Fake I.D.

“A surprise,” I said.

“What’s the surprise?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, will it?”

She didn’t answer. I rang again.

“What is it?” she said.

“I have your jewelry,” I said.

Again, she waited a few seconds before answering. “I thought you gave it to a pawn shop.”

“I did, but the guy bought it back and now I just bought it back from him. Come on, just let me up so I can give it to you.”

“I’ll come to the bar tonight to get it.”

“But I have it here—right now.”

“Why can’t you bring it to the bar?”

“I wanted to apologize to you too. I’m in Gamblers Anonymous now and in Step 6 you have to apologize to the people you’ve wronged. It would really help me if I had a chance to apologize to you, face to face. Come on, I’ll just come up for a minute then leave.”

The buzzer rang.

I took the elevator up to her apartment on the sixth floor. I rang once and she opened the door, wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt.

“Hey, how are you?” I said.

I tried to kiss her, but she backed away.

“I don’t have cooties,” I said smiling.

“Where’s my jewelry?” she asked.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me inside first?”

“Do you have my jewelry or not?”

“Yeah, I have it.”

I went by her, into the apartment.

“I was hoping you could lend me some money,” I said.

“What?”

“Just a few hundred bucks. I’ll pay you back tomorrow or the next day. I promise.”

“Do you have the jewelry or don’t you?”

“First lend me some money.”

“I’m not lending you money.”

“Why not? I paid you back last time, didn’t I?”

“Get out of here—right now.”

I spotted her pocketbook on a chair in the corner.

“Sorry to have to do this.”

“What are you doing? Give that back to me—”

I stiff-armed her, trying to keep her away, but she kept coming after me. Finally, I pushed her and she fell down onto the couch. I found about twenty dollars in bills in one of the pocketbook’s compartments.

“Don’t you have any more than this?” I asked.

Janene was crying. I thought about searching her apartment for more money when I had a better idea. I took her bank card out of her wallet and slipped it into my pocket. I put the pocketbook back onto the chair.

“If you just lent me the money this would have been a lot easier,” I said, “but I am going to pay you back.”

I left the apartment. On the landing of the stairwell I felt dizzy and I saw myself tumbling down the stairs. I took the elevator down instead. I walked around the corner to the Chase bank on First Avenue and Seventy-second. I still had Janene’s pin number memorized. I put her card in the machine and typed in the code. A receipt came out with a printed message:

TRANSACTION DENIED

Damn it—she must’ve called the bank already and put a hold on the account.

On my way out, I spotted a police car speeding up First Avenue. I ducked back into the bank and stayed there until the coast was clear.

I needed money—fast—and there was only one place to get it.

I walked over to Second Avenue, down to Sixty-fifth Street, then back over to O’Reilley’s on First. Luckily, there were no cops there. Frank was working the bar and a couple of old-timers were sitting on stools, watching TV.

Frank saw me come in and he screamed, “Get the hell out of here! Right now, you son of a bitch!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“You sick piece of shit! You fucking scumbag!”

“What?” I said.

“I don’t wanna look at your face anymore. Just get the hell out of here!”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on,” I said, “but I’m sure—”

“How long were you fucking her?”

“Who?”

“You know who—Debbie. My fucking wife!”

“Jesus, I can’t believe you just asked me that,” I said.

“No more bullshit!” Frank’s face was red and he looked crazy. The two guys in the bar got up and left.

“No,” I said. “I wasn’t fucking Debbie. Jesus, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

“Fucking liar! My doorman saw you there—last week.”

“I did go there one day—looking for you.”

“Look, you son of a bitch piece of shit, I know you were there, so stop lying to me! You killed her didn’t you?”

“Take it easy,” I said. “I know you’re angry, grieving or whatever, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”

Frank came out from around the bar.

“A cab driver said he dropped her off by your apartment the day she disappeared. Then, that night, a cop pulled you over in Brooklyn.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I said.

Frank came after me, beating his fists against my chest.

“Come on, take it easy,” I said. “Chill out.”

Frank kept beating me until he got too exhausted, gasping for air.

“Look, you have to believe me,” I said. “I know how bad things look right now, but I think you know I’m a good person. You know I wouldn’t kill somebody. You’ll see—they’ll find the real killer and then you’ll forgive me. But don’t worry, I won’t hold a grudge. I know what you’re going through.”

“What did you come here for anyway?” Frank said. “Money? If you can’t steal it, you have to borrow it from your stupid boss, right?” Frank took his wallet out of his pocket and started throwing bills at me. “Here, you want my money? You want my fucking money? Take it! Take it all!”

I started to pick up the bills when I heard loud sirens. I looked behind me and saw two police cars pull up in front of the bar. I was about to make a run for it—maybe try to get out through the window in the kitchen—when I looked back at Frank. He was still throwing money at me, but he was slumping back onto a bar stool.

“Come on, buddy,” I said, trying to help him up. “Hang in there. Just hang in there!”

I looked behind me and three cops were standing by the door with their guns drawn.

“Hurry up,” I said. “Do any of you guys know CPR?”

“Put your hands up where I can see them!” one of the cops shouted.

“The guy’s dying here!”

“Put your hands up!”

“For Chrissake. Look at him!”

“Now, asshole!”

“You gotta help him!”