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With my cell plugged in and charging, I sit on the floor, back against the wall and call Rosie’s number. No answer. It’s after ten. She’s not supposed to use her phone after ten, but sometimes she does. I text: Goodnight. Love you.
Remembering the swings, remembering that Mario has always had my back, I call. He picks up right away. I hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, Babbler. What’s up?”
“I want to talk with you about something, you being a cop and all.”
“Yeah?”
“Well...I sorta knew who one of those guys who beat me up was.”
“You sorta knew, or you knew?”
Even though we’re not face-timing, I know exactly what Mario’s expression is right now. It’s the raised eyebrow, straight-lined mouth expression that says: stop with the modifiers, the “sortas," and “almosts,” and “maybes.”
“I knew.”
“All along when you said you didn’t see anyone, you were lying?”
“I didn’t see anyone. I heard someone.”
“Tell me about it.”
So I do. I tell him what I heard, and how I worked to get strong again to get back at Jason, and the fight this afternoon, and then everything Jason said, and how Joe said if I didn’t tell the police within 24 hours, he would.
“Joe’s right. The police need this information.”
There’s a silence that’s starting to feel awkward when Mario says, “I’ll come down. Go with you to the police.”
“You don’t have to...”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve got background on these guys that may be helpful. And I want to be sure you get to the right people when you tell your story. Most of the Hamilton Heights guys are good, but there’re a couple of doofuses on the force, and we don’t want them screwing things up. We’ve got to be sure that Jason’s protected, so we want to be careful about what we say, when, and who we say it to.”
Mario says he’s tired. He’s not going to start the two-hour drive at midnight, plus he’s got to take care of a few things at the station and arrange for someone to cover his shift for him.
“I’m an early riser,” he says. “I’ll get there by nine, ten at the latest.”
He says to be fake sick and stay home ’til he gets here. He says not even to tell Max what’s up. We can all go to Dimitri’s when she gets off work and talk then.
William bangs on my door around 6:30. “You’re late!”
“I don’t feel too good!” Which is true. My stomach is all trembly about going to the police station. Not as trembly as it’d be if Mario wasn’t going with me, though.
7:00. Text ding. Rosie: Where r u?
Me: sick
Rosie: sad face emoji
Minutes later, another text ding.
Joe: Are you telling or am I?
Me: me
Joe: thumbs up emoji
Mario pulls up in a squad car a little before ten. He’s wearing his uniform and badge. He reaches over and opens the passenger door for me.
“What’s with the squad car?” I ask.
“The chief told me to make it official.”
“Why?”
“There’s an active Patriots group up our way, too, but we can never get anything on them. A trans kid was killed a couple of months ago. Super bright, talented, killed on their way home from a night class.” Mario pauses, shakes his head. “It had to be the Patriots but no witnesses. No evidence.”
We do the drive-thru thing at Starbucks. Mario gets a large espresso, and I get a medium hot chocolate. Mario gets a protein box too, but I’m not hungry.
We park in a shady spot so Mario can eat his breakfast before we go to the station. He says he called ahead to be sure we’ll be talking with the right people. “Officer Harvey, who you already know,” he tells me. “And another guy, Mr. Chang, who specializes in hate crimes.”
We talk about not much while Mario finishes his breakfast. Traffic. The weather. Tio Hector’s smaller than usual garden. Mario notices my bracelet, and I tell him about William’s gifts.
“Better than your old one,” he says, looking closely at the letters.
I don’t tell him I gave the bracelet a vacation yesterday. But me and Cesar? We’re good again.
We dump our trash and drive to the police station, past the entrance where the red, white, and blue flag flies at the top of the tall pole, and the California bear flag flies below. We park in the back, one dusty little sheriff's car in the middle of a row of big, shiny police cars. Mario texts Harvey that we’re here, and after a minute or two, he and Mr. Chang meet us at the back entrance. Chang’s not wearing a uniform.
Basic greetings and then we follow them up a short staircase and back to a room about the size of our dining room, a yuck green color, probably Celery Verdure. In the middle is a round wooden table with six rolling chairs around it. Harvey pulls two chairs off to the side, spaces the others equally, and motions for us to sit down.
“Coffee?” Mr. Chang asks.
“No thanks,” Mario says. “We made a Starbucks stop before we got here.”
“Wise move,” Harvey says. That gets a laugh from the three of them. Maybe cops don’t make good coffee.
“I’d like to record this, if it’s okay?” Harvey says, taking a small recording device from his shirt pocket and placing it in the middle of the table.
“Sure,” Mario says. “Me, too.” He takes a similar looking device from his own shirt pocket and sets it across from Harvey’s.
“Fair enough,” Harvey says.
“All right, Eddie,” Officer Harvey starts, “You remember something more than you told us about earlier?”
I nod.
“Yes or no. For the recording.”
“Yes.”
And then we go through the whole thing again. Everything I told Mario last night, except I don’t name Jason.
Then Chang takes over.
“You say this kid—X, we’ll say—is part of a group that’s called the Patriots?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about the Patriots?”
“Nothing, except they hang out together and wear flags on their camo jacket sleeves.”
“What kind of flags?”
“American flags.”
“What else do they wear?”
“Sometimes they wear boots with their pants tucked inside.”
“Does X dress like that?”
“Sometimes one of those jackets.”
And on and on, asking the tiniest details. Did I know they were the ones who slashed my tires? No. Did I think they were the ones who slashed my tires? Yes. When I was attacked, what time was it? What day was it? Where was I? Hypnotically dull, and then, in the same dull tone of voice, Chang says, “Name of the kid you heard?”
I almost blurted out Jason’s name. Caught myself just in time.
Mario’s out of his seat. “That’s it!”
I roll back. Stand beside Mario.
Harvey shoots Chang a dirty look.
“A kid’s life is at stake, and you’re trying to trick my brother into saying the name? And then what, you’d rush out to arrest him, but he’s not there, and the next day he turns up dead??”
Mario shoves his chair back, grabs my arm, and pulls me out the door with him. Down the stairs, through the parking lot, and into his squad car in a flash. Harvey’s in the parking lot now, yelling for us to wait.
Mario backs up, and makes a quick turn, onto the street. My heart is racing, but Mario’s all calm now.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “That trick is older than dirt, but it often works on inexperienced witnesses.”
“It almost worked on me.”
“But it didn’t...What an unprofessional asshole.” Mario glances in the rearview mirror. “Here comes Harvey.”
Harvey is right behind us as we pull into the driveway at my house. Crap. Two cop cars in our driveway?? That’ll get the neighbors talking.
Harvey follows us to the door. “Can we continue our conversation?”
“No Chang!” Mario says.
Harvey nods and follows us inside. Once again, we’re at the dining room table, except this time it’s only the three of us. Harvey takes out his recorder. Mario shakes his head. Harvey puts the recorder back in his pocket and takes out the little notebook I guess he always carries with him.
“Tell me about the kid who beat you up,” Harvey says.
Should I? Is it true Jason’s dad will kill him if he finds out about what Jason said? I ask what’s most on my mind. “What’ll happen to the guy?”
“Good question,” Mario says.
Harvey glances at Mario, turns back to me.
“This is a group we’ve been watching for a long time. They’re in other places, too, like up where your brother is, and down toward San Diego. They don’t all call themselves the Patriots, but they’re connected. White supremacists. Wherever they are, they’re plastering walls with ‘Stop White Genocide,’ and all kinds of hate signs targeting Muslims, Jews, Blacks, anyone who’s not of the ‘pure white race.’ They beat up on people. Sometimes kill, but so far, we’ve not been able to prove anything. “
Mario chimes in, “They’re also after LGBT people, immigrants, people with disabilities, you name it.”
“But what will happen to...X?
“I’m getting to that,” Harvey says.
He goes on to say how the incidence of hate crimes rose during the campaign, when there was all of that anti-immigrant fever, and rose even more after the election. “Like that sign you painted over,” he says. “Wasn’t that shortly after the election?”
I nod.
“As soon as we get some solid evidence, or a solid witness, we can move in on these guys. Stop them. That’s why Mr. X’s story is crucial.
“But...”
“Yeah. I know. What will happen to him? We’ve been in touch with the FBI regarding Patriot activity around here.”
“Yeah, we’ve also been in close communication with the FBI in Redville County,” Mario says.
“They’re monitoring hate crimes all over the country,” Harvey says. “They’re spread pretty thin right now, won’t come unless there’s a strong case for arrest and conviction...”
“But what...?”
“Okay. Once X tells us his story, we’ll place him under protection, first with us, then with the FBI.”
“What if he won’t tell? He doesn’t want to get his dad in trouble.”
“If he won’t tell, we’ll pick him up, interrogate him in the presence of you and Joe. Ultimately, he’ll tell us his story, but it would be a lot easier to protect him if he meets us somewhere willingly.”
After listening to a lot of hows and what ifs regarding how Officer Harvey and Mario can meet with Jason without having to actually pick him up publicly and take him to the station, I come up with the idea that we could get him to come home with Joe, then meet him there.
“How’s that gonna work?” Mario says. “I thought he was a Tuesday guy.”
“Well, Joe could have some emergency and need someone to take care of Peppy for a while. Joe can bring X to his house and we can be there.” I glance at the clock. “Yoga’ll be over in forty minutes so we better call pretty soon.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Mario asks Harvey.
He shakes his head. “You?”
“Nope.”
So, I call Joe and tell him to pretend some emergency came up and he has to leave immediately for San Diego or wherever, and he needs Jason to watch out for Peppy. I’m away, so Jason is the only one who can help.
And Harvey calls the FBI.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
