Dead Street

Then she took a deep breath and released what she was thinking. “What did you say?”

“I said you were a kid.”

There was a tautness to her expression, and her eyes seemed to search for me, then whatever she was looking for disappeared from her mental image and she whispered, “Strange.”

“What is?”

“Being called a kid,” she told me. “Why would I remember that?”

And then I remembered it. I used to call her “kid.” I’d hold her tight and kiss her, tasting all the sweetness that she had and we’d talk about what we’d do when she grew up.

No way would I have recounted any of those conversations to the guys at the station house. Career cops are funny people with the tightest association between partners and other cops, bonds nobody could break. But, hell, I couldn’t tell them I was wildly in love with a kid. The old-timers would have run me ragged. When Bettie disappeared in that wild abduction, the ranks closed behind me. I never let them open again.

And now here I was.

And who remembered anymore?

Somebody remembered. I could feel it! Damn it, the years were only a hiatus, a period of waiting, and now it was almost over!

Bettie said, “I have to feed Tacos. Would you like to help me?”

“You need help to feed your dog?”

“I need help to talk to my new neighbor. Your house has been empty ever since I’ve been here.”

I said “Okay, young lady....”

“You did it again.”

“What?”

“Called me a ‘young lady.’ That’s worse than ‘kid.’”

“You’re younger than me,” I said.

“Okay, no woman’s going to argue with that.”

And once again I took her hand in mine and, without realizing it, our fingers intertwined and started speaking a silent language that only special people can understand, and at the top of the stairs Bettie said, “Jack....”

“What?”

“Are you sure?”

“About what?”

Her face turned toward me and she reached up and took off her sunglasses. And there were those eyes. Hazel. Pure hazel. The brown and the green swirled in them. How she found the line of vision to mine was something I didn’t know. She was looking at me, watching me, then she let a smile touch her lips.

I snapped my fingers at the greyhound and damned if that dog didn’t smile at me. No tail-wagging, just a daggone smile.

Back in New York City my street was nearly ready for the macadam medical examiner. Nobody had to tell me. I knew the progression of the gravediggers that tore up the entrails of a city and spit them out in some abandoned area that developers would discover and build upon. What was strange was that I didn’t care any more. The city was in a state of flux, blowing up like a fat man who had once been skinny and raunchy and enterprising but now was dropping into the mire of his own wealth. He was fat now. He was going to get fatter.

Bettie said, “What are you thinking?”

“You wouldn’t want to know, doll.”

“Jack... you did it again.”

“What?”

“You... you called me ‘doll.’ “

“That’s you all over, baby,” I said.

Creases showed at the edges of her eyes and she told me, “It’s like hearing an echo. And echoes aren’t real.... Are they?”

“Something else was there first,” I said quietly. “Something real generates echoes... kid.”

She gave one of those girl shakes of the head that sent hair spilling across her face and her laugh had that Tinkerbell ring to it.

“Well, let’s give my big mutt two cans of his favorite dish and a big bowl of biscuits.”

I almost asked her what would come next but she beat me to the answer first. “Then you can tell me all about your past, since I don’t seem to have any.”

“Police officers are sworn to secrecy,” I growled.

“Baloney. They’re all writing books about it now. Some of them even made movies about their exploits. You ever know any of those cops, Jack?”

“Eddie Egan,” I fired back. “He was a great cop.”

“The French Connection episode?”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me do it. “Among a lot of others.”

“What did you do, Jack?”

“Routine stuff,” I said. “Everything’s based on established routine in police work. That’s why we almost always nail the bad guy.”

“And how was it when you had to leave your job?”

“Until now, it’s been lousy.”

She let out a little-girl giggle. “What’s happened to improve it?”

“I suddenly got a new neighbor. In New York City you never have a new neighbor. They’re always the ‘people next door’ or the person you nod to in the elevator every morning when you leave for work.”

She turned around and looked into my eyes. There was no identity recognition, just the crinkly movements at the corner of her mouth so that I knew she was intent upon every word I spoke when she told me, “I don’t want to be just... the person next door, Jack.”

“Bettie... you’re the very special person next door.”

Very lightly, her tongue touched her lips and they gleamed with a gentle wetness.