Campbell Wood Read Online Free

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    "Listen," Ramirez continued, "I'm sorry I came on so strong. It's just that people are a little hard to get to up here. I was a New York City cop for five years before I decided I'd had enough. But ever since I started working up here I've gotten the feeling I'm an outsider. I'm used to that, but this town is just a little too tight with itself." He pointed out at the police cruiser waiting by the curb, with the young cop in it. "Even that kid won't open up with me," he said. "It's just that you start to get hard on everybody."
    Mark said, "Well, if there's anything I can do to help you, let me know. I've got a lot of strange feelings coming back here myself."
    Ramirez fitted on his cap, making a motion to leave, and Mark walked him out. They stopped on the porch, and Mark now noticed that the man was nearly as short as he was and had a perfectly clear complexion. He also discovered why Ramirez never took his dark glasses off. The cop lifted them briefly to rub his eyes, and Mark saw that the left socket was deformed and twisted, with what must be a plastic eyeball in it.
    Ramirez caught his look and tapped at the dark glass over the deformed eye.
    "Knife fight," he said. "When I grew up on the Concourse my family was the only Puerto Rican one on the block. The rest were pure white. We had a little trouble with bigots, but not much. My father worked hard, and a lot of people respected him. We had a lot of friends. The trouble started when a few more Puerto Rican families moved in who weren't quite up to the standards of the whites. They got scared and started to move out. In five years the place was completely turned around." There was an edge of anger in his voice. "I was fifteen, on my way home from school, when one of the new brand of neighborhood kids decided I didn't look tough enough. I had my Catholic high school uniform on, so he thought I was easy to beat. I wanted to be a Navy pilot. Not having two eyes took care of that." He smiled wryly. "I took the knife away from the kid, though. I don't know what he wanted to be, but whatever it was he did it without two fingers."
    Ramirez tilted his cap back on his forehead.
    "Mind if I ask you a personal question, Mr. Campbell?"
    Despite the cop's seeming friendliness, Mark hesitated before saying, "Sure."
    "Why didn't you ever see your mother after the age of five?"
    Mark felt himself getting hot under the collar again. "If you have to know, it's a pretty simple story. I was born in this house, but my father left my mother when I was five and took me with him. Until the day he died I never heard my father say a good word about her. He taught me to hate her. And I loved him, so after a while I didn't think twice about it. My mother might as well have not existed. But after she died the house was left to me, and since it was either move up here or stay in the Bronx . . ."
    Ramirez nodded slowly. "Thanks, Mr. Campbell. I really don't mean to be so nosy, but . . ." The cop paused. "Things have been a little strange around here since I got here, just after your mother died. I get the feeling she had a lot of influence over the people in this town, and I get the feeling that since she's been gone everybody's been in a daze. I can't find out what it's all about. It's like everyone's . . . I don't know, waiting for something to happen." He lifted his sunglasses again, and that cold, dead eye bored into Mark, sending a shiver down his back. "The reason I asked if you knew that kid Phillie McAllister is that he died pinned to a tree with a slice of wood a foot and a half long through him."
    "Jesus."
    Ramirez nodded. "And now with this kid dying tonight, falling out of a tree . . ." His sunglasses fell back into place. "It looks like whatever is going to happen has started." He glanced at the young cop fidgeting in the patrol car at the curb. "I'd better be going. Sorry again I had to bother you like this, but I'm just doing what I have to. Between you and me, Mr. Campbell, this