David Rosenfelt - One Dog Night

Antonio, who Sam learns is not surprisingly called “Tony,” lives in Clifton but works at a Taco Bell in Elmwood Park. I decide that I’ll talk to him at work, since if I go to his home I’ll have less chance of having a steak quesadilla after the interview.

Laurie insists on going with me for another reason, though she is also a major Taco Bell fan. She thinks that whenever I go off to interview a witness it could be dangerous, and she has no confidence whatsoever in my ability to deal with danger. It doesn’t matter who the prospective witness is; I could be questioning Mother Teresa, and Laurie would fear for my safety.

Laurie and I arrive at the Taco Bell, which has recently added a small Pizza Hut menu, apparently for diversity. “See, I don’t approve of that,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because tacos are tacos and pizza is pizza.”

“Wow, that is profound,” she says. “Have you got a pen? I want to write that down.”

We’ve gotten here at ten-thirty in the morning, the time that they open, to reduce the likelihood that Tony would be too busy to talk to us. There is one car in the drive-thru lane, but we are the only ones in the restaurant itself.

We ask the young woman behind the register if we could speak to Tony, but she doesn’t take the time to respond. All she does is immediately yell out, “Tony!” It’s obviously a fast-talk, as well as fast-food, establishment.

A young man comes out from the back, and says, “What’s up?” The young woman, perhaps afraid she’s going to use up her word quota for the day, simply points to us. So Tony comes over to us and asks, “What’s up?”-a phrase he has apparently mastered.

“My name is Andy Carpenter,” I say. “This is Laurie Collins We’re investigating the fire.”

Tony physically pulls back from the words. “Oh, man, again? I told that cop everything I knew. All of a sudden everybody wants to talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, but someone has been arrested, and we need to determine if they have the right person.” I’m skirting the issue, trying not to identify myself as Noah’s attorney. Since three of Tony’s relatives were killed in the fire, and he himself was injured, he might not be too inclined to talk to someone on Noah’s side.

“It may not be him?” Tony asks.

“We’re just trying to make sure,” I say.

We go over to a table near the window, and I ask Tony to tell us whatever he remembers about that night.

He takes a deep breath and says, “I was asleep; it was after midnight. This really loud noise woke me up; it sounded like I was in a wind tunnel, or something. Or maybe one of those big storms, like a tornado.

“But when I looked around, everything seemed to be okay. I thought I heard yelling over the noise, but I couldn’t be sure. So I went to open the door, and the handle… the doorknob… burned my hand. But it was too late, the door opened just a little bit, and all these flames and air came flooding into the room. I think the air was hotter than the flames.

“I wanted to go through the door, my mother and two sisters were in there, but there was no way I could. I swear, there was no way. By then my room was on fire; there were flames everywhere. So all I could do was jump out the window, and hope they had made it out okay.

“They didn’t.”

He says all this without much apparent emotion, almost as if he’s reading the words from a script. Some self-preservation instinct has enabled him to deal with this and continue to function in society.

“We’re so very sorry,” Laurie says, and I echo those sentiments. It’s almost impossible to imagine what this young man has been through.

“Did you know a lot of people in that building?” I ask.

“No… not too many. A lot of people would move in and out, and then there were some people my mother warned my sisters and me to stay away from.”

“Who were they?” Laurie asks.

“There were two apartments on the first floor; my mother said they were drug dealers.”

“Do you think they were the targets of the fire?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I guess. No way for me to really know.”

“Who did you know?”

“There was a kid my age on the second floor… I forget his name-maybe William something. I was in his apartment a few times. I met his mother, but I don’t think he had a father, at least not one that lived there.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not really. I met the lady who lived across the hall a couple of times. You know, just to say hello in the hallway. She only lived there about a year. Once she had the baby, I didn’t see that much of her. But people came to see her, sometimes they were dressed in suits.”

“Do you know her name, or what the people wanted?” I ask.

“No. And then there was a lady on the second floor, Charisse. My mother warned me about her too. I didn’t know why at the time, but now that I know more…” He looks at Laurie, as if trying to decide to continue. “I think she was probably a hooker, you know? Maybe the lady across the hall was as well.”

“Is there anything you can think of, anything at all, that would lead you to believe that someone in the apartment building had terrible enemies who might have done this?”

“No. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Where did you go after the fire, Tony?” Laurie asks.

“Well, I was in the hospital for a while, maybe a month, and then I went to live with my aunt.”

“Are you still with her?”

“I’m in her apartment. She died a couple of months ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Laurie and I both say it simultaneously. We could say we’re sorry to Tony for the next ten years, and it wouldn’t cover it. Nor would it help him any.

“Andy, make a right into that 7-Eleven.”

“Why? What do you need?” I ask, but Laurie doesn’t answer. She seems to be focused on something in the mirror.

“Laurie?”

She still doesn’t answer, at least not right away, and I pull into the strip mall parking lot and turn off the car.

“Go in and buy something. Take your time about it.”

“What am I supposed to buy?” I ask, more confused than normal.

“Doesn’t matter. I think we’re being followed, and I want to make sure.”

I get out of the car and go into the store, and I notice that Laurie is starting to make a call on her cell phone. Once inside, I start to wander the aisles, pretending to be looking for something. Since there are only two aisles, and since I’m the only person in the store, the cashier starts to look at me a little strangely.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

I give her my most charming smile, for which there is no known defense. “Just browsing; everything looks so good.” The fact that I’m standing in front of laundry detergent and bleach may be one reason why she doesn’t return the smile or seem at all captivated. Instead, she stays silent and keeps watching me.

I look through the window and see that Laurie is off the phone. She and I make eye contact, and she shakes her head slightly, telling me she’s not ready for me to come back to the car.

I’m not feeling too significant to this process, but there’s really nothing I can do about it right now. I take a bottle of bleach and a loaf of whole wheat bread, and bring it to the cashier. “How’s it going?” I ask, pulling out all the conversational stops.

“That it?” is her response, referring to the two items I’m getting.

“You know something, give me a minute. I should get some sodas… to wash down the bread.” I leave my items there and head back to the refrigerator case filled with drinks. I pretend to agonize over them, but don’t take any because Laurie finally nods to me that it’s okay for me to come out. I go back to the cashier, pay for the original items, and leave.