"I'm listening. Nice night for a talk."
"Little hard to get into it, to get started. This happened maybe two, three months after Maria was killed," Sampson continued. "You remember a neighborhood guy, Clyde Wills?"
"I remember Wills very well. Drug runner with lofty aspirations. Until they got him killed and dumped in a trash bin behind a Popeyes Chicken, if I recall."
"You got it right. Wills was a snitch for Rakeem Powell when Rakeem was a detective in the 103."
"Uh- huh. I'm not surprised Wills played both sides of the street. Where is this going?"
"That's what I'm going to tell you, sugar. That's what I'm trying to do. Clyde Wills found out some things about Maria – like who might have killed her," Sampson went on.
I didn't say anything, but a chill ran down my back. I kept walking forward, legs a little unsteady.
"It wasn't Michael Sullivan?" I asked. "Just like he said."
"He had a partner those days," Sampson said. "Tough guy from his old neighborhood in Brooklyn, name of James 'Hats' Galati. Galati was the one who shot Maria. Sullivan wasn't there. He may have put Galati up to it. Or maybe Galati was gunning for you."
I didn't say anything. To be honest, I couldn't. Besides, I wanted to let Sampson finish what he had come here to do. He stared straight ahead as he walked and talked, never once looking at me.
"Rakeem and I investigated. Took us a few weeks, Alex. We worked the case hard. Even went to Brooklyn. But we couldn't get any hard proof against Galati. We knew he did it, though. He'd talked about the hit to friends in New York. Galati had been trained as a sniper in the army down at Fort Bragg."
"You met Anthony Mullino back then, didn't you? That's why he remembered you?"
Sampson nodded. "So here's the thing, here's the thing I've been carrying around ever since. I have a lot of trouble just saying it now. We put the mutt down, Alex. Rakeem and I killed Jimmy Galati one night in Brooklyn. I could never tell you, 'til right now. I tried back then. I wanted to when we started looking for Sullivan again. But I couldn't."
"Sullivan was a killer, a bad one," I said. "He needed to be caught."
Sampson didn't say any more than that, and neither did I. We walked for a while more; then he trailed away and headed home, I guess, down those same streets where we grew up together. He'd taken care of Maria's killer for me. He'd done what he thought was right, but he knew that I couldn't have lived with it. So he never told me about it, not even when we were chasing after Sullivan. I didn't quite understand that last part, but you never get to understand everything. Maybe I'd ask John about it some other time.
That night at home I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't think straight. Finally, I went in and bunked with Ali again. He was sleeping like an angel, not a care in the world.
I lay there, and I thought about what Sampson had told me and how much I loved him, no matter what had happened. Then I thought about Maria and how much I'd loved her.
You helped me so much, I whispered to my memory of her. You knocked the chip off my shoulder. Taught me how to believe in love, to know there is such a thing, no matter how hard it is to come by. So help me now, Maria… I need to be over you, sweet girl. You know what I mean. I need to be over you so I can start up my life again.
Suddenly I heard a voice in the dark, and it startled me because I'd been somewhere else in my mind, far away from the present.
"Daddy, you all right?"
I hugged Ali lightly against my chest. "I'm all right now. Of course I am. Thanks for asking. I love you, buddy."
"I love you, Daddy. I'm your little man," he said.
Yeah. That's all there is to it.
Epilogue
Chapter 122
SO THIS IS HOW my new life begins, or maybe just how it continues from story to story. Mostly, it's pretty good and nice today, because it's Nana's birthday, though she refuses to say which one or even what decade we're talking about.
I would think she might be at a stage where she'd want to brag about her longevity, but that's not the case.
Anyway, it's definitely her night, her birthday week, she says, and she can do whatever she wants. Just like on every other day of the year, I think to myself- and keep it to myself.
It is her highness's command that "the boys" prepare dinner, and so Damon, Ali, and I take our family car to the market and use up some of the eighty-five cubic feet of cargo space. Then we spend the better part of the afternoon making two kinds of fried chicken, biscuits from scratch, corn on the cob, butter beans, tomato aspic.
Dinner is served at seven, and it includes a nice Bordeaux, even a sip for the kids. "Happy one hundredth!" I say, and raise a glass.
"I have some toasts of my own to make," Nana says, and rises at her place. "I look around our table, and I have to say that I love our family more than ever, and I feel proud and lucky to be a part of it. Especially at my age. Whatever age that may be, which is not one hundred years."
"Hear, hear," we all agree, and clap our hands like those little toy monkeys with the clangers.
"Here's to Ali, who is reading books all by himself, and who can tie his shoelaces like a real champion," Nana continues.
"To Ali! To Ali!" I chant. "Way to tie those shoelaces."
"Damon has so many wonderful options to consider in life. He is a beautiful, beautiful singer, an excellent student – when he applies himself. I love you, Damon."
"I love you, Nana. You forgot the NBA," says Damon.
"I didn't forget the National Basketball Association." Nana nods his way. "You have a weak left hand. Work on it like a demon possessed if you want to play at a higher level."
Then she goes on, "My girl, Janelle, is another excellent student, and she doesn't do it for me or for her father – she does it all on her own, for herself. I'm proud to say that Janelle rules Janelle."
Then Nana sits down, and we're all a little surprised, but especially me, since I didn't even get a mention. I didn't even know I was in her doghouse until now.
Then she pops up again with a sly smile spread across her small, angular face. "Oh, I almost forgot someone.
" Alex has made the most profound changes of anyone this year, and we all know how hard it is for that man to change. He has his practice again and is giving of himself to others. Working in the kitchen at St. A's too, though it's hard to get him going in my kitchen."
"Who cooked this dinner?"
"The boys did a splendid job, all of you. I'm so proud of our family, and I know that I'm repeating myself. Alex, I'm very proud of you. You are a puzzle. But you are a constant delight to me. You always have been. God bless the Crosses."
"God bless the Crosses!" we agree in unison.
Later that night I put Ali down as I usually do lately, and I stay in his bed for a few extra minutes. The boy has had a big day, and he goes right off.
Then the phone sounds like an alarm, and I jump up and hurry out into the hall. I grab it off the wobbly stand.
"Cross family residence," I answer, in the spirit of the day.
"There's been a murder," I hear, and my stomach falls.
I pause a beat before I say anything. "Why are you calling me?" I ask.
"Because you're Dr. Cross, and I'm the murderer."
