Part 46 (1/2)

Nothing.

No no no, he says. He turns the key again. The engine clicks but won't start. Son of a-He gets out, lifts the hood. It's got to be the battery. But how can it be? The car is new. He just bought it. He wonders how long it will take Sonny's Service Center, over on Third, to come give him a jump. He checks his watch. Margaret's doctor appointment is in forty minutes.

From behind him he hears someone. He turns. Two cops. The muscles in his legs twitch-he nearly runs. But then he notices the cops' relaxed posture, bored eyes. They're not after him.

The cop on the left pushes back his hat. You the owner of this car?

Yes, Officer.

License and registration.

Willie fishes in his breast pocket, hands his license and registration to the cop on the left. The cop on the right looks Willie up and down.

It's good, Left Cop says to Right Cop.

Left Cop folds the registration, tucks it under the license, hands it back. Sorry for the bother, he says. Have a good day, Mr. Loring.

No bother, fellas.

Their black-and-white is parked behind Willie's car. They get in, drive off.

Willie leans back under his hood. If he could hook his racing heart to this dead battery, he'd be on his way.

They leave Dean Street, cruise south on Fourth. At a red light Photographer sets his camera on his lap, pats it like a dog. He opens his camera bag, picks a lens, checks it for smudges-fixes it to his camera like a bayonet.

Locked and loaded, he says to Sutton's reflection in the rearview. Show time, brother.

The light is green, Reporter says.

Photographer hits the gas.

Reporter unwraps a candy bar, puts half in his mouth, opens a file. So-Mr. Sutton. February 18, 1952. According to this article you're living on Dean Street, dating Margaret, knocking off a bank every few weeks with two guys. Tommy Kling and Johnny DeVenuta?

Sutton loosens his tie. Mad Dog and Dee, he says. Yeah.

Walk us through that day.

I was supposed to take Margaret to the doctor to see about her eye.

What was wrong with her eye?

It kept getting bigger.

Bigger?

We didn't know why. And she was afraid of doctors. So I had to insist, and promise to go with her. I had coffee that morning with Mad Dog. Then I headed back to Brooklyn. I was late. As I walked down the steps of the subway station I heard the train coming. I ran. All out. Like Jackie Robinson stealing home. Imagine kid?

Imagine what?

How much would be different. If I hadn't run. If I hadn't jumped through those doors just as they were closing. If I hadn't had a dime in my pocket. If the fare had still been a nickel. You know who kept the subway fare a nickel all those years? Mr. Untermyer. He practically ran the transportation system in New York. But he died.

What would be different?

For openers? We wouldn't be sitting in this G.o.dd.a.m.n car right now.

The cops return minutes later.

Mr. Loring, Right Cop says. We're going to need you to come with us.

What's the trouble, Officer?

Left Cop hitches his pants. There's been a rash of car thefts in this neighborhood. Our sergeant wants us to check everything.

I showed you my license and registration.

Yes sir, Right Cop says. It's just routine.

Willie shrugs, drops the hood. He follows the cops to their squad car, climbs in the backseat.

Where are we going?

The Seven Eight. It's only a half mile away.

Willie tells them he's got to take his girlfriend to the doctor.

We'll have you back to your car in no time, Right Cop says.

You having some engine trouble? Left Cop says.

Dead battery, Willie says.

We can give you a jump when we get this all cleared up, Left Cop says.

At the precinct they lead him through a door with a pebbled gla.s.s panel. An interrogation room. All his old scars tingle.

Coffee, Mr. Loring?

Sure, thanks.

He sits at the table. They take his fingerprints. Procedure, Mr. Loring.

I understand, fellas. Doing your jobs. Mind if I smoke?

Go right ahead. Where you from, Mr. Loring?

Brooklyn. Born and raised.

You a Dodgers fan, Mr. Loring?

Och-don't remind me.