Same Difference, page 12
‘I don’t know yet. I don’t know who it was. I’m told there’s someone named Julio but you’re not supposed to call him that. Do you know anything about him?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. I wasn’t really involved in any of the stuff Damien was doing. He was just my friend from school. He understood … about me.’
‘About you being trans?’
Eliza looked me right in the eye, probably expecting me to disapprove and getting ready to defy me. ‘Yeah.’
‘But Damien wasn’t a trans man, was he?’ I asked.
‘No. He just knew what it meant for the world to tell you you’re different when you know you’re just you. He was mixed race and lived part-time with both parents so he thought he never belonged anywhere.’ She shifted on the sofa, away from the gun, which I was pleased to see. She wasn’t thinking about it anymore.
‘Is that why you felt you had to leave home?’ I asked. I thought I was making a smooth segue. ‘Because you thought you belonged somewhere else?’
As ever under such circumstances, I was wrong. ‘That wasn’t my home; that was my father’s home, and I’m not who he wanted me to be. I never was!’
‘I’m not doubting that,’ I told her. I was keeping my voice even, hopefully calming. I wasn’t going to say that I understood how she felt, because even though I know what it is to be different (believe me!), I had no idea what it was like to be Eliza. ‘Was your father difficult about it? Is that why you didn’t tell him you were leaving?’ From Brian Hennessey’s perspective, Eliza’s move was unpredictable and somewhat cruel. He thought he was coming around to being very understanding about his daughter. Eliza clearly had other opinions.
She spoke very slowly, considering each word. ‘My father … thinks I’m going to change back, like I wasn’t me from the day I was born. He and my mom assigned me this identity that wasn’t ever me. He’s not going to get over that.’
I nodded, not necessarily agreeing with her assessment of Brian but indicating that I was sympathetic to her situation. ‘Maybe you’re not giving him enough credit.’
‘I knew you would say something like that! He’s paying you, so you’re on his side!’ She glanced at the gun, but I knew she wasn’t contemplating shooting me.
‘I’m not on a side,’ I told her. ‘Yes, he hired me and he wanted me to find you. I found you. I don’t have to bring you back, and you don’t have to go back, but I think it’s common courtesy to let someone who loves you know that you’re OK and maybe keep the lines of communication open, or leave it so they can be.’
I couldn’t read Eliza’s face for two reasons. 1. She was being enigmatic and 2. I didn’t have time. There was loud banging on the apartment door as soon as I was finished speaking.
‘NYPD! Open up!’ It sounded, if I remembered correctly, like Merchant.
Eliza’s eyes turned to slits. ‘The cops. Why did you call the cops?’ She leaned back toward the gun, which is exactly what you don’t want when the police are outside your door.
‘I didn’t call them. You should put that gun away and let them in. You haven’t done anything illegal.’ I took a second. ‘Have you?’
Eliza had looked at the gun with some fear when I’d told her to hide it, something that probably wouldn’t have gone over well with the NYPD anyway. She picked it up and stuffed it under the sofa cushion, which was the equivalent of putting up a sign over the couch that read ‘GUN HERE.’ With an arrow.
‘Um … no.’ The least convincing denial I’d heard in quite some time. ‘Not really.’ Worse.
I took a step forward to loom over her more efficiently as the banging on the door resumed. I spoke quietly but with, I hoped, authority. ‘Your best course of action is to let those cops in and tell them absolutely everything you know,’ I said. ‘You’re only making it worse if you don’t.’
She gave me a look that could curdle milk that had just left the cow. ‘You think that’s how it works for trans women?’ she said. ‘They put us in jail cells with men! They think we’re men! I’m not giving into the cops!’
It was quite probable she had a point; the NYPD doesn’t have a great record when it comes to LGBTQ+ issues. Neither does any other police department. Eliza probably wasn’t in physical danger, but that wasn’t certain and they weren’t here by accident. They’d decided she was a suspect in Damien’s murder and figured they could find her in Rainbow’s apartment.
Or had I led them here by accident?
‘I’ve gotta get out of here,’ she said. She sounded like a child. A very frightened child.
There just wasn’t time to think. If somehow my investigation had led the police to what turned out to be Eliza’s door, this was at least partially my responsibility. And this suspect wasn’t going to be especially sympathetic in the eyes of the law or a jury of her peers, if they could find any.
‘Will the cat be OK if you leave for a while?’ I asked.
‘The cat’ll be OK. It’s not my cat.’
I walked to the window and opened it. ‘OK,’ I said, pointing to my shoulders. ‘Climb on.’
EIGHTEEN
For the record, climbing down a building with a 19-year-old on your back is not easier than climbing up all by yourself. Thank goodness the apartment’s bedroom window (the one we’d chosen after a moment’s thought) faced that back alley and not the street or I’d have been on the front page of the New York Post the next morning, after a night of watching myself inch down three floors on some 24-hour news channel or another.
Eliza, for the record, was not crazy about the mode of transportation she took to the ground, but when it turned out that the apartment did not contain a rope and the pounding on the apartment door seemed likely to lead to a broken lock, she found herself without options and did as I suggested, which ended up as me hoisting her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and doing the climb up in reverse. Less jumping, because I could hang by my fingers and that got me fairly close to the next ledge. The last floor I just lowered her down and then jumped.
Once on the ground, the question of where to go became most urgent. Taking Eliza back to Brian’s apartment did not seem to jive with her preferences, and probably would have led to another visit from the cops if they were truly after her in connection to Damien’s murder. Going back to my apartment with Ken, if I had unintentionally led the NYPD to Rainbow’s door, seemed equally ill-advised. I texted Ken as soon as we were around the corner and trying to look nonchalant while walking to the subway.
Need a place to crash with a friend for some time. Ideas?
Immediately my brother, who wasn’t actually born in a sports bar (or anywhere else) but should have been, sent back, So you and the cop are back on good terms?
He’s hilarious. Just ask him; he’ll tell you.
Serious.
That got him in the right mode. I could tell because Ken didn’t answer right away. I was trying to keep Eliza from being noticeable, and walking by my side it was a decent bet people would be concentrating on me. But we were not, by any stretch of the imagination, blending in.
Igavda’s place. That was my brother’s suggestion, to go to the apartment of our one employee, a woman he’d been ogling surreptitiously since she was hired. It didn’t seem like a great set-up, but I was in a hurry and it was unquestionably a place no detective would think of looking.
Send me the address and then delete all these texts. Yes, it would be possible to drag this conversation out of the bowels of my iPhone if things went that far, but any obstacles you put in your adversary’s path will at worst slow them down and that’s never bad.
That was what had happened in the past ten minutes. The police – all police – had become my adversaries. I’d have to text Mank later and tell him we were enemies, in case he thought that we weren’t now.
We got on the seven train and headed toward Manhattan, which admittedly is not exactly a long trip. Luckily we were heading in that direction and not the other, because the seven going toward Flushing was going to be packed with Mets fans heading to Citi Field for tonight’s game. You have to get there early to avoid the lines at Shake Shack. I’m told.
Igavda lived in Washington Heights, up near the George Washington Bridge, so we changed to the four train and headed uptown. I hoped Ken had sent Igavda home with her key because there was no way Eliza and I would be able to look inconspicuous in her hallway, assuming we could even get inside the front door. No more building climbing today. It was a hard-and-fast rule.
All that proved to be moot when we walked out of the subway and walked west to a spot about a block from Igavda’s place. I’d been educated in criminal justice, I’d been trained and employed as a New York City police officer and I’d been a private investigator for a while now.
I knew unmarked cop cars when I saw them, and they were flocked around Igavda’s building like paparazzi near the British royal family. (Someday someone will have to explain that fascination to me.) I felt my stomach clench up a bit.
‘Stop,’ I said to Eliza. ‘It’s not safe there.’
She looked at me, wondering. ‘How is that possible?’
‘The only plausible explanation is that at least my, and probably both of our cell phones are being monitored,’ I told her. Reflexively I put my hand on my front jeans pocket, where my phone was betraying me even as I spoke. ‘You need to turn yours off. We might end up having to destroy them or at least throw them away.’
Eliza looked positively stricken. ‘What?’ I’m not young enough to be of the generation that can’t conceive of life without a smartphone. But I’m close.
‘They can find us if we use them, and maybe if we don’t,’ I told her. ‘You can’t get in touch with anyone right now or the police will know where we are within seconds.’
She blanched.
‘Who have you been in touch with since we left Rainbow’s place?’ I asked Eliza.
‘Nobody,’ she said, and the way she looked directly into my eyes convinced me she was lying.
There was no sense in arguing with her; what was done was done. ‘Well from now on you can’t get in touch with anybody,’ I told her, trying to put the authority of adulthood into my voice. (Even though she was technically an adult, I was clearly the authority figure here; at least I thought so.) ‘Even Googling something at this point would connect with a tower and if we connect with a tower they can come close to locating us. If they’ve read my texts, they can read yours. So we have to be extremely careful.’
That, of course, was the moment I pulled my mobile phone out of my pocket and started texting Ken. Eliza’s jaw dropped a couple of feet and her eyes screamed, ‘TRAITOR!’ even as I explained, ‘I’m not going to say anything that will help them, and we’re going to leave this place now.’
But I had to get in touch with Ken. I took a picture of Igavda’s building and sent it to him with the caption: Not safe. Heading to that place. He’d know what that meant. But I had to add: Bring charge.
Because my energy had been waning since the climb up Rainbow’s building, and if I didn’t plug in soon I would completely run out of gas.
NINETEEN
I turned my cell phone completely off as soon as we turned away from Igavda’s building and headed for the subway, but I insisted on two things: that Eliza turn her phone off as well (which was not the most popular suggestion ever), and that we head for a different subway, one completely on the other side of the island.
She complained most of the way and especially when I saw her pull ear buds out of her pocket and reach for her phone. ‘No music,’ I said.
‘You’re not my mother.’ The classic response.
‘No. I’m just trying to keep you out of jail.’ Luckily we were on the six train on Lexington Avenue and absolutely no one was listening to us. (Most, to be honest, had ear buds in.)
Never let it be said that a 19-year-old woman can’t pout as well as a 14-year-old girl, because Eliza still had her chops. She might not have looked like a girl back then (or maybe she did; I had no idea) but she was identifying that way and that was all that mattered.
We got off the train at Bleecker Street and started walking south. I knew where we were heading but felt no obligation to mention that to Eliza, who was reaching into her jacket pocket regularly until I noticed how low that side of her jacket was hanging down on her hip.
No. She didn’t.
I spoke loud enough for her to hear but not for anyone else. Someone passing by would have thought we were having a casual conversation. ‘You brought the gun with you?’
Eliza looked at me as if I’d asked whether she had brought her legs. ‘Of course I did,’ she said. ‘Feels like we’re in a pretty dangerous situation, don’t ya think?’
Both boys and girls are harmed by the image of John McClane taking on a small army with a handgun and winning. Worse, they are bombarded with images of schools being shot up with automatic weapons and think the only way to stop that is to outgun the shooters. This is not going to stop any time soon, and it had clearly gotten deep into Eliza’s thought processes.
‘We’re not going to be in a shootout with anyone,’ I said. ‘You only made it more dangerous for us by taking that thing with you.’ A thought struck me. ‘What do you know about Damien’s business that you’re not telling me?’
She sniffed like a society matron being told a homeless man had walked into the gala. ‘I told you I didn’t use any of that stuff.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t say that you weren’t involved.’
‘Well, I wasn’t.’ She couldn’t even make that sound a trifle sincere.
‘Who’s after you besides the police?’ We were getting near the spot to meet Ken. It’s only because I know my brother is actually a very intelligent, resourceful man that the thought was comforting. Also that he could easily beat up anyone who came after Eliza. Not that I couldn’t, but you like to have two of us when you can.
‘Nobody,’ Eliza answered. She didn’t trust me, which wasn’t terribly surprising seeing as how, from her point of view, I’d shown up and brought the cops to her door. On the other hand, I’d literally put her on my back to get her out of the situation, and you’d think that would count for something. I kept forgetting she was still a teenager, and one who’d been through a lot more than most.
‘I get why you’re lying, but you’re still lying,’ I told her. ‘I can’t explain to you why, but I understand what it’s like to feel that the world thinks you’re not who you know you are. I know you feel like you can’t open up to anyone. But I’m telling you that right now I’m your very best shot at not going to jail or getting killed. So the sooner you learn to trust me, the easier it’s going to be for both of us.’ I didn’t add, ‘Come with me if you want to live,’ because I wasn’t sure if she’d seen the second Terminator movie.
‘People don’t think I’m me.’ Eliza spoke quietly, which for normal people would be hard to hear on a street in lower Manhattan. ‘Do you know what that feels like?’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested we have the same circumstances because we don’t.’ I pushed open the door to a tiny, as nondescript as possible corner coffee shop and indicated she should walk inside.
‘That’s where we’re going?’ She couldn’t believe we’d come all this way on the train to get to such an ordinary place. What she didn’t realize was that the lack of outstanding features was the point. Nobody would be looking for us here.
Ken was already seated at a table as far away from the windows as he could have managed in this place. It wasn’t crowded but it wasn’t empty either. My brother, ever the gentleman, did not stand when we approached. In reality, that was probably a smart move. People notice when Ken stands up.
As soon as we sat down and I’d introduced Eliza and Ken, he pulled a small paper bag out of his jacket pocket (which was probably why he was wearing a jacket on a warm day) and handed it to me. I knew it would hold the charger I’d need to keep my body’s energy at a workable level once I found a place with an electrical socket. Worse came to worst I’d sequester myself in the diner’s women’s restroom and give myself a boost there, but I’d rather not for any number of reasons.
I got Ken up to date on the odyssey Eliza and I had undertaken, and why. He listened carefully and didn’t act like a giant frat boy when I was talking, so I knew he was on his best behavior on Eliza’s behalf.
He looked at me when I was finished. ‘So you think they were there to arrest her for Damien’s murder? Based on what?’
It was a good question, and I had time to think about it because the server, clearly an NYU student trying to pay for her dorm, came to ask what we’d like to order. I got a turkey club because that’s what I get at a diner when I haven’t bothered to look at the menu. I’m sure Ken and even Eliza ordered food as well but I honestly don’t remember what their preferences might have been. My mind was elsewhere.
The server headed for the kitchen and Ken looked expectantly at me. ‘All I have is that Brooker and Merchant were asking about Eliza more than they should have and even Mank brought up her name once Damien was dead. I can’t imagine they have any actual physical evidence.’ I turned toward Eliza, who was staring sort of dreamily at Ken. She probably thought he was the brain in the family now. ‘You weren’t down in that basement in the Bronx with Damien, were you?’ I asked her.
‘What? No.’ Ken probably could have told me that her respiration had risen a bit and her breathing had gotten shallow. I knew some of that, but didn’t need to know it to understand that Eliza was lying again.
I looked at my brother with a little request on my face and he caught it: I wanted him to respond instead of me because Eliza would respond less defensively. Maybe.
‘You didn’t even go down there to bring him coffee or something?’ Ken said.
