“We can talk here,” she said. “Lean against the wall and put your palms against it.”
The boy shook his head but complied. Shelly held her camera through the crack in the door and snapped his photo.
The boy flailed his arms at the flashing of the camera. “What-choo doin’, woman?”
“If you move again, I’ll shoot.” She closed the door and looked through the peephole. The boy settled against the wall. She put the camera underneath the dishwasher, where a board was missing. Then she went back to the door and cracked it. “You’ll never find that camera,” she said.
“Lady, I don’t want your fuckin’ camera.” The boy was exasperated. Nervous, strung-out, and tired.
“Talk to me.”
“Man, the police’s gonna kill me. They know I know about ’em.”
“What do you know?”
“Man, I saw what happened.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Alex”-the boy adjusted the volume of his voice-“y’know, the cop gettin’ shot and all.”
“What do you know?” Shelly’s eyes kept looking past the boy, at the stairwell.
“I saw the whole fuckin’ thing.”
Shelly kept her breathing even. This was exactly what she needed.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“I saw it, lady. Jesus.” He gathered his arms around himself. It was always drafty in the hallway, and the temperature outside could not have been above twenty degrees.
“He didn’t do it, is what I saw.”
“Who shot him?” she asked. She felt a fire inside her.
“I don’t know. I just know it wasn’t Alex.”
“How do you know Alex?”
“He’s my guy, y’know.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s my source, lady. Dig?” He licked his lips. He was a junkie, no doubt. “Lady-I want to help Alex, you know-but these guys are lookin’ for me.”
Alex was this guy’s supplier?
“The police are looking for you?” she asked.
“Yeah, lady, what the fuck I been sayin’? Guy like me, I ain’t got no protection. Ain’t nobody gonna care if I go disappearin’ and shit.”
“What police? What are their names?”
“Lady-I need help. I need you to hide me.”
“I can’t hide you,” she said, feeling the tone of her voice soften. What could Shelly do for this boy? He couldn’t stay with her. She didn’t have the cash to put him up, and even if she did, for how long? Until trial? If this boy was being straight with her, he wouldn’t last that long. She would need to get him held as a material witness.
Jerod Romero, the federal prosecutor. That was the person she needed to call.
“I can get you protection,” she said. “But probably not until tomorrow.”
“Damn.” He wasn’t responding to her. The boy was shivering-could be his nerves, or it could be because he was in his underwear on a cold night.
“I have a gun,” she repeated. “Remember that?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
She threw out the sweatshirt and pants to Manuel. “Put those on,” she said. “You can come in for a minute.” She couldn’t very well send this boy back on the streets.
Her alarms were going off-this was everything she told her students in self-defense not to do.
She opened the door and let Manuel pass her as she clutched the door, looking down the staircase. She closed the door again and directed the boy to the couch. He looked silly in a baggy sweatshirt and pants that didn’t even reach his ankles. He looked the part of a junkie, skinny frame, drawn face, eyes and mouth wet and red, his hair mussed and greasy, prominent body odor. He looked around Shelly’s apartment with some fascination. This was how normal people lived.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Man, I don’t know.”
“You’re safe here.”
“Lady, you don’t know what you’re messin’ with here. Cops can go anywhere, see. They can do any fuckin’ thing they want.”
“I’m going to talk to someone who can help you,” she said. “Protect you.”
“When?” he asked, still standing, moving on the balls of his feet. “Now?”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “You can-I suppose you can stay here tonight.”
“Nah, man.” He looked around. “Not tonight, lady.”
“Why not tonight?” she asked. “You think they’ve followed you?”
“Man, you’re helpin’ Alex, right? You don’t think they’re watchin’ you?”
Dread filled Shelly, an enveloping poison. She went to the front window and looked out but saw nothing.
“Nah, I’m comin’ back later.”
“No,” said Shelly. “I need your help. At least let’s talk awhile.”
“Man, I gotta stay mo-bile.” The boy walked in circles. “I gotta get lost.”
“Manuel, I guarantee I’ll get you protection. I guarantee it.”
“Tomorrow,” he said weakly.
“Tonight, I’ll protect you.”
Manuel sighed and laughed. “No thanks. Tomorrow.”
“Please.” Shelly moved in front of him. She could not be sure she would ever see him again.
He brushed her aside and went to the door. “Sorry, lady.”
“You’ll come back tomorrow, though,” she said.
He smiled at her without enthusiasm. He seemed to be telling her there would be no tomorrow.
She went to the door and took his arm. “I swear I’ll protect you. Stay alive tonight and find me tomorrow. Wait.” She went to the kitchen, ripped off a piece of a notepad, and scribbled her cell phone number. She stuffed it into his hand. “Take this. Call me anytime. Wherever I am, I’ll come find you.” Shelly unlocked the chain and started to turn the knob, but kept the door partially closed. “You trusted me enough to come here. Trust me-”
It hit Shelly the moment she felt the outside force on the door, a barreling weight pushing her backward. They had used the boy to gain access without breaking and entering. They knew enough to know that, from her view above, the awning obscured them next to the outside door. They’d been here before, probably stood by the door, measured the angles of viewpoint. They’d known exactly where to stand to avoid detection.
They didn’t take the stairs with the boy initially, because Shelly would have seen them. The plan was to get the boy inside her place, at which time they would sneak up the stairs and wait for the door to open again, as the boy was leaving. She hadn’t looked through the peephole, but had she done so, ten-to-one they were just outside its range as well. They were waiting to pounce the moment they heard the chain open, the moment the door opened even an inch.
They had given this boy enough information to bullshit his way in. He knew Alex, knew the cop. But he hadn’t provided any detail whatsoever. They had busted the junkie and made him help them, probably in exchange for a walk.
She’d been smart but not smart enough, not sufficiently careful. She was living the one lesson she never told her students, because there was no point in doing so: No matter how careful you are, if someone wants at you bad enough, he’ll probably get there.
The impact threw Shelly against the wall but she managed to keep her feet. Two men stormed in, wearing black ski masks and long coats, rubber gloves. The first man came at her, his hands raised. She gave a short kick into his crotch. He doubled over; she grabbed at the back of his coat and used his momentum to propel him forward, past her to the carpet.
The second man held a revolver with a silencer poised at her face. He shook his head slowly. He was in the doorway, with a foot jammed against the door to keep it open. She looked at his feet, then measured the distance. She was off balance against the wall, too far from the man for a kick, and she couldn’t close the door on him even if she could reach it. She ignored the sounds behind her, the painful grunt of the first intruder. She measured the distance again.
“You’ll be dead before you take a step,” said the man. His voice carried well through the mask. “And so will Alex.”
She heard the man behind her get to his feet. A moment later, a weapon was pressed against her temple.