“I take umbrage at that, JB,” he said. “Physical appearance doesn’t enter into my selection process. And to prove my point, might I direct your attention to the gentleman working the counter this morning?”
I’d forgotten about Big Tony, all three-hundred-and-twenty pounds of him. He was taking classes at a community college in order to get his GPA high enough to enroll at Pitt and try to earn a spot on the Panthers’ offensive line. Tony was an okay-looking guy, especially if you’re into the super-extra-large scene, but he pretty much destroyed my theory about Irv’s prerequisites for anyone he hired to make and serve double espressos. But before I could apologize, my phone rang. It was Denny.
“Where you be, lad?” he said.
“Lad be at Starbucks,” I said. “And I thought we decided to speak ghetto only on Tuesdays.”
That brought a little chuckle from Denny. Then he said, “Have another latte and keep an eye out for me. I’ll pick you up in about half an hour. Oh, by the way, JB, call that lawyer buddy of yours. Have him meet us at Number 5.”
“Have I done something rash?” I asked.
Another chuckle.
“Depends on who’s asking. I think you’ve been reasonably well-behaved lately, but ADA Waggoner, well, he’d like to talk to you about a murder.”
* * *
“T-Man, I assume.”
We were in Denny’s Beemer, on our way to Number 5.
“Yep,” said Denny. “Soon as Phil found out about that confrontation at your place last week, he decided it was absolutely necessary that he have your sorry ass hauled in for questioning.”
“Phil wants to question my ass?”
A third chuckle from Denny. I was on a roll.
“Actually,” he said, “as we speak, two of our city’s finest are at your townhome. They be the ones assigned the roles of ass-haulers in today’s production.”
“And you know all this because . . .?”
“Because Sergeant Kowalski called Paris ‘bout an hour ago, told him what Phil was planning. Kowalski feels bad about how everything went when you took Anthony in to give his statement. Plus, Kowalski’s not Phil’s biggest fan.”
I thought about things for a minute.
“Why the hard-on for me?” I asked.
“’Cause Phil’s an equal opportunity asshole,” said Denny. “He had the Links and the Gates do a perp walk at Number 5 last week to show how tough he is on gangs. Now he wants to use you to show he’s tough on the white folk, too.”
“But I’m so lovable,” I said.
Denny grinned and said, “Yeah, let’s go with the lovability defense when Phil breaks out the thumbscrews.”
When we got to the police station, there were news crews from at least three local TV stations standing around out front, along with ADA Waggoner. Denny had me scrunch down a little as he drove around to the same side entrance Anthony and I had used the week before. As soon as we got out of the car, the door opened and Sergeant Kowalski stepped out and motioned for us to follow him.
“Philly boy’s got a room set up for the big interrogation,” he said, as we followed him upstairs.
“I appreciate the heads-up, Sergeant,” said Denny.
Kowalski nodded in my direction and said, “Your buddy seems like an okay guy, Detective, but mostly I was trying to do a solid for Paris Soloman. Plus, I flat out don’t like ADA Waggoner. Always seems to be around when it’s time to take credit for the hard work of others.”
We were in a small second-floor room by now, empty except for a table and three chairs. The Sergeant said he’d wander downstairs and inform the ADA that we were all waiting for him. As he left, he passed Jason Dean coming into the room.
Jason and Denny had met before, and they nodded hello to each other as Jason sat down next to me at the table. Denny was leaning up against the wall across from us.
“I left a message at your office less than an hour ago,” I said. “What were you doing, hanging around out front trying to pick up some business?”
Jason unbuttoned his suitcoat and grinned at me.
“Actually,” he said, “I was wrapping up some business with a client in Oakland when I got the message, so I thought I’d toddle on over here, what with Phil being involved and all.
I looked at him.
“This personal between you and Phil?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “’Bout six months ago, I took on a pro bono case, a sixteen-year-old kid arrested in a robbery at a convenience store. Kid had no record, got good grades at school, perfect attendance, etc. Swore he was shootin’ hoops by himself when the robbery went down.”
Jason took a sip of the coffee he’d carried in with him, grimaced, then took another sip.
“Problem was,” he continued, “the other kid the cops arrested named my client as his partner. So when we go to the arraignment, I got next to nothing to work with, and ADA Waggoner, handling the case all by his very own self, argues for no bail, says this kid is a threat to the community, which was bullshit, but the judge goes for it, and she sends my guy to Shuman to await trial.”
Jason finished his coffee, crumpled up the paper cup, and then casually threw it into the wastebasket in the far corner of the room. Denny raised an appreciative eyebrow.
“Yeah,” said Jason, “but never in an actual game. Anyway, the next day, my client is suddenly released
