Roz Denny Fox - Annie's Neighborhood

Annie refilled their glasses as they faced off across the table. “Maybe the gang leaders will give up and move on if we create the kind of community where families want to live. Pleasant surroundings restore hope. Hope creates far-reaching results.”

“Perhaps that’s true in prosperous neighborhoods.” Sky drained his second glass. “Did any of the residents you talked to tell you how many hours a day they spend riding buses to Louisville and back to work minimum-wage jobs that barely put food on their tables? And those are the privileged few who actually found new jobs.”

“I haven’t totally gained their trust yet,” Annie admitted. “But I plan to. I’ll book a room at the library, and after setting a time and date, I’ll distribute flyers inviting everyone to a meeting. Then I’ll lay out my ideas in greater detail.”

“Good luck.” Sky handed her his glass. “Thanks for the drink. I need to get back to the job I’m being paid to do.”

“I’d hoped I could enlist your support.”

He clattered down the steps and strode along the walkway without so much as a backward glance.

Annie was fairly sure he’d heard her. She sighed as she collected the pitcher, glasses and her notebook, and carried them into the house. What if Skylar Cordova was right? What if she and Gran Ida were wrong about her ability to help revitalize this neighborhood?

* * *

SKY WENT BACK to the office. He called the pawnbroker to let him know he’d found the owner of the silverware. Afterward, he made up the work schedule for the following week. Aaron Loomis, the city manager, wouldn’t let him authorize any overtime for his staff, which meant Sky had to take up the slack if any of his men needed a day off. When he posted the shifts to his calendar, he saw he had a dinner at Koot and Sadie’s tonight. That was good. His pantry was bare, plus Sadie was a great cook. With nice weather, maybe they’d have a barbecue. And if the Talmage sons were there, the four guys could shoot hoops for a while. Sky could use a workout.

He’d just shut down his computer when the dispatcher notified him that a call had come in from a drugstore—a possible domestic dispute in their parking lot. Those had the potential of being especially difficult—and dangerous. Heading out, Sky called Teddy Saunders, his youngest officer, as backup. At six-three, two hundred and eighty pounds, Saunders often just had to show up and perpetrators got scared enough to beg for mercy.

Sky arrived at the altercation first and encountered a couple he’d been called out on before. Roger McBride reportedly had a problem with alcohol, and his wife, Loretta, had a problem with the amount of money Roger wasted on liquor. In the past there hadn’t been any violence, so Sky canceled his call for backup.

Parking his cruiser a safe distance away from the arguing pair, Sky walked toward them and deduced that their spat was the same old thing. Loretta was outside Roger’s car shouting at her husband, who sat behind the wheel.

“Loretta,” Sky said evenly. “Roger.” Sky nodded at the man. “Is Roger too drunk to drive?” That question he aimed at the woman.

“Not yet, but I just went to the bank with my pay and checked to see that his unemployment funds had come into our account. Who did I pass as I left the bank but this lazy bum on his way to spend money we don’t have on Irish whiskey.”

Roger glanced away, but not before Sky saw his unshaven jaw tense. “I only bought a pint,” the man said. “Chief, don’t I have the right to some of the money from my unemployment? This week I filled out four new job applications. I quit going to the tavern. Since Loretta got on me, for not doing anything around the house, I’ve taken over all the chores. No matter what I do, she wants more. It’s humiliating enough for a guy like me to let my wife be the family breadwinner.”

Sky pinched the bridge of his nose. Man, where was the curb-appeal fairy who thought she could set local folks’ world right with curtains and paint? He’d love to hear Annie Emerson’s solution for this.

“Loretta, is Roger doing better?”

“I suppose.” She plucked at the collar of her blouse with a work-roughened hand. Sky knew the couple was in their late fifties. Loretta worked at a fast-food restaurant. Roger used to be a production manager at the glove factory. Sky had heard the same kind of hard-luck story from a host of others in town.

“You’re the one I’d have to charge with disorderly conduct today,” he told Loretta.

“Don’t do that,” Roger broke in. “All she’s guilty of is trying to pound some sense into my stubborn head. I’ll return the pint.” He grabbed the sack and got out of the car.

Sky and Loretta watched him jog back into the store. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have made a scene, but my boss said today they may have to cut everybody’s hours. I saw Rog headed for the store to get booze, and something snapped.”

“It’s okay. No harm done. I’m sorry life’s so rough. If I hear of any work I think Roger can do, I’ll call.”

“Come by the house,” she said meekly. “We had to let them shut our phone off.”

“I’m sorry.” Sky caught himself saying that a lot lately. The more trouble that was heaped on the heads of people in his jurisdiction, the more painkillers he took. He climbed into this car to scribble out an incident report and dug out a bottle he kept in the glove compartment, then shook out two pills and swallowed them dry. He hadn’t quite finished his report when a call came in from the principal at the middle school. A fifth grader had been found with marijuana in his book bag.

Sky left the convenience store and drove four blocks to the school. He remembered getting in trouble once for taking a garden snake to school. It wasn’t just that he’d taken the snake to class, but he’d put it in Julie Clark’s backpack. Sky couldn’t fathom what kind of mischief kids would be up to by the time his five-year-old son reached middle school. He hoped he’d have some say in guiding Zack through those awkward years. He wouldn’t if it was up to Corrine.

During the school year so far, Sky had sat down with this principal more often than either of them would’ve liked. “I don’t know what to tell you, Chief Cordova,” Mrs. Beckerman said. “Billy Joe Wright swears he was set up.”

Sky watched the scared kid who sat in the principal’s waiting room. He was fair-haired and well-dressed. He didn’t have on the oversize, low-slung jeans that seemed to be the gangbanger dress code. “What are his grades like? Have they slipped lately?” Sky asked.

The principal accessed the boy’s record on her computer. “He’s a surprisingly good student. I hate to admit it, but that’s why I know so little about him. It’s terrible that my days are spent getting to know all the children at the opposite end of the academic spectrum.” She handed Sky the plastic Baggie filled with leaves. “But there is the fact that this fell out of his book bag in algebra class.”

Sky opened a corner of the bag, sniffed, then made a wry face before sealing it again. “Potent weed,” he said, coughing. “It’s worth some bucks. Could be someone’s bullying him, or else somebody’s been coerced by a dealer up the chain to try and get him involved.”

The principal closed the boy’s record. “I’ll talk to his mother. He said his dad’s out of town on business. That could mean anything. It may mean he’s in jail. If our counselor can handle one more case, I’ll refer him and I’ll sign a release for you to confiscate the bag. For now I’m inclined to give Billy a pass, but I’ll try to keep him under surveillance.”

All too familiar with the drill from past confiscations, Sky had come prepared with a notebook of release forms. Extracting one, he set it on her desk, and she signed it with a flourish.