Alibi II

by Teri Woods

  Tommy started his engine. He looked at his watch. It was three-thirty-six in the morning. What the fuck is wrong with Patricio, calling my house at three in the morning? What if Vivian had answered the phone? This better be good, it better be a fucking emergency. Tommy checked his rearview mirror to see if he was being tailed. He already knew the possibilities were endless.

  He traveled down Broad Street, passing the Spectrum, where the 76ers played. He turned right into the Naval Yard and followed the signs for the Naval Hospital. The meeting place was always the same.

  Tommy parked his car and walked into the hospital, following the signs for the emergency room. He patiently picked up a magazine and took a seat in the waiting area. Within three minutes, Patricio Gambiani, whom everyone called Patty for short, took a seat next to him.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, calling my house in the middle of the night, Patricio?”

  “Calm down, I used a pay phone,” said Patricio.

  “So what’s so urgent you had to get me up in the middle of the night?”

  “You’re being investigated by Internal Affairs.”

  “For what? I’ve done nothing. Why would they be investigating me?” he hissed at his cousin, wishing his family would keep him out of their business. He never allowed himself to engage in or be around criminal activity, and for the most part kept himself clean despite the persistent opportunities to be dirty. He knew his family. All his life, he was kept from them, because of his father and his father’s father. After his mother and his father separated and decided to get divorced, it got really ugly. So she was scared, and all Tommy remembered was moving around a lot. His mother was Sicilian, real olive complexion, with dark features, just like him. He was lucky; they moved to the Dominican Republic, and with the bright sun and a few months of learning the language, they soon blended right in. His mother changed their last names to Delgado, and Charlie Gatto never found her. It was Tommy and Sammy who found their father, as young men years later after their mother died. Once reunited with their father, they decided to stay in the States, and Tommy joined the force and Sammy joined his father’s organization.

  “I don’t know, but let’s see…how about your past and present drug abuse, our family’s affiliation with organized crime…um…your brother just robbed another bank yesterday afternoon and got away with two million dollars.”

  “Sammy?”

  “You have any other brothers someone failed to inform me of?” asked Patricio. He couldn’t help being a wise-ass. He was simply bringing his cousin up to speed on current family affairs. He picked up a newspaper, covered his face, and continued to whisper through the pages.

  That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. What the fuck? Sammy hit another one and got away? Tommy questioned to himself, a smile spreading across his face.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, as if Patricio didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Listen, all I was told to tell you is that you’re being investigated by Internal Affairs and to watch your back. And yes, your brother’s celebrating in Las Vegas as we speak.” Patricio smiled. He smacked his cousin’s leg, squeezing it gently before he got up to leave.

  Tommy sat silently, still trying to think of who in the department could possibly be investigating him. He had thought he had the department fooled for such a long time. They’re probably right under my nose and I don’t even know it. He didn’t have the slightest clue, but his family would find out, because the same way the state had moles, well, so did Tommy’s family.

  Knock Knock

  Day Two

  Beverly heard the banging at the door. Tired, she rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. She heard her Uncle Ray Ray’s footsteps down the hall.

  “What’s wrong with people, banging on people’s doors and waking people up out their sleep?” asked Uncle Ray Ray as he walked by Beverly’s bedroom door.

  “You got it, Uncle Ray Ray?”

  “I guess I might as well,” he responded. She heard the staircase floorboards creek with each step he took as he made his way down the stairs.

  He peeked out of the peephole and saw his son, Chris, standing at the door, shifting from side to side.

  “That you, Chris?” he asked, wondering whether his eyes were deceiving him.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Dad.”

  Ray Ray opened the door and faced his son, happy to see him, until he got a good look. “What in the world is wrong with you? You sick? You look terrible.”

  “Pop, I need your help. My car broke down and I can’t get to work.”

  “You was on your way to work looking like that?” Ray Ray asked, staring his son in the face. He held the door for him, letting him pass.

  Chris, unable to look his father in the eyes, continued to shift and move aimlessly. His lips were chapped, and he smelled of stale burned sulfur.

  “You smell funny,” commented Ray Ray.

  “It’s just from sweating trying to fix my car.”

  “And your eyes look funny, like they’re about to pop out your head. You sure you’re okay, son?”

  “Yeah, Pop, I’m fine, really. I just need some money to my get car rolling, you know, so I can get to work. I’m already late and I don’t want to get in trouble,” he said hastily, as if time was of the essence.

  Beverly had made her way downstairs and peeped around the corner of the kitchen wall. She was being nosy and was eavesdropping on her cousin and her uncle, but for good reason.

  Look at him, he looks like he’s about to pounce all over Uncle Ray Ray if Uncle Ray Ray doesn’t give him some money. I wonder what’s wrong with him? This was the first time Beverly had ever seen someone high on crack cocaine, but it would be far from the last.

  “I got to go upstairs, unless I got some money in my jacket pocket. Hold on, let me see what I got,” said Uncle Ray Ray, retreating to the closet by the front door to check his jacket. Beverly walked around the corner and entered the kitchen.

  “Hey, Chris, how’s life treating you?”

  “Man, you scared me half to death,” he said nervously, turning around to face his cousin.

  Just then there was another knock at the door.

  “Who in the world could this be?” said Beverly as she walked to the front door and looked out the peephole. “It’s too early in the morning,” she noted.

  Crystal. What in the world is she doing here? Beverly opened the door. Standing in the cold morning air was Nard’s girlfriend, the mother of his nine-month-old daughter, Dayanna.

  “Crystal, come on in here, child, and get that baby out the cold,” said Beverly, like any concerned grandmother. “What are you doing out this early in the morning?” she asked, figuring the girl wanted to go to court with her.

  “My mother put me out,” said Crystal, lowering her head and pretending to be fixing the baby’s hat. “She said she told me not to bring no babies in her house and I can’t go to school and she’s real mad about that ’cause I don’t have nobody to watch the baby and my mom has to work. She said she can’t sleep with the baby crying and she needs her rest for work. She said I need to come here and live with you so Nard can help take care of the baby, since don’t nobody here have a job to go to,” said Crystal as Beverly sat back. She already knew where Crystal’s mother was going.

  “Well, you know I’m not gonna see my grandbaby out in the street. You and the baby might as well stay in Nard’s room until your momma lets you come back home. I’m sure she’ll get to missing you sooner or later and we can always work out some arrangements for me to keep Dayanna while you’re at school.”

  “I don’t know, I don’t think I want to go back home, Ms. Beverly,” said Crystal, happy she could stay with her boyfriend’s mother.

  “Umm, you gonna have to go home sooner or later, but as long as you go to school, I’ll let you stay, but you going to school, you hear me? A young girl always needs her mother, and your mother I’m sure is missing you already, but you need to be in school,�
� said Beverly, walking down the hall, Crystal right behind her.

  “I will be, don’t worry.”

  “And when you done at school, you come on in here and get your schoolwork done and take care of Dayanna, you understand? I’ll help you, but you got to help yourself.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Chris, hurrying as if he was about to sprint like a track runner.

  “Okay, see you later, Beverly,” he said, brushing past her quickly. He waved good-bye, closing the door behind him.

  “Uncle Ray Ray, is it my imagination or did Chris just haul his ass out of here like the police was chasing him?”

  “He’s on something, did you see him? I don’t know who the hell I just gave my money to, but that wasn’t my son,” said Uncle Ray Ray, worried for Chris, his only son. “He’s grown, though, what can I do?”

  “Hi, Uncle Ray Ray,” said Crystal, all smiles.

  “We got some new house guests,” said Beverly. “Her momma done put her and the baby out, so I told her she can stay here with us for awhile until her momma lets her come back home.”

  “Oh, well, I see now, and what about the baby?” asked Uncle Ray Ray, not wanting to be bothered with no babies, even kin.

  “I’m sure it won’t be too long,” said Beverly, kissing her granddaughter.

  “I hope not, ’cause something tells me we’re fittin’ not to get no sleep up in here no time soon with a baby in the house,” Uncle Ray Ray mumbled to himself as he made his way up the steps to his room. “I ain’t got no money, a spook done came in here and took my little bit of pocket change. Now I got to get out here and try to get to one of those MAC machines,” he mumbled some more.

  Beverly watched as Ray Ray made his way up the staircase. “I got to get dressed and get down to the welfare office. And then me and my girlfriend, Donna, is going straight to the courthouse.”

  “Will Nard be there, will I get to see him?” asked Crystal, full of wonder and surprise.

  Beverly couldn’t help but to stop and think of her yesteryears when she was young and believed in love. “Yes, he’ll be there at the courthouse.” She smiled.

  “Well, you think me and Dayanna can go with you?”

  “Why not?” Beverly responded as she walked down the hall and up the stairs to get dressed. “Be ready in a half hour.”

  Vivian Lang arrived fifteen minutes late to work. Before she could even take off her coat, there was a knock at her door, The deputy in charge, Marshall Stevens, opened the door and peeked inside her office without waiting for a “who is it” or “come in.”

  “Deputy Stevens, how are you this morning?”

  “Well, I’d be better, but criminals are making my life challenging,” he said as he walked into her office. “I have two cases I’d like to send your way. The first is this abandoned baby case—mind you we got no leads. So far we’ve got seven babies that have been abandoned on the steps of the St. Agnes Mary Catholic Church in West Philadelphia in the last month. The church had installed video cameras after the fourth baby had been abandoned. However, the cameras aren’t picking up anything for us to go on. You look at it, tell me if anything catches your eye. We think it’s a religious cult, some form of worship, possible sacrifice.”

  “You mean leaving babies out on church steps to freeze to death.”

  “Yeah, exactly.” He paused for a second, then quickly moved on. “And the other case, well, you’re gonna love this. We had another bank robbery yesterday. From the looks of the video surveillance, which you are really gonna love, it looks like the same guys, but again, there’s nothing to fall back on from the tapes. These guys got away in the middle of the afternoon, in broad daylight, and we have nothing to go on. See if you see anything; I need a fresh pair of eyes.” He placed two video surveillance tapes from the bank and from the church on her desk.

  “Well, I suggest we get some work done around here and make some arrests. Hell, I hate having to take down the innocent and law-abiding, so just remember that it’s much better if we arrest the people who actually committed the crime. That’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it,” he said, not singing the song at all.

  “I’ll look at these tapes right away, sir.”

  “You do that, Lang, and let me know what your findings are by noon.”

  “I’m on it, sir.”

  Vivian Lang watched as Deputy Stevens closed her office door behind him. She picked up her phone and paged her assistant, Sharon, who had a cup of coffee, extra cream, extra sugar, just the way Vivian liked it, on her desk in nine point seven seconds.

  “Can you get a Danish from the machine?” asked Vivian as she handed her money to Sharon, not waiting for an answer. She dimmed the lights, closed her window blinds, and began to watch the videotape recordings of crime. She took another sip of her coffee. Feeling woozy, she sat down, her stomach churning and boiling inside her like a volcano about to erupt. She grabbed the trashcan from under her desk just in the nick of time and puked her strawberry cheese Danish and cup of morning Joe into the trashcan. Her hands felt clammy, her body felt faint, and if it hadn’t been for Deputy Stevens’s personal appearance this morning she’d be turning around and heading home.

  What in the world is wrong with me?

  She had buzzed for Sharon, her assistant, who was standing in the doorway watching her vomit into her trashcan.

  “Oh, my God, are you okay? I have some tissues. Here you go,” she said, placing them near Vivian but not wanting to get too close. “And let me get you some cold water from the fountain,” said Sharon, quickly leaving the room as Vivian vomited another round of last night’s dinner into the trashcan before returning in less than seven point two seconds with the water from the water fountain. “Are you okay, ma’am? Maybe you’re pregnant, wouldn’t that be great? I just love babies. Should I get someone to help you?”

  “No, no, Sharon. I’m fine…I’ll be fine. I’m not pregnant, thank you very much, you can go back to your desk. Everything’s fine, trust me,” said Vivian, waving her too-excited, too-over-the-top, happy, so happy secretary away from her with her happy, so happy ideas of pregnancy. Vivian looked at her, began to vomit again, and at the same time shooed the girl out the door with her hand.

  “Close my door, please,” ordered Vivian between gasps of air as she upchucked one more time into the trashcan. She watched Sharon close the door behind her.

  Maybe I’m pregnant. The thought was ludicrous. Maybe I have stomach cancer. The possibility was scary. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but she used the tissue Sharon had brought her, wiped her mouth, picked up her phone, and made an emergency appointment for later on in the day. She lay down on her sofa, looked at the tapes, and cleared them, finding nothing on them that could help either case.

  Tommy Delgado sat patiently next to his partner, Merva Ross, in the courtroom waiting to give testimony should they be called. They had been the crime scene detectives on the Somerset murder case and were both assigned to it. It was Tommy and Merva who had arrested Nard and taken him into custody, where he was held without bail and transferred to CFCF for the last six months. It was Tommy and Merva who had convinced Daisy to turn state and not give Nard the alibi he so desperately needed. Over the past year, they had accomplished a lot working as partners.

  The courtroom was packed, with familiar and unfamiliar faces alike scattered across the room. The prosecutor had wrapped up his case in one day. Cut and dried, no questions asked. Zone put Daisy Mae Fothergill on the stand, and she failed to give the defendant, Nard, an alibi, blowing a hole in the defense’s case, and after that was done, Zone called it a day. The state felt it had enough circumstantial evidence to try and convict Bernard Guess of the murders of Jeremy Tyler and Lance Robertson. The deaths of Saunta Davis and DaShawn Davis still were marked open and unsolved. They had no leads, no witnesses, and no suspects. An open homicide file with no suspects remained simply that until evidence of some nature surfaced and detectives had something to go on.

  Lucille D
avis sat quietly in the back of the courtroom every day, clutching a tiny photo of her grandson, DaShawn. She knew what had happened, because DaShawn had told her. She knew something was terribly wrong when she and her daughter had heard the shots down the hall and her grandbaby was still outside. Saunta, her daughter, looked out the peephole for her son, DaShawn. It was then she saw Nard leaving the apartment and that’s when she went to the living room window and began calling for her son outside. He had promised to go down the street to the corner store and come right back. Why couldn’t he have done that and come right back? Instead, DaShawn watched the boy Quinny Day win the lucky pot in a crap game. Then, he came into the building as shots rang out.

  “Hey, Nard, be careful, they shooting in the building,” the little boy would tell an armed and dangerous Nard, who had actually been the one doing all the shooting. That split moment had sealed his fate and his mother’s. And Lucille Davis knew exactly what happened to her grandson and her daughter. She knew everything.

  “Boy, get in here. You had me sick,” she said to DaShawn, hugging her son as he walked through the door calm, cool and collected.

  “They were shooting down the hallway.”

  “I just saw Nard,” said the boy.

  “That’s who that was coming out the doorway,” said the girl, looking at her mother, “the boy Nard.”

  “Mmm-hmm, I bet everybody in that apartment is dead. We better call 911 and report the gunshots. That’s all we can do. But don’t tell nobody you seen nothing. You hear me?” she said, looking at her daughter and then her grandson.

  “Yes, ma’am, I won’t say anything,” said the little boy, shaking his head, scared to death.

  The next day, the police found the three dead bodies in the apartment down the hall. Then one week later, he came back to murder her daughter and her grandson, shooting them down like dogs in the hallway as they had almost reached the apartment door. She had been right there in the kitchen when she heard them in the hallway. She thought nothing of it, until she heard gunshots, her daughter’s screams, and then silence. It was the eerie silence that came with death. As she looked out the peephole of her apartment door, she saw their blood-stained bodies, and him, standing over her daughter, before stuffing the gun in his pocket, turning away, and walking down the hallway. While she was looking out the peephole, she reached around the wall, her hand grasped the phone, and she dialed 911. Stepping back into the kitchen, she whispered that her daughter and grandson had been shot and needed an ambulance.