“Er—yeah.”
“Fraser firs are available from four to twenty feet. Except we’re sold out of five footers.”
“Six feet, I guess.”
“You want tree-removal service too?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Hang on.”
I hung on.
A printing calculator whirred and buzzed over the line as the man added up the fees owed. “Two fifty.”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars?” I clarified. “You know the tree will be dead in a matter of weeks.”
The seller ignored that and responded with “One sixty for the tree, eighty for removal, and then miscellaneous taxes. You want the fir or not?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “Sure.”
“I got delivery availability tonight.”
“That wo—oh no. I’m not home tonight. Maybe.”
“Don’t work with maybes, buddy. Either tonight or… I got Friday night open.”
“I should have gone into the tree business,” I answered. “Sounds like it’s booming.”
“Better fuckin’ believe it,” he said with a laugh. “Tonight or Friday?”
“I guess it’ll have to be tonight.”
I gave Skippy’s Trees our address, paid over the phone, and promised to meet his van by 7:00 p.m. on the dot. After ending the call and checking the timeagain, I was thrilled to see I’d managed to waste a cooleleven minutes.
Now I needed to keep myself out of trouble for at least another three hours until Pop returned.
The clock on the wall was the only thing making noise in the apartment.
Ticktock.
Ticktock.
Ticktock.
I sighed dramatically.
I DIDN’Tlast until 5:00 p.m.…. I understood that Calvin didn’t want me alone until he had a grasp on the homicide situation, but unless he was going to get me some hired muscle, it simply wasn’t a reasonable request. Pop had his own commitments, and more to the purpose, what was my sixty-four-year-old father going to do if shit hit the fan? I’d be protectinghim, not the other way around. And since I’d been climbing the walls by four o’clock, I made the decision to step outside and do something more constructive with my time.
The dog needed a walk. I had to pick up some groceries for dinner with Dad. And then there was the tree delivery later in the evening. The way I saw it, no matter where I went, there were people. Help. Witnesses. I’d be safe from whatever Calvin was unsure of.
Dillon loved exploring outside of our immediate neighborhood. There were new trees—apparently better trees—to leave doggy communication on. After a very thorough investigation of every available trunk on Bleecker Street between Mercer and the Bowery, he was satisfied enough to let me do some quick food shopping. The stores I used to frequent with my father as a kid were no longer in business. The city ebbed and flowed with the comings and goings of trends and who could afford the leases on business properties. Unfortunately it was the mom-and-pop shops that ultimately suffered under change—quaint storefronts that once supported a hardworking family had been replaced with high-end clothing or jewelry boutiques that Ineversaw customers in, yet somehow they remained open.
Luckily there was still Wheeler’s Deli. It’d been open since the seventies. The little sun-faded awning and subtle window decal were nearly lost from view in the current scaffolding of constant city construction. I was mildly surprised, upon stepping inside, that the shop owner recognized and remembered my name, even though I hadn’t made it a habit of buying groceries there since leaving the family nest. Must have been the eyebrows and nose. Pop’s “best features,” as he called them.
I stayed long enough for the usual chitchat of “this fucking weather” and “how’s the family” and “really, they’re still alive?” before purchasing a loaf of freshly baked bread, an onion, and a bag full of decent tomatoes. When I got back to my dad’s place, using my copy of his key to get inside the building, I had enough time to chop the onion, peel tomatoes, and start tossing spices into a pot before he walked through the door with Maggie.
“Hey, kiddo.”
