Fugitive Red by Jason Starr

Author:Jason Starr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2018-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A FEW YEARS ago, in an A.A. meeting at St. Monica’s Church on the Upper East Side, I’d sponsored an ex-cop named Anthony Sorrentino. A narcotics addiction had gotten Anthony kicked off the force and his life spiraled. He started dealing, got busted, did six years at Sing Sing. In jail, he found God and got clean, but unlike a lot of addicts, he stayed clean when he got out. In A.A. we hit it off—well, at first. He asked me to be his sponsor and I helped him through a couple of crises, but he had a complicated personality. Our fallings-out always happened suddenly, for seemingly no reason. We’d be buddy-buddy one day, meeting for coffee and talking about life, and then the next time I saw him, he wouldn’t talk to me or even make eye contact. When I probed to find out what was wrong, he’d either snap, cursing me out, or ignore me—depending on his mood. Then, after some time went by, he’d come up to me at a meeting and give me a hug, like I was his best friend in the world. We all have our demons, I guess, but Anthony’s were worse than most.

I wasn’t sponsoring Anthony anymore and hadn’t seen him in several months. I had no idea how he felt about me lately—if he considered me a friend or foe, but I’d heard, through the A.A. grapevine, that he was working as a P.I. While it was unusual to ask an ex-sponsoree for help, I couldn’t think of a better option.

I walked along Hester Street, where it was a little quieter, and called Anthony from my cell. I got a busy signal. I remembered that he had a landline with no call waiting. I tried a few more times, and finally got through.

“Hey, Anthony,” I said. “It’s Jack. Jack Harper.”

Either by his experience as a cop or as a recovering addict, he must’ve recognized the desperation in my tone.

“I know who it is, you’re on my caller ID. What’s wrong, Jack?”

“I need your help,” I said.

Must’ve caught him on a good day because he said, “So what’re you waiting for? Get your fuckin’ ass over here.”

* * *

Anthony lived in Long Island City in Queens, just one subway stop out of Manhattan, about a half hour ride from Chinatown. I’d been to his place several times before, usually when he was in the midst of a crisis and needed my help. Now the roles had reversed. I didn’t feel shame, knowing that, as a fellow addict, he’d understand how quickly fortunes could change.

Over the past several years, a lot of construction had taken place in Long Island City. I barely recognized some streets, and it seemed as if at least a few new buildings had gone up on every block. Years ago, when Maria was pregnant with Jonah and we still had a decent amount of money in savings, we’d considered buying an apartment here. Would things have been different

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