Before She Disappeared

CHAPTER 32

I don’t have my whistle in my pocket, or my tactical clips in my hair. I’d left my apartment in too much of a huff. I glance at my cell phone, move my thumb to hit emergency. But J.J. is one step ahead of me, knocking it out of my hand.

“Don’t move a muscle.” He pulls back the flap of his unbuttoned shirt enough for me to see the black butt of the pistol he has shoved into the waistband of his jeans. An intimidating sight, but a dumb move. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t blow off his own balls.

We are twenty feet outside the rec center doors but out of sight of the street and, given how deep in the building is Frederic’s office, light-years away from the closest known human. That leaves me and my charming personality versus a homicidal drug dealer.

I tell myself I’ve faced worse.

That might be a lie.

“Is the safety on or off?” I ask J.J.

The question catches him off guard. Score one for me.

“I would have the safety on. I mean, don’t you have valuable body parts currently in the line of fire? Knee. Thigh. Or if you fumble getting it out, penis.”

I like saying the word penis in front of boys. It never fails to fluster them.

“Stop talking!”

“I’m not saying it’s common to shoot off a penis,” I continue now. “But after seeing it once, it’s not the kind of thing you forget. So really, I’m thinking of your own well-being.” My voice drops. “Don’t you think your mother has lost enough for one day?”

My quiet words hit him harder than my smartass comments. He recoils and the look on his face . . .

He’s not just a homicidal brother. He’s a grieving one.

“Stay away from my family. My mother doesn’t need you or your fucking gorilla.”

I take it Charlie’s outreach didn’t go as planned. I don’t blame him. The situation had been dicey from the start, with Roseline Samdi in a very dark place, and that was before she’d learned her daughter was murdered.

“Did you shoot at me the other day, Johnson—”

“J.J.!”

“Are you the one who chased me out of your house?”

He regards me belligerently. His silence makes me believe he didn’t do it. But there’s a vein thrumming in his sweat-dotted brow and I swear the coils of ink snaking up his arms and around his throat are nearly vibrating with agitation. He’s on something. His dark eyes are too dilated, his fingers twitchy. He’s high, he’s angry, and he hurts. A very dangerous combination.

I know. I’ve been there myself.

“Who is your older brother?” I ask.

“I don’t have no older brother.”

“Livia did. At least she told people she did. An older tall, skinny guy partial to gold chains and tracksuits. Very early two thousands. I’ve seen him myself.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“So you know him?”

“He’s not our brother. I mean, he’s a half brother. From some asshole my mom was with years ago. Damn fool went to prison. For all I know, he died there.”

“You have a half brother who’s been in prison?”

“Deke got sent up for armed robbery. He’s ten years before my time. Fucking loser.”

J.J. spits the words, his rage now directed at this half brother and less at me. J.J.’s still twitching more than I’d like, though. And his fingers keep plucking at his open blue plaid shirt, as if feeling for the comforting weight of his piece. He’s geared himself up for battle. An armed druggie looking for a fight.

A half sibling who’s spent quality time in prison. That would explain the outdated fashion sense. “Why is Deke a fucking loser?”

“Broke my mom’s heart. She needed him to help out. Put food on the table, hold down the fort. I was just a kid at the time, but even I got that. Instead, he took off. Next thing we hear, he’s busted for holding up a gas station. Good riddance, I think. But my mama cried every night. She didn’t need that kind of shit.”

“Versus your kind of shit?” I can’t help but ask.

His response is immediate and defensive. “I do what I gotta do. It keeps a roof over our heads.”

“And Livia?”

“What ’bout Livia? She’s not into this shit. She’s going to school. She’s good, goddammit. She was good!”

J.J. whips out his gun. His cheeks are wet, his pain a feral beast I can practically watch claw at his throat. I once hurt that much, too. I know exactly how it feels. It allows me to take one step closer, then another, till we are nearly chest to chest.

He is so much bigger than me. All muscle and sinew, rage and grief. The gun is down at his side, but it would be very easy for him to raise it between us. Fire at me. Blow away himself. One last giant fuck you to a world that’s done him wrong.

I don’t move. I don’t speak. I keep my gaze steady on his face, willing some of my calm into his trembling form.

“Angelique and your sister were friends. Close friends. Did you know that?”

He practically snarls at me. “No way!”

“Yes. They met here, during the summer program. Something happened. It scared your sister. And Angelique stepped up to help her. She disappeared that day, dressed in your sister’s clothes. Posing as Livia.”

J.J. shakes his head. His eyes are still wild. I can watch his erratic pulse throbbing at the base of his throat. “My sister didn’t have friends. She was quiet. Kept to herself.”

“Angelique was posing as her,” I repeat.

“Why would my sister keep something like that a secret?”

“I don’t know, J.J. Why would she?”

I can see the answer on his stricken face. Because it would’ve been one more thing for her to lose, in a house filled with a stoned brother and a drunk mother. In a house where she’d probably learned years ago to walk softly and never call undo attention to herself.

“Fuck!” J.J. explodes, waving his pistol, vibrating in place. He’s going to hurt himself. Or me. Or all of the above. Later, he might regret it, but now, caught in waves of unbearable rage and unending grief . . .

Instead of shrinking away, I get right up into his foam-flecked face.

“Your sister’s dead,” I yell at him. “And someone’s gotta pay, right? That’s how it works. She’s dead and some bastard did it and he needs to hurt! He needs to feel this pain. He needs to burn in agony, scream in terror, cower in fear. All of it. Over and over again. Till he feels exactly as terrible and awful as you do right now. I understand, J.J. I want that, too.”

I have his full attention. It wasn’t really that hard. I just had to tell him the words that ten years ago I most wanted to hear.

I grip his left shoulder. “Help me, help her. Can you do that, J.J.? Can you pull yourself together long enough to avenge your sister?”

“Is it Deke? He’s out? He did this?”

J.J. moves to step away. I fist his shirt in my hand and hold on tight. “Fake IDs. What does your sister know about fake IDs?”

“What the hell—”

“Focus, J.J. Focus. Look at me. Listen. There was this kid here two summers ago who was selling really shitty fake IDs. Piss-poor quality. And your sister and Angelique embarrassed him.”

“DommyJ.”

“There you go. Did you ever see him around your home? Your sister mention his name?”

“Nah. But some of the guys talked about it. They said she got him good. And yeah, shitty fakes. I don’t even see the purpose.”

“Your sister knew exactly what was wrong with them. In detail. Why did your sister know so much about fake licenses?”

“I dunno. She’s smart like that. She’s always copying things and doing stuff on the school computer. She’s gonna get out of this place, you know. First member of the family to make good.” He catches himself. The use of the present tense. The statement of a dream that is now past.

The trembling starts again. I smooth my hand on his shoulder, rubbing slightly to soothe.

“Could DommyJ have hurt your sister in retaliation for her shaming him?”

“DommyJ’s nothin’ but a wannabe. Why do you think his fakes were so bad? He doesn’t have the juice to be anything but a poser.”

“Okay. So DommyJ isn’t the badass he pretends to be. What about Deke? He was spotted hanging out around the rec center that summer, watching Livia. Maybe also talking to her?”

“She never said—”

“DommyJ appeared scared of him. So did Livia. Why would they be scared of him?”

J.J. looks down, issues a long, shaking sigh. Some of the tension is finally draining out of him. Less adrenaline, more rational thinking. “If Deke’s out . . . He’s got real connections. From his own days, plus serving time. Around here, you gotta respect that. If he showed up at my front door, I’d have to let him in. I wouldn’t want to, but I’d have to.”

“But he didn’t show up? Didn’t contact your mother? At least not that you’re aware of?”

“I don’t think she’d have anything to do with him. Especially not with Livia in the house. He’s a cold motherfucker. Everyone knows that.”

“Your mother said your house wasn’t safe for girls. Was it Deke she was talking about?”

J.J. doesn’t answer right away. But there’s a look in his eyes. It wasn’t the half brother Roseline Samdi was referring to. It was J.J. and his cronies, and he knows it.

“Would Deke know about making forgeries? Licenses, money, green cards, anything?” I force J.J. to focus on me again. I need him thinking. Angelique Badeau needs him thinking.

“I heard rumors,” J.J. says at last. “Deke with some real OGs, courtesy of his dear old dad. They wanted to go upmarket. None of this drug shit. They wanted to be, like, crime bosses or something. Huge scores, major paydays. Word on the street was that they were in talks with some other gang. Gonna buy their way in. That’s what the robberies were about. Proving themselves.”

“And this other gang dealt in forgeries?”

“I dunno. Umm, coupla years after Deke left, I found some money. In a shoebox, back of the closet. Piles of hundreds. My lucky day, I thought. I started spending them left and right. Money, rent, you name it.”

Drugs.

“Next thing I know, some dude is screaming at me I paid him in fakes. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I managed to talk my way out of it, but after that, I hid the rest. Didn’t want to stir up more trouble.”

“Your mother always live at that house? Even with your half brother, Deke?”

“We haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Meaning the fake bills, they could’ve been Deke’s, part of his new criminal enterprise?”

“Coulda. I was just a kid.”

But I’m already nodding. The counterfeit hundreds had to be the older half brother’s stash. It was the only thing that made sense. Part of a larger operation he’d started, only to get busted and sent to prison. He must not have told anyone about it, hence the bills were all but forgotten before J.J. stumbled upon them. Years later, Livia probably did the same.

Except maybe she’d recognized the bills as counterfeit from the start. Either way, she knew enough not to tell her brother J.J. Instead, she smuggled them out of the house, giving them to her new friend, Angelique, for safekeeping.

And became inspired as well? Fake hundreds, fake licenses. Maybe she’d decided to take a crack at it with her own design skills and new and improved computer technology. That part I don’t completely understand yet. More importantly, how did Deke fit into that scenario? Because clearly, he was out of prison and tracking his baby half sister. He approached her? She approached him?

“Was Livia ever close to your half brother?” I ask now.

J.J. shakes his head. “She was three when he took off.”

“Did he seem partial to her? Like protective or anything?”

“Hell if I know. That’s too long ago.”

I nod, decide to come at it from a different direction. “What about school? Did your sister ever mention one of her teachers, Mr. Riddenscail?”

“Nah.”

“He also worked at the rec center. Part of the after-school programming?”

“How many times can I say, I don’t know!”

“It’s okay, J.J. I understand. You had your life, and your sister had hers. And part of your life was to get her out of here. Part of your life was to ensure she could do better.”

He doesn’t answer, but his silence tells me enough.

“Your sister met her teacher, Mr. Riddenscail, here.” I gesture to the rec center behind us. “Your sister also met your older half brother, Deke, on this property. Why, J.J.? I need to know why.”

But J.J. can’t answer the question. I can see it in the growing wildness around his eyes. He loved his sister, but he hadn’t spent time with her. He didn’t know her as well as I needed him to know her right now.

Had anyone?

“I fucking hate you,” J.J. whispers.

“I understand,” I assure him softly. “Some days, I hate me, too. But I’m going to find out who killed your sister, and you’re going to help me. Because she deserved better, right? Because . . . She was Livia Samdi. Bright and clever and alive. And the world should mourn her. All of us should know your pain. She is worth it.”

He nods miserably.

“I need you to tell me where I can find Deke.”

“Oh, I’ll find him—”

“No, no, no. We need him alive. I have questions only he can answer. For your sister’s sake, no killing your half brother. Promise me, J.J.”

“Livia’s dead,” he says. And I can tell from the look on his face that it’s the first time he’s spoken the words out loud. The permanence of them is like a knife, slashing across his face. What it leaves behind . . . Even I have to look away.

I smooth my hand one last time across J.J.’s shoulder, then pull back. I’m sorry for his loss. All these years later, I’m sorry for my loss, too.

“Your sister loved Angelique Badeau. Whatever happened this past year, they were in it together. I know it. We find Angelique, we discover who killed your sister. We do right by both of them. Okay? So Deke. Where can I find him?”

J.J. doesn’t answer right away. Finally, he takes a deep breath. Straightens up. Returns the gun to the waistband of his jeans.

He picks up my phone from where it dropped on the ground, flipping it open. His fingers fly across the tiny keys. Then he folds it closed, hands it back to me.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “When the time comes, I’ll find you.”