The knock code at the door signaled Bobby’s return and Alice opened the door. He was bleeding heavily from a cut above his left eye. Sonia, Virgie, and Alfreda sprang into action as one. Sonia rushed into the bathroom for the first aid kit while Virgie and Alfreda wrapped ice cubes into dish towels. That’s when Mimi saw the damage to Bobby’s right hand, but the three women, mothers all, saw all the injuries immediately. What Mimi did see was that Bobby whispered something to Alice, then took up the position with his back against the front door while Alice, phone in hand, went into the bedroom. Mimi knew that she was calling Gianna, and she didn’t think it was to report that Bobby had thrown DD down a flight of stairs, or even that he had a cut above his eye.
When Bobby was taken care of, a process that he seemed to thoroughly enjoy, coffee was made and dessert was served. Virgie brought Mimi a very healthy serving of blueberry cobbler. “I made it myself and I do hope you like Southern cooking.”
“I grew up on it,” Mimi said, accepting the cobbler and hoping that having to eat it left-handed didn’t mean most of it would end up in her lap.
“Don’t believe her,” Alice scoffed, the South Carolina Gullah heavy in her voice. “She’s from the South all right—Southern California. Los Angeles, to be exact.”
“But my people moved west from Louisiana and Texas, and that’s the South as far as I’m concerned,” Mimi said, her mouth full of blueberry cobbler.
“Only somebody from LA would think Texas is the South,” Alice drawled amid hoots of laughter and derision as a good-natured geography lesson took place. Mimi was on her second helping of cobbler when Virgie asked for a report from Bobby on his interaction with Dexter Davis, and the room quieted immediately. Mimi wasn’t the only one who wanted those details, and Bobby was happy to provide them. He started with the shock on DD’s face when Bobby snuck up the steps behind him as he worked to pick the lock.
“It would have taken him until next week to pick that lock,” Bobby said, “and he jumped a foot in the air when I said that. Then he took a swing at me, but I ducked it. Wasn’t so lucky the second time. He’s fast, I’ll give him that much,” he said, and returned the ice pack to his face.
“I want to hear the part where you threw him down the steps!” Virgie said.
“That’s when I took a page out of Ms. Patterson’s playbook,” he said raising his right fist in a very powerful-looking jab. No wonder his knuckles were scraped and bleeding, Mimi thought, looking down at her own hand.
“You remember that time the Boss broke a couple of bones in her hand when she fired on that skinhead?” Bobby asked, and Linda nodded; Alice shrugged and shook her head. “That’s right, Long Legs, that was before your time. But Ms. Patterson remembers. She was there.” He nodded at her and offered her his raised fist.
“I’m not fist bumping with you, Detective Gilliam!” she exclaimed, holding her bandaged hand to her chest. She stood up. “I’m going home before y’all make me hurt myself.”
“Ooooh! Ms. Patterson said ‘y’all’, y’all! Now I’m impressed!” Alice was giving full-on Gullah and nobody understood a word she said, but the howls of laughter released all the residual tension.
“Do you want to take some food, Ms. Patterson?” Sonia asked.
“Indeed I do!” Mimi said, knowing that Gianna probably hadn’t eaten. “And if there’s any of that cobbler left—” And she watched Virgie pile a healthy serving into a bowl before sidling over close to Bobby and whispering, “Call me tomorrow, please.” Then she walked over to stand before Alfreda who was sitting alone. “Are you all right?”
She gave Mimi a slender smile and a slight nod and a full shoulder shrug. “I guess I let myself hope that he had gone.”
“How can he go, Alfreda, when he has your children?” Mimi asked pointedly, and Alfreda flinched as if she’d been hit. Something’s wrong with this woman! I really gotta talk to Bobby! And soon!
“Come on, Patterson, I’ll walk you to your car,” Alice said, holding the bags of food that Mimi was taking with her.
“Thank you all,” Mimi said, pausing at the door, “for your hospitality, but mostly for your strength and courage. Lookin’ good, like women warriors!”
“Thanks to you, Ms. Patterson!” Virgie said. “You stood up for us.” Then she rushed over to Mimi and hugged her and Sonia followed suit. Mimi turned and headed for the door to save Alfreda the embarrassment of having to wrestle with her feelings because it was clear that at that moment, she had no hug for Mimi Patterson.
“Thanks for the assist,” Mimi said to Alice when they were outside, walking to her car.
“I envy you,” Alice said quietly.
“What, you’re jealous of my cast?”
“I wish I had somebody worth hitting somebody for.”
Mimi hesitated, then said, “I thought you did.”
“You mean Evie?” And when Mimi nodded Alice said, “Evie is a wonderful woman but . . . well . . . she’s not the one.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. So you all have called it quits?” Mimi asked, trying to recall exactly when she’d encountered Evie at the gym and realizing that she’d lost all track of time. Days had gone by, maybe even weeks.
“Not exactly,” Alice said.
Mimi stopped walking. “What’s that mean? Either you’re a couple with Evie or you’re not, Alice. Either you all have split or you haven’t.”
“I’m hoping she’ll get the message without me having to say the words.”
“Well what a cowardly, shitty thing to do, Alice, especially to someone you just described as a wonderful woman!” Mimi was pissed off, mostly because what Alice was doing reminded her too closely and too painfully of her breakup with Beverly. Then she remembered something Evie had said. “Tell me you’re not ghosting her, Alice.”
“Say what?”
“Ghosting. Pulling a disappearing act. Not talking, not being present.”
“I didn’t know it had a name but, yeah, I suppose so. I’m hoping that she’ll get pissed off and dump me,” Alice said. “It’s better that way.”
“Better for you, maybe, but I’m pretty sure Evie’s not feeling so good.”
Alice had no response to that so they walked in silence across the Sunset View front courtyard and out to the street. Then Alice stopped suddenly, stiffened, drew her weapon and gave Mimi her own bags to carry. Almost too late she saw what Alice had seen: the car parked next to her car, the person inside taking down the number of her license plate. Alice was taking the plate number of that car, too, only she was speaking it into her phone. “I got all the digits this time,” she said. “4-Larry-Thomas-Peter-887. And I swear that’s Dexter in the rear passenger seat.” But the car sped away before Mimi could get a clear look. “I don’t like him scoping your car,” Alice said.
Mimi didn’t like it, either, but there was nothing she could do about it. She walked around the car to make certain it hadn’t been vandalized, then punched the remote, unlocked the doors, and put the food bags on the floor in the front. “You all will be OK, right? I thought that asshole was long gone. What did he do, double back to see if Bobby was still here?”
“Doesn’t matter. He gets brought down tomorrow. All of ’em do.”
“What’s that mean, Alice? They get brought down?”
She was shaking her head. “I’ve already said too much. But I’m sure you’ll find out. Get home safe, okay?”
“Yeah. Alice, what do you think of Alfreda Tompkins?”
“Huh,” Alice said with a snort, “you asked the question, you must have the answer.”
“I don’t; that’s why I asked.”
“Here’s what I know: She didn’t kill the motherfucker who took her children and that’s all I need to know about who she is.” Then, tucking her weapon into the waistband of her slacks, Alice walked back to the Sunset View Apartments and Mimi got in her car and drove home. The ride was anything but pleasant. She tried not to be pissed off at Alice for her treatment of Evie; after all, it was none of
her business. But then Evie had made it her business, hadn’t she? And there was her ambivalence about the women of Sunset View. Overall they were faring better than when she’d met them but there was some underlying, residual thing that discomfited her, mostly because she couldn’t define what it was. Just a feeling in her gut.
She poured a healthy shot of bourbon over some ice cubes and went to sit in her den to think. No TV or music, very little light, just bourbon and brain work.
Phone already in hand, she punched in Alice Long’s number. The cop answered in the middle of the second ring.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Just a question,” Mimi answered. “What did Bobby say to you when he got back from confronting Dexter Davis?”
There was a long silence and Mimi let it drag out. Finally Alice said, “He said that Davis tried to kill him. That’s why he threw him down the steps.”
“She won’t leave him in there under those circumstances, will she?” Mimi asked, and they both understood that Gianna was the “she” being referenced.
Another silence, this one not as long. “You’ll have to ask her yourself. A pillow talk kind of conversation, I’m thinking,” Alice said, and disconnected.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Showing up unannounced at morning roll call was something the Chief did. He didn’t do it all the time so it couldn’t be considered a habit, but he did it often enough that division commanders were not surprised when they saw him roll up in his shiny black Chiefmobile, and the head of the Riverside District, Inspector Gerald Jenkins, who’d gotten a heads up from his duty sergeant, was standing at attention when the Chief walked in the front door that Thursday morning. He saluted and stuck his hand out but it was not until there was no handshake did he realize that something might be wrong. Then he took notice of the number of people who had entered the building in the Chief’s wake and he knew this was no routine roll call inspection.
“‘Morning, Chief. Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, Gerry, there is, but it gets fixed, starting today,” he said, and headed for the shift change room where everyone already knew their Chief was in the building and therefore were expecting him. Before the duty sarge could say the words, “Ten Hut!” all the officers were on their feet, at attention. The Chief strode to the front of the room. Those who’d come with him stood off to the side. “Dexter Davis, front and center!” the Chief said. Loudly and clearly.
DD, looking surprised, even a little smirky, but not fearful, made his way to the front of the room and saluted.
“You’re under arrest,” the Chief said, grabbing his arms and whipping him around with so much speed and strength that DD was cuffed and facing the Chief, sputtering and stuttering without really speaking. “Will you take his gun and badge, Detective?”
“Yes, sir, Chief,” Bobby Gilliam said, fronting DD, who finally found his voice.
“You motherfucker!” DD exclaimed, his eyes widening with recognition. “I should have killed you last night!”
“You say one more word and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat,” the Chief said, and the former Golden Gloves middle-weight boxer definitely could make that more of a promise than a threat. He locked eyes with DD as Bobby stripped the now-criminal of his cop gear. “If I could, I’d walk you out of this building barefoot, in your underwear. You got no business in the uniform of the D.C. police department,” the Chief said, and in the next breath, “Phillip Diaz, front and center!”
Diaz looked about to faint as he complied with the order. He tripped several times and only the tight formation of the cops kept him from hitting the floor. He was shaking when he finally faced the Chief and, unlike DD, he knew exactly what was coming. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Damn right you are! Officer Lopez, will you take his badge and gun?”
Phil Diaz’s knees buckled when Linda Lopez walked before him and he recognized her as the cousin of the woman he had raped. “I didn’t mean it,” he said. “She knows I didn’t mean it! I told her! Ask her! She’ll tell you!”
“Stand up straight!” the Chief ordered, and Diaz managed to do that while Linda relieved him of his gun and badge, then turned him around to cuff him. She placed his cop gear in the Chief’s outstretched hand and pulled Diaz toward the door where he joined DD in the company of several Internal Affairs inspectors.
The commotion of a struggle in the room captured everyone’s attention but only those close to the uniform crabbing along the floor on the tops of the feet of the gathered officers could tell what was happening, which was that Mike Berry was trying to make a run for it. Well, not exactly a run, more like a crawl.
“Sergeant Michael Berry! Front and center!” the Chief ordered, and those nearest Berry hauled him to his feet and propelled him forward with the kind of fervor that suggested that the desk sarge was not a particular favorite among the rank and file. The Chief grabbed him and snatched the stripes off his shirt. “Detective Long!” Alice was beside Berry and had his arms behind his back before his eyes clearly focused on who she was, and when they did he started to babble. She ignored him and took his gun and badge, which she added to the collection in the Chief’s waiting hand.
Berry kept trying to make words out of the babble pouring from his mouth, and when he finally did manage coherent speech, it would have been worth listening to on any other day. “He made me do it and I can prove it!” Berry said, trying to shout but mostly croaking.
But DD heard him from across the room. “You shut the fuck up, you little weasel!”
“Tell it to IA,” the Chief said. “That’s what they’re here for,” and he waved Alice and Berry toward the door. Then the Chief turned to the room and silence fell. Who else would he call? “As of this moment, Inspector Jenkins is no longer in charge of this station. He is being replaced by Captain Mildred House,” and he waved forward the only white-shirted woman in the room, who had most likely been overlooked because, despite the white shirt and the stars and bars and insignia on her collar, she looked exactly like the grandmother she was. However, anyone unfortunate enough to have run afoul of Captain Millie House knew it was a mistake not to be made twice.
She stood in front of the Chief and let everybody get a good look. Then she turned to the duty sergeant. “Call your roll, Sergeant, and make your assignments. Then bring me the roster. I want to know who answered and who didn’t, and who’s doing what, where.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant said, and saluted, as if submitting the daily duty roster to the station house commander was normal procedure—which it most definitely was not, though it most definitely was about to be.
She returned the salute and left the room. The Chief followed her out.
Gerald Jenkins stood as if glued to the floor, uncertain what to do. Two IA inspectors solved his dilemma. One on each side, they guided him out of the room and into the hall where he seemed to come alive. “Let’s go talk in my office,” he said.
“You don’t have an office,” one of the IA guys said. “But we can talk in one of the interrogation rooms that’s not being used. This early in the morning, gotta be at least one empty one, right?”
Gerry spied the Chief headed for the front door. He broke from his IA minders and ran. “Chief! Chief! I don’t know anything about any of this!” he exclaimed when he caught up with the Chief. “Whatever this is, I don’t know anything about it, I swear to you I don’t!”
“You’re either a liar or a fool, Gerry. Either way, you’ve got no business running one of my station houses,” the Chief said, and walked around him and out the front door. Then he stopped suddenly and turned around. He was looking for Bobby Gilliam, Alice Long, and Linda Lopez, and he saw them standing together. He beckoned them forward and they came running, obviously relieved at not being left behind. As happy as they’d been to assist in the takedown of Phil Diaz, Dexter Davis and Mike Berry, they had no wish to be stranded at Riverside HQ with those guys’ colleagues and a bunch of Internal Affairs spook
s. They wanted to get back downtown, back to their unit, back to their Boss, back to their own colleagues.
And Gianna was glad to have them back—glad and relieved. When Alice had called the previous night to say that Dexter Diaz had pulled a switchblade on Bobby and cut his face, she’d called the Chief and told him—she hadn’t asked him, she’d told him—that she was pulling her people out of Sunset View. They weren’t trained in the surveillance of other cops, especially one as dangerous as Dexter Davis. Thankfully he had not argued with her. His own research had pointed to myriad and major problems at Riverside and he’d already gotten IA on board. “The Rat Squad,” as IA was known among the rank and file, had no problem moving on such short notice, as they definitely were trained in the surveillance, as well as the investigation, of other cops. That, after all, was their job. Between Mildred House and the Internal Affairs investigators, all the laziness, the rottenness, the ugliness in Riverside Station, wherever it existed, would be rooted out and eliminated. And Riverside wasn’t the only station in line for a shake-up because the Chief didn’t think it could possibly be the only station with problems. There was no time to train a bunch of new commanders, so he’d play station roulette with the ones he had. Everybody would be assigned to a different command, starting Monday. No notice would be given, no choices or options would be offered. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that he could prevent the presence of a dirty cop in his department, but he could and would make certain that there would never again be a whole nest of ’em in one station, that there would never again be another Sunset View situation. Not on his watch.
Mimi was surprised that Bobby Gilliam actually called her as requested. She was at her desk contemplating lunch when the phone rang and she immediately invited him to join her. He immediately accepted and asked if Alice and Linda could come along. Of course they could. And how did she feel about the Mexican Cantina on Central? One of her favorites. Good, they’d meet in half an hour.
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