His eyes burned, and he surreptitiously wiped a few errant tears away before they streaked down his face. Until then he hadn’t realized how much of an impact the center made on his life and others.
Jordan walked the few short blocks to the police station. When he pushed open the front door, he was immediately assailed by the familiar scent and sounds of the precinct he’d once known as well as his own home. Several of the clerical staff jumped out of their seats to hug him and make a fuss over him.
Neil pulled him away from the well-wishers. “Okay, everyone. Let Jordan go. He’s here to help me. You can talk to him later.” They walked to the back of the precinct, and Neil briefed him as they passed police officers waiting around for prisoners to be processed. He knew many, if not most of the officers and detectives, and exchanged greetings with them as he and Neil passed by on their way to the interrogation room.
“How did you guys pick him up?” Despite the fact that Johnny had supplied him with his Xanax, he couldn’t hold it against the young kid. Jordan’s desperation had driven him to take the drug in the first place. What had Johnny seen or done to force him into the dark brutality of drugs, guns, and the street?
Neil snagged himself a cup of coffee from a machine and offered one to Jordan. “He’s not too bright and got stuck with trying to steal too many things at once. Funny enough, though, it’s the first time he’s ever been picked up.”
Jordan sipped the hot coffee slowly. “So his record’s clean? That bodes well for a reduced sentence or even no time with probation and community service, right?”
Neil nodded. “If you can get him to talk and tell us who his supplier is, we can work out a deal with the DA and guarantee no prison time. We’ve already read him his Miranda rights, and he understands them. He doesn’t want to talk to the legal-aid attorney, at least not yet.” Neil finished his coffee. “He only wants to talk to you.”
They came to a stop before a gray steel door. “I’ll see what I can do,” said Jordan. He drained the coffee cup and tossed it in the trash. “We could always use more help at the center, and he might fit in perfectly at Drew’s clinic as well.”
Neil put his hand on the doorknob. “Do your best, but I don’t expect miracles. Kid’s a product of his environment, after all.” He opened the door. “Johnny, I brought someone to talk to you.”
Jordan shot Neil a look and sidled past him into the room. At a utilitarian steel table, Johnny sat slumped in his chair, trying hard to look cool and nonchalant, like he spent all his free time hanging out in police stations. In reality he looked exactly like what he was—a skinny, scared street kid with greasy, too-long hair and outgrown clothes that had started out as hand-me-downs from Goodwill or the trash bin.
“Hey, Johnny.” Jordan stood by the door with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
At the sound of Jordan’s voice, Johnny’s black, fiery eyes, normally sneering and challenging, stared back at him, fearful and dubious. The thin lips, usually twisted in a snide little grin, quivered like those of a brokenhearted child. “Doc. You-you came?” The disbelief showed on his face.
“You asked for me, right?” Jordan nodded to the guard in the corner, then slid into the chair across the table. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
Johnny stared everywhere but Jordan’s face. “I…I don’t know.” His skin tinged pink. “You were always nice to me, and I kinda thought maybe…”
“Maybe what?” said Jordan gently. “You weren’t that nice to me the last time I saw you.”
Flushing a deeper red, Johnny bit his chapped lips, not even registering that he’d drawn blood. “I know. But you gotta understand. Selling’s all I know. And…and Donovan, he’s given me a place to stay and shit.”
“Donovan?” Jordan’s heart tripped. Finally a lead. Not wanting to scare Johnny off, he clamped down on the spurt of excitement that bubbled up in his chest. “Who’s he, the guy you work for?”
Realizing he might’ve given away too much information, Johnny’s eyes darted from side to side. “Uh…”
“Look. Johnny, you help us and we’ll help you. That’s the way it works.” Jordan knew he probably shouldn’t have said it that way, but to hell with it. This shit needed to stop now. “You have to come clean about the drugs and the guns. That man you’re working for is killing people all over this city. I lost someone I loved because of illegal guns. If you tell us what you know, the DA probably will let you off with probation and community service, and I can get you working at the center or at my friend’s medical clinic.” He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. “If not, then I’m out, and there’s nothing more for me to say.”
Jordan held his breath. When no answer seemed to be forthcoming, he spun on his heel and walked toward the door, disappointment flooding through him.
“Doc?”
Jordan stopped, a huge wave of relief washing over him. “Yeah?”
“Okay. Call the cops in, and I’ll tell them what I know. It ain’t much but…” Johnny shrugged and picked at a bloody cuticle.
Jordan strode back to the table and sat down. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” He nodded to the guard.
“Tell Detective Allen to come in please. The young man wants to talk.”
Neil and his partner came in to question Johnny, and Jordan left the interrogation room. This part wasn’t his job. The chatter of the precinct faded into the background as he passed by the Wall of Heroes—pictures of police officers who’d fallen in the line of duty. There were men and women who’d died on September 11, and Jordan said a silent prayer for them. The last picture was of Keith.
“Hi.” Jordan reached out to touch the photograph. “I’m making it. Day by day, but it’s happening. And that kid in there? He’s going to make it too, because of you and your generous heart. I promise.”
His phone buzzed with a text, and he smiled when Lucas’s name flashed on top.
Hey, I’m finished at work. Lunch?
Still staring at Keith’s picture, Jordan texted back.
