by Roy Glenn
“You believe that?” Kirk asked.
“I don’t think he did it himself. Not his style, but there’s definitely something going on, two of Birdie’s men were killed at a red-light yesterday afternoon,” Sanchez said.
“Capped them in broad daylight, huh?” Kirk asked.
“Last night there was a shooting at Cuisine. I don’t know who was involved; the manager said it was probably just some kids riding by. But I don’t buy that, not after Birdie’s men were capped. I think we’ve got a full-scale war going,” Sanchez added.
“So where does this leave us, and the investigation regarding Black?”
“You tell me Kirk,” Sanchez shrugged. “All I know is the shit is about to start ‘cause if these guys are going to war, it’s gonna get interesting around here.”
“Yeah, body bags are gonna start filling up quicker than we can zip ’em,” Kirk leaned back and started thinking about the evidence he’s uncovered since he began investigating Shy’s murder.
“So you don’t think it’s this Birdie character’s style?”
“Nah, he and his partner Albert wanna try and play it like they’re businessmen, so they wanna stay away from all that shoot ‘em up bang, bang stuff.”
“What about the two guys killed at the red light?”
“Those two are a different story, those two I could see having something to do with it. If Birdie was gonna have somebody killed, those would be the guys he’d send,” Sanchez said.
“You got any idea what this beef was about?”
Sanchez shook his head, “Nope, no idea.”
“Maybe it’s time I had a talk with this Birdie. Where can I find him?”
Sanchez went through his files and looked at his computer. He quickly hit a couple of keys, and then wrote down an address for Kirk.
“So let me ask you something Kirk, You think Black did it?”
They stood as Sanchez held the paper out for him.
“Honestly, I’m starting to have my doubts,” Kirk said as he looked at the address, then turned to leave.
“Any particular reason why?” Sanchez asked.
Kirk turned and looked at him, then said, “A lot of little things, a lot of inconsistencies in the way the story goes. But it’s obvious his crew doesn’t think he killed her; they think this Birdie guy was behind it.”
“So what’s next?”
“I’ll keep you posted,” he said before he walked toward the double doors that led to the hallway.
Instead of leaving the building, Kirk decided to stop by the homicide division and ask a few questions. He checked in with the desk sergeant first.
“Ford, how’s it going?” he asked the pudgy man seated behind his desk.
“Can’t complain. What can I do for you?”
“Who caught the case, involving the double in broad daylight?”
“Smith and Petrocelli,” Ford said motioning across the way and toward the back where two empty desks were. “Smith is out, but Petrocelli’s in the Captain’s office. Wanna wait around or you want me to have him call you?”
Kirk used to work with Detective Smith, but he hadn’t talked to him in years. He looked toward the back of the room. “I’ll wait on Petrocelli.”
Just then, the phone on Ford’s desk rang. Kirk took that as his cue to move on. By the time he arrived at the two desks, he could hear Petrocelli’s voice. He was laughing when he burst through the door. Ford covered the phone and motioned toward the back where Kirk sat waiting on Petrocelli. Their eyes met and Kirk stood as the man approached the desk.
“What’s going on Detective?” Petrocelli asked.
“Just a quick question about that double in broad daylight, you know at the red light,” Kirk said.
“Yeah, that kind of shit don’t happen every day,” Petrocelli confirmed.
“I know, I know, but I was wondering, were there any witnesses?”
Petrocelli was a tall and stocky Italian; with thick wavy hair, that Kirk and others suspected he had dyed monthly. He used his beefy hands to comb through his thick mane then said, “Sure, there was one, but he wears glasses and can’t identify anybody. He works at the newsstand across the street from where it happened. Says he saw a guy walk up and shoot both of ‘em, but he can’t ID anyone, he wears big thick lens glasses. Only thing he could tell for sure, was that the shooter was black.”
“Oh, that’s a great ID there,” Kirk said sarcastically.
Kirk left the precinct and began his search for Birdie. His first stop was The Spot. Sanchez had told him that Birdie had taken over D-train’s club. When he pulled up in front of the place, he had a sinking feeling in the middle of his stomach. It was early in the day and parking was available right up front. He knew not to expect a crowd, but he had no idea how deserted the place would be. Kirk walked into the darkened building and noticed a few tables occupied, but for the most part the place was empty. He pulled a stool at the bar and slid onto it. When the bartender placed a napkin in front of him, he glanced around the empty place.
“I’m looking for Birdie,” Kirk said.
“I can get you a nice little buzz, but that’s about all I can do,” the bartender said.
“Whoa, hold up a minute, I’m just looking for Birdie, you know if he’s been here,” Kirk said.
“I ain’t seen him,” the bartender snapped, and moved the napkin.
Kirk looked at the stack of napkins then at the towel the bartender picked up.
“That’s all you know, huh?”
“That’s it, ain’t nobody else in here gonna be able to help you either,” he tossed in.
With that, Kirk rose from the stool and pulled a card from his breast pocket. He made sure his badge was visible for the bartender to see.
“This is my number, when Birdie comes in, use it, and I won’t have to come back here to see just what you really know about what goes on around here,” he said.
The bartender looked at the card lying on the bar then back up at Kirk. Reluctantly, he picked it up and tucked it somewhere Kirk couldn’t see. Kirk wondered around the place looking for nothing in particular, but you never know. It was more to be intimidating than anything else. Kirk walked back to the bar and waited for the bartender to come over. “You be sure to tell Birdie that I’m looking for him.” Kirk turned to leave but stopped. “And I’m gonna keep coming back until I talk to him.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Kirk,” the captain said as Kirk walked in and took a seat in front of his desk. “I heard you been a very busy man.”
“That’s what I wanna talk to you about captain.”
“You know Kirk, I knew when I told you about Black that you wouldn’t be able to let it go. I thought about not telling you, but I knew you’d find out anyway, so I told you. I mean what was I gonna do, swear the whole city to silence? Don’t tell Kirk,” the captain laughed and so did Kirk. “Then I figured, having you investigate Goodson and Harris’s case wouldn’t be a bad thing.” The captain paused and Kirk smiled. “Goodson and Harris aren’t bad cops; they’re just two racist pricks who are more than willing to cut corners to get a collar. And if that means taking things at face value and not digging any deeper, then that’s what has to get done. They close cases, period. How they do it may not always pass the sniff test.” The captain got up from his desk and poured himself a cup of coffee, and one for Kirk.
“But not you Kirk,” the captain continued. “You’re a bulldog. As soon as I heard Black had got locked up for murder, I knew that we’d have to have a tight case against him, because all he’s gonna do is hire a bunch of high-priced lawyers to make sure he doesn’t serve a day for it. So what you got Kirk, what’d you find out?”
“Let’s start with the timeline,” Kirk said. “Black was in Miami the day before, he came back to JFK the day of the murder. I confirmed that their flight arrived nine fifty. I checked what time they got out of the parking lot. Ten minutes after ten. Now I don’t know about you, but it’s an hour ride fro
m Kennedy for most people. Black says he got there after 11, because the news was on. The 9-1-1 call came in at ten fifty-five. Officer’s report says they arrived at the scene at twelve minutes after. So from the time the 9-1-1 call came in, the killer’s got seventeen minutes to beat her and kill her.
“That’s plenty of time Kirk,” the Captain said.
“I would think so too, but here’s the thing, the 9-1-1 call, I listened to that too, but we’ll get to that in a minute. I talked to the ME, he noticed some things, so he dug a little deeper.”
“Like what?”
“First thing he noticed that there were no defensive wounds on her arms. So he checked her nails and there was no skin under there, didn’t scratch him, didn’t do anything. That’s when he noticed the small cuts on her wrists. He believes they were made by handcuffs.”
“Handcuffs Kirk?”
“That’s what I said Captain. He also noticed small cuts at the corners of her mouth. He thinks she was handcuffed and gagged. And there’s one more thing. M.E. said he found a very small trace of nitrous oxide in her system.”
“What the fuck is that Kirk?”
“Laughing gas.”
“Slow down Kirk. So you’re saying that Black comes home, handcuffs her, beats her, gives her nitrous whatever then he kills her. Is that what you’re telling me Kirk?”
“I’m just telling you what the evidence says Captain. The beating didn’t take place in the kitchen; it took place in the living room. Reyes and I found traces of blood on a lampshade and a chair in the living room. We think she was beaten while handcuffed to that chair.”
“Okay, what about the nitrous stuff, where does that fit into this?”
“ME thinks he gave her the nitrous oxide so he could beat her longer.”
“Why would Black do all of that?”
“That’s not the question I asked Captain. The question I asked was, what was Black doing at the crime scene after doing all of that. If Black’s the murderer and he ripped the phone from the wall, he knows she called 9-1-1. What’s he waiting around for? They didn’t find the handcuffs or whatever he used to gag her, or anything he had use to administer the nitrous oxide, so Black would have had to gotten rid of that evidence before the uniforms got there.”
“That makes sense Kirk, but maybe he had somebody take the stuff away from the crime scene.”
“Why would he do that and leave the gun? I just got through talking to Sanchez, he says there’s a war brewing between some character who calls himself Birdie and Black’s crew. Sanchez tells me this Birdie had some kind of problem with Black’s wife. Yesterday afternoon two of Birdie’s men were killed at a red light, last night there was a drive by at Black’s supper club.”
“It’s obvious that they think this Birdie had something to do with it,” the Captain said.
For a moment, neither Kirk nor the Captain spoke. There was no way, if the timeline was correct and they knew for certain it was, that Black would’ve been able to kill his wife and sit there holding her body when the officers arrived. It just didn’t make sense, not for a man like Black. When the Captain shook his head, Kirk shrugged. “The evidence is what it is Captain. Like Black or not, that’s what the evidence is saying here?”
The Captain believed Kirk may have a point but wondered what he should do about it. Suddenly, the Captain rubbed his palms over his face, and then he sighed, and shook his head again. He looked at Kirk, “Let’s say you’re right, what do we do with him?”
“Release him,” Kirk said.
“And what then?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“We let him out, what do you think Black is gonna do the minute he gets out?” the captain paused for effect. “He’s gonna go right out and kill everybody that he thinks has something to do with it.”
“So what do we do?”
“Leave him right where the fuck he is. You find out who killed her and lock them up. Once we got the killer in custody then we’ll let him out.”
Chapter Thirty
“All I’m saying is, we need to find out for sure,” Wanda said as she, Freeze, and Nick were seated at a table at the Famous Oyster Bar on Seventh Avenue and 54th street. Things at Cuisine had already returned to normal. Long gone were the signs that a shooting had taken place just a day ago. The regulars wasted no time in returning to their normal spot. And that meant business was back to normal at Mike Black’s supper club. They needed to talk things over and talking there was out, so Wanda suggested one of her favorite places.
“What’s there to find out? Those mutha fucka’s tried to take us out,” Freeze pointed at his chest for emphasis. “Ain’t no way in the world I’ma just gonna sit here like a fuckin’ target for them mutha fucka’s! ’Cause we all know they ain’t gonna stop.”
Wanda shook her head, “No one’s talking about being targets. I’m just saying we need to find out for sure,” she insisted.
Wanda looked at Nick and watched his eyes quickly look away. She felt herself get warm, as images of their lovemaking flashed through her mind. She’d give anything to be back in that moment, instead of at the table-discussing going to war. She wondered if on some level he could feel it too, that electric sensation she now got from looking at him. She swallowed hard and tried to focus on the discussion at hand.
“I’m well aware of that, but I’m just saying instead of fighting this battle now, we really need to do what we can for Mike. All of our efforts should go toward freeing him, not this foolishness,” Wanda tried not to get too emotional. “I don’t know how much longer he’ll survive in there,” she sucked her teeth.
“Can’t believe that shit; Black on lock down.”
“He’s in the hole more for his protection, than for punishment,” Nick added.
“What’s up with that punk ass lawyer you hired?” Freeze asked out of nowhere. “I mean, isn’t that the type of shit he’s supposed to be working on?”
“Marcus Douglas is no punk.”
The waitress appeared at the table with their food before Wanda could attempt to answer. Everyone stopped talking as she struggled to match each dish to its correct customer.
“T-Bone medium rare?” the waitress asked.
“That’s me,” Freeze raised his hand to signal her and she stretched over Wanda to place his plate in front of him. “Excuse me,” she said.
All eyes were on the large steak.
“Grilled Shrimp with steamed vegetables?” the waitress asked.
“That would be me,” Wanda said, reluctantly pulling her stare away from Freeze’s plate.
“Then that means the Surf and Turf must be yours,” she leaned over to deliver Nick’s plate.
The waitress stepped back to look at her work. “Okay, that’s everything; can I get anything else for you guys?”
“No, I think we’re good,” Wanda said preparing to dig into her food, as the waitress turned to leave.
“Look, I say we do what we gotta do, take care of them niggas and get this shit over with a quickness,” Freeze suggested. “I know you don’t just expect us to roll over, is that what you’re saying?”
Wanda shook her head. “If you two would just listen to me, just listen to what I’m trying to say,” she tried unsuccessfully.
“I heard you then, I hear you now, and what all I’m saying is it ain’t happening. Them niggas tried to smoke us, and you want to investigate?” Freeze shook his head, then stuffed his mouth. “Ain’t happening, Wanda,” he said.
“All I’m trying to say is we should at least try to talk to Birdie first. Set up a meeting,” she reasoned.
“Okay, so you set up a meeting with Birdie, we meet, shake hands, smile, then ask, oh, by the way did you send a few of your boys over to shoot up Cuisine after I smoked your boys?” Freeze said sarcastically. “I wish you could hear yourself. That ain’t the way to do shit Wanda. This ain’t your perfect little world where people get together with a mediator and work their shit out. There’s nothing else to do, but
to hit them before they hit us,” Freeze said.
Wanda searched Nick’s face for some sign that he might remotely agree with her, that Freeze was just being Freeze. She wanted Nick to understand that she didn’t want to risk what they had just discovered with each other, and that’s what Freeze’s threat meant to her. But when she looked at him, his attention was on his food.
“What do you think, Nick?”
“If we don’t hit them they’ll think we’re weak and they come after us,” Nick finally said. “I say we kill them.”
Reluctantly, Wanda agreed, knowing they were going to do it whether she agreed or not.
Chapter Thirty-One
Detective Kirkland parked in front of Mike Black’s house and got out of the car. After talking to his captain about the inconsistencies in the case, he had to returned to the crime scene looking for a direction to go in next. Kirk realized that the captain was right, if they let Black out without a suspect in custody that Black would get out and go on a killing spree for the brutal murder of his wife.
While walking up the path to the house, Kirk thought about the fact that he was working hard to get somebody out of jail that he’d been trying to get in jail for years. Kirk stopped on the porch, thinking that Black had killed or been responsible for the death of so many people over the years.
So he goes down for this, ain’t that justice?
Kirk let himself in and closed the door behind him. As he stood in the foyer, Kirk had to admit to himself that he liked Black. Despite their conflicting professions, Kirk had some respect for Black and the things he’d done to change his life. The answer to his question was no.
If he didn’t kill her then that’s not justice.
After Kirk decided that he was only doing what any good cop would do, find the killer, Kirk went toward the basement. On the way down the stairs, Kirk mused, besides this case is proving to be much more interesting than anything else on my plate.
There was a light knock at the front door before it opened and Kirk’s partner walked in.