Catch Me When I'm Falling

by Cheryl A Head

  “Carlos, put him in that chair and wake him up. I have a lot of questions to ask.”

  Carlos holstered his gun and hooked his hands under Gil’s armpits to lift him into the armchair where Betti had sat. As he filled a cup with water, he noticed Betti’s limp body. Carlos reached over to feel for a pulse and found none. “Boss, I think she’s dead.” He removed the gag and put an ear to her mouth. “She ain’t breathing. Maybe the gag smothered her, or maybe it was that injection you gave her.”

  Anderson watched as MJ, Carlos, and Peña gathered around Betti. Peña loosened her bindings and tried to revive her. Her body flinched, and she sounded a low moan. She wasn’t dead, but close to it.

  “Okay, wake the dude up. We don’t have much time.”

  The splash of water in Gil’s face brought him to consciousness. He squinted his eyes until he could see clearly and rubbed a hand down his wet face. He felt for the throbbing at the back of his head and found a plum-sized knot. The movement caused a searing pain in his shoulder, which was probably dislocated. He turned his head toward Betti. She was still tied to the chair, but her gag had been removed and pulled down around her neck. Her chin rested on her chest.

  MJ leaned against the wall, and Carlos and Peña stood on either side of Gil holding handguns aimed at his body.

  “Now, Acosta, I need some information, and you’re going to give it to me,” Anderson said from his perch on the desk.

  “No.”

  “Oh, I think you will, eventually. I know you’re some kind of war hero, so you can probably withstand a painful interrogation before you break, but I don’t have that kind of time. So, if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll torture Betti instead.”

  He signaled MJ, who leaned his assault weapon against the wall and walked over to Betti. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked on the flame. Then he grabbed Betti’s hair and pulled her head back. Her eyelids flickered. He snapped the lighter closed.

  “She’s still unconscious, but I think she’ll come to when she feels the fire. What do you think?” Anderson asked Gil.

  Gil shook his head and tried to stand, but Carlos placed his large hand atop Gil’s shoulder, pushing him back into the chair and placing the muzzle of his gun at Gil’s temple. Gil stared helplessly as MJ made a show of opening the double-flame lighter with a clink and snapping it closed. He flipped the lighter open again and, with a scratch of the flint wheel, ignited the wick. MJ’s hand moved closer to Betti’s cheek. Gil tensed to spring from the chair, and Carlos intensified the pressure of his hand and the gun.

  “What’s it to be, Gil Acosta?” Anderson said maliciously.

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “That’s more like it.”

  Anderson signaled MJ, who closed the lighter with a tinny clang and released Betti’s hair. Her head flopped forward. Gil settled into the chair, his eyes on Betti. Carlos took a step back, his gun still pointed at Gil.

  “Why did you rob me?” Anderson asked.

  “I didn’t know I was robbing you. I wanted Monty to come after me. He beat Betti, and I wanted to get my hands on him.”

  “Betti told me she killed Monty, but you confessed to it. Why?”

  Gil stared at Anderson. He turned away before his emotions overtook him.

  “Okay. I think I have my answer to that one,” Anderson said, circling the desk to take his seat. “I guess your appetites lean toward the exotic.”

  Gil glared at Anderson, clenching his jaw.

  “Why do you give a fuck about a bunch of bums?” Anderson’s eyebrows arched, repeating the question when Gil didn’t respond.

  Gil thought he could charge Anderson before Carlos was able to shoot, but he had to make sure he didn’t signal the advance.

  “One of those so-called bums was someone who was important to us,” Gil finally said.

  “So that’s it.” Anderson leaned back in his chair, reflecting on the bad luck of one unimportant person’s death unraveling his entire operation.

  Gil mentally braced for his leap, but now that Anderson had moved farther away, the distance might be just enough to give Carlos’s bullet the advantage.

  “I assume the police know all about me, and my involvement in the murders.” Anderson posed the question as a statement.

  “They know Monty worked for you, and they suspect L2D gang activity has something to do with the murders, like maybe a gang initiation.”

  Anderson chuckled, shifted his chair forward, and laced his fingers atop the desk. He was again in range of Gil’s planned assault.

  “No. I killed those people,” Anderson said, as calmly as if ordering a medium-rare steak. “I was free and clear until you and that nosy lady partner of yours started sneaking around the Corridor asking questions and meddling in my business. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m leaving tonight.” Anderson opened his laptop and pushed a few buttons.

  “I have one question,” Gil said, readjusting himself in the chair.

  Carlos took a half step towards him, gun pointed.

  “It’s okay, Carlos.”

  “Why would you burn people?” Gil’s tone and set jaw held the contempt he felt.

  Anderson shrugged. “Burning makes an impression. Keeps the people who work for you on their toes. Besides, they were throwaways.”

  “What are we going to do with them?” MJ asked, leaving Betti’s side and moving closer to Gil.

  Before Anderson could answer, a buzzer sounded loudly, startling everyone. Gil prepared to lunge, but Carlos instinctively pressed a hand against Gil’s shoulder. The buzzer rang again—an unpleasant, jarring noise.

  “That’s the front door,” MJ said.

  Anderson pressed several keys on his laptop and peered at the screen. “Who is that?” he asked, turning the laptop toward MJ.

  “It’s that old drunk. The white guy. He comes here sometimes to cash his check.”

  Again the buzzer rang, this time accompanied by pounding on the door. Anderson watched the man on the screen beating on the door with his fist, kicking at it, yelling something. The young pool player ran into the storeroom with his gun drawn, and Peña opened the door connecting the storeroom to the front lobby. Now Reggie’s pounding, rattling the knob, and yelling “let me in” was very clear.

  “You want me to take care of him?” the young gang member asked Anderson.

  “No. Carlos, you and Peña go get that fool. He’s going to wake up the neighborhood.”

  Carlos nodded to MJ, who moved over to guard Gil. The pool player stood at the open door staring into the lobby. Gil glanced at Betti, then at MJ, who had substituted his handgun for the assault weapon. With only Anderson, MJ, and a distracted third man in the room, he acted.

  # # #

  Reggie had been pressing hard on the doorbell and banging on the glass door for a couple of minutes when he decided to shout as well. As soon as he saw the three men walk into the lighted lobby, he waved both arms in the air. To the annoyed men, it was the gesture of a demanding drunk, but to Charlie, Don, and the four members of the gang squad, it was the signal to break through the back door.

  As a sneering Carlos flung open the front door, the police battering ram shattered the lock on the rear door with such force it felt like a car had smashed into the building. MJ turned toward the sound, and Anderson leapt from his chair. Gil moved quickly, putting his left arm around MJ’s neck and grabbing his gun arm with one gesture. MJ fired a shot that whizzed just over Anderson’s head. The second shot was controlled by Gil, going into Anderson’s left shoulder and spinning him back. The unconscious MJ was no longer a threat. Don, Charlie, and two police officers rushed into the storeroom, at the exact time Carlos, Peña, and the young gang member moved in from the opposite direction. Don shot first, wounding Carlos. Gil fired from the floor at the other two, but with his injured shoulder his shots went high. Scott and two more officers stormed in from the lobby shouting, “police,” and the two standing L2D members, feeling outnumbered,
dropped their guns and raised their hands.

  “Look out, Gil,” Charlie hollered.

  Gil spun to find Anderson, still lying on his back, pointing a gun at him.

  “Tell your friends to drop their guns.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Anderson. You might as well shoot.”

  Don took aim. But before he took a shot, Anderson dropped his gun. Charlie watched as Don relaxed his back and lowered his arms. Anderson pulled himself up enough to prop against the wall, and Charlie and Don moved to stand over him.

  “I had to give it a try, didn’t I?” he said with an amused smirk. “But I can’t get a plea deal if I’m dead.”

  The officers lined the gang members, including the wounded Carlos and the disoriented MJ, against the wall and handcuffed them. Peña was already fingering Anderson in the Corridor burning deaths, and offered to give the police more information. Scott read the handcuffed Anderson his Miranda rights, and Don stood nearby glowering at the dirty cop.

  “You’re an asshole, Anderson. An embarrassment to the force,” Don said.

  “Whatever,” Anderson said. “I need medical attention and, oh, I also want my attorney.”

  Scott touched Don’s arm and led him away. “He’s not even worth hating, Rutkowski. He’s a lunatic. We’ll call his attorney, but one of the guys on the wall over there already gave him up for a bunch of crimes. With the affidavits from the gang members, our tapes of his conversations, and Gil’s testimony, you’ll be a grandparent before there’s even a chance of him leaving prison.”

  Gil ran to Betti as soon as the shooting subsided, and from across the room Charlie watched him squatting at her side. The binding from her arms and legs had been removed, and she slumped in the chair. He held her hand. Charlie approached slowly and crouched next to him.

  “It’s okay Gil. Scott has an ambulance on the way.”

  Gil looked at Charlie with an ashen face. “It’s too late. She’s dead.”

  Charlie reached for Betti’s other hand. She was still wearing the shirt and pants Judy had boxed for Goodwill. “Gil, I’m so sorry. I know all you wanted was to save her.”

  They sat together until the ambulance arrived, and watched the technicians do a cursory examination looking for vital signs. The EMTs placed a sheet over Betti’s torso, called the coroner’s office, and moved on to the wounded Anderson and Carlos.

  The storeroom now swarmed with police personnel. Scott reported a raid already in progress at Monty’s house, rounding up the rest of the L2D members. A search of the check cashing facility had turned up dozens of plastic bins filled with cash and a small armory of weapons, including assault rifles, illegal knives, and grenades. Scott checked Anderson’s laptop and turned up an itinerary for a cargo flight out of nearby Coleman A. Young International airport, to which officers were already en route.

  Charlie found Reggie sitting in the lobby. He was sweating, and drinking a soft drink from the vending machine.

  “You need something harder?”

  “A little gin in this Orange Crush wouldn’t hurt a bit.”

  They shared a smile, and Charlie touched his trembling arm.

  “You were very brave tonight. Your actions will get justice for Eddie.”

  “I hope he knows,” Reggie said with welling eyes. “How is Gil?”

  “He’s all right. We got to him in time.”

  “What about Betti?”

  Charlie tightened her grip on Reggie’s arm, and he began to weep. After a couple of minutes, he wiped at his face with his sleeve.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “In there.” Charlie indicated with a gesture of her head. “Gil’s sitting with her.”

  Reggie rose and moved to the hallway leading to the back rooms. “I’ll sit with her, too.”

  Chapter 18

  Charlie called ahead, but still the lady at the front desk of Ernestine’s building seemed surprised to see the three early-morning visitors standing at the locked door. Charlie knocked twice before the woman completed her phone conversation, slowly lifted from her seat, and grabbed the keys from the counter. It was 5:45 a.m.

  “Hello, Elaine. Sorry to come by so early but it was important.”

  Elaine eyed the two white men accompanying Charlie with cautious curiosity. “Your guests will have to sign in.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Don and Reggie signed their names under the scrutiny of an arms-folded Elaine. Reggie’s hands shook, but he managed to slow the quaking by pressing down hard with the pen and holding the clipboard with the other hand. Elaine turned the registry toward her, gave each man the once-over, and blinked as if she had just taken a mental photograph. She gave Charlie an “I sure hope you know what you’re doing” glare.

  Ernestine responded to the ring of the elevator on her floor by sticking her head out of her door and peering into the hallway. She had prepared a large pot of coffee and had sliced cake on a platter. The four sat around the dining table now empty of the tools of the almost two-week Cass Corridor investigation.

  “So this police officer killed Eddie and the others?”

  “He confessed it to Gil,” Charlie said. “He had no remorse for the acts, and he told Gil he carried out the murders to keep Monty and the L2Ds under his control.”

  Reggie and Ernestine shifted their eyes to their coffee cups. Charlie had seen her mother surreptitiously remove the bottle of cooking brandy from the lower cabinet and pour it into Reggie’s cup before topping it with coffee. He hadn’t had a drink for hours because he had wanted to be clear and believable when he gave his statement to police, and had he also wanted to be sober while he and Gil held vigil over Betti.

  Charlie described the scene at the check cashing building, and repeated Gil’s account for her mother. When Charlie was done, Ernestine’s sad countenance erupted into sobs. She gathered a handful of napkins to catch her tears.

  “I can’t believe he killed that poor girl. Even if she was . . .” Ernestine caught herself. “Gil must be devastated. You too, Reggie.”

  Reggie nodded. “Not everyone liked Betti, but everyone knew her. She was like a firefly, darting around and glowing with life.”

  Ernestine stopped crying and took Reggie’s cup into the kitchen. She returned and poured coffee into his mug. Don shared a look with Charlie, who nodded to confirm she was aware her mom was spiking the coffee.

  “Anderson was a low-life scumbag, Ms. Mack,” Don said. “I want you to know most police officers are not like him.”

  “I know that, Don. But why hadn’t anyone caught onto him before? He left a huge paper trail, and as far as I can determine he used his own name for real estate transactions and business partnerships.”

  Don didn’t have an answer, so Charlie posited a perspective. “He was a veteran police officer, Mom, and he was also working as an undercover on a federal drug task force, so he was expected to employ unusual tactics and to develop relationships with those he was watching.”

  “If Charlie hadn’t paid attention to his car in the Corridor interacting with the L2Ds, he might have stayed under the radar a lot longer,” Don acknowledged.

  “Will he pay for his crimes? Will he pay for killing Eddie?” Reggie asked, holding his mug in both hands.

  “He’s an asshole, but he’s also shrewd,” Don said. “He’ll try to blame the murders on the gang members and use other tactics to minimize his culpability. He also has enough money to hire a smart group of lawyers.”

  “But,” Charlie emphasized by tapping a finger on the table, “remember, he confessed in front of Gil, and the police have tapes of his phone conversations where he threatened to kill Gil, ordered a hit on Betti, and talked about drug and cash transactions. The police also confiscated a bunch of guns and cash tonight. At the very least, the prosecutors should be able to put together a case of conspiracy to commit murder, and . . .”

  “Money laundering,” Reggie said, and patted Ernestine’s hand. “Your mother has a thick file on An
derson and Monty.”

  “I want to give a copy of everything you have in your files to Wayne County and to federal prosecutors,” Charlie said.

  “And the police department’s Internal Affairs Division,” Don said.

  “I already made a copy for you, Charlene. I put it on a disk somewhere. I’ll have to find it. So, am I off the case?”

  “You’re officially off the case, Mom.”

  “And, thankfully, so are we,” Don said, reaching for another piece of cake.

  Charlie studied Reggie. He was sweating again, and the brandy had done little to mask his shaking. Now that they had the answers they sought, and the case was in others’ hands, Ernestine and the Mack partners would return to their lives away from the malaise of the Corridor’s street life. Not so for Reggie. The truth about his friend’s death had come with great personal costs, and the things he’d witnessed would cause him nightmares.

  “Gil is arranging a memorial for Betti. Do you want me to send you the details when I have them?” Charlie asked her mother.

  Ernestine answered, but was also staring at Reggie. “Yes. Be sure to write it down for me so I won’t forget. I’ll go to pay my respects to that lost soul and to support Reggie.”

  # # #

  Betti’s memorial was held on a Saturday at the Swanson Funeral Home not far from the Corridor. There was a run on bath facilities at area shelters, and the clothes pantries were swamped by those looking for dress clothes for the service. Gil located Betti’s sister who, with her husband, sat between Gil and Reggie in the front pew of the chapel. Jordon Parker from the NSO gave a personal tribute to Betti, sharing poignant remarks about his own experience living as a transgender person, and former seminarian Reggie spoke of Jesus’s acceptance of people from all walks of life. Others shared stories about Betti’s generosity, her curiosity and intelligence, and her friendly, outrageous flamboyance. All the memories were framed in fondness. Gil didn’t want to speak, but he and Betti’s baby sister held hands and wept. That evening at the tent city, round after round of libations were poured onto the thick grass in tribute to Betti Waller.