Bronx Requiem(130)
“When I gotta go?”
Beck shrugged. “Soon. Demarco says you’re going to take your driving test this week.”
“With my new name?”
“With your new name. I traded in the Ranger for a nice used Subaru Forester you can have. You’re going to need wheels up there.”
“I like that truck. How come you traded it?”
“Well, I don’t want that vehicle anywhere near Ellenville.”
She nodded. “Some bad shit happened up there, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t comin’ up there, are you?”
“Not for a while. I can’t take the chance of ruining things for you in that town.”
“How long before I get to see you again?”
Beck tried to hide the pain that made him grimace. “I don’t know.”
Amelia nodded. Thinking her own thoughts. After a moment she said, “You all did so much for me.”
“And you for us, Amelia. You know that, right?”
Amelia tried to say something, but didn’t, for fear she might cry again. After a few moments she steeled herself, sat up straighter, and turned to Beck.
“Before I go, you gotta do one more thing for me.”
“Name it.”
“I didn’t know my father, but I know he was tryin’ to help me. And I know you all thought he was a good man.”
“He was.”
“So, I think I should know about him. And about what happened to him. Will you tell me? All of it?”
Beck nodded, thinking over her request. And then he began to talk about his friend, his true friend and her father—Packy Johnson. He told Amelia about Dannemora and Eastern Correctional, about how Packy had saved him, and how angry and tortured he had been about Packy’s death. He went through all of it, telling her things he’d never told anybody, but only as much as necessary.
Beck explained how he’d figured out Palmer had shot Packy. He tracked everything through for Amelia from the moment he’d discovered Palmer had planted the murder weapon in the Mount Hope apartment, describing how that had enabled him to frame Derrick for Packy’s murder, and provide a phony motive for Beck to shoot Derrick.
He told her how Walter had found out what the cops were doing and provided ballistics evidence that had helped him figure out Palmer’s crimes.
He explained how the ledger books and computer files from Derrick and Biggie had led to discovering the scope of Eric Jackson’s criminal enterprise. He assured her justice had been done without giving her any details that might compromise her.
They talked about how Beck would never get over the loss of his friend, and how helping her had helped him. But Beck didn’t tell her about how separating from her now pained him deeply.
When he finished, Amelia seemed to be deep in thought.
She said, “You figured out the cop did it.”
“Yes.”
“Cuz there wasn’t no twenty-two up at Derrick’s apartment.”
“Right.”
“What kind of gun did you say it was?”
“HP Phoenix. All black. Three-inch barrel. It wasn’t there when we took the guns off Derrick and his crew.”
“Yeah, none of them guys in Derrick’s crew would bother carrying a gun like that.”
Amelia became even more silent and inward. Beck worried that talking about how her father died hadn’t been a very good idea, but he didn’t try to console her, or ask how she felt. He sat silently with her, giving the young girl time to absorb everything he had told her. At one point, she turned and stared at Beck.
He asked, “Did you want to ask me anything more?”
For a moment, Beck thought Amelia was going to say something, but all she said was, “No. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”
Beck nodded. “Good.”
Amelia changed the subject. “So, anybody driving upstate with me?”
“Demarco. He wants to make sure everything is cool with you up there.”
“And if it ain’t?”
“Then we’ll figure something else out. We’re not getting rid of you, kiddo. We’re never going to stop looking out for each other.”
Again, a serious mood descended on Amelia.
“You’re right, Mr. Beck. We got to look out for each other. Always. No matter what.”
77
On the morning when they were to drive up to Ellenville, Demarco helped Amelia load up her Subaru. The day was overcast and unseasonably cool.
She wore skinny jeans, new Nike cross-trainers, and a long-sleeve raglan top. And, of course, her new glasses. Demarco had picked out the blue Prada frames with her and made sure her prescription lenses were perfect.
Amelia drove. Shortly after they set out, she said to Demarco, “I want to ask you a favor.”
“What?”
“I want to stop by my grandmother’s. Say good-bye.”
“Okay. It’s on the way.”
Amelia said very little on the drive to Hoe Avenue, which didn’t surprise Demarco. The young girl was leaving a place where she had learned to feel safe, for an unknown life in a place she’d never been.
When they arrived in her old neighborhood, instead of parking in front of her grandmother’s building, she drove to 173rd Street and parked the car next to a brick wall that bordered the south end of the courtyard behind the public housing unit. The wall had an overlapping section that allowed entrance into the courtyard.