How innocent Dale had been then, just two weeks ago, when he thought the worst thing that could happen to his daughter was a car accident caused by fatigue or youthful driving errors. Two weeks ago the Patels had been his allies in parenthood, and now they were on the other side, protecting their child, not caring about justice for his.
“What could the Ramble have to do with any of this?” he asked Peter.
“Kids are out, they’re loose. I thought I would work it, you know. Assuming you think it’s a good idea.”
Dale was beginning to see how stupid this entire idea was, how worthless Peter Lasko was to him. But he had solicited the boy, sought him out. There was no reason to make him feel like the ineffectual failure he was.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not? Knock yourself out.”
Peter Lasko had called Dale from the Dairy Queen, and he was so undone by the man’s obvious lack of faith in him that he ordered a Snickers Blizzard. After all, he wasn’t trying to lose weight-he just had to make sure he didn’t gain any. He’d do an extra-long workout tonight to make up for it.
Of course, Mr. Hartigan had always made him feel small and stupid. They had sat here, not even three years ago, at this very same Dairy Queen, as Mr. Hartigan had flattered Peter, asked about his aspirations, wondered if there was anything he could do to help him.
“Given the business my family is in,” he had said, “we go way back with the Rouses.”
Peter had bobbed his head politely. Back then he hadn’t worried about what he ate, and he had let Mr. Hartigan buy him the works-two chili dogs, a shake, onion rings, a Peanut Buster Parfait.
“We know the Rouses quite well.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In fact, I hear Jim Rouse’s grandson may make a movie in Baltimore next year.”
“Is he, like, a director?”
“He has directed, I think. But he’s primarily an actor. He’s done quite well for himself.”
“Never heard of anyone famous named Rouse, except that DJ on the local oldies station.”
Mr. Hartigan had smiled. “The actor I’m speaking of is Ed Norton. His mother was a Rouse.”
Even now Peter could remember how he had blushed at his ignorance. Of course, he had been more of a theater snob then, not easily impressed by movie types, but still-Ed Norton. Oscar nominee, serious guy, total cred.
“You know him?”
“Well, my father knew his grandfather. After all, they were in the same business, more or less, although my father’s vision was far less utopian. In fact, he started buying the land out here because he thought he could imitate Rouse’s success in Columbia. I could introduce you. I think he’s coming home in August for a visit-his uncle told me the Maryland Film Commission got use of the governor’s box and was going to have a little thing for him. He’s a big Orioles fan, but aren’t we all?”
Mr. Hartigan was not so crass as to make it an offer or a case of quid pro quo. And Peter was not so stupid that he didn’t recognize it as such. At first he told himself he wasn’t interested. But even as he congratulated himself for not falling for Dale Hartigan’s un-spoken bribe, one summer day slipped into another, and before he knew it, a week had gone by, then another, and finally all of August was gone, and he had simply stopped calling Kat Hartigan. The shock was that she didn’t call him or e-mail him. She was fifteen years old, and she had more innate dignity than the college girls he would later know. You didn’t want Kat Hartigan in your life? Then she didn’t want you.
Unless-he paused in midslurp, the milk shake blasting his sinuses-unless her father had told Kat his version of the story, made it seem as if Peter had agreed to stop seeing her in exchange for a chance to meet Norton. After all, Peter hadn’t turned down the ticket when it arrived in the mail, the governor’s box being the governor’s box. And even though Peter hadn’t ended up meeting Norton, the Maryland Film Commission had snagged the production of Red Dragon. Peter could have gone after a part, but he didn’t. He had his pride, even if you couldn’t prove it by Dale Hartigan. Besides, he didn’t really approve of the remake, the original version, Manhunter, being one of his favorites.
Yet Dale Hartigan still thought he was foolish and weak. Dale Hartigan thought Peter was someone who would drop a girl for the slenderest advantage. Dale Hartigan thought Peter was a fool, and maybe he had been. But he didn’t have to remain one.
32
Alexa liked the bar- “No, really,” she found herself saying over and over. “It’s so real.” Oh, Lord, she was being condescending, silly, but it confused her, seeing this man and being reminded how middle-aged he was, how much older than she, almost old enough to be her father, which should make the racing feeling in her stomach dissipate. Only it didn’t.
“It’s a place,” Lenhardt said. “ Baltimore County doesn’t have a real cop bar per se. But then, Baltimore City doesn’t have one anymore either. The place we went back in the day, it’s”-he leaned across the table, lowering his voice-“a lesbian bar now.”
“Oh.”
“Not that I’m prejudiced. I worked a murder at a lesbian joint once. Cleared it, too. This was back in the city, and the bar was kind of a secret, this place down in Little Italy before Flag came down.”
“Before…?” Had he said flag or fag? Maybe she didn’t like him as much as she thought.
“Before Flag came down. Flag House, one of the last high-rise projects. Two kids approached this woman about a block from the place, shot her, took her purse, disappeared into Flag. No witnesses, of course. But the people who cared the most about it-the women who went to the bar, the residents of Little Italy-they made a big stink, but they didn’t want any publicity.”
“Why?”
“The women were…uh, discreet about their private lives. And Little Italy traded on this rep as a place where crime never happened. You know-wink, wink, nudge, nudge, crime doesn’t happen here because we take care of our own? Totally hypocritical because they’re the first ones to bitch about ethnic stereotypes. Not to mention apocryphal.”
“What?”
“You surprised that a police knows a big word?”
“No, no, I just didn’t follow,” she lied. “Who takes care of their own?”