On the drive home, I thought about Larretta and Anthony and the gangs, and what the odds were that I’d be able to convince Anthony to leave the Links. More to the point, why would I even try? Well, Larretta, for one. I’d liked her in 9th grade, and I liked her now. As for Anthony, somewhere behind the tough-guy facade and the profanity, I thought I’d seen just a glimmer of, what, maybe a challenge, as though he were saying, You think you can help me get outta the gang, well, then do it. And after all, I wasn’t working on anything else at the moment. In fact, the pet shop case had been the most recent of several jobs in a row that I’d managed to successfully conclude and, amazingly enough, actually been paid for. So I was in a position to keep the wolves from the door for a while and I had some free time. Why not see what I could do for old Anthony. Man never stands so tall as when he stoops to help a child, right?
* * *
By seven the next morning, I was up and running, and by eight-thirty I was at Starbucks, freshly showered and cleanly shaved and getting outside of a cranberry scone. Two, actually, since I figured I needed the extra calories to help with the emotional healing from the riot on Monday. Hey, it’s a theory.
Irv wasn’t around, so I had some time to further sharpen my powers of observation. In particular, I observed that one young mother who came in with her infant son seemed to have recovered nicely from the birthing process and had decided to celebrate that fact by wearing what appeared to be an all-spandex outfit. Closer inspection led me to conclude that opting for a sartorial celebration had been a wise choice on her part.
At a little after nine, I called police headquarters downtown and asked the operator there to connect me to Detective Wilcox’s office, and when Denny answered, I went into my dead-on impersonation of Tom Brokaw.
“Good morning, Detective,” I said. “I’m calling to get your opinion of the mayor’s recent statements regarding proper police attire. Specifically, I’d like to get your take on his suggestion that all detectives be required to wear department-issued one-hundred-percent polyester suits or sports jackets while on duty.”
Denny, who wears custom-made suits that cost more than some of the cars I’ve owned, chuckled and said, “JB, that is without a doubt the worst Diane Sawyer I have ever heard.”
“Jeez, Denny,” I said, “at least get the gender right.”
“What’s that computer expression?” he asked. “Garbage in, garbage out? Gotta give me something better to work with, son. And speaking of work, some of us have it to do, so what’s up?”
“I need to talk with someone who can tell me about the gang situation in the city, especially Lincoln Avenue and the Wingate Projects.”
“Paris Soloman,” said Denny. “Head of the anti-gang unit. What’s your interest, JB?”
“I was at Franklin yesterday during the riot.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, just a little bump on the head. The son of a former student of mine is in the Links. Kid’s mother asked me to see what I could do about helping the boy get out of the gang.”
There was a pause before Denny responded.
“Doesn’t usually work that way, JB.”
“I know,” I said. “Hell, I’m not even sure the kid wants out, but there’s a chance he does, and anyway, his mom can still quote lines from when I taught her Romeo and Juliet.”
“Uh-huh,” said Denny. “I’m just guessing here, mind you, but would this be one of those pro bono things?”
“C’mon, Denny, she got the quote exactly right.”
“Oh, well,” he said, “that’s different.”
“How do I contact Paris Soloman?”
“I’ll give him your number, ask him to call you. Meanwhile, I made reservations for seven o’clock this Saturday.”
Although I’d been seeing Laura for six months, Denny hadn’t met her yet. Last spring, when Laura and I first started dating, we mostly spent our time together alone, getting to know each other, and over the summer, Denny had been in Italy on a long vacation, and then he’d gotten involved in a triple-homicide case as soon as he returned. With September being the first month of school and, therefore, Laura’s busiest time of the year, she and I had hardly seen each other the past few weeks, let alone other people. But all three of us were free this Saturday.
“We’ll be there, Denny. Laura’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“Ditto that,” he said. “I’ll give Paris a call, JB.”
“Thanks, Denny,” I said.
“No problem, Diane,” he said, and I could hear the echoes of his laughter as he hung up.
Chapter 15
One of the advantages of my line of work is that I’m sometimes free during what generally constitutes the normal workday for most people. I can use that time to go to the dry cleaner, the grocery store, the car repair shop, or, as was the case the morning after my conversation with Denny, the YMCA. Ordinarily, I don’t take my phone into the gym with me. It’s a nuisance carting the thing from station to station on the Nautilus circuit, and there’s always the possibility of it being misplaced or damaged or something. Okay, maybe there’s another reason, too. Carrying your
