Bronx Requiem(102)

The room had a double bed, a single window facing southeast, a closet with sliding doors that took up most of the wall opposite the window. There was a bed, a dresser, a mirror, and under the window a small round table with a club chair upholstered in brown leather. Amelia sat in the chair, her long legs stretched out, her bare feet resting on the edge of the bed. The Glock 17 on the table next to her.

Beck knocked lightly on the open door.

“Amelia?”

She quickly pulled her feet off the bed and sat up.

Beck stayed in the doorway.

“I’m James Beck. Your father was a very good friend of mine. I’m happy to see you here. May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Beck entered the room and extended his hand.

Amelia hesitated. Shaking hands wasn’t something she did. Beck was about to forget it when she leaned forward and put her hand in his. It was more like allowing Beck contact than actually shaking hands.

Amelia was dressed in her jeans and gray Levi’s T-shirt, but all her clothes had been washed and dried by Demarco while she had waited in her room, napping, wrapped up in an extra-large flannel bathrobe.

Beck said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Okay.”

Beck sat on the edge of the bed. Amelia in the chair. They both made believe the Glock wasn’t on the table.

Beck tried to gauge Amelia’s mood. This was a very different version of the young woman he’d seen shoot Derrick Watkins. That woman had looked like a caricature, a perverse attempt to manipulate and heighten the sexuality of an adolescent. The young woman who stared back at him seemed reserved to the point of austere. She wore no makeup at all. She had combed out her hair and tied it into a tight pony tail. She looked like a high school athlete holding herself in a tense state of composed readiness.

For a moment, Beck thought about asking her to put the Glock in one of the dresser drawers, or just do it himself. Instead, he asked, “How are you?”

The question confused Amelia for a moment. She couldn’t remember anyone ever asking her that. She replied, “All right.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been going through a hard time.”

“When?”

Beck felt foolish. This girl’s entire life had been a hard time.

“Lately.”

“Oh.”

“Well, at least you’re with us now. Assuming you want to be.”

“I got no place else to go. Even if I did, I’d probably get killed before I got there.”

Beck looked directly at her. “We won’t let that happen. You’re safe with us.”

“Why? You think Juju Jackson and his guys ain’t gonna find you? Or the cops?”

“I’m going to take care of that.”

“How?”

“Let me ask you a couple of questions first.”

“Okay.”

“The gun you used to shoot Derrick Watkins, where did you find it?”

“In the freezer, back in the kitchen. I got it when you asked me to get a towel for him.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“What?”

“Shooting him.”

“I didn’t have no choice. They was going to kill me.”

“Do you know why?”

“Pimps don’t need no reason. Maybe cuz of the trouble my father caused.”

“You should know why your father caused them trouble.”

“Why?”

“He was trying to save you from being forced to work for people in a situation even worse than in the Bronx.”

“Who?”

“I’ll explain later. Point is, we have a lot to deal with. First thing I need is information on Eric Jackson’s operation. Where his money comes from. Who was running his women. Do you know any way I can find out about that? Where’d you find those ledgers tracking Derrick’s prostitution business?”

“I found ’em in Tyrell Williams’s car. He must’ve ripped off Derrick’s place after I shot him.”

Beck nodded. “You think there might be more information like that somewhere? More ledgers?”

“Yeah. Most likely at Biggie’s house. Whatever Derrick did, Biggie did more. Biggie has, well had, a house where his wives and kids live, and where he has his phone lines for the in-call hookers.”

“Where is it?”

“Crotona Avenue near 178th. I don’t know the exact number. I know it by sight. I’ll show you if you want.”

“I don’t want to take you up there.”

“You gonna hit the place for Biggie’s records?”

“Yes.”

“You got a lot better chance of gettin’ in there if I’m with you.”

Beck struggled with his decision.

Amelia said, “Hey, I don’t want to go up there very much either, but sooner or later Juju or Whitey Bondurant going to go in there and clean out the place. They might’ve done it already if they ain’t too busy looking for me. I know some of the women in there. I show up, I’m pretty sure they’ll open the door for me.”

Beck checked his watch.

Amelia said, “You ain’t got much time. Biggie been shot for a while now. Juju probably already got people up there watchin’ the place.”