13. Paths Cross

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

It was lunchtime when Sgt. Brillo received the warrant that enabled the Lottery to release the name attached to the million dollar ticket; a ticket the police now believe was wagered by Leslie Marionette and stolen by somebody else, at the cost of Leslie’s life.

A few taps of the keyboard retrieved the name and address and license picture of one Lucielle Pacheco, 21-years-old, graduated from Worthboro High three years ago. Clean record.

The police were unable to retrieve anything else.

“Shit,” one of the officers said. “She doesn’t even have a parking ticket.”

Brillo snapped, “Lucielle Pacheco didn’t murder Leslie Marionette.”

The Sergeant had two detectives and four patrol officers immediately at his disposal. They gathered in the squad room and Brillo didn’t waste time.

“I want three cars, two officers in each. Unmarked vehicles, no uniforms. This guy is a killer; he’s either at the Pacheco address or close by. We don’t want to spook him.”

“The property’s on a corner; three floors and multiple units,” a detective said.

“Keep your eyes on the building as much as possible, but don’t go inside. Stay out of sight until I get us more bodies. Cover the main points of egress. Watch everyone going in and out. If anyone looks suspicious, tail them and find out who they are—but only if your gut says so.

“If Lucielle Pacheco leaves, one or two cars stay on her, but one car is always on the property. Everybody stays in touch.”

In the meantime, Brillo would reach out to the State Police for extra officers.

Any moment, the DA would produce the warrant to search the premises of Lucielle Pacheco.

Brillo intended to put the entire westside in a vice when it happened.

***

That morning with Jimmy at the paper, Kevin relaxed at home, attached to his gaming chair, transcribing notes from his time at the Marionette’s.

Leslie was a friend for over 20 years. The mother of Jonny Marionette, the fireballing Major Leaguer who someday might end up in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

And now her grandchildren were friends with his children.

But she was so much more: Leslie brought sunshine no matter the weather.

And motherhood?

The most important job in the universe?

An A+.

How do you put all of that into a story?

Kevin finished a detailed outline so he could give Lori the heads up on spacing and extra time to assemble the best photographic art to go with it.

Took a break, pleased to see that deadline passed. Today, unfortunately, wasn’t a day to welcome the girls home from school so he hopped in the GTO for the quick drive to the newsroom.

Lori, its lone occupant, bellowed, “Kev-meister,” when he rounded the corner coffee machine.

Grabbed a freshly printed copy of the day’s paper and went to the sports desk.

Sat down and asked, “Anything exciting?”

“Just more west end nonsense.”

Lori remained consumed with whatever was on her monitor and Kevin began unfolding the paper.

Noted that Chip’s police report was in the lower, right corner of page one.

The police log typically ran at the top of page two, unless something out of the ordinary happened.

The headline read: Body Found Outside West End Apartment Identified.

When Kevin got to the second paragraph he rose to a standing position and snapped, “Holy shit!”

Startled, Lori whipped her head around. “What up amigo?”

Kevin bent down and quickly scanned the article and said, “Oscar Pinera. The body that was found this morning?”

Lori swiveled her chair to give full attention. “Yes?”

“I was trying to talk to that guy last night. About a possible connection to the death of Leslie Marionette.”

Lori’s mouth formed a perfect O.

Kevin moved around the desk. “Where’s Chip?”

“He took off. Want me to call his cell? Or call the station?”

Kevin, already hustling away, stopped and gestured with his hands as though to apologize for explaining things in a hurry.

“Both. Call Chip and tell him what I just said. And update Brillo, if you can get hold of him. Brillo definitely needs to know that Oscar Pinera was involved. Somehow. He works at the lottery. I’m going to talk to his former girlfriend again. That’s where I was last night.”

Lori, looking worried, called after him, “I’ll keep trying until I get him.”

Kevin, shouting as he passed the coffee machine, “Just make sure that somebody gets this to Brillo.”

***

The nylon, zippered envelope with the $100,000 stack fit nicely into the satchel that Rico suggested bringing.

Freaking guy thought of everything.

That morning, Luci didn’t have to get up early, but woke when Rico rose at dawn.

He told her to go back to sleep, that he had work stuff—he was always doing work stuff—and she blurted the first thing that came to mind, “What should I wear to the bank?”

Most of the people in Luci’s neighborhood didn’t have bank accounts; they relied on debit cards and ATMs.

If anyone happened to have a check that needed cashing? Cash it at the pawn shop, for a fee of course.

Luci had a real bank account now, having moved up in the world since meeting Rico.

He told her, “Chica, it doesn't matter what you wear to the bank. Just go casual, like you’ve done this before.” Pointed at the satchel, adding, “They’re gonna give you a chunk of money the size of a brick. You don’t wanna jam that into your little purse so bring the bag.”

Kissed her and patted her butt cheek and said he would see her later, when she got back from the bank.

After an agonizingly long morning, at quarter to one, Luci pulled her lush hair into a ponytail, pulled on jeans and sneakers and a sweatshirt and eagerly jumped into the Corolla to make the quick drive to the bank downtown.

A cool, older lady wearing a snazzy maroon business suit led her to a room separate from the normal bank area where the tellers were, a private room where a smiling man (also in a sharp looking suit!) was holding, “a bundle of hundreds”, Bank Lady told her.

The bundle was 10 straps of 100 bills each, and about the size of a brick. A surprisingly solid brick.

Luci was obligated to count at least one of the straps and sign some papers as Bank Lady observed.

And just like that it was done.

Bank Lady reassembled the bundle, which went into the zippered envelope, which went into the satchel, which went over Luci’s shoulder.

Grinning ear to ear as she exited the bank, thinking maybe this is what it felt like to be a movie star.

Put some extra hip action into the walk to the corolla.

Luci pulled out of the bank lot and headed west on Main, oblivious to the police officers following in unmarked vehicles.

Henry, on the other hand, had been observing the officers since they followed Luci into the bank parking lot, where he was already waiting.

***

Rico was quite the guy.

Had a sweet, beautiful girlfriend. Friends and acquaintances. Respect.

He had become a genuine, positive force in the world. Probably fit right in with Luke and Leia and the rebellion.

Henry from Poughkeepsie, on the other hand?

Dark side of the force.

But that was the way it had to be, Henry learned at a young age, navigating life’s precarious path.

Last night Oscar had called Rico, begging him to go to The House. Said that if he didn’t get drunk and talk to someone, he was going to freak.

Rico, always ready, always willing, said he would swing by in 10 minutes.

Because Rico drove, Oscar wasted no time getting wasted.

Told Rico that he finally told Carla about his sexuality.

Rico, the wise, older friend, offered sympathy and support.

Oscar bemoaned his predicament, telling Rico how much he valued his friendship. Told him he was the guy, for whatever reason, who gave him the confidence to be himself.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Rico said.

“No man,” Oscar told him. “It’s like. I don’t know. But not in a bad way. It’s like you don’t give a shit about anything. You’re cool. And … you don’t allow the bullshit to sidetrack you. You just like to laugh and have a good time. Like me.”

“Besides.” He gestured at the near empty House, only a few couples finishing pizza, “You’re the one here. With me now. No one else.”

“Where’s Carla?”

“She went to Kendra’s. Her comrade in tears.”

“You gonna be okay? By yourself?”

“I’ll be fine,” Oscar said, eyes droopy. “Carla has to work in the morning. Maybe I’ll see her then.”

Shook his head. “Nother thing I gotta do in the morning. Weird man. Before she took off, Carla said this newspaper guy came looking for me. Was really insistent about talking to me. Said he’d been at the lottery and wanted me to call him.”

Rico, in the process of raising his beer, froze.

Oscar looked at Rico, staring back.

“The newspaper?”

“She said he was really tall.”

“Like the Chronicle paper?”

“Yeah.”

“But you didn’t talk to him?”

“No man, it was before I got home.” He pulled out Kevin’s business card.

Rico set his beer down and took the card.

“She told me he wants me to call him as soon as possible. Fuck, man. Like I said, that’s gonna wait till tomorrow. I’m properly hammered. My eternal thanks for holding my pitiful hand on the path to drunkeness.”

Rico studied the card; looked up and studied Oscar, the low light concealing the changes: jawline tensing, eyes taking a more hardened look.

“Bro,” he said, “Let’s do some shots. Talk some more. I’ll make sure you sleep like a baby tonight.”

It was after midnight that Rico dropped off Oscar, who stumbled to the back of the big house and dragged himself up the metal stairway.

Went inside and took a heroically long piss and returned to the kitchen.

Softly singing: “Drunk food, drunk food, Oscar needs some drunk food!”

Opened the fridge and there was a tap at the door.

Rico, peeking through the door window, motioning for him to come outside.

***

Henry had no choice but to assume the newspaper guy had linked the old lady to the ticket.

Should have been impossible, but.

Any other reason for the newspaper guy looking for Oscar was too easy—not gonna fall down that rabbit hole.

Lazy thinking got you killed or caught.

Henry from Poughkeepsie was always logical.

And, always, assumed the worst.

Maybe there was a piece of evidence that either he or Oscar had overlooked and the newspaper guy somehow linked the old lady to the ticket and by going to the lottery, found Oscar.

Inevitably, that would lead to Rico.

Henry’s plans were kaput.

Because of a fucking newspaper reporter!

But the newspaper guy was still trying to find Oscar.

Which meant he probably didn’t know about Luci’s claim on the ticket.

After dropping Oscar off, Henry parked a few blocks away.

Returned on foot, sneaking across the lawn on the side of the house that had no lighting.

Looked past the corner of the house.

A lone lamp at the top of the staircase.

Light barely made it through all the black iron.

The windows to the doors on the first and second floor apartments were smooth obsidian, ground level pitch black.

Henry was but a shadow moving up the stairs.

Peeked through the door and saw Oscar staring into the light of the refrigerator.

Tapped on the window and waved at him to come outside.

Oscar opened the door and stepped onto the landing.

Rico, with a finger across his lips, stepped back, motioning to follow.

Oscar, feeling drunkenly game for whatever, followed, a silly smile on his face.

Rico looked different somehow, but Oscar didn’t care.

Goddamn!

That man was so freaking handsome!

Thus, it was like a dream when Rico pulled Oscar next to the railing, looked him in the eye and bent his head slowly.

Oscar, stunned when Rico’s lips touched his.

Closed his eyes and made a soft sound.

Felt an electric kind of joy.

Rico moved smoothly and swiftly, one hand cupping Oscar’s butt and lifting, the other hand circling his neck to grasp the shoulder, spinning him, pushing with a knee to send Oscar sailing over the railing, almost gracefully, headfirst.

Oscar felt he was … floating?

Falling?

The little guy was never quite sure, still frozen in that perfect moment where a simple kiss brought such happiness.

Then everything went black.

***

Kevin parked on the street where Carla and Oscar had lived together and hurried down the walkway past the hostas to where yellow police tape sectioned off the cement landing at the base of the metal staircase.

The police left the stairs accessible for the upstairs apartments.

Took his time climbing to the third floor, wondering what he hoped to accomplish.

The landing was smaller than he remembered. Six feet by eight feet.

Stepped to the railing and looked down. Said softly, “About 30 feet.”

Recalled reading something about falls becoming nearly 100-percent fatal over 25 feet.

Wondered if Oscar Pinero felt anything.

If he was afraid.

Chip’s article said the police reported none of the neighbors heard an altercation. No screams. Not even a raised voice. No sign of a physical struggle.

Everyone assumes he jumped, Kevin thought. Probably because of the girlfriend break-up thing.

Oscar returned sometime after he left the previous night.

And then what?

Where was the former girlfriend?

Kevin knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

Went back down the metal steps to find Carla standing at the bottom. Sneakers and a pink hoodie and jogger. The sadness was palpable.

“You’re too late.”

Kevin stopped on the last step, hand on the railing. “I know.”

Carla offered an upside down smile that would have been comical, without the sadness. “Sorry. Watched you come in. Was sitting in my car.” Gestured toward the street, adding, “Drove here a little while ago. Just to be close … ya know, in case some part of him is still around.”

Kevin nodded.

“I saw you drive up and wasn’t sure if I wanted to say anything.”

“Do you want to say something now?”

A long, ragged exhale. Emotional pain and a sore throat made her tone hoarse and harsh.

“Oh shit man, I’m just so fuckin cried out. He did this because of me. Because I freaked out on him when he came out. You saw some of the aftermath of that. I’m usually not such a bitch.”

Kevin stepped off the last step, yellow police tape fluttering.

“Is that what you told the cops?”

Carla shrugged. “Something like that. I was hysterical. I’m the one who found him. Came over first thing in the morning because I needed stuff for work.”

She leaned and her eyes went past Kevin to the area below the iron stairway. Shuddered.

“Saw him lying there. Thought he passed out, but his neck was all wrong and then I started screaming. He was so cold. Cops found me lying next to him.”

Carla shook her head. “I don’t remember that. And my girlfriends got me stoned a couple hours ago, so you can’t trust anything I say now.”

“I understand.”

When Carla looked up and saw Kevin’s kindness she let out a painful, dry-sob.

Giving her a moment, he asked, ‘So you think Oscar jumped?”

She looked surprised. Croaked, “Yeah.”

“What if he was thrown off?”

Her mouth dropped open. Closed. Swallowed. Asked, her voice cracking, “Why would you say that?”

Kevin shook his head and waited.

After a long pause and a baffled shake of her head, Carla said, “Everybody loved Oscar. Seriously. Not just me. He wasn’t a thug or involved with drugs, if that’s what this’s about.”

Gave her head another baffled shake. “Oscar is the kindest man that I know. And I know how he feels. How he thinks. He knew that he hurt me. He couldn’t live with that. Hurting someone.”

She stared at Kevin, face blank of expression.

“Think for a moment,” he said. “Was there someone from work? Someone he talked about? Someone from the lottery? Somebody new in his life? Any one person who might arouse your suspicion?”

Carla cocked her head and said, “Maybe Rico?”

“Rico?”

“Oscar and him are best pals, but I never really liked the guy, but Oscar loves him. Loved him. He showed up like … I don’t know. This winter. But they really hit it off. See, that’s what I mean. Oscar was funny. Lovable. Adorable.”

Another hoarse sob. “Should’ve known he was gay.”

Kevin asked, “You said this Rico guy recently showed up?”

Carla waved a hand as if this was something everybody knew. “Right after Christmas, I think. He probably doesn’t even know this happened yet.”

“Does Rico live around here?”

She pointed through the house behind them. “Other side of West Main. On the corner of Foster. Him and Luci.”

***

Henry spent the wee hours of the morning contemplating his next moves, lying next to Luci, who, as always, slept like a baby.

At the first hint of light, still awake, he got out of bed and Luci woke.

Told her he had work stuff to do and to go back to sleep, but she was instantly wired, due to the events of the day.

“What do I wear to the bank,” she asked.

Reminding himself to be patient, Rico said, “Chica, it doesn't matter what you wear to the bank. Just go casual, like you’ve done this before.”

She sleepily stood from the bed wearing only a t-shirt and he pointed at the satchel placed on the corner of the futon.

“They’re gonna give you a chunk of money the size of a brick. You don’t wanna jam that into your little purse so bring the bag.”

Stepped closer and kissed her, patting her ass and said, “Girl, I’m heading out. Call my cell if anything comes up. I’ll see you back here after you get the money.”

Street lamps were still glowing, but song birds were singing as Henry walked to the beater a couple blocks away.

By the time he arrived at the storage unit, Carla had discovered Oscar’s body.

Henry pulled out his safe car and replaced it with the beater, not bothering to lock the door before driving away.

Returned to Worthboro and parked next to the common, where he could see the newspaper building and the police station, conveniently side by side.

Shortly after noon, Henry drove to the bank and parked where he would be able to see Luci go in and out.

Observed the undercover cops in their undercover cop cars follow Luci into the parking area.

Watched her go into the bank and emerge triumphantly 10 minutes later.

Watched Luci get into the corolla and drive off, the cops following.

Henry followed them all back westside.

Circling the block, he identified another cop car on Foster, obviously watching the main entrance of the building.

Three, unmarked cop cars in all. From the looks of them, local guys.

So, they had connected the ticket to the old woman and now the ticket to Luci.

Henry contemplated.

Concluded that he should leave.

Nah.

A hundred grand of clean cash was worth a little effort.

Called Luci on her cell and knew from her squeal of excitement that she had no clue what was going on outside the building.

“Chica, have you had any visitors?”

“Nobody here but me baby.”

“Nobody there with you now?”

“Hell no, I’m waitin’ for you to get your sweet ass back here.”

“You got the money?”

“I’m gonna spread it all over the bed and roll around in it if you don't get home fast enough.”

“No, don't do that. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Henry considered getting a lady disguise out of the plastic bin in the trunk, but figured no need. He already had the perfect advantage, knowing where the cops were.

He could navigate this neighborhood blindfolded now.

Parked several streets away and jogged down the street parallel to Main.

Stayed on the sidewalk until the corner of Foster loomed 50 yards ahead and cut across a series of sunless backyards with moldy cement patios; followed a rotted wood fence to a patch of lifeless black dirt with a rickety picnic table where the juicers sat with brown bags.

Said howdy and strolled across a litter-strewn yard to the tenement where he lived with Luci, approaching the corner of the building opposite of where Foster intersected with Main, an approach that Henry (and the juicers) knew that no one could see from the street.

Went down the narrow alley to a hidden back door and climbed to the second floor.

Let himself inside and Luci was all over him, pulling him by the arm toward the bedroom.

Stopped when he resisted.

Rico never resisted.

Henry pointed at the couch across from the TV.

“Sit down,” he said. “You need to pay attention. In 60 seconds, I’m leaving with the money and you will never see me again.”

Stunned into silence, Luci sat.

Henry talked.

Once finished, he asked Luci if she understood what he told her and she managed a nod.

Henry then asked Luci one more question.

After she answered, he stepped to the kitchen counter and grabbed the money brick.

Went back to Luci, staring up at him with tears streaming down her face.

Bent to kiss her on the forehead and said, “Rico loves you.”

***

Henry left the building the same way he had gone in.

Found the safe car and circled back to Main.

Drove slowly past the cops, hand hung lazily over the steering wheel, staring straight ahead with a bored expression.

He didn’t get a second glance.

Take profits when you can, Pop liked to say.

Maximize your investment, of course, but too much greed begets bad decisions.

Luci got to keep the rest of the money.

Henry had a hundred grand in cash and more than twice that in fine jewelry. Eventually, he would circle back and make that final deal with The Jew.

In the meantime, and most importantly, Henry would leave Worthboro the same way he arrived: as a ghost.

Simply disappear.

But!

There would be a final performance.

And for his final act, Henry from Poughkeepsie wasn’t going to heed Pop’s wisdom.

This was personal.

Somebody had to pay for fucking up his plans.

Henry drove slowly past Kevin, who was approaching in the other lane to take a left onto Foster Street.

Both preoccupied, neither driver looked over to see the other.

Perhaps, if one could omnisciently meander along the pathways of thought, they would find the mechanisms that Henry and Kevin used to approach life’s most difficult hurdles would be eerily similar, their conclusions though, would be different.

Nature and nurture and that nebulous region where the symmetry of human life blurs.

Henry and Kevin were not meant to meet physically, but were now joined in another, more intimate way.

Two grandmasters momentarily set across life’s chess board, linked in combat, but never reaching out to touch the other.

Soon, Kevin would realize that he and Henry might have reached out from their cars and slapped hands; but alas, so many of life’s triumphs and tragedies end this way.

So close!

But yet, so far!

Henry remained a storm on the loose and the carnage he would wrought upon Worthboro was not over.

He continued down Main and into the center of town and past the common and into the eastern half of Worthboro, where he found Locust Street and began checking houses.

That pretty TV lady had asked the tall newspaper guy about the nice little yellow cape on Locust Street.

Henry found the nondescript, yellow house with an attached, two-car garage and saw that the backyard extended a good length, the surrounding properties conjoined by narrow sections of trees and landscaping.

Studied the house as he drove past.

Appeared empty.

Several houses beyond the presumed home of the newspaper guy was a right turn and Henry took it, the road curling inward, back behind the target property.

A copse of trees offered a convenient place to pull over.

Henry followed a rock wall that led to a treeline between properties until he could see the yellow of the cape.

A thick wall of dwarf pines between the adjoining properties was perfect cover and Henry crept unseen across the Dell’s backyard.

***

Scott Przyzycki was one of the police officers sitting in the unmarked car on Foster Street.

Scott graduated from Worthboro High with Jonny Marionette and was a solid, starting right fielder on the team that rode Jonny’s coattails to an undefeated state championship their senior year.

Observed Kevin crossing the road.

“Hey, isn’t that the newspaper guy? Kevin? Kevin Dell.”

His partner, watching the other direction, turned. “Shit! What the hell is he doing here? Sarge is gonna shit.”

“No shit,” Scott said, “he’s probably heading this way with the Staties right now. I’m gonna radio him anyway.”

***

Kevin turned left onto Foster Street.

Parked on the curb and hustled across the street as the police officers watched.

Entered the large, three-floor tenement through the main entrance and went up a flight of stairs and located the apartment number Carla had given him and knocked on the door.

Luci, barefoot, in jeans and a sweatshirt, yanked the door inward and stepped out, desperate that Kevin was someone else.

Stared up at him. Messy hair. Swollen, red eyes.

Thrown off by her appearance, Kevin blurted, “Hi, I’m looking for Rico.”

Luci looked down. Used her big toe as though to test the friction of the worn carpeting. Looked up again, embarrassed and angry.

“You must be the tall one.”

Kevin’s first thought was, I shouldn’t be here alone!

Suddenly afraid that this Rico person—a cold blooded killer!—might actually be here, he warily said, “My name is Kevin Dell. I work for the Worthboro Chronicle. What do you mean by that, the tall one?”

Luci gave him an angry look.

“He split on me, cuzza you. Said people were after him. The newspaper. A tall one and a short one, he said. And now the cops. First his family and now you people. Can’t just leave him alone, can you?”

Baffled and nervous, Kevin couldn’t think of anything to say and grew more fearful as Luci continued.

“He said you fucked up his plans. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry before. It was like he was a different person.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Luci stared and didn’t answer.

“He was just here, this Rico?”

Trying to act like she didn’t care, Luci was crumbling apart on the inside; yet, despite how badly Rico had just hurt her, she still wanted to protect him. Reluctantly she said, “Like, just a minute ago.”

Kevin gestured at the open door, “Do you mind?” Luci didn’t protest and he entered the apartment.

A studio. Probably listed as three rooms, but really two.

A bar divided the combined kitchen and living area, with a door to another room, half open to show an unmade futon.

A door off the kitchen area was wide open to show an empty bathroom.

Modest. Simple.

But the TV sitting across from the couch was large and had a flat screen and on the counter of the bar that separated the kitchen area from the living area was a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.

Kevin said, “Rico, huh? He’s friends with Oscar, right?”

Luci, who had trailed Kevin inside, looked up at him for the first time with interest. “What about Oscar?”

Figuring he found a soft spot, Kevin saved it.

Having hypothesized that Rico, with the aid of Oscar Pinero, had somehow figured out how to rob the winning lottery ticket played by Leslie Marionette, he made a calculated leap and asked, “Luci, how’d Rico end up with a winning lottery ticket?”

Luci expected the winnings to come up and didn’t act either surprised or bewildered, as Kevin hoped; instead, crossed her arms and gave him a withering look.

Worried that she might be part of the nefarious activities, Kevin shrugged and offered a weak, “What?”

Luci snapped, “What this’s really about? Right? The money? Right. Someone from his family wants his money. So they hired you or contacted you or some other bullshit. Can’t just leave him alone, can you?”

Nope, not part of it, Kevin realized. This Rico has her believing some other crazy story.

Ignoring the quandary of her answer, he asked, “So you do know about the million dollar ticket. Can you at least tell me what store he bought the ticket from? Rico, that is. Did he at least tell you that? The store?”

“Why? Is the family gonna try to take my money?”

Shit!

Realizing Luci had to be the person who Rico convinced to claim the ticket for him, Kevin said, “No, I don’t think they can. And I don’t think you’re in trouble, unless you protect this guy.”

“What do you mean? He didn’t do anything wrong! Rico’s a fuckin saint considering how he grew up. Why I shouldn’t be helping y’all chase after him.”

She stared up at him, defiant.

Kevin eyed Luci for a heartbeat. Her arms were crossed, but her shoulders had drooped.

She was angry.

She had been crying.

Rico, apparently her boyfriend, just split on her. Only hours after he likely killed Oscar Pinero and only a day or two after the lottery winnings had been transferred to … Luci?

Though Kevin would insist that humans aren’t born with real instincts, he would readily admit that his instincts told him Luci had no idea what her boyfriend was up to.

“Rico lived here, with you?”

Luci looked at Kevin differently, a level of realization having finally sunk in. Rico and all of his mysterious comings and goings. She nodded. Then softly, “What did he do?”

“Right. I want you to think about something. Okay? Just hear me out.”

Luci nodded again.

“A woman in town played specific numbers week after week, month after month. And those numbers she played were the winning numbers of the ticket that you—if it wasn’t you, then somebody else Rico knows—cashed in. Unfortunately. We know that.”

“What does that even mean?”

“That woman was murdered in her home.”

“Whatchoo saying?”

“Oscar Pinero works at the Lottery. And he was friends with Rico and now he’s dead and everyone’s—

Luci cried, “Oscar’s dead!?”

—thinking suicide.”

Kevin rightly anticipated the news of Oscar would hit hard, but Luci was reeling.

Regretting his tone, he said harshly, to snap her out of the spiral, “Oscar Pinero died last night, Luci. Everyone thinks suicide. But tell me, did Oscar strike you as the type of guy to dive off a three story metal stairway to land on his head?”

Luci, her voice barely a squeak, “Oscar’s really dead?”

Kevin nodded.

She brought a hand to her mouth.

“He was found this morning. At his place. Leaped off a three-story staircase onto cement. Unless he was thrown off.”

A sound full of emotional pain and Luci took her hand from her mouth crying, “Oh my God is Carla okay?”

“Carla’s fine. Unharmed. Physically at least. Where did Rico say he got the ticket?”

Like a moan, “Mario’s.”

Luci’s vision began to blur and she reached out, thinking she was going to faint; Kevin, grabbing her by the wrists and steadying her.

“Leslie Marionette, the woman who was killed, was a regular at Mario’s. And she always played the lottery.”

Luci yanked her hands back and stared up at Kevin, voice strained, as though she were struggling for air, “Leslie?”

“She’s dead, Luci. Murdered last week. You didn’t hear about that? And Oscar? Who worked at the lottery, died last night. Did Rico ever mention going to Mario’s, other than that day? The day he supposedly bought a ticket that happened to be a million dollar winner?”

Luci sputtered, “His job makes him drive all over. He…”—A flash of memory: the alarm went off and she was barely awake and stumbled out of bed to take a shower because she had to get to the Nook for the breakfast shift and Rico showed her a pixelated picture on his phone.

Crying out as though wounded, Luci lunged at Kevin, throwing her arms around him, clinging to the tall newspaper guy as though he were a pillar to life itself.

Planted her face against his chest and cried, “Oh no no no no.”

Putting hands gently to her shoulders, Kevin eased her away.

Looked directly into her tear-filled eyes. “Please Luci. You gotta have something. Help us to at least question him.”

“I have his cell.”

“Give it to me.”

She pulled a phone from her pocket. Flipped it open and found Rico’s number. Made whimpering noises and said the numbers.

Kevin half turned from Luci, intent on calling and relaying the number to Brillo, but paused.

Saw his reflection on the flat-screen, Luci behind him.

This Rico was a smart guy.

Brillo will need something more in case he ditches the phone before the police can get a court order to track it.

Turned to face Luci again.

Having no idea that police were camped outside and Brillo was on the way with more officers to storm the building, Kevin asked, “You said he left a few minutes ago?

Tears on her cheeks she muttered, “Yeah.”

“What kind of car?”

“I don’t know. We usually drove mine,” almost adding, but it was really his because he gave it to me.

“And you’re sure he was leaving town?”

She wiped tears away and said, “He told me that I’d never see him again. Said people were after him. Like you and now the cops. Said to enjoy the rest of the money. But told me I should invest most of it.”

Luci was stone faced, but tears continued to streak her cheeks.

“This guy,” Kevin said kindly. “He sure had an effect on people.”

Luci emitted a quick sob, like a small bark. “Rico helped me! I can’t believe he would hurt Oscar. Or anyone!”

Again close to a full-blown meltdown, she cried, “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe any of this.”

Knowing that every second was vital, but also knowing Brillo needed more than just a phone number, Kevin said, “Can you tell us anything about where he might’ve been heading?”

“No. He told me not to try and stop him. It would be bad for me if I did. That I was never going to see him again, anyway.”

The sobbing started again, but Luci stifled it long enough to add, “Actually, the last thing he did was ask if I knew where Locust Street was. Told him, you know, it’s by the high school. Over by Mario's actually, but he didn’t go to school here so....”

Luci stopped.

Stared at Kevin, having forsaken her own grief because of what she saw on his face.

Something even worse than what she was feeling.

Kevin looked at his wristwatch.

Luci asked, “Mister? What’s the matter?” Thinking, he’s gone pale as a ghost, when he said, “Not enough time.”

***

The newspaper guy had a nice backyard.

Above ground pool with a half-moon deck.

Flowers everywhere.

The house was simple though, just a cape with a garage.

At one time there had been a bulkhead to emerge from the cellar, but a cute, wooden makeover was built around it. Peaked and shingled roof. Hand-made wooden door with a half-moon top decorated by wood-carved roses. A sign, hand-painted as though by a child, hung from a rose and said: “Sara’s Hut”.

Henry put on latex gloves.

The bulkhead makeover door was held shut by a simple hook and key latch that Henry popped with a screwdriver.

Went down the steep stair to find another wooden door.

Able to use the steep bulkhead stairs as leverage, Henry put his shoulder against the lower door and pushed with his legs until the wood frame snapped and the door popped inward, metal bolt clattering on the cement floor.

Stepped into the basement, wondering, why am I here?

The air was noticeably cooler.

No lights were on, but hopper windows along the walls provide enough light to see.

Washer and dryer.

Tools hanging from wall mounted hooks.

Stacked boxes below a central wooden staircase.

Organized and neat; nothing to suggest the presence of valuables that Henry typically came looking for.

So why are you here?

Henry thought of all those articles written by supposedly smart people, saying that revenge is a waste of time.

Won’t actually make you feel better.

But Oscar.

Henry shouldn’t have had to do that. The newspaper guy forced it on him.

Forced him to commit an act now entombed in the same deeply buried place as Ticket-winner.

Henry silently went up the stairs.

Slowly and carefully circled the first floor to get the layout.

The same thought jackhammering: why am I here?

He stopped by the front door, next to the staircase that led to the second floor.

Henry had noted the evidence of children. Pictures. Toys.

He didn’t go up the stairs; instead, wandered into the living area, over to the curved bay window.

There came the sound of an engine revving.

Henry stepped closer to the bay window and leaned to see a school bus accelerating from a property down the road.

The bus accelerated briefly.

Began slowing.

Henry whispered, “Got to be destiny, no?”

The school bus slowed with a hiss of brakes and stopped at the end of the walkway of round pavers that bisected the squarish front lawn.

Henry watched a single, small figure move through the bus.

No way man. Don’t do this!

Henry shook his head; closed his eyes.

This had to be some kind of fucked up, deja vu thing, like the old lady.

And Oscar.

This fucking town turning things around on him.

Playing cruel jokes.

But hey, that’s what fate and luck and all that other bullshit was, right?

Life’s never-ending sequence of cruel jokes.

At least now, the newspaper guy would pay for fucking up his plans.

Henry from Poughkeepsie opened his eyes.

Focused only on what he had to do in such terrible moments.

Moved to the front door.

Pulled out the steel baton and snapped it open.

Whoever came through would never know what hit them.

Everything would simply go black.

***

Kevin knew why Rico asked Luci where Locust Street was.

Revenge.

I am the tall one, he thought. The guy who this Rico thinks screwed him out of a million dollars.

Can’t blame him for being angry. That’s a lotta money!

Shit, and he had already killed at least two people in the pursuit of it.

Kevin had imagined, too many times, how this person, this master criminal, whoever he really was, had lurked invisible, waiting for Leslie Marionette to return home.

Struck fast. Decisively. With brutal expertise.

As soon as Luci said Locust Street, Kevin urgently went to look at his watch, but his arm seemed to move too slowly, as though he were underwater.

Why have I always been so freaking slow at everything?

Cuff of his shirt.

Hairs on his forearm.

The Timex that takes a lickin and keeps on tickin!

The dial said 2:18.

His stomach turned nauseous.

School finished at 2:05 and all of the buses left the parking lot by 2:12.

Luci asked, her voice sounding far away, “Mister? What’s the matter?”

A split second and a feeling like … weightlessness.

Holy shit thank goodness!

Today is Wednesday!

Everybody is safe and sound because Sara’s last class starts at 2:00.

The girls got on bus number five that goes to Sara’s Gym.

Matter of fact, they would be arriving at the gym just about now.

Whew!

Sara would get the huge two o’clock toddler class started and leave her able assistants to finish.

She would then gather the kids and head home.

The girls wouldn’t be at the house for 35 minutes; plenty of time for Kevin to alert the police that a monster was in his home.

And he knew that Rico was there, sure as shit; waiting, just as he had at the Marionette’s.

Damn! He finally caught up to him.

Well, almost.

Kevin was again going to call Brillo, but today was June’s first big girl day.

Kai and Zee got on the bus heading to Sara’s Gym, but June took the bus heading for home, all by herself.

***

June sat on bus number seven next to Erin Marionette.

The new phone her parents let her carry at the start of the year was in her backpack and turned off, of course. (She would never leave her phone on because that was against the rules.)

Only when she got into the house would she take her phone out. (She had promised to call her Mom.)

With the big house key held tightly in her palm, she concentrated on not smiling. Didn’t want to look silly, sitting there smiling while Erin stared out the window. (She was still so sad, missing her Grammy.)

Yes, I’m really doing this all by myself, she thought.

Big girl time. (Finally.)

And as soon as she got inside?

Cut the cheese—ha ha!

Make Kai’s little cheese and Ritz sandwiches.

Next, put the bread in the toaster for Zee’s cinnamon toast.

Oh—but first!

Beyonce on the boombox.

That way, while getting the surprises ready for Kai and Zee, she could sing and dance around the kitchen, like they do in the cool parts of movies, where the soundtrack plays.

The bus pulled onto Locust Street and that’s when June couldn’t help but smile.

She was so happy.