Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [41]
"He never said nothin' to me."
"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't, ma'am. I'll be going down to the jail to talk with him and I just wanted to show the proper respect…speak to his mother first. See, you need to sign this Consent Form for me to get in"—taking what Bostick had given me out of my attaché case—"your son being a minor and all. It just says I'm working on his case. And I wanted to leave this with you"—holding up a thick white envelope where she could see it—"as a token of our respect."
She felt the outside of the envelope. Took the pen I gave her and signed the form.
"Please tell James I'll be by to see him," I said. Leaving the envelope in her hands.
People watched from their front stoops. Looked away when I watched them.
56
THE NEXT MORNING, I took Main to Ninety–third, pulled in at the Lake County Juvenile Detention Center Solid brick, cop cars parked in front. Parking lot half full. High chain link fence around the grounds, loops of razor wire across the top. They all look the same.
I showed the Consent Form to the woman on duty behind a glass wall. She asked for some ID, picked up the phone.
I read the signs while I was waiting. Visiting Hours. Rules and Regulations.
A slim, handsome black man came through a side door.
"Mr. Sloane?"
"Yes."
"You're here to see Hightower, I understand. We're full up here, so we don't have a visiting room. We usually use the cafeteria, but the boys are eating now. Visiting hours aren't until ten. But we always try to accommodate attorneys here. You're working for Mr. Bostick?"
"That's right."
"Didn't know he was handling Hightower's case. I'll have to make a couple of phone calls. Be with you in just a minute."
He left me sitting there. A careful man.
Not ten minutes later, he was back. "I'll let you use my office. You'll have complete privacy. Just open the door when you're done, give a call down the corridor."
"Thank you."
A guard brought Hightower in. I stood up, shook hands with him. He went along like he knew the play, took a seat. The guard left.
His head was elongated, forceps marks visible just past his temples, framing small eyes with a yellowish cast. They were bright and flat, like a lizard's. "Who you?"
"My name is Sloane."
"What you want?"
"I want to do something for you, Mr. Hightower. I heard you were a man who knew how to act."
"What's that mean?"
I leaned forward, lighting a smoke, leaving the pack on the desk between us. "You know how the new kids come in this joint. Scared and all? You being the top man, I guess you get to make your pick."
"Maybe."
"Now, some of these kids, you pick them to be your running buddies. And some you pick to play with, right? The weak ones."
"I ain't into that shit, man."
"Of course you're not. Anyone can see you don't play that way. But there's guys in here that do. And they don't do nothing without an okay from the Man, right?"
A quick smile. "Right."
"I wouldn't want you to make a mistake, Mr. Hightower. A man has to know who his friends are, right? Now, I'm a private investigator. And I'm looking for somebody."
"Who?"
"I'm looking for the freak who sniper–snuffed those kids in lovers' lane."
"So why you here?"
"Because he may be in here too. Maybe he's here for something else. And maybe he's got a big mouth, see?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I see."
"So you hear something, you let me know. And it's worth some cash."
"How much cash?"
"Ten large."
"I make that in a week on the street, man."
"You not on the street, pal. You're in the jailhouse. Way I hear it, you're going to be here for quite some time. I know how things work in here. You don't want the money, say so. But let me tell you something else too. Remember what I told you about knowing who your friends are? I'm your friend. A good friend. That's what I told your mother."
"My mother? Man, if you…"
"I paid her a visit. A nice, respectful visit. And I left her five hundred bucks for you. A token of my respect. Because I'm your friend."
He