Cold Medina

by Gary Hardwick

  There were only about fifty people in the church, but it seemed like three times that number. The congregation yelled, answered the reverend where appropriate, and clapped for the better parts. The church organist kept time with riffs between pauses. Deacons with large, golden donation plates worked the crowd.

  Being in the church made Tony feel good. The church reminded him of better times. He absorbed the familiar electric atmosphere and said a silent prayer for himself.

  “... and where is God?” Henderson said. “If he exists, then why don't he just wave his hand and make everything all right? We know, the Devil is here.”

  “Watch out, now!” yelled a woman in the front row.

  “His work is everywhere, kids killin' each other, sellin' dope, havin' babies allover the place. But where is God?” Henderson stepped back from the podium microphone, wiping his face. The organist hit a riff.

  “He's here, right here in this church-in your heart! If you let him in,” Henderson said. “Let him in, and the world can go to hell, and you'll live forever!”

  The congregation erupted, the organist played, and the deacons passed the plates.

  Pretty good for a former drug dealer, Tony thought. As the choir came on, Henderson left the stage. Tony worked his way to the front of the church only to be intercepted by a very large deacon. He told the man he was a cop. The deacon asked for ID. Tony was prepared for that. He'd brought along an old detective's shield. He flashed it to the deacon. Tony was then escorted to a waiting area by the minister's office. Tony waited as the big deacon talked to Henderson.

  Joe Henderson's office had a large mahogany desk in the center. Exotic plants adorned the comers and abstract paintings covered the walls. The only religious item in the room was a large gold Bible on a wooden stand.

  “Come in, officer,” said Henderson. “Have a seat.”

  Tony sat down in a very expensive leather side chair.

  “Nice place. Can we talk alone?” Tony looked at the big deacon.

  “You can go, Oliver.” Henderson smiled at Tony. His hands were covered with gold rings sprinkled with diamonds. Oliver left and Tony's face took on a serious look.

  “How can I help you, officer?” Henderson said. “Is one of my parishioners or their son in trouble?”

  “No, Butchie, you are.”

  Henderson was caught off-guard and showed visible shock at the mention of his old moniker. He adjusted himself in the large black chair and tried to look unaffected by the name.

  “You may as well get to the point, officer,” Henderson said. “That part of my life is dead.”

  “Funny you should talk about death, 'cause that's why I'm here.”

  “Officer, I made my peace with God and now I do His work. If I can help you, I will, but you don't have to beat me with what I was. I know; and I live with it every day.”

  Tony was almost affected by the speech. He was raised in the black church and looked upon it with reverence and great respect. He believed that a man could be redeemed, that God could forgive any sin no matter how terrible, if the man was truly repentant. And wasn't that what he was seeking to do? Wasn't he trying to absolve his own sin by doing a good deed? Yes, he answered himself, but all the more reason to be even harder on Henderson.

  Henderson was a reverend, but he was still a pro, Tony thought. His manner and his clever, sympathetic counterstrike at the mention of his secret identity gave him away.

  Henderson was just plying his trade in a different arena, that's all. Instead of selling drugs, Henderson was now selling faith.

  “My name is Inspector Hill. Have you been reading the papers lately, Butchie?”

  “That is no longer my name. I am a man of faith now.”

  Tony leaned in toward him as if he were going to strike him, and Henderson instinctively recoiled.

  “A lot of your old buddies are dead, killed by a psychopath. Only I don't think he's so crazy. I think he's got a plan. See, all the men he's killed so far have two things in common.”

  Tony looked deep into Henderson's eyes, ready to read the reaction. A gang called the Union-- and you. So, I'm wondering, Reverend, why you aren't dead, too?”

  Henderson started to breathe heavier and a thin layer of sweat emerged on his brow. He reached into his desk and Tony's hand jerked toward his gun.

  Tony settled down as Henderson pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

  “I can see I'm gonna need one,” he said. “Care to join me?”

  18

  The Big One

  Steven Mayo drove down the street, houses passing by in a blur. He was still pumped up from finishing off Traylor. It had been easier to kill Traylor than he thought. He was now the ruler of the street, just like the cops had told him after they kidnapped him.

  After the cops let him go, Mayo tracked Traylor down, then followed him.

  He did not believe the cop when he said T-Bone would be dead soon. After all, T-Bone was the smartest man Mayo had ever known. If anyone knew how to survive, T-Bone did. Still, the cop had seemed so sure.

  The cop who had done the talking wore no uniform, probably a detective. He tried to convince Mayo that T-Bone had brought the whole Handyman thing down on himself by breaking promises to his suppliers, who retaliated. Mayo thought it was bullshit, but he wasn't about to say it to three armed men.

  So he had been handed the whole city on a silver platter. And after Medina faded away, he would own Detroit.

  If T-Bone was gone, good, he thought. But if he came back, Mayo knew he'd have to kill his former boss.

  Mayo would not miss Medina. No one was making it and only the truly foolish even wanted it. It was death. Dennis, the would-be chemist, was the only one who knew the formula. Mayo had taken him off production, then instructed some of his men to make sure Dennis never made the chemical again.

  Now all he had left was Magilla. He had to take the house back and kill that fat bastard. The house was their most profitable, and he didn't want Magilla to grow into a rival. Magilla also had a large quantity of Medina. That alone was reason enough to take him out. It would not be easy, though. Mayo hated to admit it, but Magilla was smart and he had an army of rollers working for him.

  Mayo turned his car onto the freeway. He vowed long ago not to make the same mistakes as the others. The fact that he was still alive proved that he was smarter than the rest.

  It had been the Big Three and now it was just him, the Big One, and he was not going to die.

  19

  Transformation

  Tony watched Henderson go from a confident man to a shaking, scared wreck. Just the mention of the dead men had released ghosts that haunted him.

  “I do read the papers, officer,” said Henderson. ''And I did notice that my former friends have been taken away by some kind of avenging angel.”

  “So, do you want to go to a police station, or can we talk here?” asked Tony.

  “No,” said Henderson. “That won't be necessary. The men who were killed were all drug dealers with me a long time ago. They were just kids when I knew them.”

  The Reverend took another drink and Tony noticed his clean, neatly manicured fingers. He realized then that Henderson was immaculate. His suit was expensive looking, his hair was so groomed that it almost looked fake.

  The office was dean, too. No, spotless would be a better word. If nothing else, the Reverend was tidy.

  “So, how'd you get out?” asked Tony. “Usually your kind leave the business in a box.”

  “God saved me. I went to federal prison for trying to rob a bank in Minneapolis. I was lucky enough to get transferred to minimum security. It was like summer camp with armed counselors. There, I found the Lord. After I was paroled, I came back home.”

  That explained why he was so neat. Many ex-cons come out of prison obsessed with cleanliness. It's a result of the discipline of incarceration. And cons also feel dirty from having been in prison, so they need to keep their world clean.

  “And why did you do that?
Wasn't it dangerous?” Tony asked.

  “There were only a few people left who knew me,” Henderson said. “Most of my friends were either dead, in prison, or deeply involved in selling dope. I knew I'd never see them traveling in normal circles.”

  “But you changed your name, so you suspected trouble, right?”

  “Yes, I wanted to start over. I took the name of the prison pastor who made me his apprentice in Minnesota. See, God don't give you reasons for why he does things and if you're smart, you don't ask questions, you just do as He commands.” Henderson rubbed a spot from his desk.

  “I still don't see why you'd come back here unless you had some sort of agenda.”

  “I was a sinner, officer. As evil as they came; I sold and used drugs, I used young women and I hurt people. I had to go into the eye of the storm, prove my worth to God and myself. I came back home because there's no better place to battle the Devil than where you first met him. And no one better than me to know what evil people have in their hearts. When they listen to me preach, they know I'm telling them the real deal. They know it's sincere 'cause I've lived it. “

  Henderson paused and finished his drink, looking at the empty glass. “I will tell you what I know, officer, but if you think I will testify against any drug dealers, you're mistaken. They'd kill me and I will not let the Devil win that way.”

  'Tm not interested in you, Reverend, unless you're the Handyman, or you helped whoever is,” Tony said.

  “Fair enough, officer. When I was a drug dealer, the city was an open market. There were gangs, but they were small. It was fun. We had money, women, everything. But then the Union came. Everyone was forced to join. If you didn't, you just disappeared. Our little gang, the Bad Boys, was nothing, so we joined right up, no problem. But there was this guy, a dealer named Elrock. He refused to join, so he was killed. Elrock's real name was Carlton Williams.

  “He was tied to a tree and cut to pieces, like an animal. I remember when they cut Elrock open. Sometimes, I still see his insides spilling out. We were all there, me, Randy Thellis, Floyd Turner, and Campbell. Turner and Campbell were just kids, babies, at that time.” Henderson poured another drink, gulped some of it and steadied his hands on the desk.

  “Elrock's brother had been brought along, too. He was just this skinny, dumb-looking kid. Well, he got loose and ran, and that's when it happened. He told me to go and kill him.”

  “Who gave the order to kill Elrock and his brother?”

  Henderson hesitated. “Theodore Bone. We called him T-Bone.”

  Now all the pieces fit in Tony's mind. He was killing all the Bad Boys one by one. T-Bone, the future leader of the Union was there, so he was going to be killed, too.

  “I won't testify against T-Bone. I'll deny it all if you take me in. I have a wife and kids now.”

  “Your new wife doesn't know about your past life, does she?” Tony asked already knowing the answer to the question.

  “No, officer, and she never will.” He wiped the desk again.

  “OK,” Tony said. “Then just tell me the rest.”

  “T-Bone gave me a gun,” Henderson continued. “He had to make me do something so that I would not squeal to the cops. I was a chicken, a mascot really. I liked the action and the women, but I wasn't no killer. I wanted to run-- they would have killed me before I got ten steps. So I took the damned gun and went after the boy.”

  Henderson stopped and took out a handkerchief. He wiped his face, which was now covered in perspiration. He was no longer Reverend Joe B. Henderson; he was Butchie Palmer, hanging with the wrong crowd and in over his head.

  “Elrock's brother was tall. He ran fast, but he'd been beaten, so it didn't take me long to catch up to him. I pointed the gun and squeezed off a shot. He fell but he was still alive. I had hit him in the shoulder. I was going to shoot him in the head, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. So, I shot again into the ground and grabbed the wounded part of his shoulder at the same time. He screamed loudly. I shot again for good measure. When I came back to the others, no one questioned that I'd killed him. I left him there in the woods and I didn't know if he would live or not. All I knew was that I didn't kill him.”

  Henderson wiped away more sweat. “But this year, when the others started dying, I knew. The brother is not dead.”

  ''A boy killing drug dealers?” Tony said.

  “He's not a boy anymore, not after all these years,” Henderson said. “And the brother, what was his name?” Tony asked. “Talmadge. Talmadge Williams.” “They were black, these brothers, Talmadge and this Elrock, who were killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why is the Handyman blond?”

  “I ... I don't know. I'm not a police officer, but you can buy hair if you wanted to plant it, couldn't you?”

  “You seem to know an awful lot, Reverend,” Tony said.

  “You don't think I did it, do you?”

  “Maybe you did kill that Talmadge Williams and now you're trying to right what you did in those woods. You kill somebody, Rev, and the act festers in your heart and mind. It will destroy you if you don't get it first, and you will do anything to be yourself again, to be human again.”

  Tony knew what he was talking about. He killed Darryl Simon and it wrecked his life.

  “No,” said Henderson. ''I'm a sinner, not a killer. I was wrong, but I would not compound my sin in order to rid myself of it. There's only one way to cleanse the heart, through the Lord Jesus Christ.”

  “OK, Rev,” Tony said. “Your story makes sense to me. But I think you should come to the police station with me and tell them your story. You’re not safe.”

  “I know. He's already tried to get me.”

  “How? When?”

  “He tried to kill me outside of my house on Boston a few days ago. He killed one of my deacons. A good man. I told the police that it was an attempted robbery.”

  “Rev, you should go into protective custody.”

  “I can't leave. I have too many obligations. God will protect me, and my wife can't know about any of this.”

  “I think she might get suspicious at your funeral.”

  “You find Talmadge Williams and I won't have to die.”

  **********

  “Back again, huh?” said Rosalie Young.

  “Yes,” said Tony. “I need the Snitch to get more information.” He didn't feel the need to tell her that he was still on the Handyman.

  “You look like shit, Inspector.”

  “I feel like it, too,” said Tony. “Rosalie, I'm gonna need your--”

  “I know. Let's do it.”

  The Snitch showed that Carlton Williams had a long and impressive arrest record. He'd been routinely picked up on numerous felony offenses, but the computer showed no convictions.

  “Couldn't keep this one in jail, could we?” said Rosalie.

  “No. And it doesn't make sense. Look at this-- drugs, assault, criminal sexual conduct, even a simple weapons charge didn't stick.”

  “Looks like he had a friend.”

  “Or a lot of them,” Tony said. He was thinking about Hampton and the payoff run.

  “Look up Talmadge Williams.” Rosalie did, but as Tony had suspected, Talmadge Williams had no record at all.

  Carlton Williams's personal file showed a mother, Roberta Williams, who had a few minor drug convictions. Tony took down her last known address.

  “I'll trace a current address for her,” Rosalie said. She picked up a phone.

  Talmadge Williams had only been a kid around the time Butchie Palmer claimed Carlton Williams was killed. So by now, he'd be a man. The computer showed no death record for him.

  “Sorry, Tony,” Rosalie said. “This address on Hempstead is the last one we got for Roberta Williams.”

  Thanks, Rosalie.”

  Tony printed out all the information and left. He got into his car and found the address for Roberta Williams on Hempstead Street. That would be his next stop.

  20


  Saying Goodbye

  T-Bone spooned another mouthful of applesauce. It was very dangerous to be here like this, but he had to take the risk. He was vulnerable in the big dining area at the Concord Retirement Home on Detroit's far north side. His father, Big Teddy, ate sloppily and smiled like a baby as T-Bone fed him.

  T-Bone could not help but smile every time he saw him here like this. Big Teddy, the big stupid invalid. The same Big Teddy who had hounded him about being a man, who had tried everything in his power to convince T-Bone that he was lacking.

  When T-Bone became the neighborhood drug pusher, it drove his mother to an early grave. He and his father had both done it, really, T-Bone thought. His mother had not been able to control either of them, so she checked out.

  After her death, Big Teddy indulged himself with liquor and women (the same women he had been seeing while his mother was alive). He tortured himself with his guilt, and soon Big Teddy was a wreck, a poor and helpless drunk consumed by grief and sin.

  T-Bone had relished the chance to come back into his father's life and save him, as if preserving Big Teddy would sustain his victory over him. His father was now an invalid, a semi-mindless child, wrecked by alcoholism and incapable of connecting with anyone. He was safe in a retirement home, where T-Bone could treat himself to the sight of the Great Theodore Bone Senior, fallen and helpless, whenever he wanted.

  T-Bone fed another spoonful of applesauce into the happy child face of the old man. His father's eyes were wet. He seemed to be sad, but he could only grin stupidly to the world.

  Big Teddy was still in there somewhere, T-Bone thought. Beyond the sickness and disease, he was in there, mocking him and hoping for his son's failure. But his father would not have the last laugh. T-Bone was running away, but at least he had a life to run to.