Bronx Requiem(93)

Beck squirted stain remover on the bloodstains, and made sure not to use too much detergent. He set up the machine carefully and started the wash cycle.

He took his time in the shower, soaping over everything twice, inventorying his bruises and scrapes. His wrists were raw from the handcuffs, particularly his right wrist. The area under his left eye was bruised and swollen. His forehead was a mess. There were scrapes and swollen areas, and a cut at the hairline where the skin had split. There were bruises on his arms where he’d blocked blows, and on his back, legs, and thighs where he’d been kicked. It would be days and days of progressing from red to purple to green to yellow. He didn’t want to think how much it was going to hurt driving an old truck back to Brooklyn.

The dull headache he’d woken with had eased off by the time he stepped out of the shower and dried off with a blue towel Janice had left on the toilet for him.

He found the hydrogen peroxide in Janice’s medicine chest and poured the disinfectant on his wrists and knuckles, holding his hands over the sink. He watched the hydrogen peroxide bubble and foam up where there was raw skin.

He cleaned the cut on his forehead, then rinsed the sink and went to find the bathrobe Janice told him about. It was a heavy terry-cloth robe, dark blue, big enough to fit him.

Beck wondered who it belonged to. Ex-husband? Boyfriend? What was her story? She was a good-looking woman, and seeing her nearly naked had made her more attractive to him.

“All right, take it easy,” he told himself. Get your clothes washed, eat, thank her profusely, and get the hell out of here. Beck wanted to be as far away from Ellenville as possible when those bodies were discovered.

He found his way into Janice’s kitchen. Again, a flashback to rural fifties. Worn linoleum floor, old appliances, but everything clean and functional. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the kitchen.

Beck found a cup in a cabinet to the right of the sink. He filled it and left the coffee black, sipping it carefully since there wasn’t any milk in it to cool it down.

The clock on an old Sharp microwave read 10:47.

He reached for a faded yellow wall phone with a long, twisted cord and punched in Demarco’s cell number.

He sat at a rough wooden table big enough to seat four, gathering the robe around him, wishing he had something on his bare feet to keep them warm.

Demarco answered on the first ring. “This is an upstate area code so I guess you’re still alive.”

“More like half alive. How’re you?”

“Half?”

“Things went bad.”

“How bad?”

“Very.”

“You okay?”

“Okay enough.”

Demarco asked, “When you coming back?”

“As soon as I get my clothes back.”

“Let me think about that for a second. Okay, I give up, where are your clothes?”

“In a washing machine. What’s going on at your end?”

“Long story, but Derrick Watkins’s older brother, and one other lowlife, are no longer with us.”

“Jerome?”

“Yes. Street name, Biggie.”

“Not very inventive.”

“Nope.”

“So I take it you didn’t learn anything from him.”

“No time.”

“You find Packy’s daughter?”

“Twice. We found her the same time we found the bad guys. Turns out she was stalking them. She shot the lowlife, we took out Biggie. Second time at a motel.”

“Sounds like she’s her father’s daughter. Where is she now?”

“Sleeping in the front bedroom upstairs. Interestingly, I’m washing her clothes, too.”

“You never offered to wash mine.”

“Who’s doing them for you now?”

“Nobody. I’m doing ’em myself, like always. Anything else I should know?”

“Somehow the girl came up with two ledger books tracking Derrick Watkins’s prostitution business. Believe it or not, from a quick look at the numbers, the guy was netting about three hundred grand a year.”

“Just him?”

“Looks that way.”

“Shit. Anything else?”

“Manny and I found out the Watkins brothers were part of a bigger crew. Run by a couple of guys been around in the Bronx a long time. Eric Jackson and Floyd Bondurant.”

Beck nodded, adding Demarco’s information to what he knew. “Okay. Where’s Walter?”

“He came in last night. Talked to Manny. Went up to the Bronx this morning to talk to the supervisor in charge of those two detectives about their investigation.”

“Good. Is he there now?”

“I think so.”

“Well, if he calls to warn you about warrants for anybody’s arrest, be ready to make yourself scarce.”

“Ciro’s getting a house for us in Staten Island in case we have to abandon ship. Alex is gonna house-sit here.”

Beck checked his watch. “All right, I should be leaving here in about an hour. That puts me in Red Hook around two. Call Alex, have him come in. See if he can run down information on Jackson and Bondurant. Ask him to help Walter with anything he found out about the cops’ investigation. Make sure Walter stays there until I arrive. And get ahold of Ricky and Jonas.”