his sister’s innocent presence in a crack house, was suddenly veering eerily straight toward him. Once more he wasn’t comfortable saying yes or no. He hit upon another answer that cast immediate doubt upon itself:
“Uhhh… yes?” he said.
“The reason I’m asking,” said Nestor, “is that I was talking to a detective I know in the School Police, and he told me that one of those boys has recanted his story and they think the other three will, too. All four had originally said the teacher, Estevez, had attacked—what did you say his name was? François?—Estevez had attacked this François, but now they were saying it was the other way around. Estevez had only clamped a headlock on the boy—François?—in self-defense, after the boy attacked him. If that’s true, then these four kids have spared themselves a lot of very serious grief… You know?… They could already be prosecuted for lying to police officers about this thing. But they won’t be, not if they tell the truth now. You have any idea what would’ve happened if they’d stuck to their original story and been sworn in as witnesses at a trial? ¡Dios mío! They’d be guilty of perjury and lying to police officers! They’re all sixteen or seventeen. They could be prosecuted as adults, and now you’re talking about serious jail time. And think about the teacher, Estevez! God knows what jail would do to him! He’d be locked up for years with a bunch of gangbangers totally lacking in affect.”
He paused and gave Philippe a hard look, waiting for him to ask what “lacking in affect” meant. But Philippe was too petrified to say anything at all. So Nestor just went ahead and told him.
“Half the lowlifes in prison are lacking in affect. That not only means they don’t know right from wrong and couldn’t care less—they also have no sympathy for other people whatsoever. They don’t feel guilt, they don’t feel pity, they don’t feel sorrow—unless you deprive them of something they want. And four boys from de Forest?—teenagers?—they’ll rip a kid-like-that’s pants off and—Christalmighty! Well, no use getting into the details, but I’m telling you, you have no idea how lucky these boys are, telling the truth this early. If they got caught later, Whoahhhh!” Nestor shook his head and said with a morose chuckle, “They wouldn’t even have a life after that. They’d just be breathing in and out!” Another morose chuckle… “Oh, and by the way, what do you think of the teacher, Mr. Estevez?”
Philippe’s fifteen-year-old mouth fell open… and no words came out… agony… He took a couple of deep breaths… and finally said in a soft, high-pitched fifteen-year-old voice,
“I guess… he was… okay.”
“Philippe!” said Ghislaine. “You told me you really liked him!”
“What did Patrice, Fat Louis, Honoré and Hervé think of him?” said Nestor.
“I… I don’t know.”
Nestor could see Philippe bracing himself for every question. Maybe he had already pushed him too far. “I was just trying to picture them sitting twenty feet from their teacher, Mr. Estevez, in a courtroom and sending him off to prison. I’d sure hate to be in that position myself.” He looked downward and shook his head and wound up with a mirthless I guess that’s life smile twisted on his lips.
“I gotta go now,” said Philippe. He was no longer a budding baritone. He was just a frightened boy with an overwhelming urge to turn into thin air. No one can see air.
He looked at his sister as if to ask was it okay if he got up from the couch and departed. Ghislaine gave him no cue one way or the other. Nestor decided to do it himself. He stood up and radiated a high dose of Cop Charm at Philippe, who took that cue right away and all but sprang from the couch to his feet. Nestor offered his hand… like a present, radiating… I have the Power—and you don’t—but my intention right now is solely to be warm and friendly, because so far I approve of you… as they shook hands. Nestor said, “Nice to meet you, Philippe!”… and added a little extra pressure… Philippe wilted like a peony. He gave Ghislaine the kind of panicked glance that says, “Help me out!”—then headed back to the kitchen. No Pimp Roll this time.
They heard the kitchen door leading outside open and close. Ghislaine followed to make sure Philippe had left… before going back to the living room for the postmortem.