Race

“Sure do.” I felt like John Wayne telling some whippersnapper about his sheriff duties.

He then said, “You make lots of money like dad?”

Uh? “What?”

“Dad makes lots of money.”

I paused. “Yes, he does.”

I slowly took a bite of the sandwich, thinking. “Your dad told you he makes lots of money from his job?”

“No, but I hear him talk to Mom. He brings her money in an envelope.”

“An envelope, eh?” I said, thinking deeper.

“Brown envelopes, sometimes white envelopes.”

I began to eye the kitchen suspiciously: marble countertop, stainless steel dishwasher, two-door refrigerator, all top-of-the-line stuff.

“What else did your dad tell you,” I asked, hoping to get more out of him.

He shrugged, suddenly disinterested.

I needed more information. “So, you broke your arm playing soccer?” I said.

He looked away.

I leaned in. “You didn’t break your arm playing soccer, did you?”

He made no comment.

“You got into a fight.”

He nodded, very slowly.

“Why?”

He looked up and opened his mouth into a wide smile.

I waited.

He pointed to his teeth.

“What?” I still did not understand.

He pointed more dramatically.

“Oh,” I said. “Kids made fun of your braces?”

He closed his mouth and lowered his head, staring at the empty plate.

“Your parents don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t worry about what those kids think,” I said. “When you’re older you’ll have a perfect smile and they’ll have crooked teeth like cats.”

He laughed.

Right then I should have told him an incident from my childhood, but I couldn’t think of one so I let it go. “You know,” I said. “You should tell your parents. Maybe they can help.”

I suddenly realized the hypocrisy of what I was saying. Here I was giving Noel advice about being open and honest while I was hiding my career from my mother.

When this was all over and done I was going to have a long talk with her. She would understand. She always did.

“Talk to your parents when you feel you’re up to it,” I finally said.

TWENTY-SEVEN

At the breakfast table I sipped coffee while eating a toast with marmalade. Beadsworth sat across from me with a newspaper. He was going over the front-page stories. Amy was upstairs with Liam. Noel had already gone to school.

I stared at Beadsworth intently. Something about him made me irritated. It wasn’t his trimmed beard, or his perfect ironed shirt, pants, or tie. It wasn’t even the way he was reading the paper, folding each page precisely to avoid any creases. It was what his son Noel had told me last night. Beadsworth gave his wife money in brown and white envelopes, and large sums of it, at that.

Where did he get that kind of money? Not as a police officer, I was sure.

I glared at him.

Maybe, Phillip, it’s because you’re a corrupt cop, taking money from drug dealers so you can live a life of luxury.

He flipped the page and in doing so glanced at me. I lowered my eyes to my toast.

Think about your wife and kids, Phillip. Wait, your wife is in cahoots with you. Where does she keep your money? Maybe, she is a victim. Yes. She has no choice but to follow you. You fiend!

He flipped the page again. “Breakfast okay?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh, yes. Just perfect.”

Yes, keep smiling, you well-dressed dictator.

He scanned the last page and placed the neatly folded paper on the table.

“Everything satisfactory yesterday?” he said. “Amy told me you came home last night looking distressed.”

Why do you care?

I said nothing.

“I’ve been made aware that Constable Barnes is now at home,” he said. “He’s doing much better. He doesn’t remember much, I’m afraid. But the force is not placing any pressure on him until he has fully recovered. If you like you can visit him.”

I nodded.

Ed Burrows stormed into the office. He was smiling from end-to-end. “We have it!” he said.

He placed a small navy-blue tray with a dozen square white tablets in front of her. Ms. Zee leaned over to pick one up when Burrows stopped her.

“Not with your fingers,” he said, handing her a small instrument that looked like a tweezer.

She plucked one up and brought it close to her. Her hand trembled at the thought of finally holding Nex.

Burrows spoke, “This is our finest batch. The ingredients acted positively to the process. I feel we should have compliance.” Ms. Zee knew that meant the drug would give the result they required. “But we do need to test it. Until then we cannot be one-hundred percent certain.” What that meant was they needed a guinea pig, someone who would voluntarily or-involuntarily-test the drug.

She thought about Joey. With a little persistence he would have been popping down the tablets like M amp;Ms. But he was no longer available. It then suddenly dawned on her, Regent Park.

“I’ll send Martin,” she said. “No-wait. I’ll go.” She wanted to personally see Marcus’ face when he saw she had the drug.

In Thorncliffe Park searching for a parking place, I wished I had my parking enforcement cruiser. I could have parked anywhere.

A purplish van exited a spot and I immediately took it. I went up the elevators to the fifteenth floor. I found Barnes’ apartment and knocked.

A pretty girl, in her early twenties, answered the door.

“Hi,” I said. “My name is Jon Rupret…”

“Yes, Michael mentioned you were coming,” she said. “Come in.”

I went in and the smell of something cooking penetrated my nostrils.

“Michael is in the bedroom.” She led me down the hall and into the room.

I found Michael Barnes propped up in bed watching TV. He looked up and a smile crossed his face.

“Hey, man,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“Better than you,” I said.