13. Paths Cross
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. I need not remind you this guy is a killer.
“I’m putting him at the Pacheco address or he’s close by. We don’t want to spook him before we find out.”
A detective added, “The Pacheco property’s on a corner; three floors and multiple units. She’s on floor two.”
Nodding, Brillo said, “Keep your eyes on the building as much as possible, but don’t go inside. Stay off the street until I get us more bodies.
“Watch the main points of egress. Watch everyone going in and out.
“The guy we’re after is young and physically capable, so if anyone looks suspicious, get the plate or tail them—but only if your gut says so.
“If Lucielle Pacheco leaves, one car stays on her, but two are on the property to keep looking for the killer—and everybody stays in touch until I get us more help!
“I’m gonna get hold of the Sheriff for some guys from the River or New Bedford. Hopefully SWAT guys if we can coral this guy.
“In the meantime, I’m waitin’ on the DA’s search warrant for Lucielle Pacheco. When that happens, I want the west side in a vice.
“This is a bad dude we’re after gentlemen, but don’t be a fuckin hero. We do this right and we get ‘em.”
***
That same morning, with Jimmy at the paper, Kevin relaxed at home in his gaming chair, transcribing notes from his day at the Marionette’s.
Leslie was a friend for over 20 years.
She was the mother of Jonny Marionette, the fireballing Major Leaguer who someday might end up in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Her grandchildren were friends with his children.
Leslie was a person who brought sunshine no matter the weather.
And motherhood?
The most important job in the universe?
An A+.
How do you put that into a newspaper 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 and was pleased to see that deadline passed and since today—unfortunately—wasn’t a day to welcome the girls home from school, he decided to hop in the GTO for the quick drive to the Chronicle.
Lori, its lone occupant, bellowed, “Kev-meister,” when Kevin rounded the corner coffee machine.
Having grabbed a freshly printed copy of the day’s paper out front, he 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, noting that Chip’s police report was in the lower, right corner of Page 1.
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 to quickly scan 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 definitely update Brillo, if you can get hold of him.
“Brillo needs to know that Oscar Pinera was involved. Somehow. He works at the lottery.
“I’m going to talk to his former girlfriend. That’s where I was last night.”
Lori, looking worried, called after him, “I’ll keep trying until I get him.”
Kevin shouted 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 to do—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; eagerly jumped in the Corolla, and made the quick drive to the bank downtown.
One of those old-time banks with the big pillars and everything cement with a marble floor.
But with an old feeling, the exterior both inside and out over a century old, while the guts if it all was modern and electric.
Luci was nervous and worried about her armpits sweating.
She waited at the special teller window until a classy, older lady wearing a snazzy maroon business suit came outside and led her across the big main bank room to a room separate from the normal area, 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.
About the size of a brick. A surprisingly solid brick.
Luci was obligated to count at least one of the straps and became red-faced, her fingers trembled so much.
Thankfully, it took so darn long that she calmed and was not even shaking when she signed papers as Bank Lady and Sharp-Suit Man 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 was what it was like to be a movie star, unable to resist putting 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 an unmarked vehicle.
Henry, on the other hand, had been observing the officers since Luci arrived at the bank parking lot, where he was already waiting.
***
Rico was quite the guy.
Had a sweet, beautiful girlfriend.
Friends and acquaintances.
Respect.
Rico had become a genuine, positive force in the world.
Hell, he might even fit 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.
When Oscar called Rico, begging him to go to The House to talk, Rico, always ready, always willing, said he would swing by in 10 minutes.
Because Rico drove, Oscar wasted no time getting wasted.
The two grabbed a booth of wood stained to honey, under a poster of the Red Sox piling onto home plate in St. Louis barely a year ago, slamming the door on professional sports' most legendary curse.
Rico ordered a pitcher of beer and Oscar told him 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 nothin,” Rico said.
“No man,” Oscar said, holding up a hand in protest. “It’s like. I don’t know….”
Shook his head as the hand fell to the table.
Looked at the back of his hand and said, “I mean, don’t take it wrong, but … it’s like you don’t give a shit about anything.”
Looked up at Rico, adding, “You’re just cool and you … you don’t allow the bullshit to sidetrack you.
“You just like to laugh and have a good time. Like me. Besides.” Oscar 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. Carla has to work in the morning. Maybe I’ll see her then.”
Oscar’s eyes were droopy.
Shook his head, as though to wake himself.
Rico watched and appeared concerned.
“Weird man,” Oscar said. “Another thing I gotta do in the morning.
“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 was raising the glass of beer, but his arm froze.
Stared at Oscar, who looked across the restaurant.
Rico waited.
When Oscar saw Rico staring at him intensely, his only thought was how sexy he looked.
“Who was this?”
“She said he was really tall.”
“You said he was from the newspaper?”
“Yeah.”
“Like the Chronicle paper?”
“Yeah.”
“But you didn’t talk to him?”
“No man, it was before I got home.”
Oscar leaned to the side to pull Kevin’s business card from a back pocket.
Rico set the glass down and took the card.
Oscar said, “She told me he wants me to call him as soon as possible, but fuck, man, that’s gonna wait till tomorrow. Everything’s on hold till fuckin 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.
***
Henry had no choice but to assume the newspaper guy connected the old lady to the ticket.
Fucking impossible!
But no, somehow he did it.
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.
There had to be a piece of evidence that either he or Oscar overlooked and the newspaper guy had 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 couldn’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 side of the house that had no lighting.
Looked past the vertical gutter at the back corner.
A lone lamp shone at the top of a metal staircase, light barely making it through all the black iron.
The windows to the doors on the second and first floor apartments were smooth obsidian.
Ground level was 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, 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.
Tears came with an electric kind of joy.
Henry 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 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 above 25 feet.
The physics of biology—a gravity and capillaries thing.
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 signs of a physical struggle.
Everyone assumes he jumped, Kevin thought.
Probably because of the girlfriend break-up thing.
Oscar returned here sometime after he left the previous night.
And then what?
Where was the former girlfriend?
Kevin knocked, but there was no answer.
Went back down the metal steps to find Carla at the bottom.
Sneakers.
Pink hoodie and jogger.
The face peeking out from the hoodie was pale, the sadness palpable.
Softly, she said, “You’re too late.”
Kevin stopped on the last step, hand on the railing. “I know.”
Carla pushed off the hoodie, hair plastered to her head like she’d just pulled up from the pillow.
Offered Kevin an upside down smile that would have been comical, without the sadness.
“Sorry. Watched you come in. Was sitting in my friend’s car.”
Gestured with a sleeve, her hand and fingers tucked inside, indicating the street.
“We drove here a little while ago. Wanted to be close … ya know, in case some part of him was still around.”
Kevin nodded.
“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. I’m so afraid 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.
He saw another young lady, similarly dressed at the end of the walkway and waved, figuring she was a friend and the driver.
The young lady waved back.
Her body language was also sad.
Kevin looked at Carla and asked, “Is that what you told the cops?”
“Something like that. I was hysterical, man. I mean, 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 look of empathy, she let out a painful, dry-sob.
Giving her a moment, he asked, “So you think Oscar jumped?”
Looking surprised, she croaked, “Yeah.”
“What if someone threw him off?”
Carla’s mouth dropped open. Closed.
Her voice cracked when she said, “Why would you say that?”
Kevin shook his head and waited.
After a long pause and a baffled shake, Carla swallowed and said, “Everybody loved Oscar. Seriously. Not just me. He wasn’t a thug or involved with drugs, if that’s what this’s about.”
Carla gave another baffled shake and said, her voice rising, “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.
“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 see, they really hit it off. That was Oscar, know what I mean. Oscar was funny. Lovable. Adorable.”
Another hoarse sob.
“Guess I 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.
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.”
Rico stepped close and kissed her 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 city 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 the 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 car 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 two more cop cars, one on Main, one on Foster, obviously watching the main entrances to 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 parked a few blocks away and contemplated.
Quickly concluded that he should leave.
Nah.
A hundred grand of clean cash was worth a little effort.
He called Luci on her cell and knew from the 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. Why would you ask that?”
“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 was a ghost and could navigate this neighborhood blindfolded.
And most importantly, he knew where the cops were.
Driving another few streets away, Henry parked and got out of the car wearing a baseball hat, sunglasses and a gray sweat suit.
Jogged down the street parallel to Main.
Stayed on the sidewalk until the corner of Foster loomed 100 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 their 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 by both his words and demeanor, Luci sat.
Henry talked.
Once finished, he asked Luci if she understood what he said and she managed a nod.
Henry then asked Luci one more question.
Once she answered, he stepped to the kitchen counter and grabbed the money brick.
Went to Luci one last time, still seated on the couch, 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 went 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.
Not a bad investment, this town.
Actually, spectacular.
Eventually, he would circle back and make that final deal with The Jew.
Maybe even check in on Luci again and … Who knows?
In the meantime, and most importantly, Henry would leave Worthboro the same way he arrived: as a ghost.
Simply disappear.
But first?
A final performance.
And for his final act, Henry from Poughkeepsie wasn’t going to heed Pop’s wisdom.
Oh no, this was personal.
Somebody had to pay for fucking up his plans.
Henry drove slowly past Kevin as he approached 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 speed of calculation that Henry and Kevin had been blessed with would be eerily equal, 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 Henry took a right turn, the road curling inward, back behind the target.
A copse of trees offered a convenient place to pull over.
Henry followed a rock wall that led through a treeline to where 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 an 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 Swatties 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.
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 initial thought was, Oh shit!
Then: 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 did you mean by that, the tall one?”
Luci gave him an angry look.
“He split on me, cuzza you.”
She pointed a finger at him and then waved in a vague direction.
“Said people were after him, like you!”
The finger pointed at Kevin’s chest again.
“Said the newspaper was. After him. 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, Kevin couldn’t think of anything to say and grew more fearful as Luci continued with another hand wave and a finger point.
And of course, being a heterosexual male Kevin had the momentary distraction of noticing that she was wearing nothing beneath a rather skimpy t-shirt and that she was … Curvy.
Scoldingly (and still pointing a finger), Luci said, “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.”
Kevin managed to interject, “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 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.
Barely more than 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 second 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?”
He spun to see Luci trailed him inside.
She looked 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, she crossed arms across ample breasts and gave him a withering look.
Worried that she was part of the nefarious activities, Kevin shrugged and offered a weak, “What?”
Luci snapped, “Right mister. 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 said, “So you do know about the million dollar ticket. Can you at least tell me what store he bought the ticket from? Did he at least tell you that?”
“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!”
She did some more finger shaking at Kevin, adding, “Mister, whatever this is about? Let me tell you, Rico’s a fuckin saint considering how he grew up. Why I shouldn’t be helping y’all chase after him.”
She continued to stare at Kevin, defiant.
He eyed Luci.
Her arms were crossed, but her shoulders 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?
Kevin was now positive Luci had no idea what her boyfriend was really up to.
He asked, “Rico lived here, with you?”
She looked at Kevin differently now, a level of realization having finally sunk in.
Rico and all of his mysterious comings and goings.
Softly, she said, “What did he do?”
Knowing to reel her in gently, Kevin said, “Right. I want you to think about something. Okay? Just hear me out.”
Luci nodded.
“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—or 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 died!?”
—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 please, tell me, did Oscar strike you as the type of guy who was gonna dive off a three story metal stairway to land on his head?”
Luci, her voice barely a squeak, “Oscar’s really dead?”
“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 cried, “OhmyGodisCarlaokay?”
Kevin held out a hand. “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, already extending a hand to steady her, grabbed a wrist.
She stared at him, confused and fearful.
“Luci, Leslie Marionette, the woman who was killed, she was a regular at Mario’s and she always played the lottery.”
She yanked her hand back and said, voice strained, as though struggling for air, “Leslie?”
“She was murdered last week, Luci. You didn’t hear about that either?”
But Luci had gone blank. Possibly on the verge of shock.
Hurriedly, Kevin raised his voice just a tad and asked, “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 her boobs flopped against his belly as she cried, “Oh no-no-no-no-no.”
Kevin put his hands gently to her shoulders to ease her away.
Looked directly into her tear-filled eyes.
“Please Luci,” he said. “You gotta have something. Help us to at least question him.”
“I have his cell.”
“Give it to me. Please.”
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 get a court order to track it.
Turned to face Luci.
Having no idea that police were camped outside and Brillo was on the way at that very moment with more officers to storm the building, he asked, “You said he left a few minutes ago?
“Yeah.”
“What kind of car?”
“I don’t know, we usually drove mine, but it was really his because he bought it and gave it to me.”
“And you’re sure he was leaving town?”
She wiped tears 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 went stone faced, but tears continued to drip down her cheeks.
“This guy,” Kevin said kindly. “He sure had an effect on people.”
Luci emitted a quick sob. “Mister you don’t understand. Rico helped me.
“He was kind. 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 at least tell me anything about where he might’ve been heading?”
“No. He said not to try and stop him. That it was bad for anyone who 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 Kevin said, “Not enough time.”
***
The newspaper guy had a nice backyard.
Above ground pool with a half-moon deck.
Flowers were everywhere: in the ground, in large scattered painted pots, in window boxes.
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.
A hand-made sign hung from a nail on a wooden door with a half-moon top decorated by wood-carved roses.
The sign, built by a carpenter, was hand-painted as though by a child and read: “Mom’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 original and 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 provided enough light to see.
Washer and dryer.
Tools hanging from wall mounted hooks.
Stacked boxes below a central wooden staircase.
Organized and neat, but 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.
Same thought jackhammering: why am I here?
Stopped by the front door, next to the staircase that led to the second floor.
There was evidence of children.
Pictures.
Toys.
He was about to go up the stairs; instead, distracted by something outside, stepped into the living area and over to a curved, bay window.
Heard the sound of an engine revving.
Stepped closer to the bay window and leaned to see a yellow 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 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.
Moved to the front door and 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, after all.
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 already imagined too many times how this person, this master criminal, whoever he was, had lurked invisible, waiting for Leslie Marionette to return home.
Struck fast.
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.
Stomach instantly nauseous.
School finished at 2:00 and all of the buses left the parking lot by 2:07.
Luci asked, her voice sounding far away, “Mister? What’s the matter?”
A micro-instant of … weightlessness!
Holy shit thank goodness!
Today is Wednesday!
Everybody is safe and sound because Sara’s last class started 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 her great big two o’clock toddler class started (the ol cash cow—ha, ha!) and leave her able assistants to finish.
Sara will then gather the kids and head home.
The girls won’t be at the house for 24 minutes, plenty of time for Kevin to alert the police that a monster was inside.
A genuine, mother-fucking monster.
In his home.
Waiting.
And Kevin knew that Rico was there, sure as shit; just as he had been at the Marionette’s.
Damn!
He finally caught 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.)
The big house key was held tightly in her palm.
She concentrated on not smiling.
Didn’t want to look dorky, 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.