New Tricks - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,34

walk into the house under her own power, though she holds on to my arm as she does. I help her up the steps and into bed, and I can see that the effort has exhausted her.

“Andy, it’s so good to be here. I feel better already.”

“That’s good, because you’re going to have to pull your own weight. Light housework, cooking, some gardening, sexual favors, that kind of thing.”

Laurie doesn’t answer, mainly because she is already sound asleep. I’ll have to write that line down to use it later.

I call Willie and ask him to bring Tara and Waggy over. He’s busy at the foundation, and promises to do so when they close for the evening. I’m slightly nervous about this, since we have determined that possession of Waggy has proven somewhat unhealthy in the past. But for the time being I won’t take the dogs for public walks; I’ll just play with them in the backyard, which is surrounded by a fence and can’t be seen from off the property.

Laurie wakes up ravenously hungry and anxious to eat the farthest thing possible from hospital food. Since my understanding of cooking ranks with my understanding of DNA, I offer her a bunch of take-out options. She chooses Taco Bell, and I can’t say I’m disappointed with the choice.

I go to the Taco Bell on Route 4 in nearby Elmwood Park and pretty much order everything on the menu. When I get back, Tara and the maniacal Waggy greet me at the door. Willie is sitting on the edge of Laurie’s bed, and they are laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Things are getting back to normal, and normal is damn good.

Willie takes one look at the bags of food, smacks his hands together, and announces that he is starved. That, coupled with Laurie’s previously announced hunger, is going to leave me sucking on the sauce packets for nourishment.

I bring out a large tray and some plates, and we eat right there in the bedroom. I wind up with a steak quesadilla and half of a chalupa, and consider myself lucky. Laurie and Willie eat enough for twelve normal people.

As I’m cleaning up, the phone rings, and Laurie answers it. Her “hello” is soon followed with, “Great! I’m doing great! It’s so nice to hear from you.”

What follows is a three- or four-minute conversation, mostly about Laurie’s condition, job status, and immediate plans. There are long pauses in which she listens to apparently lengthy replies. It all ultimately ends with, “He’s right here, Marcus. I’ll put him on.”

As she hands me the phone, I say, “You’ve been having that conversation with Marcus? My Marcus?” The longest conversation he and I have ever had consisted of six grunts and a nod. The way this one sounded, Laurie could have been talking to Henry Kissinger.

I take the phone and Marcus says, “Got him.”

“Who? Childs?”

“Yuh. Bergen Street.”

“Where on Bergen Street?”

“Elevator.”

I was once present when Marcus questioned someone in a dilapidated old warehouse at the end of Bergen Street near the Passaic River, hanging him out over a sixth-floor elevator shaft to encourage his truthful responses. It was vintage Marcus, and I think that he’s now telling me he has Childs at the same place.

“You got questions?” he asks.

“For him? Absolutely. Should I come down there?”

“Now,” he says, and hangs up.

I get up and tell Laurie and Willie about the conversation. Willie insists on going with me, an idea that Laurie encourages. That area can be dangerous at night, and in Childs we are talking about a hired killer, albeit one whom Marcus apparently has under control.

I’d certainly like to bring Willie along, since I’m generally afraid of being alone in my bedroom if it gets too dark. He also shares Laurie’s ability to understand Marcus’s unique way of speaking. I’m reluctant to leave Laurie alone for an extended time, but she points out that her assailant is obviously not available at the moment to come after her.

Willie and I drive down to the designated meeting place, which if anything is more run-down than it was last time. Marcus signals to us from a window on the sixth floor, and we start trudging up the steps. When we’re on the third-floor landing, a rat runs across the floor in front of us, causing me to jump so high I almost fall back down the steps.

“I’ve got to make some changes in my life,” I say, once I’ve recovered.

By the time we get to the sixth floor,