LA. Franco Mysteries: End Of Watch Part 31

"Can't."

He slumped farther into his chair, dropping chin to chest. Frank stared at him. She tried to conjure hate, even anger, but all she could dredge was sorrow.

"Romeo," she mused. "For your father?"

"Fuh aim. I try, but I couln' fuh to give ever'tin' up."

"Why John-John?"

A sad smile deepened his wrinkles.

"Fuh John-John Kennedy. I see aim fuh standin' dere, doin' dat salute like a brave lil sol'juh. I ne'er forgettin' dat. aIm lose ais daddy, jus' like me." He paused. "Jus' like you."

Frank hardened her stare as Irie leaned toward her.

"I di' not mean fuh to kill you daddy. I jus' nee'ed to fix. I jus' wanna money. No dead daddies." He sucked his teeth and sat back. "Too many a dem already. Too many."

Frank opened the door.

Behind her he accused, "Dat was a lie, dat Berto's you frien'."

"That was a lie," Frank agreed, turning. "But the rest was true. He's a priest. He ministers to prisoners. Hoped maybe someday he'd find you that way. Your mother-"

"You saw aer?" Irie cried.

"I talked to her." Irie asked how she was before Frank could explain, "She's fine. Edmundo's a mechanic. Got three kids. You're an uncle. Your sister, Flora, she's pretty strung out on crack."

"No-o-o," Irie moaned. "No-o. She a sweet gull."

"Not no more," Frank said. "Ain't none of us sweet no more."

She trudged back to her office, bone tired and desperate for a drink. She gave Jill quick instructions, then looked up a number in her office. She dialed, finally got connected.

"Annie, it's Franco."

"Hey, cookie! How are ya?"

"Been a long, strange day."

"How so?"

"Got a CI here, I've known him nine years. Good snitch. Good guy. You're not gonna believe this. I still don't believe it. I put two and two together, it made four, so then I put four and four together and got eight. Annie, this guy is Pablo Cammayo. One of my detectives is booking him even as we speak and I'm holding his confession."

"No freakin' way."

"I know. It sounds impossible. I mean, what are the odds, right? But he spilled everything. Everything. He's been running for thirty-six years, just like me. Shoulda seen it when I called him Pablo. It was like I was talking to a ghost. He denied it for a couple minutes but I told him I ran his prints and he folded like a bad hand."

"I can't believe this."

"I know, neither can I. Keep thinking I must be in some very lucid dream, but so far, I haven't been able to wake up."

"Well, let's extradite him before you do."

"You gonna come get him?"

"I'll talk to the captain, see if he'll cut me loose."

"All right. You'll have a room and a hot meal waiting for you."

"Deal. But tell me, what was the two and two you added together after all this time? You said you've known this guy, what, nine years?"

"Didn't know then what I knew after talking with his brother, with Roberto. A lot of little things clicked. The scar under his eye, no history. He's a carver-makes beautiful statues. Didn't know that until I talked to Roberto. He was going by John-John Romeo-his father's name was Romeo. And the Jamaican accent- remember, his mom had a trace of one? After he got out of the pen he drifted around with a Rasta for a while and figured that would be a good ident.i.ty. His parents were Panamanian but the grandparents came over from Kingston. a.s.suming a Jamaican ident.i.ty was a way to stay connected to his past."

"What happened between now and Leavenworth?"

"He got clean in the can. He was brought in pretty beat up and went to the hospital unit. He detoxed there. Knew if he went back out he was gonna die, and knew he couldn't go through another detox again so he walked away from the junk. There's a switch, huh, go to jail and get clean? He got out, b.u.mmed around, took odd jobs, drifted west. Figured the farther from New York he got, the safer he'd be."

Frank took uneasy note of the irony.

"He's pretty much a street person. He's got an old lady that has a regular job. He gets by peddling oranges, hawking tips, selling his carvings now and then but I know he gives a lot of aem away. He's a nice guy, Annie. I've always liked him. I hate that it's him. I always thought it'd be such a relief to find the man who killed my dad, but there's no relief in this. None at all."

"I'm sorry for that."

"Yeah, well. You'll give me a call? Let me know when to expect you?"

"You bet, sister. Let me go track the captain down, get the ball rolling at this end."

"Roger that. Talk to you later."

Frank distracted herself with forms and reports. She slid a drawer open, groping for paper clips but fingering the journal she'd stashed earlier. She drew it out, took a glance at the clock. She dialed Gail at all her numbers, to no avail. She sighed, stared at the clock again.

Five-ten. Happy hour was well underway in every watering hole around the city. Frank started to rise. Changing her mind, she sat and drew the journal close. When she was done, she called Mary.

"Hey. Figured I'd better check in."

"Good. What's goin' on?"

Frank told her sponsor everything, including the part she'd admitted to Annie. "On the one hand here's the a.s.shole who murdered my dad, right? On the other, I've known this guy a long time. We've got a good working relationship. He's a decent guy. Aside from the fact he killed my dad. So it's weird locking him up. I didn't want to do it. Thought that would be the happiest day of my life and it's anything but."

Frank traced the grain on her chair arm. The worn wood was smooth as gla.s.s, but warmer, softer. She thought of Gail under her hand.

"You know, it feels kinda like locking myself up. Yeah, okay, we're different color and different gender, but me and this guy, we're cut from the same cloth. When I was done interviewing him I asked, aSo all this time you had no idea who I was?' and he said, aHow could I? You're supposed to be in New York, just like me.' I had to leave the room, Mary. We both ran away. We both abandoned our families. Both lost our dads. Both tried to ignore the past and ended up here. It was like we couldn't run any farther. Like we've been running parallel all these years and finally crashed into each other at the end of the road. Now there's nowhere left for either of us to run."

Mary suggested, "Maybe that's a good thing. You can both stop running now."

"Yeah, but I don't have to go jail."

"Don't you think he's been in jail all this time anyways?"

"Spare me."

"No. Think about it. You didn't like putting a gun to your head, Frank, but it sobered you up. And you don't like getting sober but you like the relief it brings. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Maybe this man will too. I'm not saying he wants to go to jail but maybe this will be the gun to his head. Maybe now he can drop the load he's been carrying, just like you're doing, and who are you to deny him?"

"I'm not denying him anything. He's going."

"And that's the way it has to be. My point is, we never know who our angels are. Did I ever tell you about my last day?"

"Nope."

"I was done. I'd had it. I'd left my husband, abandoned the kids. I had nothing left but my car. I was living off five-dollar b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs. Five bucks was just enough for the vodka it would take to get me through another day. And I was done. I didn't want another day. I'd had all I could take. So that morning I blew the clerk at the gas station for a quart of vodka and a gallon of gas. I was gonna drink the vodka, drive up the Coast Highway and turn left over the ocean. I stumbled out to my car and a man filling up next to me said, aYou look like you're having a rough day' I told him he didn't know the f.u.c.king half of it. He said, aI bet I do,' and took a card from his pocket. He gave it to me. He was an insurance salesman and I though he was hustling me, but he went on. aIf you decide you want to stop doing what you're doing, give me a call. Anytime. Day or night.' I said something rude and drove off.

"But I kept the card. Thought he might be good for a twenty-dollar b.l.o.w. .j.o.b. I drank the vodka. Drank it straight down and headed north. That's all I remember until I came to in a phone booth. It was dark and foggy and I had no idea where I was but I was talking to this man and he was listening. I told him everything. About the b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs, leaving my kids, how I couldn't control my bladder anymore-I mean everything. He stayed on the line with me for what seemed like hours, until finally these two women drove up in a warm, shiny car that didn't smell like p.i.s.s or booze. They put me in the backseat and covered me with a blanket. I woke up the next morning in a recovery house. I never saw that man or those women again. I have no idea who they were. But I do know they saved my life. That's why when Joe called that morning and asked me to pick you up I was only too happy to do it. Because someone did it for me. So don't beat yourself up, Frank. You could be this man's angel."

"Oh, yeah, that's me. Got a seat in the tutelary G.o.d squad."

"The tootle who?"

Frank explained what Darcy told her.

"Sounds like you're working the second step."

"Hey, that's his theory, not mine."

Well, so how's it coming?"

"It's coming."

"Geez," Mary griped. "Give me a for-instance or two."

"Let's see," Frank reflected. a"Came to believe a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.' Well. For starters, I'd kill for a drink right now-quiet the banshees in my head-but I'm not gonna do that because I have faith that the desire will pa.s.s. That if I talk to you and go to a meeting and have dinner that feeling's gonna change and I'll get through another day without a drink. And I have faith that's gonna work because you tell me it does-that if I tell the truth and go to meetings the desire will pa.s.s. And I have faith that's true because I've seen it happen. In the beginning I could barely go a few minutes without thinking about a drink. Now it's hours. I have faith that at some point in the future it'll be days, then weeks, maybe even months or years. But that's getting ahead of myself. Gotta take it one day at a time, right?"

"That's the deal, kiddo. That's how it works."

"Yeah." Frank nodded. "So there's my faith."

"Good enough," Mary said. "And think about those tutelary G.o.ds. You never know where they are."

"Roger that."

"Okay, kiddo. Anything else?"

"Nope. Just thanks, as usual."

"No, the thanks are all mine. You helped keep me sober today. One alcoholic talking to another."

Frank grinned into the phone. "Were you in danger of going out?"

"Probably not, but only because I get to talk to you and my sponsor and go to a meeting tonight. And because I never forget that, even after twenty-five years sober, my next drunk's only as far away as the end of my hand. You been getting to meetings since your love life picked up?"

"One a day."

"Atta girl. Don't drop your guard just because life suddenly gets good again. You're an alcoholic, you're always going to be an alcoholic, and you need to always remember that. This is a disease and you need to treat it like you would any other. Keep doing what you're doing even when the ride's smooth, because I can promise you there are b.u.mps ahead, and when the ride gets rough you want to be able to reach into your toolbox and pull out the tools that'll help you through. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Stay close, kiddo. I'd hate to lose you."

"I'd hate to be lost. I'll call you tomorrow." Frank hung up.

Talking to Mary always made her feel like she had dumped a heavy pail of rotting trash. Not only dumped the trash but scoured the pail as well. Frank slid into her coat and switched the lights off. If she hurried she could get to the downtown meeting. She jogged down the stairs and stopped halfway across the parking lot. She went back inside, to the holding cells. Pablo sat in the last one.

"Irie," she called, shook her head. "Pablo. Come here."

He shuffled to her. Bringing her head close to the steel Frank spoke quietly. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. You're a good man. I know you didn't mean to kill my father. I knew it then-that look on your face when you shot him-I'll carry that to my grave. You were strung out. Junkies, drunks ... they do things they never meant to. I know it was the junkie that killed my father, not the man standing here today. So for what it's worth, if it means anything to you, I forgive you."

Tears spilled over red-rimmed eyes and Pablo said, "I never mean' to hurt n.o.body. All dese years, dis time I hadda t'ink about it. If I coulda taked back dat one minute, jus' d'at one second, evert'ing be differen'. You know? Evert'ing."

"I know."

He lifted his hands to her. She glanced around and violated the rules by putting her hand through the bars. Pablo grasped it, shedding tears. Frank checked again, grateful there were no cops.

"Hey. It's gonna be okay, mon. It's gonna be all right. You get to see your family again. Think how happy they're gonna be."

He yanked his head up. "You t'ink?"

She took the opportunity to extricate herself. "I know. You can call Roberto if you want. Tell him you're alive."

" aIm be mad. aIm aate me now fuh sure."

"No," Frank a.s.sured. "He doesn't hate you. He might be mad, but he doesn't hate you. Your mother either."

"My mot'er," Pablo marveled. "Wha' aer look like? aEr still pretty?"

"She's old, mon, but yes, still pretty."

"Old," he repeated, twirling a finger around his head. "In my mind aer still t'irty-six!"

Frank smiled. "I'll give the guard your brother's number. It'll be a short call though. Tell him you're coming home and to call Detective Silvester. She'll know when you're coming back. All right?"

"I'm goin' aome?"

"You're goin' home, mon. I don't know what'll happen once you get there, but you're goin' home."

" aOme." Irie tasted the word, then seemed to find it bitter. "You sure Berto won't be mad?"