2001
Fusco wasn’t sure how he’d ended up riding with Simmons. His regular partner was out with the ‘flu’, which Fusco knew was code for ‘too hung over to come to work’ or possibly ‘still drunk’. He didn’t like Simmons, but he was smart enough to fake it. It was only for one day. Probably. He just needed to keep his head down and his mouth shut.
But then he heard the call over the radio. Drug activity and stolen property, lots of arrests, they needed a bus. Nothing unusual, except that Fusco recognized the address. It was one of the places she hung out.
He screwed his mouth up, listening to the calls. Fourth time she’d gotten in trouble since Christmas, and every time he saw her she looked worse. If he let her go to jail, maybe some judge would sentence her to rehab.
And maybe not. He shook his head and carefully looked to his temporary partner. “Hey. You mind if we roll on that one?”
Simmons scowled at him. “Junkies? Why?”
“Just … call it a favor, okay? Not like we’re doing anything here anyhow.”
“Yeah, that was kind of the point, Fusco. I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.”
“Sorry about that.”
Simmons thought about it. “You serious?”
“Yeah. Please.”
“Whatever you say. But you owe me one.”
“Sure, sure.”
“No, seriously, Fusco. We do this, you owe me one.”
The guy had creepy eyes. Fusco looked out the window. “Yeah. I got it.”
They went to the crime scene.
***
Chrissy Buchannan was already in handcuffs when he got there. She was skinnier than ever and dead white. Her eyes were vague, unfocused. She was much too calm; she didn’t care that she was under arrest. She looked like she didn’t even know she was under arrest. She sat on the bench where they’d put her and swayed softly, side to side, front to back. Sometimes in circles. Sometimes she changed directions, as if she was unwinding.
She looked like she was trying to rock herself to sleep.
The uniform who was standing over her wasn’t anyone he knew, so Fusco had to do things the hard way. “Hey,” he asked casually, “what’d you pinch her for?”
“She was using the computers they stole.”
“She didn’t steal them?”
“I dunno.”
Fusco looked around. No one was in earshot. “You know she’s a minor, right?”
The cop looked at her, shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
“You call Family Services?”
“No, not yet. She didn’t have any ID.”
“You searched her?”
“Patted her down, yeah.” The cop looked suddenly concerned. “Why?”
Fusco took his arm and pulled him a little aside. “I know this kid. She’s a street rat, but her dad is some big ass Wall Street lawyer.”
“Aw, shit.”
“Look, she’s pretty stoned,” Fusco continued. “Let me take her. I’ll drop her off down the street from her house. She probably won’t even remember this.”
“Shit,” the other cop said again.
“Hey, how would you know? I mean, look at her.”
“So how do you know?”
“’Cause I got my ass caught in that crack once. Never again. Trust me, just let me take her home. You got enough paperwork to do here anyhow.”
“Yeah,” the cop agreed quickly. “Yeah, go ahead. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Fusco moved before anyone else paid any attention. “Chrissy,” he said, taking her arm. “C’mon, kid, we’re gonna take you home. Come on. Up.”
Chrissy stood up. Her eyes focused on him, and she gave him a big bright smile that about broke his heart. “Hey. Hey.”
“Fusco,” he prompted.
“I know, silly.”
He kept her arm and walked her very quickly around the corner, out of sight of the other cops. She was wearing long sleeves, even though it was mid-summer and Fusco was sweating in his short-sleeved uniform shirt. She needed to cover track marks. All he could feel under his hand was shirt and bone; it was like she didn’t have any meat on her at all.
“Jesus Christ, Chrissy, when was the last time you ate anything?” He paused to take the handcuffs off.
“Hey, Fusco,” she said vaguely, as if he’d just arrived.
He looked around. There was a McDonald’s just across the street. It was a little risky; someone from the department might see them. But she needed it. Now. He led her into the restaurant.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry,” Chrissy answered. “Not right now. But you could give me the money and I’ll get a burger later.”
“If I give you money you’ll buy more drugs later.”
She smiled brightly. “Yeah, I will.”
He put her in a booth in the back corner, away from the windows. “Stay there,” he said.
She nodded obediently. And then she tried to stand up.
Fusco pushed her down again. “Chrissy. Stay there.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He went to the counter, stood back a little so he could keep one eye on her. She started to sway again, but she stayed in the booth. Fusco got a big coffee for himself, three cream, three sugar, and the biggest chocolate milkshake they had. He also got four of their little boxes of animal crackers.
When he got back to the table, Chrissy looked up at him with a little more focus. “Can we go outside?” she asked. “I don’t like it in here.”
The lights, Fusco realized. The fluorescent lights were too bright for her. The girl was falling apart. He nodded grimly and followed her back outside. She sat on a bench. Then she dug into her backpack and got her sunglasses.
Fusco sat down next to her and gave her the milkshake. “Drink this.”
She took a little sip. “Thank you,” she said formally.
“Drink more.” He didn’t think she’d drink it all, and if she did she’d probably just puke it up. But he wanted to get at least a few calories in her. She looked like one of those refugees on late-night TV ads.
He put the animal crackers in her backpack. He was very careful not to notice her fix kit, which was pretty much the only thing in there now, besides her beat-up laptop and a couple books.
“How come you were stealing computers?” Fusco asked.
“So we could hack stuff.”
“Right. Of course.”
People walked by and looked at them. A cop in uniform and a street rat. Some of them smiled. They figured he was being nice. And he was, actually. But it was time to get past that.
“Look, Chrissy,” he said, “you look like shit. You gotta get some help.”
She gestured with the cup in her hand. “This helps.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
The girl was quiet for a minute. She started to sway again. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He knew exactly what she was talking about. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, either.”
“Why do you keep coming to get me?”
“You got somebody else looking out for you?” Fusco asked.
“I got friends,” Chrissy answered vaguely.
Fusco eyed her long sleeves. “Yeah. Sure you do.”
“I do.”
“Come in with me. Let me find somebody to get you some help.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She swayed faster. “Not ready. Not ready.”
You get any more ready, kid, you’re going to be dead. He didn’t know what to say that would get through to her. She reminded him of her father more every time he saw her. The eyes. It was definitely the eyes. She was disconnected from the whole world. And she didn’t have any interest in getting herself re-connected.
“I keep thinking about it,” Fusco said. “About your dad, and how he died. He really thought he was helping you.”
She stopped swaying and stared at him.
“I’m not saying he was right,” Fusco went on quickly, “but he thought he was. He thought he was getting out of your way. That you could have a better life if you didn’t have to take care of him.”
Chrissy closed her eyes. The swaying started up again, much faster and in bigger circles.
“I know he was crazy. But he cared about you, best as he could. And he sure as hell didn’t mean for you to end up like this, kid.”
Her eyes snapped open ” and there was no one inside. It was like looking down the barrel of an empty gun. Like she’d simply checked out. Gone away. Lights on, nobody home.
It was like something out of a horror movie. This skinny little girl was still breathing, still had a pulse, but she was dead inside. Hollow. Like a zombie.
Fusco didn’t know to do. Call an ambulance? It was going to be a bitch to explain, but whatever. He couldn’t very leave her like this. He grabbed her hand. “Chrissy. Chrissy!” He squeezed and felt the bones of her hand grind together. He eased up. It must have hurt, but she didn’t seem to notice.
And then a shadow blocked the sun. “Wondered where the hell you got to, Fusco.”
Fusco squinted up at Simmons. That was the last thing he needed right now. “Give me a minute, huh?”
“Who’s your friend?”
Stay the fuck away from her, Fusco thought furiously. Don’t even fucking look at her. I swear to God I’ll take you apart if you look at her … He wasn’t sure how he was going to do that, exactly; Simmons was about twice his size and mean as hell. But Chrissy was checked out, helpless and Simmons was dangerous, and somehow he had to …
Simmons was dangerous. Chrissy had been living on the street long enough to know that. And however wasted and in pain she was, her survival instinct was stronger than ever. His threatening presence brought her back to awareness in a way that Fusco’s kindness couldn’t. She stopped swaying. He could feel her gather herself up. First rule of the jungle, Fusco thought. You can show your belly to your pack mates, but you better show a predator your fangs.
Chrissy stood up. “Hey,” she said. She looked up at Simmons, tipped her head, smiled. “You’re kinda cute.”
Simmons looked her up and down like she was meat with feet. “Jesus, Fusco. Where’d you find this thing?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Chrissy snapped. She picked up her backpack, gave Fusco a little nod, took her milkshake and walked away.
For a girl with no discernable hips, she worked the hell out of the walk.
“Who was that?” Simmons demanded.
“Just some street kid,” Fusco answered. Instinctively he wanted to hide her from the big guy.
“Sure. Sure.” Simmons jerked his head back toward the crime scene. “We gotta go. Got a call.”
“Yeah. Coming.” Fusco dropped his coffee, still mostly full, into the trash.
“And don’t forget, Fusco,” Simmons added darkly, “you owe me one.”
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“Oh, I’m sure something will come up.” Simmons grinned like a crocodile. “I’ll let you know.”
***
2012
Evidently Reese was in the right place to look for Clay, because two of Aldo Rossi’s goons were already staking out the place. He was already tired of following them around. He found a place where he could see them and the entrance both and settled in for a long cold night of keeping watch.
Time drifted. It was not really dark; this part of the city never got dark unless the power went out. But John could feel the sleep creeping into the city. The frenzy of the evening began to surrender oh-so-slowly to stillness. The street went quiet.
John liked the city at night best of all.
A car door closed to his right. There were footsteps. They were quiet, but whoever was coming wasn’t trying to be silent. Reese thought it might be Finch, but the pace was too even. He turned his head and watched William Robinson approach.
The black man crouched beside him. “I saw your car, thought you might be here,” he said softly. “I brought you a blanket and some soup.”
“I’m okay …”
“Will your pride keep you warm all night?”
It has before, John thought. He looked toward the car where the mobsters were waiting. They seemed to be asleep. He shrugged, took the blanket and tucked it down beside him for the moment. Robinson held the styrofoam contain of soup out to him but Reese shook his head. “I’ve eaten today. Someone else needs it more.”
“Soup kitchen’s closed for the night. You don’t take it, it’s goin’ in the trash.”
“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”
“I am, yes, sir.”
John took the soup. “Thank you.”
Robinson handed him a plastic spoon. “Mind if I sit a while?”
“I’d appreciate the company.”
The man settled beside him with his back against the wall. “No sign of the boy?”
“Not yet. We found the girlfriend, though. She’s safe.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Reese spooned up some of the soup. It was cream of potato, rather bland, but warm and filling. Until he took the first bite, he hadn’t realized he was hungry.
Robinson sat in silence until he finished eating. He seemed very relaxed in his silence. John appreciated that. He would have tried to most people send away, but what he’d told this man was true. He did appreciate his company. William, though he barely knew him, was one of the few people with whom Reese did not feel alone.
Perhaps it was only the kindness and the darkness and the soup.
Reese looked toward the quiet entrance to the homeless camp again. In some ways it had been horrible, living on the street. In some other ways it had been the best time of his life. He’d been completely free, with no responsibility to anyone. No goal but to eat and to drink and stay warm. Mostly to drink. Nothing else.
You need a purpose, Finch had said. Until then, Reese hadn’t had one. Or wanted one.
“How did you get here?” he asked William quietly.
The man stirred beside him. “You mean how did an ex-con end up serving soup?”
Reese nodded.
“I met a powerful witness.”
John turned his head to look at the man.
“When I went to prison, I had a cellmate. Bobby. He was simple.” Robinson paused. “I suppose we don’t call them that any more, but my mama would have said he was simple, anyhow. He wasn’t mentally ill, he was just slow. You know? Not bright. But he was a man of God. Grew up in the church, believed with all his soul. A good man.”
“Why was he in prison?”
“Bobby worked nights as a maintenance man in a factory. One night he got sick, had the runs, he said, so they sent him home. When he got home he found his pretty little wife in bed with the neighbor. Never forgot how he said it. He said ‘William, I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I carried the church in my heart. I had the Word right there in me, and it told me turn the other cheek. But I stepped out of the church. I chose to step out of the church. I chose to sin.’ He beat the man to death with his hammer.”
John waited.
“And then, he said,” William continued, “he turned around and his three little children were standing in the door, looking at him. Afraid of him. He said that was his punishment, for the rest of his life. That his own little children were afraid of him.
“Should have been just a waste of his life, you see? But it wasn’t. Because what Bobby told me after, it changed me. He told me that he knew he’d sinned, that he’d done wrong. But he knew that God would forgive him, and when he was done on this Earth he’d go home to his Father. And when his sweet little children came to Heaven they’d know him there, and they’d forgive him and not be afraid of him. And he’d be able to take them in his arms again and everything would be right. He lived for that. That forgiveness.
“And him telling me his story, that changed me. Not all at once. It took some time. I got a Bible and read it with him. I told you, Bobby was simple, he could hardly read, but he knew his Bible. Knew almost every verse. Understood it, too, you know? He could explain it to me, so I could understand it. Although when you come down to it, it’s really pretty simple.”
“It is?”
“Sure it is. Two commandments. Just two. Matthew 22. ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind’. And ‘love your neighbor as yourself’. All those words and it just comes down to that. Simple.” He shrugged. “So that’s what I try to do.”
“Simple,” Reese repeated softly.
“From what I can see, that’s what you’re trying to do, too.”
John shook his head. “It’s not nearly that simple for me.”
His companion was silent for a moment. “You mind my sayin’?” he finally asked.
“Go ahead. Please.”
“If it’s not simple, maybe it’s because you’re making it complicated. Because you’re getting in your own way.”
“I don’t understand.”
Robinson hesitated. “You strike me as a man who’s known some darkness. Walked in sin.”
You have no idea, John thought bitterly.
“And it seems like now you might be working to redeem yourself. Trying to make amends.”
Maybe you have some idea, Reese corrected.
“Thing is, God doesn’t make you earn redemption. All you have to do is ask for it.” William gave him a little smile. “You can’t forgive yourself. Whatever it is you did, you can’t let it go. Not yet. You need to make amends. I get that. But when you can get past it, John, when you can forgive yourself, I’ll tell you here and now, you’re going to find that God forgave you a long time ago.”
Reese put his head back against the wall. The cold soothed him. It had been a long time since he’d been to church. A very long time. But sitting next to William Robinson in the dark was like listening to the finest, most personal sermon he’d ever heard. They stirred his heart, touched him. It hurt, in a way. He wanted to grab onto the man’s words. But he couldn’t. Not yet. William was right. He was still making amends. He probably would be for the rest of his life.
“I’m sorry,” William said. “I only meant to bring you some soup, not talk your ear off.”
“No,” John said. “I appreciate your words. Really.”
“Not quite ready to hear them yet, though.”
“No. Not quite. But … I’ll keep them with me.”
“Hope they help you some day.”
“I’m sure they will.”
William stood up. “You need anything, John, you let me know, okay?”
“I will.”
“Leave the blanket when you’re done here.” He gestured toward the entrance to the camp. “They’ll find it.”
John nodded. “Thank you, William.”
“Hope you find the boy. I’ll pray for you both.”
Reese watched him back to his car. He unfolded the blanket and covered his legs. It took the edge off the night chill. He pulled William’s words close around him, too. Robinson was right; he wasn’t ready to hear them yet. But he held on to them. They held back the darkness in his soul, like the blanket held back the cold of the night. The darkness and the cold were still there, but they gave Reese a little protection. A little cover.
By habit, he touched his earpiece as he settled back. He didn’t speak, and neither did Finch. There was only the soft tap of keys and the occasional clink of china.
The sound, the connection, was a source of cover, too.
***
Aldo Rossi’s phone rang. He put the pillow over his head and ignored it.
The phone kept ringing.
Rossi’s wife rolled over, elbowed him, then pulled the pillow away from him. “Answer the phone, dumb ass.”
Rossi groaned, but he groped for the phone. “’lo?”
“Little Aldo? That you?”
Aldo blinked up at his ceiling. “Uncle T?”
“You get him yet?”
“Who?”
“That asshole kid. Who you think?”
“Oh. Yeah. I got all my guys out looking for him, Uncle T.”
“You sleepin’, Aldo?”
“No, no. I was just, uh, I was getting a little snack before I head back out.”
“You got to find this kid, Aldo. My lady is not happy. And you know how that is.”
“I know, Uncle T.” Beside him, Rossi’s wife growled. She rolled over, pulling all the covers with her. ”We’ll find him. Don’t worry. “
“You better. And you better be quick about it.”
“Uh-huh.” The phone went dead.
“Who was that?” his wife muttered.
“My uncle. He wants to know if we found that kid.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then you better get movin’.”
Aldo tugged at the blankets. His wife grunted and rolled even tighter in them. “Go, Al.”
Rossi swore under his breath and climbed out of bed. On his way to the bathroom, he started calling his men. “Smithy. Al. You find the kid yet? Well, why the hell not?”
***
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