “We gotta talk.”

On the way, I stopped at a pay phone near the Civic Center and called Doc.

“I couldn’t get him away from the radio. Eddie, I’m real sorry, I tried everything.”

“You think he knows?”

“It’s hard to tell. I could see the gears in his head turnin'. He’s been real quiet in there.”

A
few minutes later we-were all at the supermarket parking lot—me, Donna and Buster, Nick, Jeff and Mutt. I told them that Donna was right, that it was Michelle she had run into. And she had also guessed right about Michelle working undercover.

“I didn’t want to tell you guys about it, for obvious reasons. But you’ve seen her once, you may see her again, maybe hanging around Mickey Bravelli.”

“That’s what she’s doin'?” Donna asked in astonishment.

“Yeah,” I said. “She’s trying to find what Bravelli knows about Steve.”

“That lady has brass balls,” said Buster.

“If any of you see her.” I said, “you don’t know her. OK?”

They all nodded. Donna lit a cigarette, and I noticed her hand was shaking.

“Did I say too much about Michelle, you think?” she asked me.

“Maybe not. But there’s no way to know.”

Donna grimaced. That wasn’t the answer she wanted.

W
hen I reached Michelle by phone later that night, and told her about Lanier, she shrugged it off.

“I’ll just have to take my chances,” she said.

“Michelle, he’s been watching you for two weeks. He’s going to figure out who you are, sooner or later. If he hasn’t already.”

“But maybe he won’t.”

“That’s a very big maybe.”

“Eddie, I’m making too much progress to stop now. I have to keep going.”

“He may already know who you are.”

“Fine. Then so be it. I’m just going to have to take that risk.”

A
s worried as I was about Michelle, I couldn’t ignore what was happening to Nick. He seemed to be getting worse. One moment he’s OK, the next he’s walking up to a house with bullets coming out the window at him, like he’s on some kind of suicide mission.

I had been avoiding talking to his mother, hoping things would change. But I finally concluded it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Aunt Janet was a smart woman, she’d know what to do.

I went over to her house around noon the next day. She lived by herself on 80th Street in Westmount, in the row house where Nick and his brothers had grown up. I felt bad that I hadn’t stopped by more than a couple of times in the two months since Uncle Jimmy’s funeral. But when Aunt Janet opened the door she screamed my name with delight, and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. She immediately sat me down at the kitchen table and made me a ham sandwich on white bread. She even gave me some milk in one of the tall, blue-metal glasses that I remembered from when I was a kid. I’d spent a lot of time in that kitchen, downed a lot of milk and ham sandwiches.

Aunt Janet was a tall woman, and had a very dignified bearing. People who didn’t know her well thought she was a little aloof, but she was just the opposite—warm, open, understanding. Her short hair was getting gray, but Aunt Janet was still full of life, always trying new things. A couple of months before Uncle Jimmy died she took an art class in which they sketched nude models. When Uncle Jimmy found out that some of the models were male, he ordered her not to go, but she just laughed and went anyway.

She seemed so different from my own mother, who had become just another neighbor lady in fluffy house slippers whose kids have long since grown. No expectations, no surprises, just a comfortable life of bus trips to the casinos and plenty of air conditioning in the front room where the TV was, and getting Uncle Jimmy to put in a powder room on the first floor last year so she wouldn’t have to always walk up the stairs.

I ate my sandwich while Aunt Janet washed some dishes. Something was different about her, and it took me a minute or two to realize what it was. She wasn’t singing. Usually when she did the dishes she sang some tune very softly. It was one of the things that had always made me feel so comfortable here.

“How you doin’ these days?” I asked. “You doin’ OK?”

She turned and smiled. “That’s sweet of you to worry about me. You ever see Patricia anymore?” They had always gotten along, and Aunt Janet often told me she was very sorry we split up.

“Yeah, in fact I ran into her a couple of weeks ago. She’s getting married again.”

“Well, good for her. What about you—when you gonna get married again?”

“Maybe never.”

“I bet you’re seeing somebody, aren’t you?”

“I wish I was.”

“Really, what’s her name?”

“There’s no name.” “You can tell me.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. Hey, listen, I really came over to talk to you about Nicky.”

The playful smile left her face and she looked down at the green tile floor. “I’m worried about him, too,” she said. “He just is not getting over his dad’s death.”

“Or Steve’s,” I said.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, then pulled out the chair across the table from me and sat down.

“It’s affecting his work, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “In fact, I’m thinking of taking him off the street.”

“Can he do some paperwork or something, behind a desk?”

“Well, that’s the problem. Guys are going to think he’s getting a break because he’s my cousin. Then they’ll stop talking to him, stop being friendly. It could make things a lot worse.”

“Can’t you do anything, Eddie?”

“I don’t know. Has he talked to you at all about it?”

Aunt Janet shook her head. “He won’t open up. Maybe he will with you.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Keep trying. You know he worships you.” She put her hand on my hand. “Ever since you were kids, you know that.”

“What am I going to do, take him to a ballgame?”

She thought for a moment, then smiled. “That’s a good idea, Eddie, that’s an excellent idea. Nicky loves baseball, just like his father did.”

T
hat’s how Nick and I ended up sitting in the rain that night at Veterans Stadium, getting soaked to the bone and watching the Phillies get their butts kicked.

Our seats were out in the outfield, in left, but at least we didn’t have to see the expressions on the Phillies’ faces as they struck out, one by one. It started raining, not heavily enough to stop the game, but steadily, and it was like there was a mist between us and home plate. It was warm, so we didn’t mind getting wet, but as the game wore on and the Phillies fell further and further behind, most people left for good. Nick and I just sat there, eating our four-dollar hot dogs and drinking our five-dollar beers, watching the green artificial turf get darker and darker.