Bronx Requiem(24)

“What the hell’s the matter with you? Settle down.”

Lorena kept struggling until Manny Guzman placed the short barrel of his Charter Arms revolver firmly against her temple and slowly cocked the trigger.

Her tantrum ended. She looked up at Manny Guzman, her back straight, her face twisted into an angry grimace.

Beck released her wrists. He took a long, deep breath, calming himself.

“What the hell are you doing coming to the door with a gun? You could have killed me.”

She sat tight-lipped, saying nothing.

“Answer me.”

Finally, she spat out, “I no want you here. You cause me all this trouble. I no have any problems until you make me take Packy in. Now he’s dead. Now the police come to me. Yell at me. Now what? Now you come and hurt me.” She turned to Manny. “He puts a gun to me. Leave me alone. I don’t want no more problems.”

Beck looked at Manny and tipped his head, silently telling him to move his gun. Manny stepped back, taking the barrel from Lorena’s temple, but still holding his revolver.

He said, “If you don’t want any problems from me, tell me what I need to know, and you’ll never see me again.”

She yelled, “What do you want to know? What?”

“Where did Packy go after he came here?”

With a disgusted look on her face she answered, “To find his daughter’s pimp.”

Beck took a second to absorb the information.

“Who’s that?”

Lorena looked like she had a bad taste in her mouth as she said the name. “Derrick Watkins.”

“How did Packy know his daughter was being prostituted?”

“He knows.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

Lorena shouted at Beck. “He know when he come here.”

“Did he ask you where he could find Derrick Watkins?”

“I tell him at the project. Bronx River Houses.”

“What’s his daughter’s name?”

Lorena stopped shouting her answers. “Amelia.”

“How long has she been with this pimp?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she live with you before?”

“Yes.”

“And before that?”

“Foster homes. And with her mother.”

The change of subject seemed to calm Lorena.

“Does Amelia keep clothes here? Any of her belongings?”

“Top drawer in my bedroom. She sleep on the couch.”

Suddenly, the old, angry woman buried her face in both hands. Beck wasn’t sure why. Perhaps talking about her daughter and granddaughter brought it on. Maybe it was just exhaustion and fear. All her anger had dissipated. She seemed smaller, diminished by the burden of constantly scraping by and the years of torment brought into her life by drugs and addiction and jail sentences. Beck suddenly felt terrible that the police had come to her door. And now he had appeared with his anger and urgency for revenge.

He placed his large hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Lorena. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away from Beck’s hand.

He spoke more softly. “When did the police come here, Lorena?”

She dropped her hands but kept her head down.

“This morning.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Same as I tell you.”

“Anything else?”

She looked up at Beck. She appeared to be exhausted. “What else is there?”

Beck nodded. He assumed she’d told the police he had convinced her to let Packy stay with her. Which meant now the cops knew about him and his connection to Paco Johnson. So be it.

He couldn’t think of anything more to ask the defeated, angry woman.

He checked his watch. If anyone had called 911 about the gunshot, they didn’t have much more time. While Manny watched Lorena, Beck quickly searched the apartment.

He found a small duffel bag that belonged to Packy on top of the refrigerator. He rifled through it as he made his way back to Lorena’s small, stuffy bedroom. A change of clothes and the cell phone Packy had never used were inside the duffel. Nothing else.

In the bedroom, heavy old curtains had been pulled across the one small window in the room. He pulled the curtains back to brighten the room enough so he could see the contents of the top dresser drawer. The pressed fiberboard drawer had warped under the cheap plastic veneer, and he almost pulled the loose knob off opening it.

Inside were a few of Amelia’s things: flimsy thong panties, two bras, costume jewelry, condoms, a disposable lighter, a few receipts stapled together, an old cell phone, makeup and brushes in a rectangular plastic case. He stuffed everything into Packy’s duffel bag, took a quick look at the rest of the dresser drawers, the closet, glanced around the room. There didn’t seem to be anything else that belonged to Packy’s daughter.

As he walked toward the living room, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fold of cash. From the center of it, he took five one-hundred-dollar bills then, realizing the woman might have trouble breaking hundreds, he added another hundred in twenties.

When Beck emerged into the living room, Lorena was still sitting on the couch, immobile, waiting for this latest intrusion on her to end.

Beck sat down next to her. As Manny watched out the front window, Beck placed the folded bills into her hand. He said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Leon.”