Page 125 of Nobody's Fool

I stand quickly. “Do you know where Powell lives?”

“In Newark. We have an address.”

I roll my legs off the bed. “Help me get dressed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Gary drives my old Ford Taurus. Polly sits in the front seat next to him. I’m spread out in the back. Every pothole hits me like a dagger. I close my eyes and ride it out. Polly fills me in as we drive. I text Marty and Molly that I am fine and will be back soon. I don’t tell them my destination. Neither are very happy with me. They are made no happier when I inform them that I’m with my students.

“His name is Brian Powell,” Polly says in that voice she must have learned watching oldLaw and Orderepisodes. “He’s fifty-four. Been in and out of the joint since he was eighteen.”

Gary frowns. “Joint?”

“What?”

“Did you really just say ‘joint,’ Polly?”

“I’m using common vernacular.”

“Common for who? Bugsy Siegel?”

“Whom,” she says.

“What?”

“Common for whom, not who—”

“Guys,” I say. Then: “When was Powell in Sing Sing with Tad Grayson?”

“Nine years ago,” Polly says.

“And how long has Powell been free?”

“Same answer.”

“Nine years?”

“Yes.”

“Long time.” I think about that. “Any arrests since then?”

“Not even a parking ticket,” she says, aping another line from old TV shows. “Powell got off parole in 2021. He’s worked in a price club warehouse in Bloomfield for the past six years.”

We take the Lincoln Tunnel out to Route 21 and cross over Mulberry. As we pull onto Goble Street, I see Debbie and Raymond. Raymond is wearing cotton briefs—what we used to call tighty-whities—over his jeans and a shower cap on his head.

From the backseat, I say, “Uh, what are they doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on the place,” Gary says.

“Raymond?”

“He fits in,” Polly says.

“So out of place he’s in place, if you catch my drift,” Gary adds.

I guess they have a point.

“They’ve been watching the block since six,” Polly says.

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