“We need to be goin’ over there tryin’ to buy some train tickets,” Leroy said.
“In a minute,” Black said, walking toward the bench in the corner where most of the people were milling back and forth.
It took Leroy about half a minute to decide that it was probably best for him to follow. When Black heard Leroy’s footsteps behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. Because nothing would get them caught faster than standing there in the middle of 30th Street Station looking like they didn’t know where they wanted to go or what they wanted to do. It was better for them to fade into the crowd and sit down. At least that way they could have a few minutes of relative safety to make a good decision. That’s what Black was going to tell Leroy when he came over to the bench to sit down with him. But by the time Black turned around, Leroy had disappeared.
When Black realized that Leroy was no longer there, his head started to swim. But he sat down anyway and tried not to panic. He looked around casually and forced himself not to get up. Then he thought about where Leroy could have gone. When he couldn’t come up with an answer, he began to narrow down his choices and came up with two. He could either go and get his own ticket and go wherever, by himself, or he could sit there and wait for Leroy.
Black realized after a few minutes that he really couldn’t decide what to do. The decision shouldn’t have been that hard. They would have to split up in a few minutes anyway, because it just made sense to do that. But he was afraid. They all were. Black could see it in the way Clarisse looked when she left them to go to the bathroom; in the way Pookie walked away with her without uttering a word; in the way Leroy looked when Black told him they needed to go over to the bench and sit down.
It wasn’t a game anymore. Not that it ever was. But it was almost over. And they all faced the end with both fear and anticipation, wondering when someone would walk up behind them and end it for them. Their lives had been down so much more than they were up that they expected to fail.
Black shuddered and let out a long sigh, then looked over at the ladies’ room and saw a white woman go inside. He was tempted to go over to her and ask her to see if Pookie and Clarisse were in there. But then he thought about the way they’d been saying their names on television and on the radio all night long. He could imagine how the scene would play out.
“Excuse me, white woman, can you tell Pookie and Clarisse that Samuel Everett Jackson, aka Black, is waiting for them outside? Thank you.”
Her face would crinkle into the classic Jamie Lee Curtis expression of horror, like he was the black reincarnation of Michael Myers, and then she would scream and point. No, she wouldn’t even scream. She would make that sound they made in Invasion of the Body Snatchers whenever the aliens walked up on a real person: a real bloodcurdling-type scream.
Black smiled to himself at the thought, and just as he looked up again, he felt someone walk up behind him and tap him on the shoulder. All at once, everything became a jumbled mess. The fear, the excitement, and the anticipation joined and became something else, something indescribable. He had visions of guns pointed at the back of his head and police waiting for him to move so they could decorate the bench with his brain. There was nothing for him to do but sit there and wait for them to decide what they were going to do, so that’s what he did.
“Turn around slowly,” a familiar, muffled voice said.
When Black turned around, Leroy was standing there, smiling and holding train tickets in his hand.
“Remind me to hurt you.”
“Remind yourself to get up from there and come on,” Leroy said. “We ain’t got time to be sittin’ around waitin’.”
Black looked over at the bathroom again, and Pookie and Clarisse were just coming out the door, walking toward them. Clarisse had taken off the coat and removed the blanket, and Pookie had on sunglasses.
“Come on, man,” Leroy said. “The trains supposed to leave in like a half hour.”
“Trains?”
“Yeah, trains,” he said. “What you think we all can get on the same train and roll out like that?”
“I think we need to roll out of Philly together, then go wherever we gon’ go when we get to the next stop.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause that way, if somebody get caught once we get past the first stop, they can’t snitch, ’cause they don’t know where everybody else went.”
“Don’t nobody know now,” he said.
“You know.”
“I ain’t gon’ tell.”
“I don’t know that.”
Leroy looked at Black like he wanted to say something more, but Clarisse and Pookie walked over before he could put it into words.
“Why y’all sittin’ here talkin’?” Pookie said, looking around nervously. “Let’s go.”
Black looked up at Clarisse, who stood there looking down at the floor. Her expression was difficult to read, and so were her actions. She’d walked away and come back. She’d had the chance to just keep going, but she hadn’t, and that confused Black. After they’d taken her car and parked it in a hotel parking lot, caused her to lose a brand-new job, and made the world think that she’d been kidnapped by murderers, she was standing there waiting for them to tell her what to do, like she was one of them.
Then again, Black thought, she was one of them. Not like Patty Hearst when they kidnapped her and had her robbing banks. No. Clarisse was one of them before she even came with them. She just didn’t know it. She probably still didn’t know. Even though she had one foot on the path they’d all traveled and was waiting for the other foot to fall, even though she was suffering from the same rejection, anger, and disappointment they’d all gone through, even though she had no idea where her life was going and had probably lost the ability to care, she still wasn’t certain that she was one of them.
“Why are you looking at me, Everett?” she said loudly. “Come on!”
“Why don’t you just tell everybody my name?”
“Sorry.”
“From now on,” Black said, “we ain’t got no names.”
Everyone nodded their agreement.
“Now,” Black said, getting up from the bench and walking slowly toward the gift shop, “the first thing we gotta do is go get some little corny Philadelphia baseball caps and some little cheap travel bags from the gift shop, so we look like tourists. ’Cause if we gettin’ on the trains with nothin’, people gon’ be lookin’ at us like: Where they goin’ with no luggage?”
“I told you we ain’t got time for all that,” Leroy said, reluctantly following Black with Pookie and Clarisse. “The trains roll out in twenty minutes.”
“You got time to spend the rest o’ your life on lockdown?”
“Look,” Pookie said impatiently, “I don’t care what we do. Just do somethin’.”
Black tapped Leroy on the shoulder. “I hope you got tickets for the sleeper compartment so we don’t have to sit around everybody else and wait for five-o to walk up on us.”
“I ain’t know they had a sleeper compartment.”
“All right, that’s problem number one. We gotta find a way to get in the sleeper compartment.”
“What’s problem number two?” Clarisse said as they walked into the gift shop.
“Figurin’ out why you still here.”
Everyone looked at her, waiting for her answer.
“I guess,” Clarisse said, pausing as she walked up the first aisle and took two garment bags from the shelf, “I guess it’s because I really don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Girl, you know that ain’t the only reason,” Pookie said. “So you need to go ’head and stop frontin’.”
Clarisse looked at Pookie with an irritation that bordered on hostility, but said nothing. Leroy and Black ignored their little display and walked over to the souvenir shirts and hats, pretending that they weren’t with them. When Clarisse and Pookie paid for their bags and walked out of the store, Leroy and Black walked up to the counter and paid for th
eirs. Then they all met outside the store.
“What now?” Pookie said.
“Now we get on the train,” Black said.
“What train?” Clarisse said.
Black looked at Leroy, waiting for him to tell them which trains they were going to catch.
“The twelve-fifteen to Atlanta,” Leroy said.
“I thought you said it was two different trains,” Black said.
“I thought you said you was gon’ get us outta Philly,” Leroy said.
“What it look like I’m doin’?”
“Look like you standin’ there runnin’ your mouth. And this damn sure still look like Philly to me.”
“Dig this,” Black said, walking toward the steps that led down to the train platforms at 30th Street Station. “We can talk about all that once we get up outta here. But right now, what you need to do is give everybody they tickets so we can get on the train. ’Cause all this standin’ around together ain’t even cool.”
Leroy puffed up, angry that Black had ignored his remarks. But he handed out the tickets anyway.
“Come on,” Black said, grabbing Clarisse by the hand and pulling her behind him.
“Hold up,” Leroy said.
Black stopped and turned around.
He looked down and shuffled his feet uncomfortably, then sighed and looked around him before looking Black in the eye.
“Be safe,” he said.
Black looked at Pookie, who stood silently behind him. Then he looked at Leroy and wondered if he’d ever see him again. Black was used to him, and not having him around would mean that things had changed. Black didn’t like change. He liked for things to stay the same as much as possible. That’s why he went to such lengths to keep smoking crack, even though he hated it. He was afraid to try to go back to the life he’d had before. He knew it would be different. He knew there would be change.
“Be safe,” he said to Leroy.
But even as the words left his mouth, Black wondered how safe they could be in a world where the police could say or do just about anything and never worry about being questioned.
Commissioner Nelson turned on the television in the Command Center and hoped that he wouldn’t see anything about Sheldon or Morgan. But as soon as the picture came into focus, Nelson knew that he had hoped for too much.
Anchorman Mike Hansen was wiping tears from his eyes and apologizing to the viewers for his outburst. Coanchor Lorraine Anderson was patting his shoulder and fighting past tears of her own.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, pausing to take a deep breath. “Channel Ten reporter Jeanette Deveraux and cameraman Michael Yates have been found in a field at Philadelphia International Airport. Both were pronounced dead at the scene with gunshot wounds to the head. Details are sketchy, but . . .”
As the reporter spoke, the phone at the Command Center rang. A detective answered it and listened to the supervisor on the scene of the Deveraux shooting. After a few minutes, he picked up a pencil and started to jot down some information.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, placing the pencil carefully on the table. “I’ll consult the commissioner about that and get right back to you.”
“What is it?” Nelson said.
“They’ve got a suspect in the Deveraux shooting. He’s a cop. A fuel-truck driver at the airport saw him leave the scene of the shooting.”
“Is there a description?” Nelson asked. But he knew before the detective even responded that it had to be one of two people.
The detective looked down at his notes. “He’s a white male, driving a black unmarked Chrysler with a license tag of UJV-342. His name is Lieutenant Darren Morgan from Internal Af- fairs. Do you want to put his description out over the air, sir?”
“I think it would probably be better to keep this within the department,” Nelson said, the color draining from his face. “I’ve already got one team looking for him. Have each district assign two teams each to join the search.”
As the detective picked up the phone to call in the commissioner’s orders, the news anchor looked into the camera and started to speak.
“ . . . may be related to the murder of freelance reporter Henry Moore, who was found shot to death this morning in what was thought to be a drug-related robbery at Abbottsford Hospital. We take you now to Philadelphia International Airport, where Channel Ten reporter Myung Kim is standing by with information from a police commander who is closely linked to the Podres investigation.”
“Oh no,” Nelson said, placing his head in his hands.
“Thanks, Mike,” the reporter said. “I received a call a few minutes ago from a highly placed police commander who claims to have proof that the late Police Civilian Review Board chief Johnny Podres was having an illicit affair with an unnamed woman shortly before his death. The commander also says that Podres was receiving threats from a pro-police political action committee called Safer Philadelphians, whose members were obviously aware of the affair.”
The reporter paused to allow the anchorman to ask an obvious question.
“So, Myung, what is the significance of this information and where does it come from?”
“Apparently, Mike, Safer Philadelphians was blackmailing Podres with this information, and the group may eventually be implicated in the councilman’s death, according to the police commander, who spoke on condition of anonymity.”
“Has this commander given us any definitive information on Jeanette?” Hansen said.
“Well, Mike, the commander said, and I quote: ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the deaths of Miss Deveraux, Mr. Yates, and Mr. Moore are all linked to the Podres shooting.’ He wouldn’t elaborate, but he did say that an Internal Affairs officer may have been involved in the shootings.”
“As a suspect?”
“That’s right, Mike. The commander confirmed several minutes ago that an Internal Affairs officer may be implicated in the shootings, and that he has hard evidence to prove that the officer was involved. We are working to find out the identity of the Internal Affairs officer.”
“Get back to us if you get anything further, Myung.”
“Sure, Mike. And let me take this opportunity to express my heartfelt sympathy to the families of Jeanette Deveraux and Michael Yates. They will be sorely missed.”
As Nelson got up and turned off the television, his mind was racing. He knew that the highly placed police source was Sheldon. He just didn’t know how to find him.
“Call Radio and have them try to raise Lieutenant Darren Morgan on the air,” Nelson said, switching into high gear. “If he doesn’t respond within five minutes, put together a GRM saying that he’s wanted for investigation at this time.”
“So now we’re not keeping it in the department, sir?” the detective said.
“We don’t have time for that. I’d rather let the world know what’s going on than have his name and description broadcast on television first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I also want you to call Homicide,” Nelson said, pressing his lips firmly together in a look of pure rage. “Not that Sheldon’s going to be there. But when you call, and when he fails to answer, try to raise him on the air, then page him. When he doesn’t respond to that, put out a GRM on him, too.”
“Yes, sir,” the detective said, picking up the phone as it rang.
“One more thing,” Nelson said. “Find Ramirez and Hillman, and get them over to the airport as soon as possible.”
“There won’t be any need to do that,” the detective said, hanging up the phone. “That was Ramirez. He’s already there.”
“What about Hillman?”
“Ramirez said that Hillman was on his way back to the hospital to check on the witness.”
“Raise Ramirez on the air and tell him to call here immediately if he finds any new information,” Nelson said.
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Pray to God we can find Sheldon before he does any more damage.”
But Nelson knew that it was probably too late for that.
The policeman guarding Butter’s door looked at his watch and wondered when he would be relieved. He had already been there for twelve hours, and the overtime was beginning to look less and less attractive. The only thing he wanted to do was go home, kiss his wife, and lie down for a few minutes.
Getting overtime on a prisoner detail was great, but he needed sleep, too. And at the rate he was going, he wasn’t going to get any because he would have to leave the detail and go straight to the district to work his regular shift.
So when the captain walked up and told him that his relief was on the way, he looked up and thanked God.
“I know you’re tired, son,” Sheldon said. “And I need to talk to Mr. Thomas anyway. So I’ll tell you what. I’ll take over the detail for you so you can knock off a few minutes early.”
“I couldn’t let you do that, sir,” the officer said, praying that the captain would insist.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure a half hour or so won’t kill me.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“I’m positive. Go home and get some rest.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When the officer got on the elevator, Sheldon opened the door and walked into Butter’s room. “You’ve been relieved,” he said to the second officer on the detail. “You can go.”
The officer didn’t have to be told twice. He got up and hustled toward the door. When he left the room, Sheldon locked the door behind him and smiled at the sleeping Butter.
“You’ve been a bad boy,” Sheldon said as he removed his bracelet from his pocket and fastened it around his wrist.
Butter struggled to wake himself as the sound of the strange voice drifted into his consciousness. There was something in the voice that prodded his sleep-numbed mind and told him that he should be afraid. But before he could open his eyes, the voice was there again.
“I know we all do things that we shouldn’t,” Sheldon said as he walked over to the bed, twisting a silencer onto the end of his gun. “But you broke the rules.”
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