Bronx Requiem(85)

“We should get going. We’ll leave Ricky’s Impala in the strip mall for him to pick up, and drop you off, Manny, so you can meet Walter and retrieve the Merc.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure to tell Walter to check up on the police investigation first thing in the morning. We have to know what they know.”

“Yo, se?or mamí, that’s, like, the fifth time. I’m on it.”

“All right, sorry.”

“You think those tonto cops are really gonna have any leads on who shot Packy?”

“I doubt it. We don’t. What I really want to know is, if they have any leads on us.”

Manny nodded, “Ah, sí, sí, amigo. Good point.”

Ciro said, “Yeah, it would be nice to know if they’re looking at you two for shooting that fat-f*ck brother of the pimp.”

Demarco said, “I don’t think we’ve ever been in this situation.”

Ciro asked, “What do you mean?”

“We’re actually innocent. Between all of us, we shot one guy in self-defense who was blasting away at us. That sixteen-year-old girl took out the other two.”

“Yeah, she’s a whiz. Who knows, maybe she’ll shoot more. Don’t matter. Cops are gonna pin all of it on us. They lie for a living. How else are they going to do their jobs? Come on, let’s go find that child before she causes any more trouble.” Ciro dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the table for a tip. He hadn’t asked for a check. The waiter wouldn’t have dared bring him one.

Ciro dropped Manny off at a bar on Atlantic Avenue where he could sip coffee and rum until Walter was due to arrive.

As they drove up Atlantic to jump on the BQE and head for the Bronx, Ciro asked Demarco, “So what’s the plan, Big D?”

“Okay, here’s how I see it. It’s a process of elimination.”

“Go ahead.”

“A girl gets turned out at the age of sixteen, it’s unlikely she has any straight friends who can help her. Any of the people connected to her street life will turn their backs on her, because they won’t dare cross Jackson and Bondurant. She’s not going to stay at the grandmother’s after that shootout. She sure as hell isn’t going to stay in the Bronx River Houses. So my guess is she holes up in a motel.”

“Sounds right, but where? What motel?”

“Someplace she already knows. A place where she won’t need a credit card and ID. Which means a motel in her neighborhood. Probably someplace she turned tricks in. There are two in that area.”

“Which one you want to check first?”

“The one farthest from her grandmother’s—the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge in West Farms.”

*

It was 8:40 when they drove past the bare-bones motel occupying a triangular lot bounded by Boston Road, the Cross Bronx Expressway, and West Farms Road.

Ciro circled the motel to check the surrounding area. There wasn’t much to see. He bent over his steering wheel, scanning the forlorn industrial area, taking note of the oppressive elevated subway track running in front of the motel.

“Why the f*ck would anybody stay around here? There’s nothing here.”

“There’s some nice empty lots, abandoned buildings, a lovely liquor store right there. Hey, if you have a boiler you want welded, you can get that done here, too.”

“Or if you want to lay some pipe.”

Ciro pulled in to the small parking lot next to the motel. Both men walked around to the front entrance. Night had fallen, invisible clouds had rolled in from the west, covering the stars and moon, but high-intensity sodium lights hanging out over the sidewalk provided enough light to read small print.

They entered a small lobby built to be functional and damage-proof. On their left, the hotel clerk sat barricaded behind a fake-wood-veneer divider, topped by a narrow counter and a Plexiglas barrier.

Demarco stepped up to the reception counter. Ciro stood next to him, adding even more bulk.

The possibility of two customers prompted a small Bengali man with thinning dark hair to quickly step over to the Plexiglas barrier. He wore the same white shirt and dark dress pants he’d worn since Monday.

“Good evening,” said Demarco.

The clerk took a moment to check out Demarco and Ciro. Demarco had to rest an elbow on the counter and bend over slightly to get below the top of the Plexiglas barrier. These were not typical customers. About all he could muster in response to Demarco’s greeting was, “Yes.”

He said it without inflection. The clerk glanced at Ciro before looking back to Demarco. He seemed worried about the amount of protection his plastic barrier provided him. Before Demarco said anything else, the clerk announced,

“We’re full.”

Demarco frowned.

“Did I ask for a room?”

“No.”

“Did you think saying that would make me leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just say you’re sorry. It’s offensive.”

The clerk hesitated and then said, “Sorry.”

“Thank you. I want to know if a young woman checked in here. She’s about five foot seven, slim. Looks to be in her twenties. Skin a bit lighter than mine.”

The manager blinked. “Are you police?”