Saved by the Outlaw(23)

“Is the injured civilian at Bayonne Med?” Samuels asks, changing the topic.

Leon shakes his head. “I’m gonna be honest with you here. The guy who was shot — he’s illegal. We didn’t wanna risk taking him to a hospital where he might get turned in or something. Besides, he just started working at that asshole’s store for less than minimum wage. I don’t think he could’ve handled the costs. Although,” he says, brightening up, “I’m fairly certain Mr. Lamar has been convinced to pay for any medical fees the guy will incur. But for now, Anya’s got him stashed away somewhere safe, stitching him up.”

At the mention of Anya’s name, the Lawrences perk up. Wanda clasps her hands together pridefully and says, “Oh, she’s such a hero. Our Henry would be so proud of her.”

“I knew my son picked a good one,” Gerald says, sitting up a little straighter.

“Well, we certainly don’t have any intentions of turning him over to Immigration,” Samuels says, shaking his head. “But we would like to drop in and check on him after our shift change tonight.”

“Just to make sure,” Greene says.

“Oh, do tell Anya ‘hello’ for us, will you?” Wanda pleads.

“Sure thing, Mrs. L,” Greene replies with a smile, reaching over to pat her hands.

“So how bad is this, exactly?” Leon asks, sipping his tea with a delicateness that’s almost amusing in contrast to his tough-guy looks.

Samuels leans back and sighs. “Well, so far it’s nothin’ to get too worked up about. Especially if you’re sure the injured man is gonna pull through. The FBI’s in town, yeah, but they haven’t poked their grimy noses too far into our business yet.”

“Give ‘em some time,” says Greene distastefully, rolling his eyes.

“Well, we will just have to make sure we’re ready for the pidarasy when they do,” says Leon, clenching his fist. I can’t help but be drawn to the musculature of his arm, the smoldering ferocity in his face. I want to smooth away the tension and see what he looks like totally relaxed, totally vulnerable…

There I go again.

“In the meantime, it’s probably still best that you lay low for awhile, Leon,” advises Samuels, fixing him with a meaningful stare.

I get the distinct impression that “laying low” is not something Leon does particularly well. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes working in the shadows, in the background. He’s pretty upfront about the things he does, and he clearly doesn’t have a lot of concern for his own safety and wellbeing.

“For sure,” Greene agrees. “A lowlife like Mickey is gonna blab about this to everyone he meets on the street. Luckily for us, he’s such a notorious loudmouth nobody is likely to take him too seriously, anyway.”

“You’d think a guy who runs a liquor store in a not-so-upscale part of town would be a little more careful about not pissing off every single person who comes in contact with him, but here we are,” laughs Samuels.

“What happened to the gun?” Gerald asks suddenly.

“Taken care of. My right-hand man Genn took it away somewhere out of Mickey’s reach. It’s been confiscated,” Leon concludes, smiling. I know he’s remembering Mickey’s own accusation of ‘confiscating’ the weapon earlier today at the liquor store.

“Alright. Well, I guess that just about covers it, then.”

Both officers stand up to leave. Samuels says to Wanda, “Thank you for the tea and stuff, ma’am. You’re a real treasure to the neighborhood.”

“For sure. Always a pleasure to see you,” Greene says, nodding.

“Oh, stop it, you!” she giggles, swatting at him playfully.

We walk them over to the front door, and just before the officers disappear down the steps of the brownstone, Samuels points an emphatic finger at Leon and me. “I’m serious about layin’ low, alright? Don’t show your faces until at least tomorrow. For your own good and ours.”

Leon sighs. “Got it, Officer.”

Once the cops are gone and we’re all standing awkwardly in the living room, Gerald puts his hands on his hips and announces, “Well, looks like you two are staying here tonight.”

Leon starts to protest, “Oh, that’s not necessary — ”

“Yes it is! You two will take the basement room.” Wanda insists, getting up from her chair to lay her trembling hands on his arm, a concerned and determined look on her face.

“You heard the missus,” Gerald shrugs. “You’re our guests for the night. But I promise we will stay out of your hair. Won’t we, Wanda?” he adds, giving his wife a meaningful look.