Just Watch Me (Riley Wolfe 1)

“So, so, so what’s this about?” Finn stammered. “I mean, it’s been a long-ass time since I—since, since—” He slammed his mouth shut and gulped, looking guilty. “So, what?” he said.

Delgado took another sip, watching Finn sweat. “Riley Wolfe,” he said at last.

“Jesus fuck,” Finn said, barely above a whisper.

“He’s a friend of yours?”

“Oh, jeez, I mean—I ain’t heard from Riley in like—I mean, this was high school, and he left when it—I mean, really, that was the last time I—years ago, okay?” He gulped and took a deep, ragged breath. “What, uh . . . what’d he do?”

“That’s the last you heard from him? In high school?”

Finn nodded vigorously. “Junior year. He left that summer, after junior year, because his mom, and I never, uh—I mean that’s a long time ago, right? And, uh . . .” He trickled to a stop and gulped again.

Delgado watched Finn. He was extremely nervous. Anyone might be nervous talking to an FBI agent, but Finn seemed panicky far beyond that. Part of it was certainly guilt, probably because of some past criminal act. But Delgado was getting a whisper of a message from his instinct, and he trusted it. “Mr. Finn,” he said matter-of-factly, without raising his voice. “Did you know it’s a felony to lie to the FBI?”

Finn had been pale before. Now he turned green. “I, I, I din’t know that,” he said in a gravelly whisper. He pushed a lock of dank hair off his forehead. “I, I got a kid now,” he said. “I can’t, I can’t go back to—”

Delgado nodded and waited.

“Look,” Finn said at last. It took him two tries, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Shit,” he said softly. He hung his head. “It was like maybe ten years ago?” he said in a pleading tone of his voice. Sweat rolled off his face. “And it was just, I din’t—” He stopped, looked up, and licked his lips. “I seen him,” he said hoarsely. “I seen Riley.”

“You saw him here? In Watertown?”

“Shit, yeah. I sure as shit never got away from Water-fuckin’-town, except for—and now, I got to report to my parole officer, so—yeah, it was here. Riley was here.” He nodded and wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve.

“Where did you see him?”

“Salmon Run Mall. He was comin’ out of Dick’s, you know, Sporting Goods? And his hair was different—I mean, different color and all, too? Blond. But I knew it was him, and I go, ‘Riley! Yo, buddy!’ And he’s all like, he didn’t hear me, and he goes back into Dick’s, and I thought, what the fuck, and I followed him.” He gave a snort that might have been laughter and wiped his forehead again. Then he looked up at Delgado and said, “Okay if I smoke?” Delgado nodded, and Jimmy took out a crumpled light-blue pack of generic cigarettes. He lit one with a kitchen match, inhaled deeply, blew out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah. Anyways, I’m like two steps into Dick’s, and I feel, like, it has to be a pistol. Stuck in my ribs, right here?” Finn lifted an arm and pointed to a spot on a level with his heart. “And this voice says, I don’t know, something like, ‘Don’t say nothin’ just keep smilin’ and come with me.’ And I can’t exactly see? But it’s gotta be Riley, right? And so what the fuck, I do what he says.”

Finn took another puff. “He takes me to the food court, it’s like right there close, and he sits me at a table and leans in close to my ear and says, ‘Call me Andrew,’ and he pokes me with the gun again and sits down beside me.” Finn nodded. “It’s him, like I figured it had to be. It’s Riley. And he’s all smilin’ and shit, goin’, ‘Hey, Jimmy, wassup?’” He shook his head and laughed, and opened his mouth to say something but instead slammed it shut and looked around nervously.

Delgado waited. Finn stared down at the floor and puffed his cigarette. Finally, Delgado said, “Did he tell you why he was in Watertown?”

Finn blew smoke out his nose and nodded without looking up. “He said he was just cleanin’ up some old shit. I din’t ask what. I mean, you don’t, not with somebody like him.”

Delgado was reasonably sure that the shit Riley was cleaning up was removing all the files about himself from the school and from Juvenile. He was also sure Finn was telling the truth about not pressing Riley for details. That was in the rules that went with the life, and he knew them as well as Finn. So he just sat and waited a bit longer. Finn finished his cigarette and ground it out on the floor with his foot. “That was the last time you saw Riley Wolfe?”

Finn nodded vigorously. “Swear to God.”

“Did you hear from him? Phone, letter, email, anything at all?”

Finn shook his head, just as enthusiastically. “No. Never. Not once, not nothin’, on my kid’s life. That was it, we just sat at the food court for like half an hour, and that was it, honest to God.” He gulped, wiped his forehead again, and took a deep, shaky breath.

Delgado watched Finn sweat without sympathy. When he was sure Finn was done, he nodded. “Do you have any pictures of Riley?” Delgado asked.

“Pictures? No, uh-uh. He’s not even in the yearbook. It was like a thing with him, ever since he—” Finn stumbled to a stop and gulped again. “Lookit, this was a long time ago, okay? But, uh—I mean, we were kids. Poor kids.”

“Why didn’t Riley want his picture taken?”

Finn sighed. “It started ninth grade. There was Riley and three of us. And after we, uh . . . He wouldn’t let anybody take a picture after we started, uh . . . We boosted stuff.”

“Who were the other two?”

“Rodney Jankowski,” Finn said. “And Tommy Steuben.”

“Do you know where they are now?”

“Sure,” Finn said. “Tommy’s dead. He got drunk and ran his car into a tree three years ago. Rodney, he’s back in the slammer. Midstate.”