End of Watch (Bill Hodges Trilogy #3)(41)

She struggles, but the grip on her shoulders is strong and the truck passes by in a blare of Ghostface Killah. She whirls around, pulling free, and faces a skinny boy about her own age, wearing a Todhunter High letter jacket. He’s tall, maybe six and a half feet, so she has to look up. He has a tight cap of brown curls and a goatee. Around his neck is a thin gold chain. He’s smiling. His eyes are green and full of fun.

‘You good-lookin, that’s a fact as well as a compliment, but not from around here, correct? Not dressed like that, and hey, didn’t your mom ever tell you not to jaywalk the block?’

‘Leave me alone!’ She’s not scared; she’s furious.

He laughs. ‘And tough! I like a tough girl. Want a slice and a Coke?’

‘I don’t want anything from you!’

Her friend has left, probably disgusted with her. It’s not my fault, she thinks. It’s this boy’s fault. This lout.

Lout! A blackish word if ever there was one. She feels her face heat up and drops her gaze to the fish on the Zappit screen. They will comfort her, they always do. To think she almost threw the game console away after that man gave it to her! Before she found the fish! The fish always take her away, and sometimes they bring her friend. But she only gets a momentary look before the console vanishes. Poof! Gone! The lout has got it in his long-fingered hands and is staring down at the screen, fascinated.

‘Whoa, this is old-school!’

‘It’s mine!’ Barbara shouts. ‘Give it back!’

Across the street a woman laughs and yells in a whiskey voice, ‘Tell im, sister! Bring down that high neck!’

Barbara grabs for the Zappit. Tall Boy holds it over his head, smiling at her.

‘Give it back, I said! Stop being a prick!’

More people are watching now, and Tall Boy plays to the audience. He jinks left, then stutter-steps to the right, probably a move he uses all the time on the basketball court, never losing that indulgent smile. His green eyes sparkle and dance. Every girl at Todhunter is probably in love with those eyes, and Barbara is no longer thinking about suicide, or being blackish, or what a socially unconscious bag of waste she is. Right now she’s only mad, and him being cute makes her madder. She plays varsity soccer at Chapel Ridge and now she hoicks her best penalty kick into Tall Boy’s shin.

He yells in pain (but it’s somehow amused pain, which infuriates her even more, because that was a really hard kick), and bends over to grab his ouchy. It brings him down to her level, and Barbara snatches the precious rectangle of yellow plastic. She wheels, skirt flaring, and runs into the street.

‘Honey look out!’ the whiskey-voiced woman screams.

Barbara hears a shriek of brakes and smells hot rubber. She looks to her left and sees a panel truck bearing down on her, the front end heeling to the left as the driver stamps on the brake. Behind the dirty windshield, his face is all dismayed eyes and open mouth. She throws up her hands, dropping the Zappit. All at once the last thing in the world Barbara Robinson wants is to die, but here she is, in the street after all, and it’s too late.

She thinks, My ride is here.





9


Brady shuts down the Zappit and looks up at Babineau with a wide smile. ‘Got her,’ he says. His words are clear, not the slightest bit mushy. ‘Let’s see how Hodges and the Harvard jungle bunny like that.’

Babineau has a good idea who she is, and he supposes he should care, but he doesn’t. What he cares about is his own skin. How did he ever allow Brady to pull him into this? When did he stop having a choice?

‘It’s Hodges I’m here about. I’m quite sure he’s on his way right now. To see you.’

‘Hodges has been here many times,’ Brady says, although it’s true the old Det-Ret hasn’t been around for awhile. ‘He never gets past the catatonic act.’

‘He’s started putting things together. He’s not stupid, you said as much yourself. Did he know Z-Boy when he was just Brooks? He must have seen him around here when he came to visit you.’

‘No idea.’ Brady is wrung out, sated. What he really wants now is to savor the death of the Robinson girl, then take a nap. There is a lot to be done, great things are afoot, but at the moment he needs rest.

‘He can’t see you like this,’ Babineau says. ‘Your skin is flushed and you’re covered with sweat. You look like someone who just ran the City Marathon.’

‘Then keep him out. You can do that. You’re the doctor and he’s just another half-bald buzzard on Social Security. These days he doesn’t even have the legal authority to ticket a car at an expired parking meter.’ Brady’s wondering how the nigger lawnboy will take the news. Jerome. Will he cry? Will he sink to his knees? Will he rend his garments and beat his breast?

Will he blame Hodges? Unlikely, but that would be best. That would be wonderful.

‘All right,’ Babineau says. ‘Yes, you’re right, I can do that.’ He’s talking to himself as much as to the man who was supposed to be his guinea pig. That turned out to be quite the joke, didn’t it? ‘For now, at least. But he must still have friends on the police, you know. Probably lots of them.’

‘I’m not afraid of them, and I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t want to see him. At least, not now.’ Brady smiles. ‘After he finds out about the girl. Then I’ll want to see him. Now get out of here.’