Malcolm ‘Malley’ Henry, Jr., stood outside the 7-Eleven nervously scratching the gray stubble on his chin and looking at the Bud Light poster taped to the store’s window. Drinking had taken a toll on him, making his light-skinned complexion seem hard and worn. He had been trying since last night to reach his brother Ronnie, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about his brother CJ. He needed to get back to the trailer and get rid of the stuff CJ had stolen from those offices. He could burn it all deep in the woods out back. He didn’t want any part of it anyway, and Ronnie had already taken what he wanted and paid CJ for it.
But what if CJ told the cops about the trailer? He leaned his tired, six-two frame against the convenience store wall. “Damn,” he said. “I need a drink.” But taking a drink would’ve been like walking off a cliff. Malley had tried AA at least four times in the past two years, always intending to get his world back on track. The new business was supposed to kick-start everything. Then he could help CJ get clean.
Still, Malley couldn’t shake the feeling that he had messed up again.
You dumb ass. “Nobody in their right mind would borrow money from a drunk,” he scolded himself.
Malley thought he could bring back the days long gone when he rode shotgun with his dad and watched him make loans to politicians, businessmen, and crapshooters.
And why couldn’t it work? There were plenty of men like Bertrand Lewis--men who looked important but had addictions--addictions that required loans they couldn’t get at the local bank. And there would always be some guy caught skimming a little from the boss’ till and needing some quick cash to keep it all quiet. This could work, if he could just stay sober.
He dialed the number again on his cell phone. “Ronnie!”
“Mal, I heard about it, and I got nothing to say!” his younger brother yelled. “I told you it would go bad if you let CJ run wild.”
“I know, Ronnie, but they got him in lockup,” Malley pleaded, “and that Lewis man could be in bad shape. It’s been on the news and in the paper.”
“Listen, Mal, I did my part like I said I would. I fronted you the hundred twenty and set up the drop. I got nothing to do with what happened after that.”
“Don’t get stupid on me!” Malley shouted into the phone. “You know damn well you bought some of that stolen shit off CJ the last time you came through here! So don’t haul ass now!”
Malley’s temper was flaring, and his head was starting to pound. All he could think about was a cold beer and another cold one. He looked at the poster again.
Malley had learned from his dad that not every man pays his debts, and Bertrand Lewis was that kind of man. He should’ve loaned him a smaller amount and gotten him hooked. Desperate gamblers were easy to get hooked on bad loans. But Malley wanted to make an impression. He wanted people to think his money was large and to think he could handle the business.
When he ran in to an old acquaintance from his sober days--Bobby Lewis--and listened to Bobby’s money problems, he thought he had found a good mark. Besides, he never thought Bobby or his cousin had the guts to cross him, not after he and CJ showed up that night to tell the cousin where he could pick up the money.
But he was wrong. Malley could still hear in his head the announcer in the background calling the next race when Bobby Lewis called him from the OTB. Bobby had some weak story about his cousin missing the repayment date because of a family emergency. The next week, it was some other lie about waiting for a check to clear a company account. By the third week, Malley thought about threatening both Bobby and his cousin. He wasn’t above using violence, especially when he drank and felt self-pity. But his dad had warned him to never let money guide his emotions. So Malley wrote it off and swallowed his pride hard. That was part of doing business sometimes. And he didn’t want to do anything that could land him in jail--a place he had managed to avoid despite several close calls after nights of hard drinking.
“Mal, I’m not comin’ back up there,” Ronnie said. “You need to get back to the trailer and clean up that mess, and I’m not just talking about what CJ stole. You know CJ’s friends cooked that meth shit in there too.” Ronnie sighed and said, “I can get you some money quick, but it’s on you when it comes to CJ.”
Malley didn’t know what to do. He loved both of his younger brothers. Ronnie could always get by on his own. But he felt a need to look out for CJ ever since their mom died. For years, he kept his baby brother out of trouble, kept him close to home, and got him good labor jobs under the table. Yet the more Malley struggled with alcohol, the less his baby brother would listen to him. CJ crossed the line the day he tried meth on a dare from some stupid friends. Over the past year, he had spun out of control.
Looking back, Malley knew he was wrong for telling CJ about the amount he had loaned to Bertrand Lewis, and that Lewis never paid him back. But he was drunk and angry. Part of him did want CJ to do something stupid.
“Fine.” Malley tried to calm down. “I’ll see if I can get back to the house and over to the trailer. I don’t think the police knew CJ was going back there when they grabbed him. I haven’t seen his picture on TV or in the paper yet.”
“Okay. I can wire some money to Leslie. How much you need?” Ronnie asked.
“Enough to make her happy. I’ll stay with her for awhile, but we’ll have to move to a new place just to be safe. I can’t go back to my job, not with this happening.”
Malley’s girlfriend, Leslie, had seen him through some rough times. He seriously thought this could be the last time.
***
“This place is too big. I always get lost in here.” Marcus turned a corner and just missed bumping into a gurney. “Why didn’t the EMTs take this guy to the Goslyn ER?”
“I guess this one was closer,” Olivia said.
“What room is it again?”
“Just look for the uniform posted outside the door.”
Marcus turned another corner and spotted the officer straight ahead.
“Good morning,” Marcus said to the young man who looked bored stiff.
“Morning, Sir.” The officer yawned and nodded at Olivia as she followed Marcus into the room.
Two steps in, the man they saw was husk, old, and tired. The hospital had cleaned him up, but it couldn’t wash away the damage CJ had done to himself. Meth showed no mercy on him. For several seconds, the detectives looked at him. Then they moved closer.
“Mr. Henry, I’m Detective Rowland. This is my partner, Detective Winston.”
“I feel like crap, man. When can I go home?” CJ asked in a raspy voice.
“Tell me where it is and maybe we can work something out,” Marcus said, knowing that they were still trying to track down an address on their suspect. “Hey, man,” Marcus repeated, “where’s home?”
CJ sat up in the bed and focused his sight on Olivia, as if trying to recognize her. He looked at Marcus and tried to raise his right hand, but it was cuffed to the bed. “How’d I get here?”
“You tell us,” Marcus said. “What the hell were you running from yesterday, man?” Marcus pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down.
“My van was breaking down. I was heading…going to see a friend.”
“Really? What’s your friend’s name?”
Olivia stood on the other side of the bed and leaned against the wall. She enjoyed watching her partner interrogate.
CJ bit his lip and stared at his cuffed hand. Marcus and Olivia could tell he was struggling, either with the truth or details of another lie.
“Just some dude I know,” he finally said. “I must have blacked out or something when I was driving. That’s why I crashed.”
“That was a serious blackout, man. It lasted a good five miles. Were you coming from your friend’s place at Patterson and Glenside, you know, near that tax refund place?” Marcus was trying to back the suspect into a corner. CSI had already lifted CJ’s prints from the petty cash box found smashed open next to Bertrand Lewis and from the steel pipe he had used to terrorize the old man. But Detective Rowland wanted a confession.
“Nah, man. He was just over that way seeing some girl. I was picking him up, but my van kept stalling.” CJ lowered his head and seemed to be avoiding eye contact with the detectives.
“Is that right?” Marcus asked, pulling CJ’s attention back to him. “I need you to write down your friend’s name and phone number. Here, man.” Marcus took out a pad and pen from an inside pocket and tossed it on CJ’s lap close to his cuffed hand.
CJ picked up the pad with his other hand and just looked at it.
“People call him ‘Skip’, ‘Skip’ something. I don’t know his last name. He moves around, you know…to different girlfriends and…different relatives…you know.” CJ was rambling, and Marcus knew he was being fed more lies.
“CJ, my friend, I got some news for you.” Marcus moved to the edge of his seat and said, “I know somebody who saw you go into the tax refund office near Patterson and Glenside early yesterday evening,” he paused and stared at CJ, “and they tell me that they saw you leave through the back alley.” Marcus leaned back in his chair and waited.
The blood drained from CJ’s face, and sweat beads ran across his forehead. Marcus pulled the room’s trash can into position in case CJ needed to throw up.
“Listen, officer,” CJ said. “I don’t know anybody over there and …” CJ hesitated, and his hands started to tremble. “I was looking for a place to park my van because it kept stalling.”
“Calvin, listen to me. It is Calvin Henry, right?” Marcus asked.
CJ nodded and said, “Yeah, man. Calvin Henry.”
“Calvin, I got more news for you. I also know somebody who saw you talking to an older man who works at that office. You know who I’m talking about, Calvin? You know the one--kinda short, white hair, heavy-set, real nice old man everybody in the neighborhood likes?” Marcus was betting CJ had a conscience.
CJ blinked nervously. “Man, I didn’t hit…Shit. Maybe I…No. I didn’t talk to anybody over there.”
Both Marcus and Olivia could tell the suspect’s mind was racing. He was biting his lip again. Olivia signaled to her partner and pointed up at the ceiling.
Marcus said slowly and deliberately, “Calvin, the news gets real bad now. That same old man--the one somebody saw you with--that old man, at this very moment, is three floors above you in the intensive care unit. And you put him there. I know it. My partner knows it. And you know it.”
CJ stared ahead. Marcus and Olivia could almost hear the wheels spin.
Marcus got up, leaned in close, and whispered,” How much did Bertrand owe you?”
CJ broke down. He started crying and couldn’t catch his breath.
“Please, mama, forgive me!” he blurted out between sobs. “All he had to do was give me the money. That’s all he had to do. Please, mama, forgive me.” He kept sobbing.
Marcus remembered the report of the large deposit to Bertrand Lewis’ account ten month ago. He bent over and whispered, “Hundred twenty thousand, right?”
CJ nodded his head. “Yeah, but…but I didn’t hurt him bad, man. I swear. He fell on the floor.” CJ threw his head back on the pillow, closed his eyes, and tried to catch his breath again.
Marcus wanted more before the suspect’s guilt wore off. He knew they didn’t have any physical evidence against Malley. CSI didn't find any other prints at the break-ins, and no one saw a second person with CJ after the assault. But the money was a strong motive for Malley to send a clear message to Bertrand to pay up or get beat down.
The detective whispered, “CJ, you’re in this one deep, but I can help you if you help us. Where’s Malley?”
CJ opened his eyes and looked first at Marcus then at Olivia. He took several breaths and said, “I want a lawyer, man.”
“All right, my friend.” Marcus stepped back from the bed. “I wish you luck ‘cause you’re gonna need some.”
CJ rolled over and buried himself underneath the covers.
***
“Good work, partner,” Olivia said as she pushed the elevator button.
“We still don’t have our person of interest--Mr. Malley.” Marcus sounded disappointed.
“We’ve got CJ who connects directly to the burglaries. That’s more than we had a month ago.” Olivia always looked for the upside.
They stopped by ICU and got an update on Bertrand. He was stable, but the doctor still wouldn’t allow any visitors.
They made their way back to the hospital’s parking deck.
“Which way is the Federal Building?” Olivia asked.
“About five blocks that way,” Marcus said as he pointed off to his left. “Thinking about dropping in on your date, Miss Winston?”
“Mind your own business and get in the truck.”
***
Olivia rummaged through her bedroom closet looking for something appropriate to wear. Black jeans, blue jeans, and shorts were all the casual stuff she owned. Pat was on the other end of Olivia’s cell phone, which lay on the bed in speakerphone mode.
Olivia bent over the phone. “Blues jeans and my green Hanes T-shirt. That’ll work. But what about the shoes? Sneakers or loafers?”
“Don’t you have anything less tomboy and more grown-up for weekends?” Pat said.
“I save my grown-up stuff for work.”
“That means I need to take you shopping. I think a nice pair of pressed khakis with a light colored blouse and your light brown loafers would look good. I know you have khakis because I bought them for you last summer.”
Olivia shuffled through her closet and drawers looking for khakis. To her surprise, she found a pink polo shirt. She raised her voice, “Where did this come from?!”
“What is it?” Pat asked.
“I found a nice pink shirt in the bottom drawer.” She laid it on the bed and kept digging. “There they are, beige khakis.” She laid them next to the polo shirt. “Looks good.”
“It should, I bought you that pink polo too. Are we done yet? I’m hungry.”
“Stop being cranky. You’re just sitting around watching movies. What else does an old, married woman like you do on a Friday night anyway?”
“I’m trying to enjoy a movie all by myself, and I’m hanging up on you. Don’t forget to call me tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll let you know how it went.”
***
Maureen hadn’t bothered to unpack from her Atlanta trip. Her closet and drawers were overflowing with winter and spring clothes, and she didn’t have the patience to try shoving anything back to where it belonged. “I really need to donate some of this stuff.”
“Or have a yard sale,” her sister, Gloria, said as she wrestled on the bed with her son. “Just iron some tight blue jeans and a nice blouse with a little cleavage.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I don’t want to send the wrong message.” Maureen walked across the hall to her other bedroom and opened a set of drawers. She pulled out a pair of black jeans and a white T-shirt and brought them in for Gloria to see. “I want to keep it simple. What do you think?”
“That’s not simple,” Gloria said, “that’s boring.” Maureen’s nephew pointed at her and giggled. Gloria added, “See? Even Elijah thinks so.”
Maureen went back and returned with a pair of dark blue khakis and a yellow v-neck blouse. She held it up for Gloria.
“The blouse is much better, but go back to the black jeans,” Gloria said.
“All right, the yellow v-neck with my black jeans,” Maureen announced as she came back into the room, “and my black loafers. Done.”
“I don’t remember spending this much time picking out clothes for a date,” Gloria said.
“Because you’ve had date nights with the same man for the last seven years. You do remember Wallace, your husband?”
Gloria looked at her watch. “Gotta go. The baseball game should be almost over, and I need to pick him up from the high school.”
“How’s Coach handling the two losses so far?” Maureen asked about her brother-in-law.
“Like he’s down three games in the World Series. We’ve got seven more games to go this season.” Gloria picked up Elijah and headed down the hall and out the front door with Maureen behind her.
“All right, sis, we’ll see you tomorrow morning at Auntie’s,” Gloria said as she buckled up.
Maureen watched as they pulled off and saw Elijah wave from his safety seat.
The life of a two-year-old. If only dating were that easy.