Valentino Pier (Rapid Reads) Read online

  “Found him behind an ocean freight container on Ferris Street near Valentino Pier. Looks like someone whacked him pretty good across the side of his head. The kid had your card folded in his hand. He also had a twenty-dollar bill in his pocket.”

  Gulliver explained about giving the kid the bill. About what he told the kid to do with the money. About how he found the dog. About how he had dealt with a lot of street kids. “I didn’t even know the kid’s name. He looked like he needed some help. I figured once he came for the dog I would be able to talk to him. Find out about his folks. See if I could get him some real help.”

  Patrick put his half-empty beer down on the floor. “Okay, Dowd. Come in tomorrow. Give us an official statement. Maybe by then we’ ll know something.”

  Gulliver was curious. “What’s the kid’s name?”

  “Maybe that’s one of the things we’ll know by tomorrow.”

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  CHAPTER FOUR

  The weather had turned. But that’s spring in New York. Blue skies one day, gray the next. Gulliver took Ugly with him to the precinct house. They made a funny pair. Gulliver laughed at some of the looks they got.

  “You and me,” Gulliver said to Ugly. “Two runts of their litters.”

  As they walked, Gulliver came to see just how lucky Ugly was. The dog wasn’t aware he was ugly. Girl dogs probably didn’t care about his squished-in face. His stubby little legs. His bulging eyeballs. His bent tail. Words couldn’t hurt him. Not the way they hurt Gulliver. Ugly just lived his life from day to day. From meal to meal. And he was loved. That kid really loved his dog. What Gulliver wouldn’t give to be loved.

  He gave his statement as he had promised he would. Then he had a talk with Detective Patrick. Gulliver was glad that Detective Rigo was nowhere in sight.

  “Any word on the kid?” he asked.

  Patrick said, “Still unconscious, but stable.”

  “That’s something.”

  “He’s been in the system. Name is Ellis Torres. Mother’s a tweaker. In and out of jail and rehab all the time. Right now she’s doing a short bid for a parole violation. The father…he’s in the wind.”

  “So the kid really is on his own.”

  Patrick smiled, looking to the dog. “Yeah. Him and the mutt. They put the kid in foster care when the mother went away. Ran after a few days.”

  “No surprise there.”

  Keisha had told Gulliver all about the bad side of foster care. There were good sides too. He knew that. Keisha knew that. Only Keisha hadn’t gotten much of the good.

  Patrick said, “Some kids just can’t adjust.”

  “Or maybe he just missed his dog.” Gulliver was curious. “Any leads? Any witnesses?”

  “Nope. No one’s come forward. No one saw or heard anything. But there aren’t always a lot of people down that way.”

  “You’ll keep me posted? across the side of his headtedhat happened”

  “Sure. And Dowd,” Patrick said, “I know you’re a PI. A good one, from what I hear.”

  “Thanks. But…”

  “Stay out of this. This is a police matter. I liked your sister. She was a good cop. But if you get in the middle of this…”

  “I understand. I’m on my own. Don’t worry. I’m used to that.”

  Gulliver Dowd had no plans to stay out of it. The people who hired him almost always had money. They could afford to send him out onto the street to look for their missing kids. But who watched out for kids like Ellis Torres? If someone hadn’t laid a pipe or a baseball bat across the side of his head, no one would have even noticed him. Not the cops. Not anybody. There were eight million people in New York City. Really, more like ten million. Many of those people were faceless. Nameless. Powerless. No one watched out for them. But not Ellis Torres. Not anymore. He had Gulliver Dowd to stand up for him.

  The yellow crime-scene tape was still up. It was blowing in the breeze off the water. The empty ocean container was no more than a hundred yards from where he had met the kid. Valentino Pier was just ahead. But Gulliver wasn’t interested in looking at the harbor sights. Not today. This was the part of the Red Hook that was still rough at the edges. Where the water slapped up against the concrete seawalls. Against old piers. The streets around here were lined with warehouses. Some were full. Some had been empty for years. There were small factory buildings. Tour-bus yards. School-bus yards. Ocean-container storage yards. Some of the streets were still paved with cobbles. Some had old trolley tracks. There was a new pier close by. Some ocean liners docked there. But the docks weren’t busy. Not like in the old days.

  Ugly pulled on his new leash as they approached the container. His tail wagged like crazy. The dog smelled the kid’s scent. As they got close, Gulliver’s stomach knotted up again. There was dried blood on the pavement. The spot where they had found the kid. Gulliver took a quick look around. There were some houses mixed in among the warehouses and storage yards. Not many.

  He told Ugly to be quiet. Then he did a breathing technique his karate sensei had taught him. It slowed down his breathing. His heart rate. He shut all the noise out of his head. He put himself into a kind of trance. It let him focus. He took a more careful look around. It was as if he was taking photos with his mind.

  Ugly wasn’t big on trances. He pulled hard at his leash. He barked at Gulliver. He tugged Gulliver in another direction. Down Ferris toward Coffey Street. Past Coffey Street. Past Dikeman to Wolcott Street. He thought the dog must be following the kid’s scent. Ugly stopped by a cyclone fence in front of a big beige warehouse. There was a warehouse just like it on the next block. But that one was fixed up like new. Not this one.

  Gulliver knew this place. He had seen it on some of his walks. A real-estate firm had had big plans for it. They were going to turn it into condos with harbor views. They had hired a builder to gut the inside. To redo the outside. But then the real-estate market crashed. The firm ran out of money. The warehouse had sat untouched for the last four years. Some of its concrete skin had peeled away. Some of its steel bones were showing.

  Ugly was barking like mad. Jumping up on his hind legs. Spinning around in circles.

  “You don’t look like a ballet ]id th!dancer,” Gulliver said, “but you sure act like one. All you need is some funny shoes and a tutu.”

  Dogs are amazing with smells. They can read scents the way people read words. But Gulliver couldn’t understand what Ugly was trying to tell him. He bet Ellis Torres would know.

  “Come on, Ugly.” He tugged on the dog’s leash. “Let’s take a look around.”

  They began to walk the four sides of the empty warehouse. Then the skies opened up. Bolts of lightning like neon spider webs flashed across the clouds. Thunder cracked. Big drops of rain poured down on them. Gulliver wasn’t ready for this. Ugly pulled on the leash. Gulliver followed. Around the corner there was a hole in the fence surrounding the building. On the other side of the hole was a metal door. The door was closed. But it wasn’t locked. When he tried the handle, it opened. Not a lot. Just enough to let a dog and someone as small as Gulliver inside.

  It was dim, but there was just enough light coming through the windows to see okay. Gulliver let go of Ugly’s leash.

  “Go!” he said.

  Off went the dog.

  The floor was covered in dust. In bits of chipped concrete. There were old newspapers lying around. Forgotten tools here and there. He could see all the way up to the ceiling high above him. The builders had taken out all the old floors and inner walls. They’d taken out the pipes and wires. Now only metal girders were left.

  Gulliver caught up to Ugly. He was in the far corner of the warehouse. This was where Ellis Torres and his dog had lived until yesterday. The kid had made a pretty nice setup for the two of them. There was a mattress. A sheet and a heavy quilt on top. A propane heater. A beat-up Coleman stove. Two led lanterns. A mirror. A small cooler. A bed for Ugly made out of rags. A case of bottled water. A washbasin made from an old
sink. Some dishes and plastic silverware. Towels. A dresser held together with duct tape. Soap. Toothpaste. A toothbrush. Even some books. A ladder leaned against the wall. Gulliver guessed the kid used it for shelving. On the floor around the ladder were some photos. Ellis’s mother. Attractive. Ellis in a school uniform. That big smile on his face. Ellis holding Ugly as a puppy. The dog wasn’t any cuter then. Gulliver was always amazed at how street kids made lives for themselves. Often out of the scraps of other people’s lives.

  Something about the ladder got Gulliver’s attention. But before he could figure out what, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was the vet clinic calling.

  “Gulliver Dowd,” he answered.

  “Hi, Mr. Dowd. This is Mia from Dr. Prentice’s office.”

  He remembered Mia very well. How pretty she was. How she had looked at him. He liked the way she had looked at him. But he had felt a twinge of pain too. He remembered how a girl in college had looked at him and his handsome face with pity. What a waste, the girl had said. What a waste. That memory haunted him. He hated pity more than anything else, but he’s never let it hold him back.

  “Please call me Gulliver. What can I do for you, Mia?”

  “Dr. Prentice needs to see you. It’s about your dog, Ugly.”

  Instantly he was worried. “Is there something wrong?”">REED FARREL COLEMAN”ho!

  “I’m not sure. The doctor says he needs to see you. Please come into the office, Mr. Dow—Gulliver. As soon as you can.”.1//EN" "http:

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He wasn’t far off. Ugly wasn’t from another planet. But something the vet had found on him was from a strange place. A faraway place. Prentice pulled up a two-step ladder for Gulliver to stand on and asked him to look into the microscope.

  “It looks like a bug,” Gulliver said.

  Prentice nodded. “Yes, Mr. Dowd. It’s a bug. A very odd insect.”

  Gulliver was confused. “So what, Doc? The dog must have been covered in all sorts of things. That’s why I brought him in here. So you guys could clean him off and fix him up.”

  “He was in pretty good shape,” Prentice said. “Dirty. Smelly. Full of fleas and such. But still in pretty good shape.”

  “Then what’s the problem, Doc?”

  “Come with me, Mr. Dowd.”

  Gulliver followed Prentice into his office. The vet sat down behind his desk. He tapped out something on his computer keyboard.

  “Ah. Here we go,” he said, turning the screen to face Gulliver. “See that insect there?” He pointed at the picture on the screen.

  “That flea? Is that what was on Ugly?”

  “Well, no, Mr. Dowd. It isn’t a flea at all. It is a flea beetle.”

  “So it’s a flea beetle. What am I not seeing?”

  “Flea beetles are common enough, Mr. Dowd…but not in New York.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. We found a few dead fleabeetle larvae on Ugly. I had to call a friend at Cornell to help me identify this insect. Even more strange is that flea beetles are leaf eaters. Odd that I should find them in the fur of a Brooklyn street dog.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Like I told Mia, Ugly belongs to a kid named Ellis Torres. I found the dog for him as a favor. I figured I would get the dog fixed up before I gave him back.”

  “I have to ask. Is there any chance this dog has been to India within the last few weeks?”

  Gulliver laughed. “C’mon, Doc. Are you joking? I just told you—”

  “I know. But I have to report this to the U.S. Department of Agriculture. It would be a very bad thing if these insects took hold here.” The vet cleared his throat. “Is there a chance I could talk to this Ellis Torres boy? I assume he hasn’t been to India either.”

  “My guess is he hasn’t even been out of Red Hook. You can ask him yourself. Just not yet.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Gulliver explained about the kid getting whacked in the head. “He’s in Brooklyn University Hospital. And last I heard, he was still not awake. You can talk to Detective Patrick at the seventy-sixth precinct if you want more info. But that’s all I know.”

  Dr. Prentice shook his head. “Very odd. Very odd.”

  “I agree. But right now, I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

  “All right, Mr. Dowd. Thank you for coming back in. I will be in touch if I need to speak to you or see you again.”

  In the outer office, Mia stopped Gulliver. She was taller than him, though she was no more than five feet herself. She was pretty too, in a way he liked very much. Which was to say she looked nothing like Nina. Nina was dark. Curvy. Husky-voiced. Mia was petite. Blond. Fair-skinned. Her eyes were blue and earnest. When she got on her knees to rub Ugly’s belly, Gulliver saw just how pretty she was. He hadn’t been able to get the way she’d looked at him out of his head.

  Ugly was even uglier when he was happy. And when Mia scratched his belly, he got very happy. His crooked tongue stuck out. His eyes got bulgier. And his belly sagged to one side. At least God had the same sense of humor with dogs as with humans.

  Mia looked at Gulliver and said, “I’m sorry I had to bother you. Dr. Prentice wouldn’t stop asking me to call you. He was in a hurry to get you in. To speak with you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad I got to see you again…even if you only love me for my ugly dog.” He smiled at her in a way he almost never smiled at anyone.

  “He’s not so bad, really. Besides, it’s not Ugly I want to ask to dinner.”

  “You’re asking me to dinner?” Gulliver was shocked.

  “I am,” she said.

  His heart thumped hard in his chest. “Tonight?”

  “Tomorrow is better.”

  His smile got bigger. “Tomorrow then. Should I come get you?”

  “I’ll come by for you, if that’s okay?”

  “Fine.” He gave >

  CHAPTER SIX

  Gulliver took Ugly to the loft. He had to admit, the dog was good company. But he didn’t want his focus divided. He was going back to Ferris Street to ask about the kid. He knew there were things people wouldn’t tell the cops. Some people didn’t like cops. Or trust them. And some cops could be bullies. No one liked bullies. Gulliver knew that all too well. Until he got out of high school, he’d spent every day of his life being bullied. Cops aside, many folks just didn’t think that what other people did was any of their affair.

  There was stuff people might tell a private detective that they wouldn’t tell the cops. PIs wanted answers, not arrests. And there was something Gulliver could do that the cops couldn’t. He could spread cash around. It was amazing how a little money improved people’s memories. Sure, people lied for the money. Some people lied no matter what. But there were times when money helped cut through all that. A good PI knew how to sort the lies from the truth. And Gulliver was a really good PI.

  Ferris Street was like any other street by the docks. What happened here happened behind warehouse walls. Or factory walls. Or fences with razor wire. You couldn’t tell much by looking in from the outside. The only things you could see from the street were trucks or cars passing in and out of driveways. Gulliver decided to start by knocking on the doors of the few apartments and private houses scattered among the businesses.

  The first two he tried got him nowhere. Either nobody was home or nobody answered. People didn’t like coming to the door for strangers. And Gulliver Dowd was stranger than most. He understood that. There were times he’d seen folks peeking out at him from behind curtains or window shades.

  He felt good about the third door. There was a big water bowl on the stoop. Cat and dog food on paper plates on the welcome mat. Whoever lived here had a soft heart for strays. He was willing to bet that Ugly had eaten more than one meal here. An old woman came to the door when he knocked.

  “What can I do fer ya, boyo?” she asked in an Irish lilt. She had a mop of white hair. Her skin was wrinkled and spotted with age. But her green eyes spark
led like a child’s.

  He gave her a business card and introduced himself.

  “A real private investigator. Yer jokin’. Yer such a wee slip of man.”

  Gulliver winked. “Mustn’t judge the gift by the wrapping, mother,” he said in his best Irish accent.

  It was weird how Gulliver’s looks helped him do his job. His lack of height. His uneven legs. His too-large head. The things that often made his life a struggle worked for him in his job. His looks threw people off-balance. They didn’t know what to make of him. That put him at an advantage. And for some reason, strangers didn’t like lying to him.

  “Yer right, Mr. Dowd. Forg ive my rudeness. I’m Mary Shea.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mary Shea.”

  “So, Mr. Dowd. What is it yer thinkin’ I can do fer ya?”

  He described Ellis Torres.

  She smiled with a mouth full of well-worn teeth and said, “The lad who lives across the ways in the warehouse there?”

  “That’s him. The boy with the ugly dog.”

  Her face went cold. “Ugly, is it? Now who is it judgin’ the gift by the wrappin’?”

  Gulliver raised his palms up. “That’s what the kid calls the dog. Ugly.”

  “Well,” she said with a wink, “I suppose the wee bugger is a beastly bastard. Sweet pup though. As the day is long. This food here is for him. But he hasn’t been by lately.”

  Gulliver explained what had happened to Ellis. How he was taking care of Ugly. How he wanted to find out why the kid had been attacked.

  Mary Shea crossed herself and mouthed a silent prayer. “Will the lad recover?”

  “He should. Would you tell me anything you can about the boy? Any detail, no matter how small. When you first noticed him? When you saw him during the day? His routine? Did you ever talk to him? Did you ever see anyone bother him?”

  Mary invited Gulliver in for tea. She talked about her time in Red Hook. “’Twas a mighty rough place.” About her late husband. “Bill worked the docks until the day he passed.” Her children and grandchildren. “All moved long ago. Just me here with an empty apartment above.” Why she hadn’t spoken to the cops. “I’ve no use for them.” When she got around to Ellis Torres, her eyes sparkled again.