Bronx Requiem(30)

Just as Belinda raised her cane for another smack, the door opened. A tall, thin young man wearing only boxer shorts and a white T-shirt appeared, hovering over the old matriarch and her red Rascal scooter. He hadn’t opened the door for the cops. He wouldn’t have opened the door for Beck and his men, but he really couldn’t bring himself to defy Belinda Halstead Smith.

“Damn, what you want…?”

He never got the last word out. Beck spun into the doorway, grabbed the insolent youth by the throat, lifted him off his feet, and threw him to the floor.

Manny and Ciro rushed into the apartment, guns in hand.

Demarco deftly turned Belinda’s scooter around and guided her back toward her apartment, patting her shoulder, and telling her everything would be all right.

Beck kept his grip on Leon Miller’s throat and quietly asked, “Anybody else in here?”

Leon couldn’t speak with Beck choking him. He shook his head no.

Manny and Ciro moved fast to check each room.

Demarco walked with Belinda until they reached her apartment at the end of the hall. Thankfully, there were no sounds of shouting, body parts being hit, or gunshots back in Derrick’s apartment.

Demarco leaned down to tell Belinda, “Miz Smith, you’ve been a wonderful help here today. My friends and I are going to find out what’s going on in that apartment, and I guarantee you whatever nonsense those boys are up to, it’s going to end.”

Belinda stared up at Demarco, her bottom jaw jutting out, eyes narrowed behind her thick glasses. For a moment, she wondered about who she had helped get into Derrick’s apartment, but looking at the big handsome young man with such a sincere smile, she decided it must to be all right.

And then Demarco touched her gently on the arm as he continued speaking quietly. It had been a long time since a man had touched her, much less spoken softly to her. There was a kindness to it.

Before she knew it, the young gentleman gently guided her into her apartment, one hand on the handle of her Rascal, the other on her upper back, a hand so large in comparison to the diminutive Belinda, it covered most of the space between her shoulders.

Belinda rolled into her apartment and turned the Rascal around to face Demarco, who held the door open.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, smiling a dazzling smile.

Belinda found herself smiling back as he closed her door. She blinked, intent on preserving the memory of Demarco Jones’s kind face as her door clicked shut.

Demarco quickly walked back to Derrick Watkins’s apartment, his kind look replaced with a scowl. He stepped into the living room and saw a young man sitting in his underwear on an armless wooden chair taken from the kitchen, Beck standing over him.

Manny and Ciro appeared from the back of the apartment.

Beck asked, “Anybody else?”

Manny said, “No. There’s three bedrooms back there. Lot of women’s clothes and makeup and shit, but no women, or anybody else.”

Manny took a position next to the chair holding his short-barrel revolver, looking like he wanted to shoot the boy. Ciro stood on the other side, his thick arms crossed, straining against his black Gucci short-sleeve shirt, waiting for a reason to hit the sullen youth.

Beck pulled up a second chair and sat in front of their captive, staring at him, saying nothing.

Demarco closed the front door and leaned back against it. He knew they had gotten into the apartment without much noise, but he kept his position at the door just in case.

Beck finally spoke.

“What’s your name?”

The youth tried to speak, but had to swallow and clear his throat. Beck had nearly crushed his trachea.

“Leon.” It came out as a croak. “My name is Leon. I don’t…”

Beck raised a hand to silence him.

“Stop. Just answer my questions. I don’t want to hear anything else. Understand?”

Leon nodded.

“If you hesitate, if you tried to bullshit me, if you act stupid, my friend here will start hitting you.” Beck paused as Leon took a quick look at Ciro Baldassare.

“And let me tell you something, Leon, if that man hits you, you will never be the same. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Is this Derrick Watkins’s apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“I ain’t sure. Derrick called me and told me to come up and watch the place. He and his brother have other places. Probably he went to one of those other apartments.”

“Last night a friend of ours came here about ten. Were you here?”

Leon answered quickly. “No.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Yeah. Guy called out Derrick. Some beef about his daughter or somethin’. Derrick and his crew got into it with your friend.”

“What do you mean, got into it?”

“You know—words was exchanged. Ended up in a fight. I guess they beat him up.”

“You guess?”

“No, no. They gave him a beat down.”

“How do you know that if you weren’t here?”

“One of his guys told me. He was here when I got here.”

“Everybody else was gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s the guy who was here when you got here?”