Leaving the LAW, page 5
“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I understand you were inquiring about one of the patients.”
“Anthony Warren,” I said. “His mother asked me to come. I’m going to get my wallet now so I can show you some ID, okay?”
He nodded, and I got my wallet out and handed my private investigator’s license to him. He looked at the picture and then at me.
“I know,” I told him. “I’m much better looking in person. I get that all the time.”
He grunted and, maybe, smiled a little.
“Yeah, well,” he said, “we all have our little fantasies.”
He gave my license back to me and held out his hand, which I shook.
“Harold Carruthers, Mr. Barnes. Police asked if we’d sorta keep tabs on the kid for a while.”
“Because of a possible gang connection with the riot today,” I said.
“Hmm-mm. Cops didn’t think there would be any trouble, but just in case, we got the boy in a private room, and we’re monitoring all his visitors.” Standing up, he said, “C’mon, I’ll take you up there.”
We took the elevator to the fifth floor, where we walked down a long hallway with three different colored lines on the floor. At the end of the hallway, we came to a small waiting room, where Larretta Warren was sitting on the edge of an overstuffed chair. She was still a skinny little thing, but now there was a bit more of an edge to her appearance, maybe a little less naivete and a little more world-weariness than the last time I’d seen her. She was wearing hi-top sneakers, jeans and an old GAP sweatshirt that might have been brown when it was new but looked sort of dark rusty purple now. When she looked up and saw me, she smiled, and just for a second, I saw the eyes of the fourteen-year-old girl I had known all those years ago.
“Mr. Barnes!” she said, as she jumped up and walked quickly over and embraced me. “You came. I knew you would.”
“Over her head, I could see Officer Carruthers nod again, more to himself than to me, then turn and leave. I knew he hadn’t walked me up there just to be polite. Harold appeared to be a man who took his job seriously. Good for him. Not enough of that going around.
Larretta stepped back and looked at me.
“Mr. Barnes, you haven’t changed one bit, ‘cept you even better lookin’ now!”
I smiled and said, “Larretta, I can’t remember what grade you got in my class, but if it wasn’t an A, I promise you I’ll go over to the school tomorrow and change it.”
She laughed, and for a minute, the worry lines in her face seemed to disappear. But the moment passed, and she was serious again.
“I ‘preciate your comin’, Mr. Barnes, I really do. Anthony . . . well, I don’t know what to do.”
She sat back down on the overstuffed chair, and I sat on the matching love seat next to it.
“How’s he doing, Larretta?”
“The doctor was here a few minutes ago. They just took another X-ray, and she said Anthony gonna be okay. Said he can go home tomorrow. They bringing him back upstairs now.”
“That’s good news,” I said.
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.” Seeing my look, she added, “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Barnes, I want Anthony home, but at least here he’s safe from all that gang nonsense.”
“Larretta, I’m not sure why you told Mr. DeNunzio that you wanted to see me.”
“I want you to talk to Anthony about leaving the gang.”
“I understand why you’d want him out of a gang,” I said, “but I don’t understand why you think he’d listen to me. We’ve never even met. There must be someone else, besides you, that Anthony would listen to.” I paused for a minute and then said, “What about his father? Is there a relationship there?”
“No,” she said. “Never. Anthony’s father and I wasn’t together no more than a month or so. The last time I saw him, I told him about me being pregnant and that it had to be him ‘cause I hadn’t never been with no one else. Darryl was twenty, and after that night, I never saw him again. His mama tole me that Darryl left and went to New York. Didn’t neither of us ever see him again.”
“I’m sorry, Larretta,” I said, “but isn’t there someone Anthony looks up to, someone whose advice he might take?”
“Un-uh, Mr. Barnes. There’s no one. The minister at my church tried talking to Anthony, but Reverend Lyle is near eighty, and he and Anthony just don’t talk the same language. A couple of Anthony’s teachers tried, but it didn’t do no good. One of the counselors at school told me Anthony needed a good man in his life. Well, hell, so do I, but so far it hasn’t happened for either of us. I tried the Big Brother program, but they said they had too many boys and not enough men. Plus, Anthony got a stubborn streak, which I guess shouldn’t be no surprise seeing as I’m his mother, and right now, he don’t wanna listen to no one who starts talkin’ at him ‘bout gettin’ out of that gang. But Mr. Barnes, he’s gotta get out of that gang. If he don’t, I’m afraid of what might happen to him.”
“Larretta, I understand everything you’ve said, but I still don’t see why you think I could persuade Anthony to do anything, let alone leave his gang.”
“But I think you could,” Mr. Barnes. “I really do.”
“But why?” I asked again.
“’Cause of Romeo and Juliet,” she said.
Chapter 13
“Romeo and Juliet?” I said. “Okay, Larretta, you lost me with that one. What does Romeo and Juliet have to do with Anthony and his gang?”
She sat for a minute before answering.
“Nothing, really,” she said. “But when me and Mr. DeNunzio got to talkin’ ‘bout you last week, I remembered how much I liked your English class. I never really liked English before, and the only reason I went to any of my classes at first was ‘cause I wanted to stay eligible for basketball. And when you said we was gonna be readin’ Shakespeare, I thought . . . well, you don’t want to know what I thought. And at first, I didn’t like Romeo and Juliet at all. I mean, it was practically in a foreign language, and the way the people acted and all. But then you told us that Juliet was only thirteen, and you explained how it was back in those days and how kids was expected to obey their parents and everything. And before I knew it, I was hooked. I couldn’t wait to get to your class every day. I can even still remember some of the lines, like when Juliet found out that Romeo was a Montague and she said, ‘My only love sprung from my only hate!’”
“I’m impressed,” I said, “and flattered, but—”
“Don’t you see, Mr. Barnes? I hated the whole idea of readin’ that play, but you showed me how wrong I was. You helped me learn to appreciate what Shakespeare was saying. If you was able to get me to like Romeo and Juliet, then I know you can get my Anthony to quit that gang.”
She stood, and so did I.
“Anthony’s all I got in this world, and I know he ain’t no angel, but he’s not a bad person, either. ‘Member how you used to talk about people havin’ good hearts? Anthony’s got a good heart, Mr. Barnes. He just needs some help.”
There were tears in her eyes now.
“Please get him out, Mr. Barnes. Please.”
We stood like that for a minute, facing each other but not touching. Then Larretta took some tissues out of her pocket and wiped her face and I said, “Let’s go see Anthony.”
* * *
Anthony was sitting up in bed watching TV when his mother and I walked into his room. The Steelers were on Monday Night Football, and he was watching an expanded pre-game show on ESPN. My first thought on seeing Anthony was that his father must be a fairly large individual, because Anthony was a lot bigger than his mother, probably about five-eleven and around a-hundred-and-sixty pounds. Larretta went over and leaned down and hugged him, then straightened up and turned back to me.
“Mr. Barnes, this is my son, Anthony. Anthony, this here’s my teacher I been tellin’ you about, Mr. Barnes.”
I walked over and put out my hand and said, “How do you do, Anthony.”
Anthony had smiled when he hugged his mother, but now there was a neutral expression on his face as he slowly gave me a handshake that could use some work.
“H’lo,” he sort of mumbled.
“Mr. Barnes was the best teacher I ever had, Anthony,” said Larretta.
If that piece of information moved him, Anthony did a masterful job of hiding it.
“You should see how he teaches Romeo and Juliet,” Larretta said.
Again, Anthony managed to contain his excitement.
“If you’d like,” I told him, “I could bring in some videotapes of several of my lectures. I call them the Best of Barnes. I’d even let you take notes and stuff and then see how you do on one of my tests.”
Anthony looked up at me then, and the neutral expression was gone. In its place was the same look of confusion I used to get when I was teaching, especially at the beginning of the year, when my students hadn’t yet grasped the, shall we say, subtleties of my personality. In Anthony’s case, I could see that he was trying to come to grips with the idea that I had videotaped my lessons and, even worse, was offering to share some of those gems with him.
“Hey,” I added, “don’t worry. I’ll bring the popcorn.”
Now the kid was really worried, because it was beginning to look as though I was serious about this English lesson/multiplex thing. His mom stepped in and saved him.
“Anthony, can’t you see he’s funnin’ with you? I told you Mr. Barnes was always crackin’ us up in class.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, slowly, still staring at me like I was something that didn’t quite fit into his reference bank. I’m used to that, though.
“How’s the head, Anthony?” I asked.
“S’okay,” he said. Then he glanced at my bandage and said, “I saw you at school today. You pulled them Gates offa me.”
“Gates?”
“Wingates,” he said. “Dudes attacked me be from the Wingate Projects.”
“The other gang,” I said, nodding. “And which gang are you with?”
“Anthony ain’t in no gang, Mr. Barnes,” Larretta interrupted. “Leastways, not no more.” Looking at her son, she added, “Right, Anthony?”
Anthony was back in neutral again.
“Right, Anthony?” Larretta repeated.
“Ma, I tole you before, you don’t unnerstand.”
I had the idea that this wasn’t the first time these two had had this conversation, and listening to them have it again didn’t strike me as a particularly productive endeavor for any of us, at least not at the moment.
“Larretta,” I said, “do you think I could talk to Anthony alone for a while?”
She stared at her son for another minute and than said, “Sure, Mr. Barnes. I think that’s a good idea” She walked over to the door, then turned back to look at us.
“Anthony, honey, you listen to Mr. Barnes, hear? He’s tryin’ to help you.”
Then she left.
“So which gang are you in, Anthony?” I asked again.
“I be with the Links,” he said. Seeing my confusion, he added, “Lincoln Avenue. Call ourselves the Links, like a chain-link fence, ya know? Only as strong as its weakest link. Ain’t none of us wanna be the weak link, so everybody be stayin’ strong.”
“When did you join the Links?”
Anthony gave me that look of extreme exasperation that teenagers save for adults who ask silly questions.
“Didn’t join the Links, man. We ain’t no fuckin’ fraternity, ya know.”
I noticed that the profanity came out only after his mother had left the room. Anthony wanted to see how I’d react, so I didn’t.
“Well, then,” I said, “how long have you been with the Links?”
He shrugged and said, “I dunno, probly since sometime last year.”
“Why are you with them?”
I didn’t have any particular destination yet with this conversation. I just wanted to keep Anthony talking, see what I could learn about him, the gang, whatever.
“You got to be with either the Links or the Gates,” he said.
“Why?”
“Man, you try walkin’ those streets by yourself sometime, see how long you last.”
“Okay,” I said. “You probably have a point there, at least from your perspective anyway. You like being in the Links?”
“Ain’t no like or not like about it,” he said. “Just is, that’s all.” After a pause, he suddenly said, “My mom says you’re a private detective.”
“She’s right,” I told him. “I left teaching about eight years ago.”
“You got a gun?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Got it with you?”
“Nope. I’d heard how tough the nurses were here, but I figured my sense of humor would get me out of any trouble I ran into.”
He almost smiled, but he caught himself just in time.
“So how come you here?”
“Your mother asked me to come. She wants me to talk you into leaving the Links.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Not tonight,” I agreed. “That’s for sure.”
“How you think you gonna get me out the Links,” he asked, “when you don’t even know fuck about the gangs in the first place?”
And the thing of it is, he was right.
Chapter 14
I said goodnight to Anthony and walked down to the little waiting room again and talked to Larretta for a few minutes. I told her I wanted to look into the situation and that I’d be in touch. She thanked me and said to call her anytime, at home or where she worked, at the new Home Depot that had opened just down the street from Franklin High School. She also inquired about my fee and said whatever it was, she’d pay me some every month, if that was all right with me. I told her the Romeo and Juliet comments pretty much covered whatever I’d charge her, and she smiled and touched my arm and said, “See, you still got that good heart yourself, Mr. Barnes.”
On the drive home, I thought about Larretta and Anthony and the gangs, and what the odds were that I’d be able to convince Anthony to leave the Links. More to the point, why would I even try? Well, Larretta, for one. I’d liked her in 9th grade, and I liked her now. As for Anthony, somewhere behind the tough-guy facade and the profanity, I thought I’d seen just a glimmer of, what, maybe a challenge, as though he were saying, You think you can help me get outta the gang, well, then do it. And after all, I wasn’t working on anything else at the moment. In fact, the pet shop case had been the most recent of several jobs in a row that I’d managed to successfully conclude and, amazingly enough, actually been paid for. So I was in a position to keep the wolves from the door for a while and I had some free time. Why not see what I could do for old Anthony. Man never stands so tall as when he stoops to help a child, right?
* * *
By seven the next morning, I was up and running, and by eight-thirty I was at Starbucks, freshly showered and cleanly shaved and getting outside of a cranberry scone. Two, actually, since I figured I needed the extra calories to help with the emotional healing from the riot on Monday. Hey, it’s a theory.
Irv wasn’t around, so I had some time to further sharpen my powers of observation. In particular, I observed that one young mother who came in with her infant son seemed to have recovered nicely from the birthing process and had decided to celebrate that fact by wearing what appeared to be an all-spandex outfit. Closer inspection led me to conclude that opting for a sartorial celebration had been a wise choice on her part.
At a little after nine, I called police headquarters downtown and asked the operator there to connect me to Detective Wilcox’s office, and when Denny answered, I went into my dead-on impersonation of Tom Brokaw.
“Good morning, Detective,” I said. “I’m calling to get your opinion of the mayor’s recent statements regarding proper police attire. Specifically, I’d like to get your take on his suggestion that all detectives be required to wear department-issued one-hundred-percent polyester suits or sports jackets while on duty.”
Denny, who wears custom-made suits that cost more than some of the cars I’ve owned, chuckled and said, “JB, that is without a doubt the worst Diane Sawyer I have ever heard.”
“Jeez, Denny,” I said, “at least get the gender right.”
“What’s that computer expression?” he asked. “Garbage in, garbage out? Gotta give me something better to work with, son. And speaking of work, some of us have it to do, so what’s up?”
“I need to talk with someone who can tell me about the gang situation in the city, especially Lincoln Avenue and the Wingate Projects.”
“Paris Soloman,” said Denny. “Head of the anti-gang unit. What’s your interest, JB?”
“I was at Franklin yesterday during the riot.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, just a little bump on the head. The son of a former student of mine is in the Links. Kid’s mother asked me to see what I could do about helping the boy get out of the gang.”
There was a pause before Denny responded.
“Doesn’t usually work that way, JB.”
“I know,” I said. “Hell, I’m not even sure the kid wants out, but there’s a chance he does, and anyway, his mom can still quote lines from when I taught her Romeo and Juliet.”
“Uh-huh,” said Denny. “I’m just guessing here, mind you, but would this be one of those pro bono things?”
