Chapter 5

May 8, 1997
10:05 a.m.
“Daddy! Wake up!” Alex said, elbowing her father in the ribs while sitting in his lap on one of the big green couches.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Robby said blinking awake. He looked at the television. Rupert was just coming on Nick Junior, so it had to be between ten and ten-thirty. After getting home from work and relieving the babysitter at two a.m., he had gotten up with Alex at seven-thirty, had her dressed with her hair in cute little braids by eight-fifteen, and made and fed her French toast, bacon, and sliced peaches by nine. But when Alex declined his offer to take her to the playground at a quarter after nine, Robby lost his momentum and the two sat down in front of the TV. Within ten minutes, in spite of his most valiant efforts not to, Robby started drifting off. He needed to get up and do something in order to stay awake. “Hey, you hungry? I could make you a little something,” he offered.
“No,” Alex said, over-pronouncing the unwritten W at the end of “no.” “We juss ate Fresh toes!” she pointed out in fluent Two.
“Oh, yeah,” Robby said rubbing his eyes. He stood, lifting Alex up and putting her back down in the spot where he had been sitting. The comfy couch hungrily sucked up the little two-year-old. Robby collected the syrupy plates with French toast scraps and Alex’s empty sippy cup, and walked them into the kitchen. After putting the dishes into the sink, he reached up toward the ceiling for a hearty stretch. He’d decided to try to sell the idea of the playground again when the intercom chimed.
“Hello?” Robby asked the plastic handset.
The doorman said that Yvette was coming up, Robby said that would be fine and unlocked the front door. He was back on the couch with Alex by the time Yvette knocked perfunctorily and entered.
“Hey, Robby,” Yvette said brightly, she was carrying a grocery bag. She and Robby were best friends, and though a sexual vibe had never once passed between them, Yvette’s overwhelming beauty was not lost on him. She had slick shoulder-length hair that courted auburn and chestnut but married neither, a sleek athletic body, and fiery crystal-blue eyes, set with stunning contrast against a porcelain doll face. The most improbable facet of Yvette’s beauty was that she wore braces! But on Yvette, instead of looking awkward or nerdy, braces looked sexy. Everything looked sexy on Yvette Mahoney.
“Good morning,” Robby replied. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Just thought I’d come by and see how you were doin’,” Yvette said walking into the kitchen. She put the bag down on a counter and began to unpack it. “So how you doin’?”
“Tired,” Robby said. He could hear Yvette open the refrigerator and move things around.
“I don’t know how you do it. Taking care of a two-year-old by yourself and working as much as you do. That’s hard stuff.”
“It’s not hard,” Robby contradicted quickly. “It’s occasionally difficult, often complicated, but never hard. I’ve got the best motivation in the whole world.” And he leaned over and kissed Alex on the top of her head; who, without taking her eyes off the television, reached up and grabbed her father's nose. “Hey, what’s in the bag?” Robby said, rubbing his nose.
“I just got you some stuff from the store, I know what a pain it is for you to shop up here with the kid.” She helped him unpack the groceries, and then asked if he wanted her to take Alex to the playground so he could get a little rest.
“Nah, that’s okay,” Robby said putting Alex in his lap and squeezing her. “I’ve lost enough time with Alex this week doing these fu— . . . er . . . darn”⎯that was a close one⎯“night tours.”
“Gotcha,” Yvette said, smiling. “So, your transfer to Narcotics finally came through.”
“Last night. I go to my new command tonight.”
“You got Manhattan North, right?”
“Yup, thank Danny for me.” Dan Mahoney was a retired NYPD captain, Yvette’s husband, and Robby’s personal police guru—an endless source of information and advice about the Department. Danny had been everywhere worth going and done everything worth doing on the job, so if anyone was worth knowing, he knew them, and they knew him. Danny generously pulled strings for Robby from time to time.
“Do you think you’ll actually make a buy tonight?”
“I’m brand-new,” Robby said dismissively. “I can’t imagine that they’d send me out to make a buy on my first night with the team.”
Yvette gave Robby a “Hmm,” and then, “Well if you do go out, be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Robby said confidently.
“I mean it, Robby, be careful.” She was suddenly serious. “I don’t know why you want to do this undercover thing. It’s really dangerous. Danny could have given you any choice of . . .”
He didn’t let her finish. “There is no choice. It has to be this way.”
“But why this way. Robby, I know what you’re trying to . . .”
“Yvette, this is the next step. The next level. Believe me when I say, I’ve done everything I can do from the outside. It’s time to take it inside, where I can . . .”
Now she interrupted. “Do what? Get killed? How does that help anyone?”
He looked at her, “What? You don’t think I can do this?”
“Robby, you’re the whitest Black guy I’ve ever met! Listen to the way you talk! You say ‘Yup.’ What fucking black person says, ‘yup?’”
“Hey, I can do this. I’ve done nothing but make drug arrests for the past eight years. I know the players and I know the game.”
“No, you think you do, Robby. That’s why I worry about you,” Yvette said, pulling away from him. “Everything’s gonna be very different now. The game is different when you’re one of the players. You’ll be out there by yourself. No vest. No radio. No help.”
“There’ll be a field team.”
“And what are they supposed to do if someone decides to shoot you, huh? Magically appear and jump in front of the bullet? All the field team can do is come in and pick up the pieces after the shit hits the fan, you’re on your own.”
“Listen, someone has to do this stuff. . . .”
“That’s you argument?” Yvette sighed in frustration. “You know, you may not be able to get away with that no-bullets-in-your-gun thing in Narcotics.”
“I have bullets in my gun,” Robby said defensively. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m talking about your policy on using your gun.”
“Wait a second.” Now he was getting angry. “I don’t shoot people, and that’s supposed to be a bad thing?”
“In your case it’s almost gotten you killed a couple of times.”
He knew she was right, which made him angrier. Twice he’d found himself in the middle of all-out gun battles, bullets flying everywhere, and in both cases his weapon was undischarged.
“Are you saying I’m a fucking coward?”
“No, of course not, Robby. You’re the most aggressive cop I’ve ever met. But who are you kidding? You and I both know your gun has a hundred pound trigger pull when it comes to using it.” This time she put her arm around him. “I’m just saying that when you’re an undercover, you may not have the luxury of choice when it comes to firing your weapon. These people don’t fuck around, and you are by yourself out there. You need to think about that.”