The Odds (30 page)

“Let’s get going.”

They moved away from the door. “No. This way. Come on. I got a regular customer I have to meet first. And then …” He motioned to Zero to follow him.

“You want me to go with you?”

“Yeah.”

“What about telling K?”

“When I have my reup later.”

Going toward the meet, Mac told his friend, “K wants to split us up in a week. You take up the hill, I keep working down the hill. He must have lost somebody up there or be losing somebody.”

“I don’t want to work up the hill. I don’t want to go alone.”

“You have to. If he says.”

From his peripheral vision, Mac watched Zero shambling along as they went toward Wendy’s, where Mac’s customer would drive by in fifteen, twenty. Zero looked dumb, depressed. They were not at the same level of cool anymore. Mac reached into his back pockets and brought out two pills. “Sometimes when you’re really down, you need to get back up.”

“Where’d you get those?”

“Guy in the park. He bought from me; he showed me what he had. I took one once, testing it for safety before I would let my good friend have one. I am the king’s dog.”

“You’re too weird,” Zero laughed.

“And you are the king, the king. It was pretty fun. I was wired, off the walls really, but it was a fun high. Let’s go inside Wendy’s—we got fifteen minutes or so—get Cokes, and have these little nuggets. I like energy. Sometimes I think I like high better than low, you know?”

Zero hesitated. Then he laughed and said, “The king says okay.”

   CARL ALMOST HADN’T HEARD them. He had his radio on, and was moving it around some to get rid of the static, when a sound at the door managed to come in more loudly than the radio, which he always played very low. Without thinking, he turned off the radio, and cursed himself. He’d just given someone a signal. He was so sure it was going to be Markovic that relief washed over him at the boys’ voices. But when he thought it through—they hadn’t knocked, they hadn’t called to him—he realized they were not his friends.

His body set up a racket of warning signals: short breath, pounding heart, weak knees. This was it. His sanctuary no longer existed. He didn’t want to leave, but this was it. He managed to throw his books and notebook, his few clothes, and the last of his food into a garbage bag. He wanted the blanket, but couldn’t figure out how to carry it. He looked through the cracks in the plywood.

He opened the door. Looked out. Saw no one. He took a moment to go back for the blanket and folded it over his shoulder, thinking, This is how banditos stay warm at night, by carrying the poncho over a shoulder all day. He was glad he was taking it.

He looked around again, then began walking in a direction he’d never gone—along North Avenue for a while, then down a side street until he ended up on Western. Keep going, he told himself, and see if he could hitch a ride going out Route 65. K and the people he hired wouldn’t think to look for him in that direction. They’d figure bus routes and look downtown.

Yet all the while he walked, heart pounding, he let in the little truth he’d tried to keep from himself. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, who he was going to. It was a risk, a gamble, and he was going to take it.

   COLLEEN WASN’T IN THE OFFICE Saturday midday. She’d gone home, taking a break, because it had occurred to her that if she ate lunch at home, she could manage to pay some bills. The case was stalled. She worried she wasn’t thinking right because her head was scrambled with her indiscretion of last night and the invitation to repeat it tonight.

“Did you ever study Aristotle’s theory of chance?” Potocki had asked her this morning when they happened upon the coffee machine at the same time.

“No. Never did.”

“Well, he said it was the most wonderful thing that could happen. He said chance was when coincidence takes the place of intention.”

“Huh?”

“Say Man A goes to the market to buy vegetables. And Man B who owes him money happens to go to the same market. Man B sees him and says, ‘Glad I ran into you. I owe you money.’ And he pays it. Man B is delighted to be relieved of his debt. Man A is delighted to have the money owed him. It works out as well as intention might have worked out, but there is the added thrill of its happening by chance. Think about it.”

“I bought my vegetables Thursday,” she said. “That’s probably where I went wrong.”

Potocki smiled.

“Aristotle said all that?”

“He did. He called it chance.”

It sounded to Colleen like
luck
. There was probably a whole industry figuring out the probability mathematically. “Why didn’t Aristotle just say luck? Did he have a concept of luck?”

Potocki looked deeply thoughtful. “Maybe it was all subconscious logic anyway—the debtor knowing deep down that the debtee shopped for veggies at a particular market. Not wanting to make a long awkward walk with money in hand to the man’s house.”

“And this is about?”

“Us.”

“Shhh.”

Her phone rang now as she ate her lunch alone at home. It was Detective Littlefield at the office with news. And the news
was
finally luck. A little of it had come Colleen’s way at last. “I’ll be right there,” she said.

She plucked a paper towel off the roll and wrapped her sandwich for eating in the car. Was it arbitrary, pure luck, or had she planted the seeds of luck, made it? Either way, she felt hopeful that this was the break she needed.

   JANET LIT TLEFIELD GREETED HER. “Where is he?”

“Room One. He had a bunch of stuff with him. We took it from him—and it wasn’t easy persuading him he’d get it back. It’s spread out in Room Two. You want to take a quick look?”

“Yeah. Drugs?”

“No drugs.”

Colleen was glad Potocki had gone somewhere for lunch. This was hers, all hers. She took a moment to catalogue mentally what Littlefield had already made notes on. Three math books, none of them wimpy—and one,
Mathematician’s Apology
, she decided after leafing through it, that she wanted to read herself under different conditions—a journal, a blanket, some food, some clothing. Seventeen dollars and twenty-five cents. A radio. “He was living on the street?”

“He won’t tell me.”

Colleen opened the journal. Her eyes moved fast over the page. She saw enough to know she wanted to read the whole thing. “Wow,” she said.

“He was struggling with it,” Littlefield said in an even, rational voice.

“He must feel very exposed,” Colleen said. “Like we took his clothes off.”

“He did seem to have that attitude.”

Colleen went into Room One to see Carl.

He looked up as she walked in. His hair and face were clean. He didn’t look bad at all.

“I’m glad you came in,” she said, “I’ve thought about you a lot.” On the street, planting luck, she had said, “If ever I can help you, let me know.” Now she had to keep her word. “They told me out there you wouldn’t say why you came in. They had to write down something. They wrote down, ‘Wishes to give information.’ Is that right?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s talk it out a bit. I’m sorry we have to take packages of any sort from a person coming in. If you think about it, it’ll make sense to you. We have to, for safety. Hopefully we’ll have a good talk and you’ll have everything back.”

He nodded.

“We were hoping to talk to you again. Did you come in about BZ?”

He looked honestly surprised. “No. Something else. One thing first—you said if I needed to get straight, you would help me.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I detoxed on my own. All on my own.”

“That’s what you were doing all this time?”

“Yes. And I need more time in … in isolation. But … the place I found to stay in—”

“Rehab?”

“No, just on my own. I did it on my own.”

She tried to make sense of his possessions. “Did you live outdoors?”

“No, holed up. But people came looking for me there. That’s why I came here. I don’t have enough money to go anywhere else, but I have to get out of town. They tried to kill me.”

“Who did?”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s okay. I’m here to listen. Who?”

“A man. He’s called K.” A thrill went through her. “He supplies the runners.”

“We’re going to show you some pictures in a little bit. Can you tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

“Which beginning?”

“Any beginning you want to start with. I know it’s going to take a while. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“You need a warm meal, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to order you something.” It was terrible, what happened next; she thought she was going to cry. What a fiasco that would be. She turned to go to the door.

“The thing of it is,” he said, “I would have hitched out of town, but … I heard on the news there was a death up at the house I used to go to sometimes. It was meant for me. They were going to kill me. And I got away. But then I heard on the news you were looking for Nick Banks. And I thought I’d better tell you he saved my life.”

Then it happened before she had warning—tears in her eyes. Stupid, stupid. Was she that unstable? “Get you that food first,” she said, opening the door of the interview room. “Then you tell me the whole thing.” She hurried out.

Potocki had come back and was in the outer office, looking elated. “We caught a break?”

She’d have to share it.

   BACK IN THE ROOM WITH CARL, they listened to everything the boy knew. His fear was palpable. He’d been afraid for a long time.

He was able to pick out photos of Earl Higgins, George Markovic, and Nick Banks without any hesitation.

“How many shots did you hear up at the house?”

“Three.”

“You never saw Nick Banks again?”

“No. I feel— I was scared, but … I probably should have gone to his place to see if he got home.”

“You never went out of your hideout?”

“Only to the yard.”

“Do you know where Nick Banks would go? Say, if he didn’t go back to his place? Family or friends he talked about?”

“He never talked about anybody. Just that he used to do fishing in New Jersey for a living.”

“How did he come to be hired by this K?”

Carl thought about this for a while. “Kind of knew him. There was some background. But he didn’t seem connected to K either, like he didn’t want to be there. Are you going to help me get out of town?”

“Yes. I’m sorry we can’t let you go just yet. The Narcotics people are going to want to see if they can jog your memory about anything. After you tell them what you know, we’ll figure out where to send you so you can be safe. I think I should warn you there’ll be a deal. If you cooperate, tell us all you know, and agree to keep in touch so you can testify, they won’t charge you with anything. They’ll come up with some money to get you started somewhere. Is that understood?”

“Why would they give me money?”

“To live. If you can prove you’re reliable and getting clean.”

“I am getting clean.”

“It’s impressive what you were able to do. Next you have to do it with people around. And with talk. And counseling. That’s the deal they’ll make. And if you think about it, it’s the right way.”

“That’s going to be hard.”

“Yeah, it is. Try to rest up a bit. We’ll get you another meal soon. Commander Farber will be coming to talk to you soon.”

“Will you be here?” he asked Colleen. She was sure, then, in the way he looked at her, that she was the connection, the reason he was able to come in.

“I’ll be here,” she said. “We’re only going out for a few minutes.”

She let Potocki go to Farber.

She hurried to Room Two and opened the journal. Interspersed with Carl’s writing were pages from an Internet chat room. The printed voices came at her like the voices in a play, a chorus of them, answering each other or going off on solo riffs. Even though she got through most of the journal, skimming at times to be sure she checked any references to Nick Banks, she knew she wouldn’t want to give the journal up. She wanted it in her desk, for her records, to remind herself that there was sometimes hope.

“Janet?” she called to Littlefield. “Can you get someone to copy this for me?”

“The whole thing?”

“Whole thing.”

   MAC WAS WORKING HIS CORNER when K drove by, this time with another guy in the van. Mac knew the drill. He needed to go over a block and hop in. He sensed trouble from the expression on K’s face. He didn’t walk fast at first, didn’t feel like it, but finally he pulled himself together and went up to the van. “Yeah? Carl was there?”

“Gone, it looks like. How long ago you see him?”

“Round lunchtime, no after,” he lied. “We looked for you right off.”

“You knock on the door?”

“No. That’d be stupid.” He started to feel nervous, not a feeling he liked.

“He see you?”

“No. No way he could.”

“You saw him? For sure?”

“Yeah. Not for long. Just outside the place.”

“Well, he wasn’t there.”

The small, fierce-looking guy said, “Been there, for sure, though. Sheets on the floor, broom, this and that.”

Mac said, “I figured he was living in there.”

“Fucking dark in there,” the little guy said. K looked angry at the interruption, but the other guy didn’t seem to care. He held up a flashlight. “He left this goodie.”

K turned back to Mac. “Maybe he saw or heard your pal?”

Mac wanted to sound totally convincing. “Don’t think so. Hope not.” His heart kicked up a bit. Zero had been stupid. A bad tip was worse than no tip at all.

“Look. You got to give me something better that this. Something. Where he is …”

“I don’t know. Honest I don’t.”

“Who else would know? Who else went up to that house where the police tape is? Huh? I know people who would be real unhappy if you hold out on me. Give me something to take them.”

Mac thought. “I know a kid went up the house once or twice. But, honestly, he’s a nerd kid. He doesn’t know Carl.”