Luis paused. “When I was younger, you know, a stupid kid, I dealt a bit. I’m not proud of that shit, but it’s all public knowledge. My PO says it helps to come clean. Anyway this Parker kid was probably a junkie, figured I was still into the stuff and just went nuts. You had my record, you saw my priors.”
“So you think Parker was a junkie?” I asked, my blood starting to boil.
“In my opinion, yeah.”
“So are you still dealing?”
“Hell, no,” Luis said irritably. “I haven’t touched that shit since I was a teenager. Parker was high, that’s all. Guy was looking for a rush. That’s what I told the papers and that’s what I’m telling you now.”
Wonderful, I thought. I’d spent most of college trying to avoid becoming a pothead and now the entire world thought I was a dope fiend.
“So, Luis, you’re saying an unarmed twenty-four-year old newspaper reporter, who was high on drugs, was able to subdue an ex-convict and his wife single-handedly?”
Luis hesitated. Amanda pinched my arm. I needed to step back. I was on the offensive. Any more pushing and I could scare him away. Backtracking, I posed a new line of questioning.
“Sounds like this Parker was one messed-up kid.”
“Got that right, man.”
“All right, Luis, answer me this. Officer Fredrickson. How did he find you?” Fifteen seconds passed while I waited for a response. “Mr. Guzman, are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking, picturing it in my head. How it happened exactly, you know? Still a little woozy.”
“Take your time,” I said, trying hard to disguise the disgust in my voice.
“See, what happened was,” Luis said, “Parker hurt my wife, Christine, and that’s when Officer Fredrickson found us. He must have heard the commotion, you know. He wanted to protect us.”
“I was under the impression your superintendent, Grady Larkin, first reported hearing these noises.”
“Yeah, that sounds right. Everything just happened so fast, you know? Hard to remember the details.”
“Sure,” I said, gritting my teeth. “So how much time would you say elapsed between the beginning of the struggle and Officer Fredrickson’s arrival?”
“Elapsed? I don’t know. A minute. Two minutes.”
“You’re pretty lucky Officer Fredrickson was in the neighborhood.”
“Yeah, guess so.”
“How long have you lived at 2937 Broadway, Luis?”
“Seven years.”
“And when did you get out of prison?”
“Seven years.”
“So you moved in right after you got out of jail?”
“That’s right.”
“Lucky that apartment was available, real estate in New York is a bitch.”
“Don’t have to tell me, man.”
“So what’s your monthly rent?”
“’Scuse me?”
“Rent, Luis. What do you pay per month?”
“Rent? I, uh, we pay I think sixteen hundred a month.”
“You think sixteen hundred or you know sixteen hundred?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s sixteen hundred.”
“Would Christine know for sure?”
Luis laughed. “Christine? No, man, she never looks at the bills. She don’t work, either, just takes care of the preparations for our baby. Me, I pay the bills. I work hard. I don’t need drugs to do that.”
Amanda mouthed the word what? She saw the anger in my face, but knew we were getting somewhere. I held up one finger, mouthed wait.
“Would Grady Larkin know how much you pay in rent, Luis?” He seemed taken aback.
“Grady? No, I don’t think so. He don’t know much.” The door was left tantalizingly open, but I could tell from his voice I couldn’t press further.
“Now just to clarify, you believe Henry Parker’s motivation for assaulting your family was stealing a stash of drugs that you never had.”
“That’s right.”
I paused. “Mr. Guzman, I’m through for now. If I have any more questions, I might call back.”
“What, that’s it? You got nothing else?”
“For now, no. However I urge you not to divulge details of our conversation to anyone, including the police. If anything we’ve discussed should leak, say to another newspaper, or if I get one phone call from the NYPD, your story doesn’t get printed.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Glad to hear that, Luis. Glad to hear that.”
“One thing, Mr. McDonnell.”
“O’Donnell.”
“O’Donnell. Mr. O’Donnell, that Parker kid, he…” Luis’s voice trailed off.
“Yes, Luis?”
“Henry seemed like a good kid. He didn’t know what he was doing. In your story, when you write it, can you make sure to print that? That I don’t hate the kid or nothing?”
“Sure thing, Luis. Consider it done.”
“Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell.”
“Call me Jack. Goodbye, Luis. Give Christine my best for a speedy recovery.”
I hung up. Amanda clasped her hands together and comically batted her eyes. “My smart reporter, so professional,” she cooed.
I bit my lip, thoughts running through my head like a slot machine gone haywire. “It doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“What doesn’t?”
“The money. When I asked Luis what his rent payments are, he couldn’t give a straight answer. And he got real apprehensive when I mentioned the super, Grady Larkin.”
“So?”
“Luis said he was paying sixteen hundred in rent per month for that apartment. That’s a little pricey for a security guard.”
“You think he’s lying?”
“Sixteen hundred a month over twelve months is-” I did the math in my head “-nineteen thousand, two hundred a year. Luis pulls in twenty-three grand, his wife doesn’t work and they’re trying for a child. It doesn’t make sense.” I paused. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” Amanda asked.
“Unless he really doesn’t know what they’re paying.”
Amanda looked confused. “How could he not know?”
“Maybe they’re being subsidized, somebody else paying a portion of the rent.”
“You think that’s possible?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.” I picked the phone back up and dialed the operator.
“City and state?”
“New York, New York. Manhattan.”
“What listing?”
“I need the number for a Grady Larkin at 2937 Broadway.”
“Is this a residence or business?”
“Residence.”
“One moment, please.” Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Amanda bit her nails, then smiled shyly and tucked her hand back into her pocket. Finally the operator returned. “Sir, I have no listing for a Grady Larkin at that
