Free Red Hook by Gabriel Cohen

about!”
    “You know one of your neighbors, name of Tomas Berrios?”
    “I heard about it. That shit is wack .”
    “Did you know him?”
    “No. I mean, I saw him around, but—”
    “Did he buy from you?”
    “No.”
    “Play straight with me. Maybe I can at least keep your mother out of jail.”
    Mallow pressed his fingertips against his temples. “Fuck. I don’t…okay, I knew him. He bought from me a couple of times. Just some reefer.”
    “Any coke?”
    “Never.”
    “I heard different.”
    “Man, he was a pussy. All he ever wanted was chiba . That’s all.”
    “How much did he owe you?”
    Mallow shook his head. “I don’t give credit. I don’t have the muscle to collect. What am I gonna do, send my moms over to their house?” He rubbed his palms against his thighs. “Listen, man—I deal a little smoke, maybe a few grams of blow. That’s it. Don’t try to pin some murder thing on me, all right?”
    “Where were you Sunday morning? Say, from eight A.M. to noon?”
    “I was on Staten Island all weekend, man. I went to see my daughter.”
    “Are you lying to me, Mallow?”
    “No, sir. I swear it on my moms.”
    “Yeah, she’s real trusty.”
    “My ex-wife’s whole family was there, mister. Her moms, her sisters, her cousin…It was a birthday party for my daughter.”
    Shit. Jack would call to check, but the alibi sounded solid. He sighed. “I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m not gonna take you in right now. You or your mother.” The truth was that a narcotics bust probably wouldn’t have held up in court, considering the way he and his partner had gained access to the apartment, but Mallow and Co. couldn’t be sure of that. “But I want you out on the street every goddamn second, listening for any word about who might have killed Tomas Berrios. Here’s my card—you call me if you hear anything. Leave a message if I’m not in.” Jack leaned in until he was inches from Mallow’s face. “And if I ever hear that you’re still dealing, or that you had anything to do with the Berrios murder, anything , I’m gonna personally come back here and make sure you and your mami go away for a hundred years. “You follow me?”
    Mallow shook his head, dazed at his good fortune.
    “Right now, I’m gonna need phone numbers for everybody who was at your daughter’s birthday.”
    Daskivitch whistled in disbelief as they settled back into the car. “A day like this, it really does a lot for your faith in humanity.”
    Jack sighed. The day hadn’t done much for his faith in cracking the case either. But he turned to his partner and grinned. “Egg salad and chips.”
    Daskivitch shook his head and started the engine.
    “You wanna get some dinner?” Jack said.
    “I gotta get home. The wife’s expecting me.”
    “How long you been married?”
    Daskivitch scratched the side of his big square head. “Actually, it was just a few months after we worked that case in the Gowanus Houses.”
    “Things going good?”
    “Yeah. I like it a lot. I’d hate to be single again, I’ll tell you that.” He winced. “Uh, sorry. You’re divorced, right?”
    Jack nodded.
    “So, you seeing anybody, or what?”
    Jack sighed. “I get out now and then.”

seven
    S HEILA DIXON TURNED AFTER she opened the door. “I’m just finishing up something on the computer. There’s wine—help yourself.”
    Jack watched her small figure stride down the hall toward the back of her Brooklyn Heights apartment. It was after ten P.M. He’d dropped Daskivitch off at the Seven-six, eaten some eggplant parmigiana at an Italian place near the station house…He’d felt foolish calling Sheila so spur of the moment, but she didn’t seem to mind.
    He took off his coat and slung it over the back of a rocking chair. In the hallway a row of sinister wooden masks stretched toward the bedroom. Between the front door and the hall hung an abstract painting, a sprawling, messy thing. Bookshelves covered the far wall.