Chapter 16
I can’t repeat the exact words that Bovano screams at me, but suffice it to say there are several swears and a whole lot of Italian mixed in.
It’s strange, but when he starts to shout I actually feel a little better. It’s like the words give me strength. Or maybe I’m just so scared, my mind goes bye-bye.
Regardless, after he gets the yelling out of his system, we come up with four points of agreement from our little “discussion”:
Eddie Red is never, ever, ever again to touch ANY weapon of ANY kind. Ever.
Eddie Red’s parents do not need to know about this little incident because no harm was done, he meant to help, and his parents might misunderstand and pull him from the job. (Translation: They are close to cracking the case, and Bovano needs me.)
Detective Bovano will now be the one and only driver of Eddie Red.
Effective immediately, Eddie Red will begin self-defense lessons as a precautionary measure.
I’m not so thrilled about numbers one and three, but two and four make up for it, so I figure I’ve come out fifty-fifty.
It’s about a hundred degrees in Bovano’s office from all the hot angry air. The papers are curling on the bulletin board behind his head. Even his hair has wilted. He mops his brow with his sleeve and takes a slow breath. I think we’re finally done hashing this out. Maybe he’s out of oxygen. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded myself.
“You know,” Bovano grunts, leaning back in his chair, shirt buttons straining against what I can only imagine to be a very pale and hairy belly underneath. “I never wanted to take on this mission in the first place. Too much liability. Things get out of hand when a kid is involved. I see that I was correct.” He nods his head toward the claw marks on my arm.
I shrug, pulling my shirtsleeve down over the wounds. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch. My cat does it all the time.”
“Is that what you’re gonna say when a bullet grazes you? Or maybe it will be just a scratch when a knife punctures an organ? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!”
Round two, here we go.
He drives me home in silence. When we arrive at my building, I barely manage a “Thanks” before I jump out and scurry over to the protection of my apartment. Eight stairs up to the outer door, a turn of a key, and I’m safe.
Halfway up the staircase, I hear a car door slam. I turn to see that Bovano has left his car in the middle of the street, blue strobe lights on. Abuse of his police privileges, I’d say.
He’s coming up the stairs.
I pull out my key but his meaty arm slides past me, a thick finger squashing the buzzer to my apartment.
“Hello?” My mother’s voice is tinny over the speaker.
“It’s Frank Bovano. I’ve got Eddie with me.”
A weird static scramble resonates over the intercom, as if she’s ripping the chain off our apartment door with her teeth. Before you can say Mother Is Panicking, she’s standing in front of us. We only live on the second floor, but seriously. It’s like she strapped on a jetpack.
“Frank?” she says, in a tone that’s a combination of What have you done now, Edmund? and Oh my God, my son has been murdered even though I’m standing right in front of her. My dad joins her in the doorway, no doubt concerned after she clawed the door open and flew down the stairway. I don’t know what her problem is. I’m only about thirty minutes later than usual. Is it because Bovano is here?
“Evening, Joyce, Herb,” Bovano says as I try to squeeze through the entrance and flee the scene. The hulking mass that is my father blocks me. His mustache twitches the way it does when he knows I am up to something.
I realize that I am not playing it cool like we discussed at the station. I sense Bovano’s dark eyes burning into my back. He clears his throat. I turn back to peek at him, positioning my body as close to my father as humanly possible.
“Sorry he’s a bit late,” Bovano says, hat in hand. “We had to talk about the case. That’s why I drove him tonight. Eddie’s been a big help, and I find it’s good to bounce some ideas off him, so I’ll be driving him home from now on.”
“Oh,” my mom says brightly, beaming down at me as if I just won the Nobel Prize. Then she smiles at Bovano and says, “Frank, would you like to come in for coffee and pie?”
I just about die on the spot. Detective Bovano having a snack in my kitchen is beyond my wildest nightmares. Great, Mom. Let’s have him over for movies and popcorn. Maybe he can snuggle up on the couch, too. Don’t be surprised when I end up in therapy, crazy lady.
“Thanks, but I’ll have to pass. Busy day tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing. We’re trying out a new ‘Safety for Kids’ program, teaching them about self-defense. We were hoping that Eddie here could be our test model. Help us fine-tune the program. Plus they’re great skills to have for any kid living in the city.”
He’s good. A little too good.
My parents are ecstatic and start to blather on about how wonderful it will be for my self-esteem. They don’t know it’s so I can fight off alley cats because I am the lamest undercover cop ever.
Detective Bovano says good night: a handshake for my dad, a mushy smile for my mom, a grizzled look of death for me, and he’s gone.
I shoot my mom a glare and sprint for the apartment. My arm is on fire.
Four Band-Aids and a whole lot of disinfectant later, I head for the kitchen. Crime-fighting works up quite an appetite. I just pray I don’t get some kind of weird alley cat infection. Maybe I’ll ask about the signs of rabies in science class tomorrow.
I load my plate with a turkey sandwich, grapes, yogurt, and two brownies, then join my parents on the sofa. They’re cuddling and watching a police detective movie (not my favorite type at the moment), oblivious to the evening I’ve just had. Mom doesn’t even comment that I’m eating on the couch or having double dessert. When I’m done, they kiss me and send me to bed, business as usual. No suspicion whatsoever.
Sadie knows.
Instead of hissing her usual greeting as I approach the stairs to my room, she freezes, the hair rising on her back. Maybe she smells singed fur on my clothing. She moves away from me slowly, never taking her eyes off me, and then zooms down the hallway, her marshmallow fluff tail tucked between her legs. A small victory in an otherwise awful day.
I never do see Officer Grant again, which is too bad because I enjoyed his company. I hear he’s taking an early retirement this May.