“What’s that?”
“Now that I quit, I need you to fire me.”
Frank slammed his fist onto the desk. “There’s no freaking sense in this.”
“Maybe in the real world this doesn’t make sense,” Joe confessed.
“This ain’t the real world?”
“When you’re talking cops and murder, Frank, it’s a different world altogether.”
“Okay, you’re fired.”
“Not now.”
“Not now what?”
“Don’t fire me now.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“You have a time in mind?”
“Around 7:30, I guess.”
“Why 7:30?”
“I want a very public execution.”
“Public execu-”
“Trust me, boss. I know what I’m doing.” Frank threw his hands up in surrender. “Yeah. Yeah. Cops and murder, a different world altogether.”
The red rectangle blinked three times at Joe when he walked into the basement apartment he had shared with Vinny for less than a year. They had shared a room all through their childhood and Joe remembered how much he wanted to get out, to finally get some space of his own. There were many nights during his marriage that Joe found himself wondering whether it was true love or his desire to get out from under that motivated him to buy an engagement ring all those years before. Whatever the reason, he got out, all right.
Then, when Joe was making an Olympic sport of being kicked out of everything from his house to his marriage to his career, Vinny was there to take him in. Joe’s heart still ached at the memory of Vinny, stuttering madly, promising not to drive him away like he had when they were growing up. That’s one thing Joe had set right before 9/11. Even in the depths of his misery, maybe because of it, he and his little brother had come back together. They were comfortable together in that basement apartment. Joe could have afforded to move to a better place a few years ago, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving.
The three blinks of the phone machine were all messages from Marla. Joe’s heart raced at the sound of her voice, her words barely registering. His response was so beyond voluntary that it frightened him. Maybe he couldn’t control the beat of his heart, but he could control the speed at which things moved along. He was determined to take it slow with Marla.
By the second message, Joe could hear her words.
“Me again. Listen, there’s a woman who drives a van for our group home in Patchogue who dated Toussant for about a month when they both worked for a private agency in Oceanside. She told me some stuff. I don’t know if it’ll help you, but… Give me a call.”
“Hey,” he said. “It’s me.”
“Hey, me. You got my messages?”
“Got ‘em. So what’s this about a woman-”
“What?” Marla interrupted. “No declarations of eternal love?”
Joe didn’t know what to say. “I… I… Um-”
“Calm down, Joe. I’ll settle for assurances you’ll take me out Saturday night.”
“I think I can manage that.”
“Kissing. I’ll need kissing.”
“I can almost guarantee you that.”
“Almost.”
“Okay, I’ll kiss you.”
“Promise?”
“Needles in my eyes if I don’t.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “So I guess you’ll want to hear about what Corral had to say.”
“Corral?”
“Corral Lofton. She’s the van driver at our Patchogue home. She said she dated Jean Michel for about a month last year.”
“Did she tell the cops this?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Marla hesitated. “She’s married and…”
“And what?” Joe was impatient. “He raped her.”
“He raped her? Why didn’t she-”
“-go to the cops?” she completed his question. “Come on, Joe, you were a cop. Do you really have to ask?”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Like I said, she’s married.”
“Unfortunately, married women are raped all the time.”
“But she lied to her husband about where she was that night,” Marla shot back. “Corral told him she was going to the movies at the Green Acres Mall with her friends from work and then spending the night at her sister’s apartment in St. Albans. It would have been difficult explaining how she wound up being raped in Brooklyn by a man she worked with. And there’s other reasons.”
“Brooklyn, huh?”
“That’s the thing, Joe.”
“What is?”
“The thing that might help you find Jean Michel.”
“Brooklyn?”
“Jean Michel took her to an after hours club called Rien.”
“Rien?
“Rien,” she repeated. “It means nothing in French.”
“Nothing nothing or like nada in Spanish.”
“The latter. Apparently, Jean Michel’s cousin owns the place.”
“Did she tell you where in Brooklyn it was?”
“Not exactly. Corral said it was on Flatbush Avenue somewhere, past the junction. Does that make any sense to you? I don’t know Brooklyn.”
“I know the area. Great. Thanks. I think I can really do something with this.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Is there’s something else?” Joe prodded.
“Jean Michel’s a sick fuck.”
“Learn that term in graduate school, did you?”
“I’m human, too, Joe.”
“Sorry. That was stupid of me. Go on.”
“He drugged her, brought her to a room above the club and videotaped himself raping her. And… And he-” her voice cracked.
“Okay, okay, I know this is hard for you, but it’s important I hear all of it.”
“He let other men have her, Joe, two at a time.”
“I get the picture.”
“It gets worse.”
“Worse! How?”
“He showed her the tape.”
“He what?”
