Tell No One
Two rings later, a voice said, “Yo.”
“Tyrese? It’s Dr. Beck. I need your help.”
26
Shauna shook her head. “Beck hurt someone? That’s not possible.”
Assistant D.A. Fein’s vein started fluttering again. He stepped toward her until his face was right up against hers. “He attacked a police officer in an alley. He probably broke the man’s jaw and a couple of ribs.” Fein leaned a little closer, his spittle landing on Shauna’s cheeks. “You hear what I’m telling you?”
“I hear you,” Shauna said. “Now step back, Breath Boy, or I’ll knee your balls into your throat.”
Fein stayed in place for a screw-you second before turning away. Hester Crimstein did likewise. She started heading back toward Broadway. Shauna chased her.
“Where are you going?”
“I quit,” Hester said.
“What?”
“Find him another lawyer, Shauna.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“You can’t just walk out on him.”
“Watch me.”
“It’s prejudicial.”
“I gave them my word he’d surrender,” she said.
“Screw your word. Beck’s the priority here, not you.”
“To you maybe.”
“You’re putting yourself before a client?”
“I won’t work with a man who’d do something like that.”
“Who are you kidding? You’ve defended serial rapists.”
She waved a hand. “I’m out of here.”
“You’re just a goddamn media-hound hypocrite.”
“Ouch, Shauna.”
“I’ll go to them.”
“What?”
“I’ll go to the media.”
Hester stopped. “And say what? That I walked away from a dishonest murderer? Great, go ahead. I’ll leak so much shit about Beck, he’ll make Jeffrey Dahmer look like a good dating prospect.”
“You have nothing to leak,” Shauna said.
Hester shrugged. “Never stopped me before.”
The two women glared. Neither looked away.
“You may think my reputation is irrelevant,” Hester said, her voice suddenly soft. “But it’s not. If the D.A.’s office can’t rely on my word, I’m useless to my other clients. I’m also useless to Beck. It’s that simple. I won’t let my practice—and my clients—go down the tubes because your boy acted erratically.”
Shauna shook her head. “Just get out my face.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Innocent men don’t run, Shauna. Your boy Beck? Hundred to one he killed Rebecca Schayes.”
“You’re on,” Shauna said. “And one more thing for you too, Hester. You say one word against Beck, and they’ll need a soup ladle to bury your remains. We clear?”
Hester didn’t reply. She took another step away from Shauna. And that was when the gunfire ripped through the air.
I was in mid-crouch, crawling down a rusted fire escape, when the sound of the gunfire nearly made me topple over. I flattened myself on the grated walk and waited.
More gunfire.
I heard shouts. I should have expected this, but it still packed a wallop. Tyrese told me to climb out here and wait for him. I had wondered how he planned on getting me out. Now I was getting some idea.
A diversion.
In the distance, I heard someone shouting, “White boy shooting up the place!” Then another voice: “White boy with a gun! White boy with a gun!”
More gunfire. But—and I strained my ears—no more police radio static. I stayed low and tried not to think much. My brain, it seemed, had short-circuited. Three days ago, I was a dedicated doctor sleepwalking through my own life. Since then, I had seen a ghost, gotten emails from the dead, had become a suspect in not one but two murders, was on the run from the law, had assaulted a police officer, and had enlisted the aid of a known drug dealer.
Heck of a seventy-two hours.
I almost laughed.
“Yo, Doc.”
I looked down. Tyrese was there. So was another black man, early twenties, only slightly smaller than this building. The big man peered up at me with those sleek up-yours sunglasses that fit perfectly with his deadened facial expression.
“Come on, Doc. Let’s roll.”
I ran down the fire escape stairs. Tyrese kept glancing left and right. The big guy stood perfectly still, his arms folded across his chest in what we used to call the buffalo stance. I hesitated before the last ladder, trying to figure out how to release it so I could reach the ground.
“Yo, Doc, lever on the left.”
I found it, pulled, and the ladder slid down. When I reached the bottom, Tyrese made a face and waved his hand in front of his nose. “You ripe, Doc.”
“I didn’t have a chance to shower, sorry.”
“This way.”
Tyrese did a quick-walk through the back lot. I followed, having to do a little run to keep up. The big man glided behind us in silence. He never moved his head left or right, but I still got the impression he didn’t miss much.
A black BMW with tinted windows, a complicated antenna, and a chain frame on the back license plate was running. The doors were all closed, but I could feel the rap music. The bass vibrated in my chest like a tuning fork.
“The car,” I said with a frown. “Isn’t it kind of conspicuous?”
“If you five-oh and you looking for a lily-white doctor, where would be the last place you look?”
He had a point.
The big guy opened the back door. The music blared at the volume of a Black Sabbath concert. Tyrese extended his arm doorman-style. I got in. He slid next to me. The big guy bent into the driver’s seat.
I couldn’t understand much of what the rapper on the CD was saying, but he was clearly pissed off with “da man.” I suddenly understood.
“This here is Brutus,” Tyrese said.
He meant the big-guy driver. I tried to catch his eye in the rearview mirror, but I couldn’t see them through the sunglasses.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
Brutus didn’t respond.
I turned my attention back to Tyrese. “How did you pull this off?”
“Coupla my boys are doing some shooting down a Hundred Forty-seventh Street.”
“Won’t the cops find them?”
Tyrese snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s that easy?”