by K. Sterling
“Of course he will. This is Wal we’re talking about,” she said as she opened the cabinet and pointed at the bag of flour so Marco could get it down for her. “You just make sure you keep your head out of your ass. Don’t screw this up,” she threatened again and Marco gave up. He was never going to convince his mother that Wal wasn’t a saint and Marco was beginning to suspect she might be right. Wal quietly and patiently endured an entire day, trapped in his apartment with Marco, his mother and Angelica. They were both mentally exhausted and their stomachs were as tight as drums when they crawled into bed. Marco’s mother prepared a banquet and left the fridge and freezer stuffed. But it was the way Wal comforted Angelica, in his restrained, indirect way, that melted Marco’s heart. He knew Angelica lured Wal into the spare room to ask him if he was sure Marco was attacked. She was still scared and afraid she’d missed signs or had somehow lost Marco’s trust, when he needed her the most. Wal reassured her that he definitely saw proof that Marco had help getting into the Charger. Wal promised her he’d keep Marco safe and find whoever was responsible. Marco would be grateful for the rest of his life, however long it lasted. Wal put Angelica and his mother’s worries to rest and they believed him when he said he’d protect Marco. Marco couldn’t express how much it meant to him, knowing his mother and sister could put those fears behind them. They might believe Marco but Wal gave them a little peace of mind, at a time when it was really hard to come by.
“You want to pick up where we left off, before we were interrupted this morning?” Marco offered through a yawn as Wal’s body curled around his and he felt him shake his head.
“Your mother made me eat two pieces of pie, after she forced me to eat half a pan of lasagna,” he stated then yawned as well. “I’m going to need a few days,” he admitted and Marco thought that was fair.
Chapter 17
“They found Medford Jones.”
The call finally came and it was time to reckon with the pain Wal kept tightly locked away and hidden for weeks. He’d kept it pushed down and hid it under hope and denial but he had to take it out, open it up and face it as he climbed the porch steps to Medford’s front door. Sometimes, old people got lost because they forgot their meds and who they were or they got mad at their family and neighbors and went on the lam until a son or daughter rescued them from Vegas or Key West. Wal made up a hundred excuses for why Medford disappeared but he had to face the awful truth he’d avoided as he slipped past the officers on the stoop, as their long faces and heavy eyes offered apologies and warned him to prepare himself.
“Where is he?” Wal asked a crime scene tech as he took pictures of Medford’s cane collection.
“He’s in the kitchen, Wal,” the tech said as he pointed the camera’s lens. Wal gave him a nod then glanced at the shelves in the living room as he passed through. He’d never been in Medford’s house but he’d stopped and sat with him on the stoop on several occasions. He was a little surprised to find all the medals, awards and photos of Medford. Wal knew he’d served in Vietnam but Medford never discussed it. Wal wanted everything to stop so he could study the pictures of Medford when he was a young soldier and ask him about the things he saw and lost in the war but he had to keep moving. His feet were as heavy as lead and his chest felt hollow when he stepped into the kitchen. The body on the stretcher didn’t look like Medford and Wal’s eyes swept past it and went to Jake Tyler’s before they returned to the corpse.
“This is a rough one,” the coroner said and Wal locked his jaw as his eyes and nose stung. Medford would often come by the shop when Jake brought his Bel Air in for an oil change and they’d talk about just about everything as they drank beer and puttered with the car.
“Where did they find him,” Wal asked as he went to Medford. He braced himself as he stood over him but Wal’s hand jerked and he recoiled at the cold rubberiness of Medford’s cheek. He could never get used to it or get past it, the unnatural stiffness and stillness of dead bodies made him anxious and queasy but Wal felt desperate as he cradled Medford’s jaw. He silently begged the color to come back to his face and to see his warm brown eyes twinkle and glow with laughter. He wanted to hear Medford’s deep, soothing voice and one of his terrible jokes.
“The neighbor found him in the freezer. She had a key and Jones let her use the chest freezer when she ran out of room. She called Jones’ daughter and asked if she could retrieve her things and called it in after she found him. The neighbor works in Dispatch,” Jake said then cleared his throat as his voice broke. “We went ahead and took him out, I didn’t want you to see him like that,” he added quietly and Wal pressed his sleeve to his lips. They were trembling and his nose was running.
“How did he die?”
“We won’t know for sure until we can get a closer look at the wounds but he was found with one of his canes and there was a lot of blood. I’d say blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” Jake stated and Wal’s eyes went to Medford’s hands. His dark brown skin had become grey, and vivid purple and green bruises wrapped around his hands and wrists.
“Defensive wounds,” Wal noted and Jake sighed.
“He fought with his attacker,” he agreed and Wal’s lips pursed and he pushed out a long breath as he turned to the door to the back patio then quickly strode out. Medford was seventy-six years old, couldn’t stand for more than a few minutes without a cane and weighed about as much as a wet cat. The violence and strength of Medford’s attack was brutally shocking and infuriating but so crushingly senseless that it broke Wal, for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cried as he saw Medford fighting with his attacker and throwing his hands up to block the cane’s blows. Wal sniffed hard as he pushed his fingers through his hair and his nostrils were flooded with the smell of bleach and he turned. The chest freezer was opened and unplugged so it could be defrosted and taken back to the lab but Wal’s eyes went to the bottle of bleach and the roll of paper towels. He assumed they were left on top of it after the killer wiped the outside of it down to remove traces of blood. Wal stepped closer and leaned so he could see inside and it was littered with blood and bleach soaked paper towels. He spun and scanned the patio for other signs of a struggle. Medford loved classic cars but couldn’t afford one of his own so Marco gave him old engines and parts to tinker with and restore in the little workshop he’d set up for himself on his back patio. Shelves that should have been neatly arranged were in disarray and his gaze caught on a broken wooden stool in the corner. He saw it fly across the room to its proper spot at the work table before it was swung like an axe and crushed the back of Medford’s skull. That was the murder weapon. Medford was holding on to the cane when he was attacked and the killer tossed it into the freezer with him when he was finished. At first glance, they were easy to miss, but the hastily wiped smears of blood lit up like Christmas lights, wherever Wal looked. He followed them around the patio to the screen door and his brow lifted at the large bloody footprint on the step. It was facing the patio, not leaving it, suggesting the wearer stepped into blood before entering. Wal’s head angled as he looked for any other bloody prints around the narrow wedge of pavement and lawn but the rest of the backyard was undisturbed. He squatted and inspected the footprint. It was marked by the techs but Wal already knew it would match the size and style of Donnie’s missing Nikes. He mentally overlapped the tread patterns and snorted. It was so random and clumsy. Wal talked to Medford the day they discovered Donnie’s body. Donnie couldn’t have been at Medford’s so the killer was ham-handedly suggesting he was someone likely to kill Donnie and steal his shoes. One of Wavy’s boys. Except Wavy’s boys wouldn’t walk through puddles of blood in $300 Nikes. And as far as Wal knew, none of Wavy’s boys were in the habit of going down stairs backwards or had backwards feet.
“This is arrogant and stupid and a waste of time,” Wal whispered to himself then stood and turned back to the house. “It’s the stool,” he announced and pointed at it as he walked back into the kitchen. “Jones used the cane to
defend himself but you won’t get anything but his prints off of it. Bag the stool and run it but it’s been wiped down with bleach. Compare the footprint with Wexler’s missing Nikes and bag the trash in the freezer before it absorbs whatever’s defrosting. I don’t think Jones injured his attacker but there might be other blood samples on the paper towels,” Wal said. Jake nodded then whistled and two techs hurried into the kitchen. He relayed Wal’s suggestions then threw him a hard look.
“Why do I feel like I’m being pranked or working with a bunch of children all of a sudden?” He hissed at Wal as he stepped closer. The tension stretched as they weighed each other’s concern and silently agreed they had good reason not to say what they were thinking out loud.
“Welcome to the funhouse,” Wal said and saw a spark of fury in Jake’s eyes. Wal held up a hand and shook his head faintly. “Do me a favor and be one of the few people I can count on to do exactly what you always do and don’t throw any surprises my way,” he replied just loud enough for Jake to hear. Don’t do anything to let anyone know you suspect something, Wal’s eyes warned him. Jake nodded slightly then looked at Medford.
“I’ll make sure he’s taken care of and keep a close eye on him,” he promised and Wal thanked him as he gave his arm a squeeze.
“I’ll check in with you in a few days,” Wal said then took one last look at Medford before he made his way out of the kitchen. He drifted around the living room, gathering Medford’s memories as he studied pictures and plaques and regretted that he’d never be able to ask him about any of it. Medford had always been quiet about his service but Wal would make sure he was remembered as a hero. He hated the world so much more as he walked out, onto Medford’s stoop and avoided all the sympathetic stares. There was a terrible emptiness, as if one of the oldest, most sacred trees had been cut down in the forest and Wal felt furious and helpless in the face of the cruel senselessness of it. His eyes locked on the one laughing face across the street and Wal rushed down the steps and across the sidewalk. He ran into the street and jumped back to avoid a cab as the driver punched his horn then sped past him. T Junior panicked and took off running but Wal dove at the sidewalk and sprinted after him with several officers on his heels. Wal caught up with Junior when he collided with a pair of joggers and grabbed the back of his Gucci sweatshirt then yanked hard, pulling him off his feet. He threw Junior to the ground and put his knee in his chest and pinned him by his throat. “Where’s Wavy?” Wal roared as he pulled his fist back.
“I don’t know!” Junior wheezed as his legs kicked frantically and he clawed at Wal’s hand. Wal drove his fist into Junior’s eye as hard as he could while officers skidded to a halt and gathered around him. “Fuck, Wal! I don’t know!” Junior cried as he tried to block him but Wal punched him again, crushing his nose.
“I want to talk to Wavy!” Wal demanded as he pulled his gun from his holster and cocked it as he pressed the muzzle to Junior’s forehead.
“He’s at his club!” He screamed and Wal was thrown into a newspaper box as Junior was tackled. “I didn’t do anything! I was minding my business and that cop attacked me!” He yelled as people surrounded them but nobody looked like they cared. “Y’all better be recording this shit!” He called but Wal didn’t see any cell phones as he pulled himself to his feet and tugged his coat straight. He pushed his way through the crowd and waved everyone off then jogged across the street, to the truck. He called Bill as he blew through an intersection and cut off another uniformed unit.
“I just got a call about you and Junior. What are you doing?” Bill barked at him when he answered and Wal’s nostrils flared as he sped into the left lane to avoid a car observing a Stop sign.
“It’s time Wavy and I had a meeting, face to face,” Wal said as he jerked the wheel to the right to avoid oncoming traffic then leaned so he could make sure he had the correct street before jerking the wheel again. The truck skidded around the turn and he heard Bill swear as he jumped to his feet.
“You stay away from Wavy T,” Bill ordered. “Don’t do anything stupid!” He urged and Wal chuckled bitterly.
“This whole fucking thing is stupid. I’m sick of this game. I’m getting answers and I’m starting with Wavy,” he said then ended the call and threw his phone at the passenger seat as he parked in front of The Official Gentleman’s Club (The OG). He took a moment to compose himself before he calmly got out and locked the truck. He tugged at his coat sleeves and tilted his head courteously at the giant guarding the door. “Pardon me,” Wal said as he unbuttoned his coat and pulled back his lapel so the bouncer could see his badge but he looked bored as he shrugged and continued to lean against the door.
“We’re closed,” he said dismissively then looked past Wal so he could go back to admiring the view. Wal’s tongue flicked against his teeth as he took a moment to leash his temper then reached into his coat and pulled his gun from his holster. He pushed it into the larger man’s cheek and cocked it and his eyes became huge. “Easy! He’s not even here!” He insisted but he stood straight and backed through the door obediently with Wal.
“Stop fucking with me. You know who I am and that I’ll pull the trigger. Junior sent me,” Wal announced loudly as they passed the bar and chairs scraped as people jumped to their feet. The club was closed but Wavy and his officers were scattered around the room, chatting about business or in various states of coitus with dancers and waitresses. “Wavy!” Wal bellowed as he searched the dimmed room then looked toward the corner and what was clearly the VIP platform. Three suspiciously young dancers scrambled to pull on their clothes as they fled. They tripped down the steps as Wavy peeled himself off a long black leather sofa and lazily tucked his cock back into his jeans. He fixed his belt as he casually skipped down the stairs and offered Wal a cocky grin. Wal pushed the bouncer away and aimed his gun at Wavy’s forehead. Several pistols cocked as Wal rushed at Wavy.
“Everyone be cool!” Wavy commanded and he laughed as he held up his hands. “Be cool, son,” he sang sweetly as his back bowed and he swayed in front of Wal. “What can I do for you, Detective Walden?” He asked and gestured airily and Wal grabbed the collar of his shirt.
“Quit fucking with innocent people and making this personal! You want my attention? Come after me like a man!” He screamed as his hand twisted and Wavy’s toes came off the ground. Wavy laughed as he remained limp and relaxed.
“Do you really think I’m worried about you? I’m just handling my business,” he said as he spread his arms and Wal’s eyes flicked around them and to the VIP area. Lines of coke and buckets of champagne were scattered across the table as Frank Ocean wafted softly around them. This is Wavy T’s business, not the mess around the Cole case, Wal realized. “Though I do like to keep an eye on you. For entertainment,” Wavy added and chuckled. Wal’s eyes flickered as his brain processed facts. Wavy was responsible for Ciara Cole’s disappearance but he wasn’t the ringmaster of the nightmare that followed.
“Someone’s going to a lot of trouble to keep me from finding Ciara and proving you killed her,” Wal murmured and Wavy’s face became taut as his body tensed. Wavy’s eyes watered and Wal saw the guilt and shame and the trigger felt warm and good against the pad of his finger.
“You fucking monster!” He spat hoarsely but the moment broke and they flinched as the doors were thrown open and chaos spilled into the club. A grin spread across Wavy’s face and it became wide and puckish.
“Uh oh, daddy’s here,” Wavy declared as police officers stormed into the room.
“Let him go, Jack,” Bill called as he strolled in. His hands were pushed into his pockets and he looked tired as his head hung. “It’s been a rough day and we’ve got a lot of work to do. We don’t want any trouble or to make this investigation more complicated,” he reminded him and Wal watched Wavy’s eyes. They blinked back at him calmly, waiting to see if Wal was paying attention and everything became even more disorienting. “Time to leave,” Bill said gently as his hand closed over Wal’s shoulde
r and gave it a shake.
“I’ll talk to you again soon,” Wavy told Wal and he snorted back at him.
“I look forward to it,” Wal said then released him and shrugged Bill off.
“Come on, kid,” Bill said as he grabbed Wal by the scruff and pushed him toward the doors. He waited until they were outside to lock his arm around Wal’s neck and pull him close. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? And what the fuck am I going to do if you blow Wavy’s brains out, all over his own fucking club in front of a dozen fucking witnesses?” He demanded impatiently. “Go home and see if you can get your head out of your ass!” He hissed then shoved Wal at the truck. Wal stumbled toward it and the world felt upside down and too dark and hard as he found his keys.
Chapter 18
“I hope he remembered the bread,” Marco said as he stretched for his phone to remind Wal then winced and decided to leave it. Wal would remember unless he had too much going on and if he had too much going on, they’d be fine without it. Marco nodded firmly then ducked as he pulled the oven open so he could check the chicken Parmigiana. The cheese was perfectly browned so he cheered under his breath as he reached for the pot holders. He pulled it out of the oven and was lowering his masterpiece onto the table when the door opened and Wal shuffled in. The smile slid from Marco’s face as their eyes touched. Wal was completely devastated and broken but a plastic shopping bag with a loaf of bread hung at his side. His hair was wild and his tie and collar were wrecked as his suit hung from his swaying frame.
“What happened?” Marco asked as he tossed the pot holders at the kitchen and rushed to Wal.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Wal whispered and it was hoarse and watery as he offered Marco the bag.