# 2 Trey At noon, Trey found a hole-in-the-wall Puerto Rican restaurant in the shadow of the elevated train on Jamaica Avenue. He sat at a table where he could watch the window. He didn’t know anyone in Queens, and the chance of someone from Manhattan happening by and spotting him was less than his chance of winning a $20,000,000 lottery, but hey, he always bought a ticket just in case. He ordered arroz con chorizo from the pretty girl behind the counter who smiled at him when her mama waddled into the kitchen. He smiled back, then opened the early edition of The Post. He had to walk four blocks to find a store that had the paper in this mixed ethnic neighborhood where you could get the news in five languages other than English. To his relief, the headlines screamed, MOB BOSS SLAIN. Something that big to worry about, the cops wouldn’t concentrate on a shooting in Harlem very hard. With some luck, maybe the papers hadn’t gotten the story at all. His hope grew as he turned pages, then ran out when he got to page nine and saw the brief article. Good news, bad news. Buried that far in meant he was right about no army of cops bustin’ their butts looking for them. The bad news, the liquor store owner must’ve installed a hidden surveillance camera since Trey went in to look around. The cops claimed to have a tape of the three holdup men. Punks, the store owner called them. The pregnant woman was in critical condition at Roosevelt Hospital. Trey wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Critical… Jeez… That crazy dude, Easy… What kind of a name was that anyhow? When Trey got his hands on the little bastard, he’d slice him up like a deli special. He should have checked him out himself. Chico wasn’t the brightest kid in the world, but he’d never steered him wrong before. It was his own fault, he should have known better than to trust anyone, even Chico for something that important. The fleeting thought that maybe Chico knew all along— Nah. The idea was crazy. It might be possible that Chico could be bought or bribed like anyone else, but he knew the plan that they were going to split up so they wouldn’t be seen together, and that they wouldn’t divide the money until the next day, same as always. Chico wasn’t stupid enough to walk away empty handed if he was in on any kind of doublecross. He looked up when the pretty girl set down a glass of water and a knife and fork wrapped in a paper napkin. He gave her another half-hearted smile, like a guy who wanted to be friendly but had a lot on his mind. The mama came out of the kitchen and put a plate on the counter. The girl brought it to the table. "Gracias," he said without looking up from the paper. He read the article again more slowly, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. He had. One thing. The store owner estimated the trio had gotten away with about $400. His wife wasn’t feeling well so he didn’t want to leave her alone while he went to the bank to deposit it the way he usually did after he closed. Trey almost laughed out loud. He’d pulled out more than that in twenties, but if the cops believed it, they weren’t going to put much effort into finding the holdup men. Trey had counted the money last night after he locked himself in a cheap hotel room not far from here. Even after the cash he’d given Chico and the weasel, there was almost a grand in small bills. He’d been too nervous to count the hundreds that were already bundled and banded, ready for the bank. He gone out early this morning and bought a box of plastic wrap and twisted the bills in a long length of it so he could tie it around his waist until he decided what to do. He glanced at his watch. It was almost time to call Juanita so she could get a message to Chico. He polished off the last of the rice and sausage and pushed the plate away. The girl was at his side instantly. "Nada mas," he said, pulling out a five and handing it to her and telling her he didn’t want any change. "Gracias, muy gracias," she said shoving the money into her skirt pocket with a quick glance toward the kitchen where mama had disappeared again. She smiled at Trey as he left. He tried two street phones that didn’t work and finally turned off onto busy avenue and walked a couple of blocks before he found a working one near a gas station. Ducking his head into the shell, he dialed Juanita's number, waited for the mechanical voice to tell him how much money he had to drop in, then waited again while the coins clattered into the box and the phone began to ring. Four times. He shifted uneasily. Juanita always picked up by the second ring so the phone wouldn’t wake her old man who worked nights on a garbage crew and was mean as a bull if anyone got him up before four o’clock. No one in the family asked how high when he said jump. "Yes? Hello?" English. Something was wrong. He spread his fingers over the mouthpiece to muffle his voice. "Yeah, is Pablo Sanchez there? I need to talk to him." Juanita didn’t hesitate. "You have the wrong number." That was the signal she couldn’t talk. "He gimme this number—" "There’s no one here who can help you. Sorry." She hung up. Trey returned phone to the cradle. Damn! No one who could help meant cops. Right there in the apartment if she couldn’t talk. They’d worked out the signal months ago when he had to hide out for awhile after a convenience store holdup. But she said sorry. That meant she’d meet him in Times Square as soon as she could get away. He glanced at his watch. The subway would get him there in less than half an hour. He fingered the deck of cards in his pocket and thought about going in and setting up a game while he waited, but he scrapped the idea fast. Every bunco cop in the tourist zone knew his face and his fast hands with a deck. It was the cops who started calling him Trey, short for Three-Card Monte, his particular game of skill. He knew most of them, too, and usually managed to be halfway down the block before they realized he was running. But a few times some eager sprinter caught him and he did a few a days. Considering the neat bundles of bills in plastic tied around his middle, today was definitely not a day to risk a game of tag with cops. Better he should hang out in Queens for an hour or so and hope Juanita got to the meeting place first. Maybe he’d look around, see what kind of places were for rent out here. Juanita talked a lot about getting out of the crowded apartment she lived in with her family. He emerged from the Times Square station with a crowd that melted into the larger crowd on the sidewalk in noisy confusion. He moved with the tide hurrying west toward the theaters to make matinee curtain calls. Clouds that had been heavy in the gray sky all day began to lower and give off the smell of rain. Trey turned up his jacket collar and walked purposefully but without hurrying toward the pizza place on the next corner. He saw her at a table in the back as soon as he walked in. Stopping at the counter, he ordered two slices and two Cokes and carried the tray to the table. Juanita smiled but her dark eyes were troubled. "I was so worried. The cops asked a million questions." He sat and put his arm around her and pulled her close for a hungry kiss, not caring if people stared. "I missed you," he said. "You okay?" She nodded. "No trouble with your old man about the cops coming?" She shrugged. "He didn’t come out of the bedroom. If he heard, he don’t want any part. Never said a word when he left to go have a few beers with his pals." No surprise. Her old man had been in enough trouble with the law to be smart enough not butt into someone else’s. Drunk and disorderly, a couple of assault charges from fights, and once the neighbors called them when he started beating up on his wife. For that matter, Trey bet no one in the building ventured outside their apartments while the cops were on the premises. "What’d they say?" "You know cops. They don’t say anything only ask a lot of questions. Did I know you. When did I see you last. Were you coming by soon. That kind of stuff. I almost wet my pants when I heard you on the phone, I was so scared they’d guess." "You did great, baby." He kissed her again then pressed his forehead to hers and gazed into her velvety brown eyes. "You sure you’re okay?" "Yeah." "You still sick every morning?" She nodded. "Your mother hasn’t figured out anything yet?" "No. She’s too busy with the kids to pay any attention to me as long as I go to work and come home to help with the cleaning and cooking." Trey put the flat of his hand on her belly and smiled. "Know what I did after I talked to you on the phone?" She shook her head gently against his pressing forehead. "I looked at a couple of apartments out in Queens." Her eyes glowed and she drew back to look at him. "Really?" "Yeah. Rents are cheaper out there. We could swing it. This one I saw, it’s got two bedrooms. Real ones, not some closet on an air shaft. It’s on the second floor back. Lots of sun on nice days the landlady says." Juanita’s eyes widened. "Two bedrooms must cost a fortune I bet." He grinned and patted his baby growing in her belly. "My kid’s gonna have a room of his own. You be surprised, the rent’s not bad. Less than your old man pays for that dump you’re living in." "You kidding?" "No. When this thing blows over, you’ll see." A shadow clouded her eyes again. "Come on, now, eat your pizza before it gets cold. I have something I need you to give to Chico. Be sure the cops ain’t around. Call him at the usual place and have him meet you somewhere safe, somewhere out of the neighborhood, you hear?" She chewed her lip. Trey’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the scared look. "What’s the matter? Did the cops ask about him?" She nodded. "What’d they say?" Tears brimmed in her eyes. Trey cupped her chin and dried them with a paper napkin. "Tell me what’s the matter." "Oh, Trey, I’m so scared." "Tell me about Chico," he said, not releasing her chin. "He—he’s in jail, the cop said. Someone recognized him on the surveillance tape from the store." She sniffled and fought tears again. "You too. Trey—" A sob caught in her throat. "The cop, he said—He said you shot a woman, A woman who was going to have a baby." "I didn’t! Don’t you listen to them, Juanita. They do that, play games to get you all upset so you say something you don’t mean to say." She looked down but he forced her chin up. "Look at me." When she did, he spoke softly and gently. "You know I wouldn’t hurt a woman. Have I ever so much as raised my hand to you?" She shook her head. "You remember that. I didn’t shoot nobody. They say anything about the other guy?" She looked surprised. "Who? I thought it was only you and Chico." Trey’s mistrust and rage about Easy became a hard knot in his chest. If the cops had the surveillance tape, they knew damn well there had been three of them. Even the story in The Post mentioned it. How come the cops got to Chico so fast? He didn’t even have a rap sheet. It was impossible unless they had help. Like Easy, maybe? When Juanita trembled, he put his arm around her and held her close. "You stop worrying now, you hear?" "Trey?" "Yeah, baby?" "The cop said something else." "Like?" "He said…He said they’ve got the gun." That clinched it. That little weasel had gotten himself caught, then ratted on where to find Chico. Trying to save his own skinny little neck. He probably gave them Trey’s name and would have told them where to find him if he’d known. Juanita squeezed his hand in her icy cold one. "Trey, they say your fingerprints are on it ,and that proves you shot the woman."