Naive Charles Royce (great novels .txt) 📖

to do with it. Try, just try, looking at it from every angle like we are.”

“Filling Elaine’s shoes by jumping right in bed with her. Wow.” He gets up and walks toward the exit. “Talking is pointless. See you in court.”

“We never talked.”

Shawn walks out onto 60th Street and begins to look for a taxi. A gush of cold air sweeps over him, and he redirects his face to ease the brunt. He sees a young man walking around the southwest corner of Amsterdam. He is dressed in dark jeans tucked into black boots, a long T-shirt sneaking past the bottom of his vintage navy peacoat. Over the young man’s scarf, Shawn can make out most of the face enough to recognize Talbot Lexington, Lennox’s other sponsee.

“Talbot!” Shawn yells and makes his way toward him.

Talbot stops in his tracks, contemplates bolting on the spot.

“I’m a friend of Lennox’s.” Shawn slows down and stops about 25 feet from Talbot.

“Lenny is dead, motherfucker.”

“I know I know, I just wanted to talk to you about your friend Frank and what happened to him this morning. I think it might have something to do with Lennox.”

“Lenny was killed. Frank just overdosed, man. How the fuck you even know me? Leave me alone.”

“I’m not sure Frank overdosed, Talbot, that’s the thing. Do you know what happened to Frank last night, who he saw? Who he bought the drugs from?”

Like a defiant child, Talbot puts both hands in his coat, then jerks his coat down, forcing himself to attention. He looks at Shawn and doesn’t move. He is expressionless, resolved.

This isn’t defiance, Shawn thinks. He knows something.

“Hey, there’s a Starbucks at the end of the block up here,” Shawn says. “How ’bout I buy you a coffee?”

C h a p t e r   3 1

Shawn stares at his cold latte, then looks at Talbot’s empty coffee cup. Twenty minutes have passed with barely any words between them except, “Good coffee?” and “Yep.”

They are sitting at a window bar on metal stools with worn wooden tops. A pop singer Shawn doesn’t recognize is playing over the loudspeaker, while two construction workers with thick Bronx accents stand nearby, talking about how much they hate Starbucks while sipping from their green-and-white cups. A woman with black dreadlocks and combat boots is just outside the doorway, screaming “Left! Right! Left! Right!” into her worn and raggedy mittens. Shawn is annoyed by the incessant city clamor and would much rather be home with his wife in Brooklyn.

He stretches his feet onto the windowsill and leans back. Across the street, he admires a wrought iron fence with fleur-de-lis endcaps housing the garden area of a generic condo building from the 1980s. Barren trees line the street, their trunks surrounded by caged plants doing their best to stay relevant in the changing season. Shawn tilts his head to see past the obtrusive window graphics displaying the holiday spice latte du jour and sees a St. Catherine’s parking sign. Shawn wonders if Astrid is still there, perhaps talking with Frank or his parents. Now that he seems to be striking out with Talbot, Shawn thinks about going back to the ER. Then he thinks about Astrid. No thanks.

Instead, he deems himself content to stir cold coffee while watching the after-work frenzy of New Yorkers heading home in the freezing drizzle that had just begun.

“Talbot, I could tell that you wanted to share something with me earlier,” Shawn breaks the monotony. “When I mentioned the drugs, the heroin, your face completely changed. I want to help find who killed our friend Lennox. And I need to know what you know about your friend Frank.”

“It was a mistake.” Talbot stares straight ahead.

“I don’t think so. It’s not just chance that had us bump into each other, Talbot.”

“No, I’m talking about last night. Frank texted me that he was gonna do heroin again. He’d been clean for almost four months.”

“Heroin can grab ahold of people, and it’s hard to let go,” Shawn says. “Lennox had several relapses before he got his shit together. I remember one night in college, he was so fucked up I thought he was just gonna lay there and die. I spent the entire night holding his hand, cleaning up his puke.”

“I know, he told me.”

“He did?” Shawn asks. “Oh, right, of course. Sponsor, sponsee. Doesn’t get much closer than that.”

“How do you know so much about me, anyway? You a cop?”

“No, no, hell no. I’m an old friend of Lennox’s from a long, long time ago. We basically grew up together.” Shawn hesitates to reveal anything else but takes a chance. “I’m also a lawyer representing Lennox’s husband Micah.”

“Micah, huh? Fucking jealous woman.” Talbot laughs.

“Did your friend Frank tell you what happened that night?” Shawn doesn’t comment on Talbot’s insensitive remark. He is grateful that Talbot did not clam up and that his rapport-building techniques are paying off.

“Yeah. Well, no.” He sorts out his thoughts. “Well, see, he told me he was thinking about it, and that he had set up some sort of meeting with a new drug dealer. Sounded kinda scary and a little stupid. I told him not to go. Wanna see the texts?”

“Sure.” Shawn shrugs, hoping he looks nonchalant.

Talbot removes his phone from his pocket and begins to flip through it.

“Here. It starts right here.”

Shawn reads, barely breathing between scrolls.

11:07pm, Frank:

Doing it. Made a new friend LOL

11:08pm, Talbot:

New friend? WTF?

11:37pm, Frank:

Dude says to meet him at 3am down by the river. Says he’ll be in a fucking wheelchair.

11:40pm, Talbot:

No. Don’t do it. Not worth it.

3:03am, Frank:

Got it. And get this. It was Ghost guy! Creepy AF dude, all freckly and shit. Iconic.

3:07am, Frank:

Swear to God, he had that heroin with the ghost thing on it. I’ve got some good shit.

Shawn scrolls down one more frame.

3:08am, Frank:

Had to snap a pic of the Ghost before he vanished haha! I’ve got the shit baby. Come join me!

(photo attached)

Shawn looks at the attached snapshot, taken on the run.