Twisted

it.
    One . . .
    Two . . . 
    Tony froze.
    From inside the kitchen came music.
    Violin music.
    A little scratchy, a little squeaky. A rusty-door sound. But then, as the player worked on some scales, the tone became smooth and resonant. Tony,heart pounding, plastered against the wall, cocked his head as he heard the violinist break into some jazzy riffs.
    So, there were two people inside, maybe more. Williams’s fence probably. Or maybe even the buyer of the Strad. Did that mean more weapons?
    Now backup?
    No, Tony thought. Too late. Nothing to do but go for the collar.
    He spun around the corner, crouching. Gun up at eye level.
    He shouted, “Freeze! Everybody!”
    But there was no everybody.
    There was only tall, chubby Devon Williams, holding the violin under his chin, the bow gripped in his right hand. Gasping in shock at Tony’s entrance, mouth open, eyes wide.
    “Man, you scared the shit outa me.” Slowly his shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. “Man, it’s you. The cop.”
    “You’re Devon Williams?”
    “Yeah, that’s me.”
    “Put it down.”
    He slowly set the violin on a table.
    “Empty your pockets.”
    “Yo, man, keep the noise down. There’re kids in th’other room. They’re sleeping.”
    Tony laughed to himself at the boy’s stern directive.
    “Anybody else?”
    “No, just the kids.”
    “You wouldn’t be lying to me now, would you?”
    “No, man.” He sighed in disgust. “I’m not lying.”
    “Empty the pockets. I’m not going to tell you again.”
    He did.
    “Where’s the piece?” Tony snapped.
    “Of what?”
    “Don’t be cute. Your gun.”
    “Gun? I don’t have one.”
    “I saw it tonight. At the concert hall.”
    Williams gestured at the table. “That’s what I used.” He pointed to a bubble-gum cigar, wrapped in cellophane. “I just held it in my pocket. I saw that in a movie one time.”
    “Don’t bullshit me.”
    “I’m not.” He turned his pockets and the pouch of the sweatshirt inside out. They were empty.
    Tony cuffed him then eyed Williams carefully. “How old’re you?”
    “Seventeen.”
    “You live here?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Alone?”
    “No, man, I told you, the kids.”
    “They yours?”
    He laughed. “They’re my brothers and sister.”
    “Where’re your parents?”
    Another laugh. “Wherever they be, they ain’t here.”
    Tony read him his Miranda rights. Thinking: Got the perp, got the fiddle and nobody’s hurt. I’ll be Detective Vincenzo by the next cycle.
    “Listen, Devon, you give me the name of your fence and I’ll tell the DA you cooperated.”
    “I don’t have a fence.”
    “Bullshit. How were you going to move the fiddle without a fence?”
    “Wasn’t gonna sell it, man. I stole it for me.”
    “You?”
    “What I’m saying. To play. Make some money in the subways.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “’S’true.”
    “Why risk hard time? Why didn’t you just buy one? It’s not like a Beemer. Could’ve picked one up in a pawnshop for two, three bills.”
    “Oh, yeah, where’m I gonna get three hundred? My old man, he took off and my mama’s off with who the hell knows what boyfriend and I got left with the kids, need food and clothes and day care. So whatta I buy a violin with, man? I ain’t got no money.”
    “Where’d you learn to play? In school?”
    “Yeah, in school. I was pretty good too.” He gave a smile and Tony caught the glitter of a gold tooth.
    “And you, what, dropped out to work?”
    “When Daddy took off, yeah. Couple years ago.”
    “And you just decided you’d take up violin again? ’Cause you can make more money at that than pool. Right?”
    Williams blinked. Then sighed angrily, figuring out how he’d been made. “What they pay me stacking boxes at A&P—it just ain’t enough, man.” He closed his eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “So, I’m going into the system. . . . Hell. Never thought it’d happen to me. Man, I tried hard to stay out. I just wanted to make enough to get my aunt here. From North Carolina. To help take care of the kids. Shesaid she’d move but she ain’t got the money. Cost a couple thousand.”
    “You know what they say: Don’t do the crime, you can’t do the time.”
    “Shit.” Williams was gazing at the violin, a curious look in his eyes, a longing almost.
    Tony looked at the young man’s dark eyes. He said, “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take those cuffs off for a few minutes, you wanta play a little, one last time.”
    A faint grin.