“Yeah, but—”
“You walked, we know.”
“Well, it was a suspended sentence.”
“Because you were a poor, put-upon junkie, right?” Brown said.
“Well, I was hooked pretty bad back then, that’s true.”
“But no more, huh?”
“No. Hey, no. You gotta be crazy to fool around with that shit.”
“Uh-huh,” Brown said. “So who’s this friend Johnny?”
“Just a friend.”
“Not a dealer by any chance?”
“No, no. Hey, come on, man.”
“Where were you last Saturday night, Andrew?” Kling asked.
“Last Saturday night?”
“Actually Sunday morning. Two o’clock on the morning of the fourteenth.”
“Yeah,” Fleet said.
“Yeah what?”
“I’m trying to remember. Why? What happened last Saturday night?”
“You tell us,” Brown said.
“Saturday night,” Fleet said.
“Or Sunday morning, take your choice.”
“Two o’clock in the morning,” Fleet said.
“You’ve got it,” Kling said.
“I was here, I think.”
“Anybody with you?”
“Is this an Article 220?” Fleet asked, using the penal law number for the section defining drug abuses.
“Anybody with you?” Kling repeated.
“Who remembers? That was... what was it? Three days ago? Four days ago?”
“Try to remember, Andrew,” Brown said.
“I’m trying.”
“Do you remember the name of the man you held up?”
“Yeah.”
“What was his name?”
“Edelbaum.”
“Try again.”
“That was his name.”
“Ever see him since the holdup?”
“Yeah, at the trial.”
“And you think his name is Edelbaum, huh?”
“That is his name.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“No. Where does he live?”
“No idea where he lives, huh?”
“How would I know where he lives?”
“Do you remember where his shop is?”
“Sure. On North Greenfield.”
“But you don’t remember where he lives, huh?”
“I never knew where, so how can I remember where?”
“But if you wanted to find out where, you’d look it up in the phone book, right?” Brown said.
“Well, sure, but why would I want to do that?”
“Where were you on February the fourteenth at two in the morning?” Kling asked.
“I told you. Right here.”
“Anybody with you?”
“If this is an Article—”
“Anybody with you, Andrew?”
“We were shooting a little dope, okay?” Fleet said. “Is that what you want to know? Fine, you got it, man. We were shooting dope, I’m still a junkie, okay? Big deal. Go through the place if you want to, you won’t find anything but a little pot. Not enough for a bust, that’s for sure. Go ahead, take a look.”
“Who’s we?” Brown asked.
“What?”
“The person who was with you on Saturday night.”
“It was Johnny, okay? What are we gonna do here, get the whole world in trouble?”
“Johnny who?” Kling asked.
A knock sounded on the door. Fleet looked at the two cops.
“Answer it,” Brown said.
“Listen—”
“Answer it.”
Fleet sighed and went to the door. He turned the knob on the lock and opened the door.
“Hi,” he said.
The black girl standing in the hallway couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. She was wearing a red ski parka over blue jeans and high-heeled boots. She was not unattractive, but the lipstick on her mouth was a shade too garish, and her cheeks were heavily rouged and her eyes were made up with shadow and liner that seemed far too nocturnal for twenty minutes past noon.
“Come in, miss,” Brown said.
“What’s the beef?” she asked, recognizing them immediately as cops.
“No beef,” Kling said. “Want to tell us who you are?”
“Andy?” she said, turning her eyes to where Fleet was standing.
“I don’t know what they want,” Fleet said, and shrugged.
“You got a warrant?” the girl asked.
“We don’t need a warrant. This is a field investigation and your friend here invited us in,” Brown said. “Why? What’ve you got to hide?”
“Is this an Article 220?” she asked.
“You both seem pretty familiar with Article 220,” Brown said.
“Yeah, well, live and learn,” the girl said, shrugging.
“What’s your name?” Kling said.
She looked at Fleet again. Fleet nodded.
“Corrine,” she said.
“Corrine what?”
“Johnson.”
The dawn broke slowly. It illuminated first Brown’s face, and then Kling’s.
“Johnny, is it?” Brown asked.
“Yeah, Johnny,” the girl said.
“Is that what you call yourself?”
“If your name was Corrine, would you call yourself Corrine?”
“How old are you, Johnny?”
“Twenty-one,” she said.
“Try again,” Kling said.
“Eighteen, okay?”
“Is it sixteen?” Brown said. “Or even younger?”
“Old enough,” Johnny said.
“For what?” Brown asked.
“For anything I’ve got to do.”
“How long have you been on the street?” Kling asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a hooker, aren’t you, Johnny?” Brown asked.
“Who says?”
Her eyes had turned to ice as opaque as that on the window. Her hands were in the pockets of the ski parka now. Both Kling and Brown were willing to bet her unseen fists were clenched.
“Where were you last Saturday night?” Kling asked.
“Johnny, they—”
“Shut up, Andrew!” Brown said. “Where were you, miss?”
“When did you say?”
“Johnny—”
“I told you to shut up!” Brown said.
“Last Saturday night. Two A.M.,” Kling said.
“Here,” the girl said.
“Doing what?”
“Shooting up.”
“How come? Was it slow on the street?”
“The snow,” Johnny said angrily. “Keeping all the Johns in they own beds.”
“What time did you get here?” Brown asked.
“I live here, man,” she said.
“Thought you lived here alone, Andrew,” Kling said.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to get anybody else in trouble, you know, man?”
“So you were here all night, huh?” Brown said.
“I didn’t say that,” the girl answered. “I went out around... what was it, Andy?”
“Never mind Andy. You tell us.”
“Ten o’clock, musta been, usually that’s when the action starts. Damn streets was empty as a hooker’s heart.”
“When did you get back?”
“Around midnight. We started partying around midnight, wasn’t it, Andy?”
Fleet was about to answer, but Brown’s stare silenced him.
“And you were here from midnight till two?” Kling asked.
“I was here from midnight till the next morning. I told you, man, I live here.”
“Did Andrew leave the apartment at any time that night?”
“No, sir,” Johnny said.
“No, sir,” Fleet repeated, nodding emphatically.
“Where’d you go the next morning?”
“Out. See if I could score.”