Fake I.D.

“And what time was this?” the detective asked.

“Right when I was leaving,” I said. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time—figured he was waiting to meet somebody—but now, come to think of it, it was kind of weird. I mean what the hell was he doing standing out there in the cold? He was like about ten yards up the block and he was just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking down. I guess I figured he was waiting to meet one of his friends. Anyway, I said, ‘What’s up?’ or something like that, but he didn’t say anything to me so I just kept walking and went home.”

When I finished talking, the detective stared at me for an extra second or two, but I didn’t flinch.

“Thanks a lot,” he said. “You’re gonna be around here for a while, right?”

“I’m just starting my shift,” I said smiling.

“Good,” he said. “I might have to talk to you again in a little bit.”

The detective walked away. I was proud of myself. I could’ve started making up stories—said Gary was still in the bar last night when I left, or that I saw him going into the safe. But what if Rodrigo or somebody else from the kitchen saw Gary leave? It would’ve made me look like I was lying, like I was trying to hide something. This way I looked even more innocent because why would I admit leaving the bar after Gary if I robbed the safe?

Then I noticed Frank, standing there, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, putting a hand on his back. “There’s nothing you can do about it now anyway.”

“How could a son do something like this to his father?” he said. “Huh? How could he?”

I’d never seen Frank looking so beat up. Even when Debbie was cursing him out to his face, humiliating him, he never looked like he was about to start crying.

I really felt bad for putting him through all this.

“Where’s Gary now?” I asked.

“Home, I thought,” Frank said. “The cops are out now, trying to find him.”

“They better find our fuckin’ money too,” a guy who was listening in shouted. He was a big muscle-head Irish guy with red hair and a mustache. I’d seen him before. He was a regular of O’Reilley’s day crowd.

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank told the guy and other people who were standing around. “Like I told you all before—if the money isn’t recovered, I’ll reimburse the pool out of my own pocket. The pool is one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

“So who do you think did it?” the guy asked. “Your fuckin’ kid?”

“It doesn’t matter who took the money,” Frank said, “all right? I said I’ll back the pool, so what difference does it make to anybody? Just forget about it—it’s over with.”

The group of guys walked away, shouting about the robbery. When they were out of earshot Frank whispered to me, “I better talk to Gary—tell him no matter what happened last night to forget coming down here for a few days. One of these goons’ll kick the living crap out of him if he took that money or not.”

Frank went to his office to try to call Gary and I went behind the bar and poured myself a pint of Sam Adams. I saw Kathy talking to the detective. She looked in my direction for a second, then turned away quickly. She was probably still upset at me for backing out of that showcase.

The blond cop was standing near the door, talking to the other cops. We made eye contact and I thought I saw her smile. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she didn’t need to. She had smooth pale skin and blond hair cut short around her ears.

She looked over at me again. This time we both smiled. She headed in my direction.

“Excuse me.” She had a heavy Bronx accent, which kind of surprised me. I looked at her name tag—Officer Cheryl Lewis. “Sorry to bother you, but can you do me a favor?”

“Sure thing,” I said smiling.

“Please don’t touch anything back there, especially not the safe,” Cheryl said. “We’re gonna be dusting for prints in a minute.”

I watched her walk back to the detective.

One of the male cops came over and started dusting the safe and all around it with a little brush and white powder. I took my beer around to the other end of the bar, trying to act like I didn’t care what was going on. Meanwhile, my heart was racing out of control. Finally, the cop who was dusting told the detective he couldn’t find a good print. Then, looking past the detective, I saw Rodrigo standing there. I didn’t know if he just came in or if he’d been there the whole time. Rodrigo was short and there were a lot of big people in the bar so I could’ve missed him. The way he was staring at me I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Finally, he walked away into the kitchen.

I finished my beer and poured another. With Frank still back in his office trying to get in touch with Gary, there was nobody to man the bar so I took over and filled a couple of orders.

The detective came over to me at the bar and gave me his business card. He told me that if, by any chance, Gary showed up before the police found him, that it would be “in his interest” to give the detective a call. Then the detective and the cops left the bar.

I finished my beer and took a few more orders, making a few more bucks in tips. Frank came out from the back and said that he just got a call from Gary. The police found him in the Village and they were going to bring him in for questioning. Frank told me he was going to meet Gary at the precinct and he asked me if I’d work the bar while he was gone. I said this was no problem. Then, after Frank left, I asked Pedro, a Dominican busboy, to watch the bar for a few minutes because I had to go to the john. Instead, I went to the kitchen and saw Rodrigo there, making hamburgers. I made sure the door was closed and that no one was hanging around outside. Then I went over to Rodrigo and said, “Thanks a lot for that, buddy. I really owe you one.”

“No problem,” Rodrigo said. “You’re my friend. I always give help for my friend.”

“Just like the Beatles,” I said.

Rodrigo looked confused.

“It was a joke—forget about it,” I said.

I hugged Rodrigo, slapping him on the back.

“For this,” I said, “I’m gonna give you a lifetime of free English lessons. Anything you want, just ask me.”

I let Rodrigo go and started to walk away.

Then he said, “Tommy.”

I stopped and turned around. Suddenly, I had a bad feeling in my stomach.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You know I am very poor,” he said. “I have very big family and we are very poor.”

“I know that,” I said. “You told me all about how bad your life was in Mexico.”

“Yes, life in Mexico is very bad,” he said. “So if we have more money, that is very nice. Because we are very poor family.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I no say anything. I just saying to you my family is very poor. We have nothing—no money. Maybe you give me some money because I don’t talk to the policia. Because we are friends.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me, Rodrigo?”

He looked at me, confused again. Maybe he didn’t know what “blackmail” meant, but he knew how to do it.

“You know in America blackmail is against the law,” I said. “It’s not a very nice thing to do to your friends either.”

“No blackmail,” Rodrigo said. “I just want some more money—for my family.”

I waited a few seconds, then I said, “All right. I’ll give you five hundred bucks tomorrow night. But that’s all you get, entiende?”

“One thousand dollars,” he said in suddenly clear English.

“A thousand?” I said. I looked over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming, then I said, “You got some pair of balls on you, you know that?”

Rodrigo looked confused again.

“Balls,” I said, grabbing my crotch. “Cojones.”

“You have some cojones too,” he said.

We stared at each other for a few more seconds.