AFTER MAGGIE AND I headed south on the Henry Hudson and eventually dumped onto Eleventh Avenue, we
passed the DEA building.
It made me flinch a little to recall how Trilling and I had recently disrupted a major DEA operation. It was one of
the few times I’d ever been inside that building. Frankly, I was so embarrassed by what had happened, I would’ve
preferred never to go inside again.
Maggie commented, “My husband is in the DEA building this week, helping them pr epare for trial.”
“Wanna stop by so you can say hello?”
She shook her head. “I see a little too much of him as it is.”
I laughed. Maggie’s sense of humor told me she was going to fit in just fine.
Maggie and I drove back to the same construction site in lower Manhattan near the FDR I’d been to before with
Terri Hernandez. I even found the same guy who told me that Jimmy Pinter liked to eat at the sandwich place
named Mr. Submarine.
The guy looked at me, then looked at Maggie. “Where’s the other lady?
The really mean one?”
“You want me to get her to come down to talk to you?”
“Oh, God no. Give me one minute and I’ll find out where Jimmy is.” He scurried toward a trailer near the front of
the site.
Maggie and I waited outside. She asked me, “You don’t think the guy is trying to warn Pinter, do you?”
I smiled. “I’m pretty sure he’s being straight up with us. One of the detectives I work with from the Bronx might
have been a little harsh with him yesterday. I think it made an impression.”
Less than a minute later, the construction worker came out of the trailer and sprinted directly to us. “Jimmy’s away
at some kind of class at La Guardia Community College for the rest of the day.”
I tried not to send a smirk toward Maggie, but he’d been about as cooperative as I’d expected.
As we walked back to the car, Maggie quizzed me. “What did you do yesterday to make this guy so cooperative?”
“It was all Detective Hernandez. She explained to him how impolite it is to harass women. He was trying to make
things right.”
Maggie didn’t ask any more questions about the incident. But I heard a few whistles and calls directed at her as
well. She ignored them. We navigated the construction site’s potholes as well as a number of puddles obviously
caused by a leak in a main at some point recently.
Just as we were about to exit onto the street where I had parked, a worker walking toward us gave Maggie a serious
visual evaluation and said, “Nice curves, baby.”
The ATF agent didn’t say a word. She didn’t change her pace or even look toward the man. Instead, she simply
stuck out her arm and stiff-armed the man like a running back. He stumbled backward, slipped into one pothole, and
fell on his ass in a de ep puddle.
I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile. I didn’t even mind the droplets of water that splashed up as high as my head.
Maggie k ept walking like nothing had happened. She didn’t turn toward the man or me.
Then I heard the theme to Green Acres and grabbed my phone out of my pocket. As soon as I answered, I heard
Juliana’s strained voice.
“Dad, I might’ve messed up. We need your help.”
“Is everyone okay?”
“Me and the girls are okay. We’re in Queens.”
“That’s where I’m headed. Where are you?”
“A few blocks from Mount Sinai Queens.”
“That’s not too far from where we’re going. We’ll be there soon.” I knew not to ask too many questions of my
oldest daughter. She didn’t sound panicky now or even upset. As Mary Catherine often said, Juliana was one cool
cucumber. I knew she wouldn’t ask for me to come unless she really needed help.
I may have pulled away from the curb a little abruptly.