“So?”
“So you’re parked outside of Trina’s apartment waiting to see who comes out so you can play detective and decide why she isn’t right to sleep with whoever the fuck she wants. This is what you do.”
“This guy’s gonna be around my fucking kids.”
“You’re around your fucking kids, Tony. And I’ve known you to drive shitfaced. You’re around your kids and I’ve fuckin’ you take a pro’s blowjob once or twice.”
“When?”
“Boardman’s bachelor party. Remember?”
“Bachelor parties don’t count.”
Corelli got up, walked to the printer and pulled the sheet free.
“Leave it be, Tony. The problem isn’t this guy, and it sure as shit ain’t Trina.”
Corelli said nothing, folding the printout, tucking it inside his jacket.
“Anyway, I need a witness for a statement. Room two.”
“Yeah, what’d we catch?”
“Something a little lumpy. Thought it was a straight overdose, but now I got this little fuck in there putting himself in, calling it a hot shot.”
“Huh. No shit.”
Corelli followed his sergeant to the interrogation room.
“Rat bait, huh?”
The man nodded, then scratched himself.
“You loaded an empty with the rat bait and then he stole it from you and fired.”
The man began to cry. Corelli shot Cabazes a look.
“You’re saying you loaded the hot shot on purpose, and that when we tell the M.E. to test for strychnine, it’s gonna come back positive for that and negative for opiates.”
The man nodded again, then vomited. Corelli shot back in his chair, then followed Cabazes out of the The Box. They walked down the hallway for paper towels.
“The fuck kinda goof puts himself in for a hot shot?” Corelli said. “You keep your mouth shut, it’s the perfect murder. Nobody gives a fuck and no jury’s ever gonna believe it’s anything other than a fiend firing bad shit.”
“He says he can’t live with it,” Cabazes offered.
“Why the fuck not? Why’s he gotta bust our balls?”
They found towels in the men’s room, but no mop or pail in the utility closet. They went down to the fifth floor, then the fourth, before finding a janitor. Ten minutes later they were back upstairs, Cabazes heading for the interrogation room and Corelli short-stopping at the soda machine.
“Be there in a sec.”
He fed a dollar and banged for a diet drink before shouts from Cabazes brought him running around the corner. The Box door was open and his sergeant was wrapped around the little fuck’s waist, holding him. Corelli looked up to see the man’s leather belt tied around the ceiling brace, the other end around his neck.
“Get him offa there,” Cabazes grunted.
Standing on the table, Corelli fumbled for a few moments before finding and unfastening the buckle. The body flopped against Cabazes, then onto the table. Corelli jumped down and they loosened the other end of the belt. The dead man rewarded them with a cough, then a breath, then another cough. Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in the same chair where they had left him, sipping water from a Styrofoam cup, one arm extended for a paramedic checking his blood pressure.
Cabazes was in the squad room calling the duty officer.
“I don’t get it,” Corelli said. “You hot shot a guy who stole from you and then you come in to confess. The fuck is up with that? You did what you had to.”
The man said nothing at first, then shook his head softly.
“He ain’t stole from me. Daymo wouldn’t steal.”
Corelli waited.
“The hot shot was for this motherfucker Lorenzo. He the one been taking my shit all the time, bangin’ me ’round for it. I loaded the shot for him. The boy…”
His voice trailed away. The paramedic finished, nodded to Corelli, and left.
“The boy was an accident,” Corelli said, finishing the thought.
The man was crying again. “He was living with me, you know? Ain’t had no place else to go, an’ I was lookin’ out for him. I was lookin’ out for him more than myself, you know? He ain’t got no mother or father to speak of, but I was kinda like a father with him. An’ he was starting to use a bit, you know? I seen it. I pulled him up when I seen it. An’ I wasn’t havin’ none of it, so we had gone back and forth on that.”
“So he snuck the hot shot from you without you knowing.”
The man nodded, tears streaming. He was angry now, his voice louder.
“I was actin’ all parental an’ shit, like I was responsible for that boy. Like I wasn’t who the fuck I been for twenty fuckin’ years, you know? Pretending to be something past a low-bottom dope fiend, but you know what? I a low-bottom dope fiend and I kilt that child. I did. So just lock my ass up an’ be done with this shit. Jus’ lock me the fuck up ’cause I am done pretending. I wadn’t no good for that child. I ain’t good for no one. So jus’ lock me up ’cause I’m responsible for this here.”
Corelli backed away, leaving the door open. The smell of vomit followed him into the hall, where he found Cabazes.
“Duty officer is on the way downtown. He wants a twenty-four on it.”
Corelli nodded toward The Box.
“Paramedic says he’s good to go.”
Cabazes nodded.
“So let him.”
“What?”
“After the duty officer gets his twenty-four, we let him go.”
“He’s giving himself up, we can make it a murder.”
“You let him go, it can stay an overdose and not even be a stat.”
“We could use the clearance.”
“Fuck the clearance. In this poor fuck’s head, he’s been tried, convicted and sentenced. The hot shot was for anoth asshole. The kid was an accident. This sadass motherfucker’s gonna live with more weight than we could ever give him.”
Cabazes stared at him for a moment, nodded, then headed down the hall.
Corelli walked into the coffee room, poured sludge from the bottom of a dying pot, then slumped at the corner desk. He stared out the window, watching people and cars negotiate the rush hour below. It was Friday and he thought about calling Trina, asking if she wanted to do something together with the kids this weekend. The zoo, maybe. But he thought on it a moment longer and couldn’t see it happening.
Reaching into his pocket, Corelli pulled out the printout and tossed it into the can with the Styrofoam and stirrers and coffee grounds.
“Fuck it,” he said to no one in particular.
HOME MOVIES BY MARCIA TALLEY
P
The sun had clocked around to the west, too, so her bench no longer sat in the shade of the National Aquarium, its hulk-all glass and Mondrian-style triangles-looming like the Matterhorn behind her. Sweat beaded
