T-Bone had his back to Mayo, but Mayo knew he was waiting to see what he would do. Even at a time like this, T-Bone tested your loyalty. The woman was harmless, but she had stolen from them.
Traylor took a step toward the woman. He saw Mayo's hesitancy at his opportunity to show what he was made of. He pulled out his gun.
“I’ll take care of her--”
T-Bone stopped Traylor, putting his hand on his chest.
“Man's gotta make up his mind,” T-Bone said. “Who's it gonna be, Mayo, the bitch or your crew?”
Mayo pulled his gun and went over to Donna, handing the shotgun to Traylor.
Even half-crazy and covered with blood she looked good. She wept like a child in front of him. He couldn't deny his feeling for her. But women were never allowed to come between men and their business.
He pointed his gun at the space between her eyes. He didn't want her to suffer. He pulled back the trigger and saw her jump at the loud click.
“Gotta be this way,” he whispered.
His shot was point-blank.
10
Turnaround
At seven a.m., Tony surfaced into downtown from the Lodge Freeway. He was headed to J300 in his old Ford. The all-news radio station predicted no end to the current heatwave.
Tony thought that last night would never end. He'd been restless, waiting for the morning to come.
Maybe Nicks was telling the truth. Maybe he was just making sure Tony was clean for the mayor. Well, whatever he was doing, Tony thought, it would not stop him from getting to Jim and giving him the information he'd obtained last night. With all that had happened lately, only Jim could be trusted.
Tony parked on the street and walked up to 1300. He quickly went inside.
In the lobby, he was hit by a wave of feelings. The look, the feel, even the smell of the place made him sad. Officers moved about on their daily business. He stood in the middle of the floor for a moment, looking like a man who had lost his way.
“Sir?”
Tony turned to see Detective Meadows, his only female officer in the Sewer.
“Meadows. How arc you?”
“Fine, sir. What brings you here? Are you coming back to us I hope? Place isn't the same without you.”
“I, uh, just need to see Jim.”
''I'm sure he's not in yet,” she said. “But you can come up if you want. Everyone would love to--”
“No, no. I don't think that would be... I'll just wait for him down here.”
“OK, sir,” Meadows started to walk away. “By the way, I'm sorry about your friend.”
“What friend?”
“That guy who runs the youth center, used to be one of your street people, the guy with the blue eyes.”
Tony grabbed Meadows. “Blue? What happened to him?”
“He was killed last night. They killed some kid he was with, too.”
“Oh, Jesus, no--”
“They were shot right in the damn hospital and--”
“Who... did we catch who did it?”
“I was gonna say some of the staff said they saw a strange black man running down the stairs, but no one could give a good description. The perp must have used some sort of silencer, because no one heard anything.”
... he's afraid of cops, he says they kill people for money....”
Tony pulled away from Meadows. He looked around the big lobby. Suddenly, this place he'd known for so long felt like a prison. The faces seemed foreign, threatening.
He moved quickly to the front door, only to see Walter Nicks getting out of his car with two other men. Nicks started up the steps, adjusting the big gun under his jacket.
Tony backed up.
“Sir,” said Meadows. “Are you OK? Can I--”
Tony turned quickly, walked by Meadows and out the side entrance.
Tony got into this car and drove away. He went up Jefferson to the near east side and pulled into the parking lot of a Big Boy restaurant. He went inside and called Nikki at work.
“Hello, it's me... yes I'm fine. Look, I want you to do me a favor. Get Moe out of school and go to your mother's house, right now.”
“Tony, what's wrong?”
“I can't talk right now, just do it.”
“But what about my job? I've got meetings,” Nikki said.
“Tell them you're sick.”
“But mama lives fifty miles away in--”
“I know. Just do it-now!” Tony said.
“Tony, what's wrong? Are you in trouble?”
''I'll explain later. And don't go back home. Go straight to your mother's and call home and leave a message when you get there, but don’t say were you are.”
“You're scaring me,” Nikki said.
“I’ll explain later, OK?”
There was silence on the phone. Tony knew his wife. Nikki was thinking that if she didn't go, she could be here for him. She could hide Moe with a friend, then help. Tony didn't feel like having to talk her out of that.
“All right,” Nikki said. “But call me at mama's.”
“OK. As soon as I can.”
“Please be careful. I love you.”
“Me, too.”
Tony hung up and raced back to his car. He headed away from 1300. He was going to take the next step alone. And now, he trusted no one.
**********
Jim let his mind wander while his new partner went into the third boring story of the day. It was early and he needed rest. They were coming back from another drug-related death. Two rollers had killed each other over a considerable quantity of Medina. It was hard to get these days and worth its weight in gold-- or blood.
Since Tony was unofficially retired, Jim had been forced to partner with Jerry Burns, a fat, thirty-five-year veteran who was full of stories of the old days. Burns had been activated from desk duty, due to shortages.
“... so one time, me and Kelly collar this spic who thinks he's a badass. So we put the damn beaner in a cell with a big colored ... uh, bla ... uh, African American guy named Randell Jackson, a big, six seven, two-fifty, jailhouse faggot. Well, after ten minutes, old Jackson's ridin' this wannabe badass spic like a goddamned racehorse! I ain't never laughed so hard in all my life!”
Burns paused and Jim knew it was coming.
“ 'Course we did that back in the old days,” Burns said. “Now, you could never get away with it. Goddamned Jewish lawyers would sue you for every penny you got before the dick went in.”
“Would you stop the racist names please?” Jim said.
“What? You ain't no Hebe are ya?”
“Just cut the shit out, OK?”
“Jeesh, no need to bust my chops. I was just making conversation.”
“Fuck the old days, all right?” said Jim. “Let's just stick to what we have to do and keep the racial remarks to a minimum. No, change that. Keep them to yourself.”
“All right, partner. No problemo.” Burns was angry but said nothing more. Burns turned the car down Grandriver. They stopped at a light and Jim saw an old car pass by slowly. He might not have noticed the car's driver if he had not been with Burns and looking for anything to take his attention away from him.
“Hey-” Jim said wrenching his neck to get a better look. He stamped his feet to the floor as if hitting an imaginary brake.
The old car moved past and Jim desperately tried to get a look. He wanted to turn around and make certain of what he had seen, but they were on a call.
He turned himself back around and stared out the windshield. He was certain that he had the right face. It was haggard, but it was the right face. The only question was, what the hell was Tony doing in this neighborhood, cruising in that ragged car?
11
Divorce
T-Bone drove his Cadillac along, looking for the place he had to be. Since his return from Chicago, the Union had practically dissolved, The streets were dangerous, chaotic, and he hadn't slept in the same place for the last week.
The only bright spot was
that K-9 was out of the way. Someone had spotted the boy in the hospital and waxed him. Took out some other guy with him, too. The news said it was one of those neighborhood do-gooders.
Several people had claimed the reward for killing K-9, but T-Bone wasn't paying anyone. The work was done and he had bigger things to attend to.
He spotted the party store on Eight Mile and pulled into the parking lot. A black Michigan Bell pay phone stood in the back near a dumpster. T-Bone pulled the Caddy over to it, got out, and waited.
The phone rang and T-Bone recognized the voice instantly. T Bone assumed the cop was on a pay phone, too.
It had taken a long time just to arrange this. 'The cop had refused to meet in person. That kind of thing was no longer a possibility, he was told. T-Bone's old cop friend was now at the head of the payoff chain and he was smart to keep his distance. It was crunch time and he would need help if he was going to get through this mess.
“What do you want?” asked the cop.
“You know what's been happening,” said T-Bone.
“No, I don't know.”
“My people are getting knocked off left and right, that's what! I pay you all that money and what do I get for it?”
Silence for a moment, then, “I think you have the deal wrong, my friend. I never agreed to protect you. I agreed to set you up to take over a business and that's what I did. If your people are getting hit, that's your problem. Just keep the money coming and you'll have no problem with me.”
“I don't ... You ain't gonna help me?”
“And what do you want me to do? The police are trying to catch him. It's just one man after all. Your other problems were your own fault. You brought that poison into the streets. You tried to make more money by selling that crap. You started the war with the other dealers. You did it! So don't try to bring me into your shit-pool. You made it, you swim in it.” More silence, then, “By the way, we never asked for a bigger cut of your larger profits either.”
“If I go out of business, your money gets cut off. Ever think about that?” T-Bone said.
“Someone will take your place.”
“I see, you gonna kill me if I don't pay you?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“It's all the same, no matter who says it.”
“I don't have time to play this game with you. What do you want? My time is important.”
“You know what the fuck I want. I want this killer, whoever he is, off my back and I want you to help me get the city back together.”
“What am I, your mother? You want me to wipe your snotty-ass nose and put you back on your feet? Well, like I said, that ain't my job.”
“Look, you've got a lot to lose here, too. I make lots of money for you.”
“I know. You're late with your current payment.”
“Well, you may not believe this, but I've had a few problems, OK?!”
“Don't yell at me. Don't you ever fucking yell at me!”
“You'd better do something or it's all over.”
“You don't get it, do you? A lot of people rely on our arrangement.”
“Yeah, I know. You all living large off me.”
“No it's more than that. We feed and clothe our families, pay bills, send our kids to college. In case you didn't know, what we are doing is illegal and we all have a lot to lose. We walk the line every fucking day, just like you. So we can't allow you to get out of control.”
“Me? The whole damn city is out of control. Pick up a newspaper.”
“I don't know what you thought you were getting into, but this ain't like selling shoes. You don't just say I'm gonna do this and to hell with everybody else. You ain't got that kind of juice, my man.”
“What I got is a problem!” T-Bone yelled. “Some maniac is killing my people. I want to know what you know.”
“We don't know anything.”
“Look, I got a little behind with the South American guys. I think it may be them.”
“I haven't heard anything to verify that. And if it was them, they would have killed you first and you know it.”
“If this guy is a psycho, he may be after me, too.”
“That's not my problem either.”
T-Bone pulled the receiver away for a moment and looked at it as if he'd never seen one.
No other dealer had brought down the kind of money he had. The cops were just as ruthless as the drug men, and in some ways even more so. He had always known that sooner or later he would get into deep shit. All the great dealers did, but he had hoped to have reached his goal of being filthy rich long before then. It was time to reevaluate his position.
“Have it your way,” said T-Bone calmly. “But remember, I came to you first.”
“Keep the money coming. Don't make things worse for yourself.”
“Fuck you.” T-Bone hung up.
He quickly picked up the phone and made another call. After all his time in the business, it was time to disappear.
12
Abduction
David Traylor sat at the table in his apartment, packaging bags of crack. He refused to sell Medina. These days, it was more trouble than it was worth.
Traylor had been trying, without success, to contact T-Bone for several days. Word on the street was T-Bone was gone for good.
The Union was officially dead and there was chaos. Hollers fought each other, and the crackheads were after anyone who might have money or Medina. The same guy who bought drugs from you might come back an hour later and try to slit your throat.
The house chiefs had hired their own bodyguards and their own rollers. They were all basically independents now. Traylor had his own crew, a few loyal followers who were still doing business for him, but he was back where he started. He had to put together the stuff himself. He was surprised how you never forgot.
Traylor finished the last bag, then got up and found his keys. He removed a .45 automatic from his refrigerator. He couldn't remember the name of the movie where he had gotten the idea from. He stuck it in his waistband.
Traylor walked to the front door and was about to open it when the door was kicked in. He saw the unmistakable blue uniforms of Detroit's Finest. He reached for his gun, but he was too late. Something covered his vision in a flash of white, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
**********
Traylor came to and found himself blindfolded and sitting on a hard, cluttered floor. He could smell stale beer, urine, garbage, and burned wood. He could have been anywhere. He was not bound, but he could sense others about him, so he did not try to take off the blindfold. He waited for his captors to make their move. He knew if they wanted him dead, he would be by now.
“Take it off,” said a voice.
A moment later, the blindfold lifted. He saw that he was in a large, dark room. A flashlight sat on a crate, but it did not give off sufficient light to see everything. Two uniformed officers, one white, the other black, stood before him. Their faces were shadowy under their hats and their badges shone dully. Their nametags had been removed.
Behind the uniforms, stood another man. Traylor could not tell if he was black or not. But he was definitely not wearing a uniform. Traylor put his hands up in the air. The uniforms laughed.
“Are you surrendering?” said the plainclothes man. It was his voice that had ordered the blindfold removed.
“I'm just tryin' to cooperate, officers,” Traylor said.
All the abductors laughed this time.
“Good,” said the plainclothes cop. “That's very good. We will get along fine as long as you keep that attitude. Put your hands down.”
Traylor lowered his hands. He shifted his weight on the floor.
“I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully. Iam-- was T-Bone's police connection. Or more correctly, he was my street connection. We had a deal, as I am sure he's told you. That was another of his problems, a big-ass mouth.”
The uniforms laughed, but stopped abruptly when the plainclothes offi
cer looked in their direction.
“T-Bone will be dead in about a week or so,” the man continued. “You see, he reneged on our deal. He put that poison in the streets and stole money from me and his suppliers. I was patient with him, but his friends from South America were not so nice. When T-Bone screwed them, they sent the Devil here to teach him a lesson. I'm sure you've heard of him. He's called the Handyman.”
Traylor stiffened. Now; it all made sense. It was no secret that T-Bone wanted to retire. He skimmed money and when he was found out, a killer was dispatched. But why didn't they just kill T-Bone? Why cut up people?
“So, you have nothing to fear from the killer,” the plainclothes man said. “We have to get the street back and reestablish our deal. I have picked you to take over. What do you think?”
“Beats the fuck out of dying,” Traylor said before he thought about it. He eased a little as they all laughed again.
Traylor understood that with the police on his side, he could take the city back and bring back the Union. He also knew that if he said no, he would never leave the filthy building alive.
“You will have a week to get rid of any competition you might have,” said the plainclothes man. “I only deal with one man, understand?”
“Yes. Can I go now?” Traylor asked.
“Sure,” the plainclothes man said. “The officers will take you anywhere you want.
Traylor was escorted out by the uniforms. Traylor went outside and got into a police cruiser. It was the first time he had used one as a taxi.
The cruiser pulled away. Traylor looked through the back window and saw the plainclothes man come out. He was still just a shadow in the night.
“Hey,” said one of the uniforms.
Traylor turned to see the cop in the passenger's seat holding a silvery .45 in his face.
“What's up with this?” Traylor asked. “I thought we had a deal.”
“This is your gun,” said the cop in the passenger's seat.
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