that.”
Up close like this, with his face semirelaxed, he wasn’t that menacing or homely. In fact, he looked pale and plain and exposed, as if his scowl and belligerent pose were accessories he’d forgotten to put on today.
“But I was wondering, ah…” He flicked the remains of the cigarette onto the paving and stepped on it. “Do you think the visit this morning from the police lady was it? You think they’ll come back?” he asked in a too-casual voice.
A return visit seemed a distinct possibility. “If they found some more out, or thought we knew something specific.”
“Like what?”
“Suppose she had a serious grudge match going with someone. Things like that.”
“April? If anybody had a grudge, it’d be his gang, now that Vanny got killed.”
“What would that have to do with her?”
“He liked her and was always bothering her, but she didn’t want him and he wouldn’t get it, you know? He was a little off. Bad temper. Followed her. Here, at school, too.”
The window. The figure in the square. April’s fear.
“How do you know all this if you and she didn’t have any kind of … anything.”
He looked at his knees. “We go to the same school wintertime, too.”
“Friends?”
He shrugged. “Not enemies.”
“Why are you so nervous about her? The guys you pal around with on your case?”
He shook his head. His hair was a soft brown with gunk on it. It didn’t budge in the little gusts of damp wind. “My old man,” he said. “He’d kill me if he knew I hung out—ever—with a gook. He was over there, you know? He fought them.”
“Not April’s family. They were on the same side. We were fighting for them, at least in theory.”
“Don’t matter to him.” Woody’s jaw reset. “How he feels is they sent him to fight them and now he’s supposed to let them live in our block. Doesn’t make sense. They’re not our kind, he says. And April’s family’s the same,” he added. “Thomas—he’s a little crazy. If he’d thought his sister was with a white guy…”
“He did, didn’t he?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why he picked her up on her late days? To make sure she wasn’t with…anybody?”
He continued to find his knees engrossing, and said nothing.
“Look, Woody, if you know something, if there’s something you could do that might save April, you owe it to yourself and to her to let somebody know. You could call that phone number anonymously, or tell me and I’ll call, if that would work.”
The whole time I spoke, he shook his head, negating me, my suggestions, and who knew what else. “Can’t,” he said.
“But—”
“Can’t!” He seemed taken aback by his own explosion. “Sorry,” he said more calmly, “but you really don’t know what you’re saying. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s too late. April’s… dead , don’t you understand? You think the person who took her is going to let her come back and send him to jail? It’s because of Vanny, I’m sure.”
“That doesn’t make sense—what did April have to do with the shooting?”
“Nothing, but they don’t know that, do they?”
“But she’s Vietnamese, too.”
“So what? She wouldn’t go with Vanny. Shamed him. And what if…what if she did go with somebody else? Somebody white? She was the problem, they must think. Besides, it could have been her brother, maybe, who shot Vanny, to keep him away from her. It doesn’t matter, anyway, does it? She’s dead . But…” He clasped his hands as if they might fly away and shook his head, mumbling.
“Yes?”
“The worst thing is…”
We were close to a revelation. Unfortunately, we were also close to the school bell. “What’s the worst thing?” I prompted.
He looked full of tears. Not ready to cry, but loaded with moisture and pressure, like a storm cloud that hovered dark and low. “It’s my fault,” he whispered after glancing around. “It’s because of me.”
“Because you were
Up close like this, with his face semirelaxed, he wasn’t that menacing or homely. In fact, he looked pale and plain and exposed, as if his scowl and belligerent pose were accessories he’d forgotten to put on today.
“But I was wondering, ah…” He flicked the remains of the cigarette onto the paving and stepped on it. “Do you think the visit this morning from the police lady was it? You think they’ll come back?” he asked in a too-casual voice.
A return visit seemed a distinct possibility. “If they found some more out, or thought we knew something specific.”
“Like what?”
“Suppose she had a serious grudge match going with someone. Things like that.”
“April? If anybody had a grudge, it’d be his gang, now that Vanny got killed.”
“What would that have to do with her?”
“He liked her and was always bothering her, but she didn’t want him and he wouldn’t get it, you know? He was a little off. Bad temper. Followed her. Here, at school, too.”
The window. The figure in the square. April’s fear.
“How do you know all this if you and she didn’t have any kind of … anything.”
He looked at his knees. “We go to the same school wintertime, too.”
“Friends?”
He shrugged. “Not enemies.”
“Why are you so nervous about her? The guys you pal around with on your case?”
He shook his head. His hair was a soft brown with gunk on it. It didn’t budge in the little gusts of damp wind. “My old man,” he said. “He’d kill me if he knew I hung out—ever—with a gook. He was over there, you know? He fought them.”
“Not April’s family. They were on the same side. We were fighting for them, at least in theory.”
“Don’t matter to him.” Woody’s jaw reset. “How he feels is they sent him to fight them and now he’s supposed to let them live in our block. Doesn’t make sense. They’re not our kind, he says. And April’s family’s the same,” he added. “Thomas—he’s a little crazy. If he’d thought his sister was with a white guy…”
“He did, didn’t he?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why he picked her up on her late days? To make sure she wasn’t with…anybody?”
He continued to find his knees engrossing, and said nothing.
“Look, Woody, if you know something, if there’s something you could do that might save April, you owe it to yourself and to her to let somebody know. You could call that phone number anonymously, or tell me and I’ll call, if that would work.”
The whole time I spoke, he shook his head, negating me, my suggestions, and who knew what else. “Can’t,” he said.
“But—”
“Can’t!” He seemed taken aback by his own explosion. “Sorry,” he said more calmly, “but you really don’t know what you’re saying. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s too late. April’s… dead , don’t you understand? You think the person who took her is going to let her come back and send him to jail? It’s because of Vanny, I’m sure.”
“That doesn’t make sense—what did April have to do with the shooting?”
“Nothing, but they don’t know that, do they?”
“But she’s Vietnamese, too.”
“So what? She wouldn’t go with Vanny. Shamed him. And what if…what if she did go with somebody else? Somebody white? She was the problem, they must think. Besides, it could have been her brother, maybe, who shot Vanny, to keep him away from her. It doesn’t matter, anyway, does it? She’s dead . But…” He clasped his hands as if they might fly away and shook his head, mumbling.
“Yes?”
“The worst thing is…”
We were close to a revelation. Unfortunately, we were also close to the school bell. “What’s the worst thing?” I prompted.
He looked full of tears. Not ready to cry, but loaded with moisture and pressure, like a storm cloud that hovered dark and low. “It’s my fault,” he whispered after glancing around. “It’s because of me.”
“Because you were
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