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Getting back from my walk,I fumbled for my keys. Mrs. Dorits across the hall opened her door.
“I sure am glad the building changed hands,” she said as she closed her door behind her. “Our new super is so much better than that worthless Zhukov piece of… Well, you know what I mean.”
I nodded. “Mr. Franks does seem nice.”
“The best part, I think, is that he got rid of that red-haired kid.”
“Pinky?” Thinking back, I realized hadn’t seen him or any of his crew in or near the building since I’d returned.
She laughed. “That punk learned the hard way that you don’t mess with the NYPD. Did you know my uncle was on the force back in the day?”
My curiosity begged to be satisfied. “I didn’t know. Tell me what happened.”
“Well, the kid hassled Mr. Franks wife. Nice lady. And did I say the super is retired from the NYPD? Well, anyway, the super, he goes and talks to his buddies, I’m guessing, and the next day, the cops catch the kid dealing on the street corner and go to arrest him.”
I nodded.
“But the kid, he pulled a gun and shot one of the cops in the leg. He’ll be okay—the cop, thank God. Now the kid’s in Rikers, and we won’t be seeing him around here, not after shooting at a cop. They don’t mess around on things like that.”
The story rolled over me like a warm wave of relief. “Thank you for telling me. I hadn’t heard.”
She locked her door. “I baked some cookies for the super. You take care now, dear.” She walked down the hall while I located my keys.
Being rid of Pinky meant being able to come and go without constant fear. This qualified as a good day.
Inside, I decided to follow her lead. Franks and his wife deserved cookies. The rent was due tomorrow. Maybe taking cookies down with my check would be a good idea. Fixing up my apartment and dealing with Pinky certainly deserved some thanks.
I located the paper Franks had given me that first day and fished my checkbook out. The number on the line that readcredit for time uninhabitablewas sizable by my standards and would help my meager bank balance.
As I wrote out the check, I read the name of the landlord again and again.Davenport Partners—I knew that name from somewhere.Fuckety, fuck, fuck.
I snatched my phone and dialed.
“Hi, gorgeous,” Evan answered. “I’m glad you called.”
“Did you buy my building?” I demanded without even a hint of politeness. Davenport Partners was the company he’d used to fund my scholarship.
“My dad and I are going to lose the company he built to those Graff assholes,” Evan said. “Other than that, I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking. How about you?”
Anger demanded I not get derailed. “Answer the question.”
“I had to make sure you were safe.”
That answered it. Once again he was messing around in my life. “I told you, you can’t buy me.” I hung up.
The phone rang right away.
I sent it to voicemail, and I did the same thing the next two times he called.
When the phone stopped ringing, I reluctantly listened to the message Evan had left.
“Yes, I bought the building to kick out that stupid super who tortured you over the water leak. No way was I letting anybody treat you like that. Not ever. Plus, Albert suggested an ex-NYPD friend of his to be the new super. He said he’d keep you and the other tenants safe. I won’t apologize for using my resources to keep you safe. If all that makes me a bad guy, then I plead guilty… Please apologize to your neighbors for me if they wanted your friend Pinky to stick around. Explain that I’m not from Brooklyn and I didn’t understand… I miss you.”
Damn him. He’d turned my anger around, and now I felt like a shit for my behavior.
ME: Thank you, and I’m sorry I yelled at you. Please don’t do anything more for me.
Guilt replaced anger to join the ache in my chest. It had lodged there because I missed him too and couldn’t admit it.
