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Hugo was always talking about kicking ass but he never really did it. In fact, neither of us has ever used excessive force on a snitch or a suspect. We’re proud of that, too.
I turned right onto what was normally a quiet block. It was crowded with crying people, nosy people and stunned people. Uniformed police officers kept them all behind the yellow crime scene tape. We showed our identification and entered the house.
The woman who had made the call, a Miss Jane Hunter, was a slim, attractive black woman in her late twenties. She wore a typical ghetto hairdo—twirled and gelled into a towering structure about eight inches from her scalp. Her makeup was streaked with tears. We questioned her for about ten minutes about the covered body of a black teenage male in the kitchen. Everything that came out of her mouth was a lie.
We finally gave her the right to remain silent spiel, slammed the cuffs on and hauled her ass back to the precinct.
There was a coded message waiting for me. It meant that our snitch had called with the information we needed. Our jobs weren’t on the line after all.
Chapter 21
EVELYN
I had just finished twisting a gorgeous swath of turquoise fabric into a turban around my head when Hugo called. I knew right away what that meant. Phil had decided to pull a double shift and his partner had agreed to take me out instead.
“Hi, Evelyn. How would you like to keep a short Puerto Rican man company this evening?”
Hugo and I had been friends since our days at the police academy. . . long before he introduced me to Phil. “So he is doing a midnight to eight, huh?”
“Yeah, chica. Our boy has some heavy-duty expenses coming up. Comprende?”
It was true. Saundra’s wedding. Saundra’s boutique. Our wedding. And Phil knew that I was making my career change right after we tied the knot. The retreat for women would satisfy my soul but my paycheck would be a lot smaller. How could I get mad?
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Hugo. It will give us a chance to catch up.”
“Good!” He sounded genuinely pleased. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, but I have three conditions.”
“What are they?”
“The food must be cooked . . . nothing raw, like sushi. They must serve meat even though you aren’t going to eat any of it.”
“What is the third?” I already knew but he really wanted to say it.
“They have to have a real bar. No spritzers. No wine coolers. I want Jack Daniel’s both straight up and on the rocks.”
“So, I have to watch you keel over with a massive heart attack? That’s not my idea of fun, Hugo.”
“What if I promise not to collapse until you’re back home? My living room is huge. Plenty of room for me to lie facedown until the medics arrive.”
I had to laugh. “Suit yourself.”
“Good! See you in a few minutes.”
I hung up, poured myself a glass of organic apple juice and stared out my bedroom window. It was dusk—a crisp autumn evening with a slight wind that was blowing the red and gold leaves around on our lawn. I wondered if my first husband, Jerry Turner, still lived in New York City. We had promised each other all the usual things: remain friends, stay in touch, blah, blah, blah; but after all the drama died down, there really wasn’t anything more to say. We were just kids when we got married, and after it was over, I couldn’t afford to keep the apartment. Not on a McDonald’s cashier’s salary. Besides, we’d had so many hopes and dreams there. I just didn’t want to look at the space where we had placed the crib or inside the drawers that held stacks of baby clothing from the shower that Mama and Josephine had thrown for me. So, when Mama suggested I move back home and take a bunch of tests to land a city job, I figured she was right.
That’s one thing about Mama: she keeps moving forward and never looks back. Dad was a sanitation worker and one night he had an asthma attack and died. I was a ten-year-old—away at summer camp. When the counselor told me, I was stunned—too lost to even cry until many years later. He had been a wonderful father and I adored him. Maybe I didn’t cry because mama didn’t dwell on it. She used the life insurance money to pay off the mortgage on our house and kept on working at the nursing home where she’d been the resident dietician for years. She still works there part time, even though she retired many years ago.
I took every test that the City of New York had to offer that year and the New York Police Department was the only organization that showed interest. So, I jumped at the chance to earn a good salary and benefits. The notion of good vs. evil never even entered my thoughts. These days, you can’t get on the force without a college degree but back then all you needed was a high school diploma.
Hugo and I were the only minorities in the academy that year and he helped me through the grueling physical challenges. What a nice guy! I wish he would find a nice woman, settle down and have kids. I’ve been to several of his family parties and he really has a kind and gentle way of dealing with children. But Hugo says he doesn’t ever want to get married. He has his little bachelor pad in Manhattan and a very simple life that seems to make him happy.
Boy, when Hugo and I first joined the force, we had some grand old times. We’d go out after our shift was over and drink ourselves silly. In fact, I used to be able to out-drink Hugo. The hard stuff. Rye. Scotch. Whiskey. It didn’t matter. We would go someplace with loud, live music and get totally wasted to shut out the eight hours of human misery that we had just shoveled our way through. Our friendship didn’t change until
I met this guy named Miles Galloway. He was a high school math teacher. A deep man who lived a holistic lifestyle that I didn’t understand at first. But the more I fell in love with him, the more I was eager to learn. He introduced me to yoga, meditation, veganisim and various eastern philosophies. The relationship lasted two years and ended when he asked me to quit the force. At the time, I was too afraid to leave. Where else was I going to make such good money with only a twelfth grade education? Miles said that if I still cared about money, then I hadn’t totally thrown off my shackles. He wouldn’t have minded my working if the job didn’t involve guns, violence, and some laws that are just plain unfair. I understood where he was coming from but what if we didn’t work out? I visualized myself back at the McDonald’s counter and let Miles Galloway depart in peace.
Meanwhile, Hugo had won kudos for risking his life in the line of duty. He had also become a savvy political animal and was now Detective Hugo Montana while I was still pounding the pavement in a blue uniform. That’s fine.
We all have our place in the universe.
