“Detective Soloman,” I said into the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“More like what I can do for you, JB,” he replied. “You know Phillip Waggoner?”
“New ADA,” I said. “Likes to see his picture in the paper as often as possible.”
Paris chuckled and said, “Yeah, that would be our boy. Photo-op Phil.” Then, in a more serious tone, he said, “He’s handling the shooting at The Center, and since it’s been almost a week now without us solving the case, and, of course, without Phil seeing his ugly mug on the front page of The Post-Gazette, he’s getting antsy. Wants formal statements taken from all involved. Tomorrow, at Number 5.”
“At Number 5?” I said. “That’s a little unusual, isn’t it? Why not do it downtown, at the DA’s office?”
“Because,” said Paris, “Phil wants to show everyone that he’s got street creds.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “He figures he’ll look tougher making some sort of official announcement at Number 5, with all those shiny police cars as a backdrop, than he would standing in front of the City-County Building on Grant Street downtown.”
“There you go,” said Paris. “Anyway, the Gates kids are due at Number 5 at two o’clock tomorrow, the Links at four-thirty, both with police escorts.”
“Two and four-thirty,” I said. “Just in time for the evening news.”
“Yeah, what a coincidence. But listen, JB, I know you got a connection to this Anthony Warren, so why don’t you bring him in here yourself, say around three-thirty. Use the side entrance, the one away from the street, ‘case some video crew is out there getting background film for a story on this whole mess. No need for Anthony’s mother to see her boy’s face associated with some gang story on the local news, you know? I’ll set it up. Just ask for Sergeant Kowalski.”
“I appreciate the heads-up, Paris,” I said. Then, after a pause, I added, “And I hope this isn’t going to create a problem for you with the DA’s office.”
“The DA and I get along just fine, JB. And if something I do gets Phil Waggoner’s shorts in a bunch, well, that’s a good day, far as I’m concerned.”
“I like your style, Detective,” I told him as we said goodbye.
As soon as I got home, I called Larretta and told her about my conversation with Paris.
“When’s Anthony supposed to go in and talk to this district attorney?” she asked.
“It’s actually one of the assistant district attorneys,” I told her. “And Detective Soloman said Anthony should be at Number 5 at three-thirty tomorrow.”
Larretta seemed to hesitate for a minute, and then she said, “Mr. Barnes, I know I got no right to ask this, but could you take Anthony over there tomorrow? I know he don’t let on much, but I can tell he likes you. Fact, you the only man in his life lately that Anthony seems to care about at all. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Barnes, I ain’t askin’ you to be no father figure or nothing to Anthony, but I know he’ll be nervous ‘bout going to the police station and talkin’ to those people. He’d feel better if you was there.”
“Actually, Larretta,” I said, “I was going to offer to take Anthony over there anyway.”
“Hey, Mr. Barnes,” she said, “that means this was meant to be then, right? Just like that K word you used to tell us about in class, kiss something.”
“Kismet,” I told her. “Yeah, Larretta, something like that. But I don’t think I should pick Anthony up at home.”
“’Cause of T-Man?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Until we know what T-Man’s take on all this is, it’s probably better if I’m not seen around the neighborhood with Anthony.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“I ‘spose you’re right, Mr. Barnes, but this gang nonsense gotta end. Nobody named T-Man or anything else is in charge of my son.”
“I know, Larretta,” I said, “and I know it’s frustrating for you. Let’s just give it a little more time, okay? If T-Man decides Anthony can leave the Links, then this’ll all be over, at least Anthony’s part in it will be, anyway.”
There was another pause.
“I know you’re right, Mr. Barnes, and I know you’re doin’ your best to help my Anthony. I’ll tell him to come over to the Home Depot after school tomorrow. He can wait for you in the back, out by the garden center. Ain’t no gang kids or any other kids ever hangin’ around back there. You can pick him up ‘bout three-fifteen.”
I told her that would be fine, and we hung up. I knew Larretta wanted to do something, anything, to get Anthony out of the gang right now, this minute. I could only imagine how frustrating this must be for her, but I knew enough about gangs and kids and parents to understand that the best course of action at the moment was to be patient. So I was.
* * *
When Anthony and I pulled away from the Home Depot the next day, I asked him how he felt about giving a statement to the ADA. He shrugged a little too elaborately and said, “Okay, I guess. Ain’t never done it before, you know?”
I nodded.
“We’ll go in a side door and somebody’ll take us upstairs to a room. There’ll probably be a stenographer there.”
I stopped for a minute.
“You know what a stenographer is?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I see’em on Law and Order all the time. They the people who type on them funny little machines, get every word you say.”
I smiled.
“That’s pretty much it,” I agreed. “Anyway, the ADA or one of his people will ask you some questions about what you saw that night at The Center, and when they’re finished, you and I will leave.”
Anthony frowned.
“Should I be askin’ for a lawyer or somethin’?”
“I don’t think you’ll need one, but a friend of mine who’s an attorney is meeting us. He’ll be in the room while you’re giving your statement.”
“How much this lawyer charge?”
“Actually,”
