Cry Me a River (2 page)

She should have saved that kid.

Anger began to build. She felt it sizzle her blood and welcomed it. It shouldn’t have happened. She shouldn’t have let it.

“You know about Mother Teresa?” Earl asked. She cocked her head, because she knew it was a rhetorical question. She also knew he would get to the point when he was good and ready. “Her entire ministry was devoted to dyin’ people. One of those people said, ‘I lived like an animal in the streets. But I will die like an angel, loved and well cared for.’”

Earl took another pull on his beer. “That kid knew you were there. He knew you cared about him.”

“Except angels don’t die. But I get the point. Thanks,
Earl.” For trying to get her out of her own tornado. Or at least help her find the eye of the storm.

“Friday tomorrow. Rocket club after school for Clay, and an Aunt Grace sleepover after that. Life is good,” Earl said.

“For some kids,” she replied, but she warmed at the thought of her nephew. A life with Clay Norman in it was a good life. As she pushed the door shut, she calculated whether she needed to make a store run for more popcorn and sour candy.

“Are you and Clay going to watch some rocket movie?” Earl asked.
“Astronaut Farmer
, maybe?”

She snorted, turning around to face him.
“Astronaut Farmer
? Are you kidding? Zombies, man.” Walking back into the kitchen, she hoisted the tequila bottle. “I hope rocket club’s not canceled due to the wind. Can you talk to your boss about that? I’m going to take a shower.”

Make that another shower; at the police station she’d washed Haleem’s blood away, and plastered some bandages over her pitted knees, before she put on her business clothes for her visit with Haleem’s mother. She went through a hell of a lot of jeans on the job; she wasn’t about to bleed on the good stuff, too.

Ham had offered to go with her to the mom’s but Grace wanted it to be personal, woman-to-woman. Then Ham had asked to come on by. She’d told him she needed some alone time. He wasn’t doing great, being single. It was clear to her now that he’d gotten divorced from Darlene so he could go for a do-over. Grace had honestly thought the Deweys had broken up because their marriage wasn’t working—that Ham would never have strayed into an adulterous affair with her, Grace, if he actually believed in the concept of holy wedded matrimony. Last laugh was on her. Poor Ham. She had no plans to get married, ever.

“We could get a pizza and watch the game after you’re cleaned up,” Earl ventured.

She was touched. She figured he had shown up because she was upset. And that he was sticking around for the same reason. He was a real angel that way.

“Which game would that be?” she asked, blinking her eyes in mock innocence.

He shrugged, watching Gus lick his food bowl clean, then slurp up water, content and secure, and drank his beer. “I don’t know. But since this is Oklahoma, I figure there’s one you got recorded.”

“Well, you figured right,” she told him. “Sooners played BYU tonight. I bought everybody a round at Louie’s to keep them from telling me the score. But I figure we won big. Sooners have got the real running backs. None of that platoon bullshit the Cougars use.”

He looked at her with a shit-eating grin. Her heart skipped and she narrowed her eyes.

“What, do you already know the score?” He raised his eyebrows, all innocence, and she turned her eyes into slits. “Don’t you dare tell me.”

“You ready to give your life to God? Otherwise … well, let’s see … the Sooners made the first down—”

She cupped her ears and turned her back. “It’s gotta be free will, Earl. This is duress.”

He chuckled. Tentatively, she lowered her hands, making a half turn. He just looked at her. Shrugged.

“You know that’s not my style, bribing you. But if you feel a declaration coming on …” He pantomimed uncapping his own ears.

“Let’s stick with pizza,” she said. “You in the mood for the usual?”

He nodded. “No mushrooms, extra jalapeños. And them bread sticks,” he added. “With the Parmesan cheese.”

She grinned crookedly. Earl went through more food than a linebacker.

“On it.” She crossed to the phone to place their order. Once that was done, she took another swig of tequila. “Want to jump in the shower with me?”

He shrugged. “It’d be tight quarters with the wings and all.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled, unconvinced. Earl seemed to have a modest streak she had yet to cure him of. For her part, she flashed her next-door neighbor as a matter of course.

Still smirking, she maintained possession of the tequila and two more beers and sailed into the bathroom, stripped to the empty, dark window across the yard, and heard her TV go on. The volume was low, and she could make out the rumbly bass of Earl’s voice as he chatted with Gus. Apparently they actually communicated, which didn’t surprise her. She and Gus had a language all their own, too.

All dogs went to heaven. Earl had promised.

Steam rose around her; the water was as hot as she could stand. She poured some scented bath oil over her shoulders and let it run down her arms and breasts. Her face got wet and she wasn’t exactly crying; maybe she was shedding the anger, like a lizard sheds its skin … no. Away from the uplifting chitchat in the kitchen, she felt as heavy and as burdened as when the paramedic had stopped the CPR in that stinking, filthy alley. Grace had taken off her jacket and laid it over Haleem’s face. Had touched his cheek. The EMT had told Grace that he was sorry, as if Haleem were someone special to her.

“I’m going to make him pay, Haleem,” she said aloud, making a gun with her hand and shooting off a round. “Nothing’s getting in my way of that.”

She wrapped her hair in a towel, got on her flannel pajamas and her bathrobe, and made it back down the hall just in time to collect the pizza from the delivery
guy. Cute, plus he clearly liked her jammies. She gave him five bucks extra. Earl and Gus gazed up at her expectantly from the couch.

Then her landline rang.

She took a look at the number. Ham. Sighing, she held the pizza box out to Earl, who received it, looking on. She wondered if he already knew why Ham was calling. Either Ham wanted to get a Grace-fix—he was getting kind of addicted to her—or he had police business to discuss.

“Hey, Ham,” she said.

“Hey, you okay?” he began.

Oh, God, the Sooners lost
, she thought with a sickening wrench. Then she realized he was referring to Haleem. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“There’s been a homicide sixteen blocks south of the alley where Haleem was killed. North Rob. Looks like the dealer.”

“Good,” Grace said, and Earl raised a brow. What, did he want her to pretend? She really was glad that the scumbag was dead. “Anybody see it happen?”

“If they did, guess they aren’t talking. People around there are scared.”

“Yeah, they’re getting more than their share of it these days,” she concurred. Street violence in OKC was way up. So were petty crime, vandalism, and the rest of the annoying crap poor people in bad neighborhoods had to put up with. Strip off the layers of graffiti and you could get the entire history as different gangs warred to claim door stoops and cash registers as their territory. The beat cops in the ghetto and the barrio were cranky, overworked, and tense. The city was a pressure cooker, and the temperature was rising.

“An informant linked the dealer’s death to the Cholos
Ricos. Says he saw it. The dealer was in the Snake Eyes.”

“That’ll mean payback,” Grace said. “The Snake Eyes will strike at the CRs.”

The Snake Eyes were an all-black gang. The Cholos Ricos were Hispanic. They kept track of all the various infractions and insults they committed against one another in a complex system. In a different life, they could all be accountants.

“Maybe it’s payback for a previous payback,” Ham said. “Escalation.”

“Terrorism,” Grace said. “More bullets for innocent bystanders to dodge. Could the informant link either gang to Haleem’s killing?”

“No, but maybe Rhetta can,” Ham replied. “Night crew is catching it,” he added. “We can stay home.” Meaning that they weren’t being called in to work it. Grace had mixed feelings about that. She wanted to see the face of the man who dealt slow death to boys and their mothers. But she was also overtired, starving, and wondering why Earl had smiled when she’d talked about the game. Anyway, with any luck, the dealer would be in the medical examiner’s freezer tomorrow, and she could visit him then.

Grace’s stomach growled. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ham sounded surprised, a little hurt. “I get it. Rough night. That kid …”

“Haleem,” she said. “That was his name. I’ll see you in the morning, Ham.” She made her voice gentle, then firmly disconnected. Hustled on over to the party and took the pizza slice and the paper napkin Earl offered.

“They got him,” she said. “But you already knew that.”

“I already did,” he confirmed.

She appraised him. “Were you his last-chance angel?”

He took a bite of pizza. “Who, Haleem? Or the dealer?”

“Take your pick.”

“Nope.”

As she flopped onto the couch, Earl aimed the remote and the game zapped onto the screen—two teams of burly, padded college players whaling on each other. There’d be penalty flags and injuries, but by the end of it someone would actually win.

Must be nice.

They ate pizza. Gus got the crusts and a few hunks of sausage. He rested his gigantic head on Grace’s knee and she lovingly scratched behind his ears. Earl munched and watched the game. They were the Three Bears: Angel Bear, Sinner Bear, and Doggy Bear. The Sooners were ahead. Gus celebrated by burping and Grace did the same.

When the commercials started up, Earl turned to her. “I gotta tell you something, Grace,” he said. “Things are going to get tough for a while.”

She hesitated, then chomped down rebelliously on her third slice of pizza. “They already are tough, Earl. Okay? I don’t need tougher.”

He gave her a look and shook his shaggy head. “I don’t have any say in it, any more than you do. I’m just letting you know.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to be in a position to do something about it.” He picked up a bread stick. “I love these things.”

“That’s great, Earl,” she said tiredly. “That’s just great.” She took another bite of pizza and watched BYU make a touchdown. She groaned. Gus emitted a sympathetic sigh.

Actually, the simplicity of sports was not so nice, if the wrong guys were the ones doing the winning.

“You shouldn’t stay up too late tonight,” Earl added. “Get some rest.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Can’t you just
tell
me what’s going to happen?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, either. All God told me is that heavy winds are gonna blow. Time to batten down the hatches.”

She took a swig of beer. “Or turn into kites.”

That night the wind rattled Grace’s window, threatening to pry off her roof, and shook her to her bones. Gus complained a bit about it but she urged him to lie across her feet, and then she kneaded his thick neck with her toes, and that soothed him. As she drifted, she had a dream about Leon Cooley, brought into her life by Earl and, as it turned out, a friend of her since-deceased sister, Mary Frances. Grace had run over Leon while driving drunk—or hadn’t; it turned into a dream or a vision or something. Kneeling beside him, performing CPR, she had asked God for help.

Then and there Earl had appeared before her, informing her that he was her last-chance angel, and warning her that if she didn’t mend her ways she was going to go to hell. It had turned out that he was Leon’s last-chance angel, too. Grace didn’t know if Earl had accomplished his mission with Leon—Earl said he had—but she did know Leon was dead, and that her own brother, Johnny, who was a Catholic priest, had arranged for his burial.

But in her drifting dream, Leon was still alive, and he wasn’t wearing prison clothes. He looked like a regular bald person, not a dead felon. He had on the same long-sleeved shirt and trousers that he’d worn to Clay’s baptism, and she thought her heart would spill out of her chest: He had started out so well and ended up so badly.

The gray winds were blowing, threatening to twist into a tornado, and her purple kite was plastered against the slanted, shingled roof of his house. It was a little house, and it looked suspiciously like hers.

Then it transformed into a house made of bricks. Then into one of sticks; and one of straw. The straw flapped in the wind, rippling like a yellow curtain, too insubstantial to withstand the air current. But it was still topped by a brick chimney, and her kite was still stuck to it.

“It’s a dream,” she said.

“Life. Life is but a dream,” he told her. Then he opened his arms and flew like an angel to the straw rooftop, grabbing up her double triangle of thin, fragile paper. If someone put a hole through that, the weather would shoot right through it, pour right out of it like gray blood … so much blood … red blood.

I lost that kid. He died beneath my hand
.

“Hey, Leon, you can fly now,” she said.

“I shed my burdens. But you haven’t. So be careful not to fall. And don’t jump into a bottomless pit without a parachute, you got it?” Leon said as he let go of the kite.

The purple triangle drifted toward her. Grace grabbed it and held it against her chest, then raised her free hand up to Leon, who was still crouched on the straw roof.

“Let me help you down,” she said.

“You got your hands full.” He gestured with his head at the kite. “Besides, once you’ve had up, down’s just not the same.” He grinned at her with his boyish gappy teeth. The house became brick again, solid and substantial, more appropriate for someone who weighed as much as Leon.

“Where you are, is it good?” she asked.

A fierce gale blew, scudding clouds between the two of them; Leon and the house disappeared, and Leon’s
smile was the last thing to go. As the force died down, Grace found herself on a wide dusty plain surrounded by elms. The Survivor Tree was an elm; it had survived the Oklahoma City bombing, and had become a beloved symbol of the city’s endurance. The inscription read: