No More Tears In The End ambs-7

by Roy Glenn

  Chapter 7

  I was up five o'clock that next morning, ready to go and out the house before Wanda opened her eyes. I wanted to be at the police station before the first shift came in. I needed to talk to Tamia Adams. She’s a New York City police sergeant who used to provide information for Freeze. I wanted to see if she had heard anything about the robbery. I had to catch her there because she’d moved and I had no other way to contact her.

  Tamia took Freeze’s death very badly, much worse than his so-called woman, Tanya. So bad, that she cried through the whole funeral. After that, Tamia had to take some time off from work ’cause she was cryin’ all the time. That’s why she moved out of her apartment; said there were too many memories of Freeze there. Since then, any time she has something for us she’s been talkin’ to Black directly.

  “Sergeant Adams,” I said when I saw her walking toward the building. I guess I startled her ’cause her head snapped around. She relaxed a little when she saw it was me. Tamia gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “How you doin’, Nick?”

  “I’m good. The question is: how are you?”

  “It gets a little better everyday.”

  “Is there someplace we can talk?”

  “Not around here.”

  “I understand,” I said and we went back to my car to talk.

  “What’s up?”

  “There was a robbery at one of the businesses we own.”

  “Which one?” Tamia asked.

  “Paradise Fish and Chicken.”

  “I know the place. Good take-out.”

  “Two people were killed.”

  “Your employees?”

  “No, they were customers. They were standing in line. Apparently the robbers shot them for no reason.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about that, but I’ll ask some questions and get back to you.” Tamia took out a business card and wrote her new address and phone number on the back of it. “Memorize that and get rid of it, please.”

  I started to go home and get back in the bed. Wanda and I had been up late and I was tired. I started driving in that direction, but somewhere along the way I decided to ride by Zakiya Phillips’s apartment and have a look around. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I went anyway.

  Mrs. Phillips didn’t have a key to her granddaughter’s apartment, so I let myself in. It was a small apartment, but it was very well-furnished. Zakiya seemed to have good taste; a taste for very expensive stuff. Mrs. Phillips didn’t say anything about Zakiya having a job, just that she was a good girl, who had a bachelor’s degree in sociology and a minor in psychology and was about to attend law school. I looked around the apartment and wondered what type of work-study program she was on that would allow her to afford the kind of stuff she had.

  I could think of one.

  Drugs.

  Maybe Mrs. Phillips didn’t know Zakiya like she thought she did. Wouldn’t be the first time the parents were surprised by what their child was really into. I continued to look around for anything that would support my conclusion. If she really was involved with somebody who was involved in the game, maybe there were some clues here that would lead me in the right direction. The only thing I found was a picture that she took at some club, and a business card for a beauty shop.

  I took both and left her apartment, and once again decided against goin’ home and gettin’ in the bed. The beauty shop was to be my next stop. I went in the beauty shop to ask if anyone knew Zakiya and could tell me anything about her. While the beauticians told me their stories about what a nice girl Zakiya was, and how they couldn’t imagine why anybody would want to kill her, one of the customers, who was looking at me but not offering any comment, got up and left. “Where you goin’, Dee? You’re next,” one of the beauticians said as she headed for the door.

  “I just got to get something from my car. I’ll be right back,” she replied and left the shop.

  I asked a few more questions and listened to a few more glowing endorsements about how wonderful Zakiya was, and then I left the shop. Before I made it to my car the woman stopped me.

  “Hey mister.”

  “Yes,” I said and walked toward her.

  “You want to know about Zakiya?”

  “I do. Were you and her friends?”

  “Yeah, we were friends. We weren’t real tight or anything like that, but I knew her. We used to hangout, you know, hit the clubs or whatever. I know her better than any of those bitches in there.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “I don’t want any of them gossipy bitches up in my business. Other than them being here when Zakiya got her hair done, ain’t none of them know anything about her.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Not much. Like I said, we wasn’t real tight. I’ll tell you what I do know if it will help you find out who killed her. Just not right now. I gotta get back in there before I lose my place. I don’t want to be here all day. Can I meet you sometime later?”

  “When they’re finished with your hair, I’ll be right here in that car waiting for you,” I said and pointed at the Caddy.

  “You don’t mind waiting?”

  “Not if you got something to tell me, I don’t,” I told Dee and got in the car.

  I don’t know how long I had been waiting when Dee tapped on the window; probably ’cause I fell asleep as soon as I got comfortable in the car.

  I motioned for her to come around to the passenger side and she got in. “So what can you tell me about Zakiya?”

  “What you want to know?”

  “Did she have a job?” was my first question. I really only had two.

  “Yeah, she had a part-time job at Cross County Mall.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “No. Just that she worked out there.”

  “Do you know if she was involved with drugs or anybody that sells drugs?”

  “If she did, she never said anything about it. And I can tell you for sure, when you got a baller on the hook, you tell everybody.”

  “Even if it ruined her good-girl image?”

  Dee laughed when I said good girl. “Zakiya was cool, and I don’t think she was rollin’ with no ballers, but good girl-I don’t think so.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Good girls don’t fuck married men.”

  “Do you know who this married man was?”

  “No, she never would tell us what his name was or what he did. Just that he was married and had enough paper to take good care of her.”

  “But you’re sure it wasn’t a baller?”

  “Sure? No. But Zakiya didn’t have no heart for drugs. She never said why she was so against it, but she was. Her feeling that way, I seriously doubt that she would get involved with somebody like that.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why you keep asking me about this drug thing?”

  “Cops say her murder was drug related. Her grandmother doesn’t believe it.”

  “Neither do I,” Dee said and started to get out of the car.

  “Where can I find you if I have anymore questions?”

  Dee dug around in her purse for some paper and something to write with. She wrote down her number and handed it to me. “You can call me anytime; whether you got questions or not.”

  Chapter 8

  I decided to go by Paradise Fish and Chicken. On the way there I called Wanda’s personal assistant to find out who the manager of Paradise was. She told me that his name was Al Harris, and she offered to call ahead so he would be expecting me.

  The place was crowded when I got there, so I took a seat and waited for them to clear the line before I approached the two ladies behind the counter. While I waited I noticed the security cameras behind the counter and another one in the dining area. I wondered if they had a recording.

  Once the line was gone,
I stepped to the counter. “Hello, ladies. Is Al Harris here?”

  “You must be Nick Simmons,” one of the ladies said. She had light, almost blonde braided hair and light eyes, neither of which appeared to be her own.

  “That’s right.”

  “Al said we should be nice to you,” light eyes said.

  “Said we should treat you like we treated Freeze,” the other said.

  “How did you treat Freeze?”

  “I was scared of him, but Shameka liked him. She thought he was cute,” light eyes said, and Shameka took a playful swing at her.

  “Tasheka?”

  “What? You was always talkin’ ’bout what a cutie he was.”

  “Yeah, but he don’t need to know all that,” Shameka said. “I’ll go get Al for you.”

  “So you want somethin’ to eat, somethin’ to drink?” Tasheka asked. “I guess since we supposed to treat you like Freeze, everything is free. You can have anything you want,” she said with her arms open as Al Harris came rushing out of the back. “Chicken is fresh out the fryer and I just made the lemonade.”

  “Lemonade sounds good, but don’t put a lot of ice in it.”

  Tasheka smiled at me and went to get the lemonade.

  “Mr. Simmons. I’m Al Harris, I’m the manager here,” he said nervously. He was an older gentleman, in his late fifties maybe.

  “Call me Nick,” I said and shook his hand.

  “What can I do to help you?”

  “I wanted to talk you about the robbery and the people that got shot here.”

  “I was in the back, so I didn’t see what happened. I told the police that. Tasheka and Shameka were both working; they can tell you what happened.”

  “I notice that you have cameras, do you have a recording of it?”

  “Yes, sir. You could look at it in the back or I could make you a copy.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and make me a copy while I talk to the ladies. I’ll look at the video after that,” I told Al and he rushed off.

  “So tell me what happened.”

  “Well, I was workin’ the register and Tasheka was gettin’ the food when they came in.”

  “Where were the two people that got killed?” I asked.

  “Right where you’re standing,” Tasheka said.

  “Go on.”

  “They walked straight up here, pulled their guns, and one said give me all the money,” Shameka said.

  “The other one stepped up and shot them,” Tasheka added.

  “What did they look like?”

  “They were both dark-skinned. They both had on baseball hats, dark glasses and black scarves, so I couldn’t see their faces,” Tasheka told me.

  “But one of them, the one that shot those people, had dreads,” Shameka said.

  “What happened then?”

  “I gave them what was in the drawer which was nothing but a hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Good thing they didn’t go in the back ’cause Al had just came and got the money out the register. They probably woulda killed him too.”

  “Did either of the people say or do anything before they shot them?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Shameka said. “They was just standin’ there waitin’ to make an order. I was gettin’ the money; they didn’t have to kill those people.”

  “Could you tell if the two of them were together?”

  “No. He came in first. She was in-line behind him,” Tasheka advised.

  “You sure?”

  “She be in here all the time. I never saw him before.” Tasheka looked at Shameka. “You seen him before?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  I showed them the picture that Mrs. Phillips gave me. “That her?”

  Both ladies looked at the picture. “That’s her,” they both said almost at the same time.

  “You ever seen her with anybody?”

  “She meets some guy here, but it wasn’t the guy who got killed,” Tasheka said.

  “If she was here he was coming. She always orders the food and be waitin’ for him at a table,” Shameka told me.

  “Did you see him that day?”

  The ladies looked at each other. “Nope,” Tasheka said.

  “I didn’t see him,” Shameka agreed. “Dag, you ask more questions than cops, don’t he, Tasheka?”

  “He sure does.”

  “Maybe I’m more interested than the cops.”

  After I thanked the ladies for their help, I went in the back to see what Al had for me. He handed me a disk and had the video cued up to the point where the bandits came in the place, then he left me alone in his office. I watched as it happened just like the ladies said it did. Watching made me wonder about something. I rewound the video and watched it again.

  If neither Zakiya, or the other guy did or said anything to provoke them, why did they shot them?

  The bandits were smart enough not to look directly into either camera. Then why risk a murder charge, over a hundred and fifty dollars?

  It didn’t make sense.

  Not to me anyway.

  Could the cops be right and Mrs. Phillips be wrong about Zakiya? The shooter stepped right up to her and put one in her chest. Then he shot the guy.

  I turned off the player and went back in the restaurant. After I thanked everybody for their help, I assured them that I was going to get security up in there soon.

  I left the restaurant and drove back to Zakiya’s apartment. On the way there I called and left a message for Tamia Adams to call me. I wanted to know everything they had on the guy Zakiya was killed with. My thinking was that even though they didn’t come in together, that this whole thing might be about him. But if that was the case, why did he shoot Zakiya first?

  I had a lot of questions and hoped I could find answers in her apartment. There was one other thing I had to know about. Who was the man she usually met at Paradise? It was probably the married man that Dee told me she was seeing.

  Once I let myself in, I went straight for her computer and went on-line. I searched her Internet history to find her e-mail provider. I hacked the password to her account; a trick my old partner Jett Bronson showed me. I began reading her e-mails and it wasn’t long before I found an e-mail for somebody with the e-mail address nice_n_slow@msn.com.

  In that e-mail Zakiya and whoever it was made plans to meet at Paradise. I sorted the e-mails by sender and read the next few. It was obvious from reading them that this was definitely the married man she was seeing. I printed the e-mail with the details and turned off the computer. I would take it to Monika to see if maybe she could find out the real name of the user or from where it was sent.

  Chapter 9

  On the way to Monika’s house I thought about Jett. We’d all been a part of a special operations unit in South America killing drug dealers, blowing up drug plants and seizing their financial records. My specialty was weapons, commando tactics. Jett’s specialty was electronic surveillance, computers; if it was high tech, Jett was on it. Monika’s specialty was munitions. We were small teams, each working independently. But all of a sudden, the entire unit is needed to take out one plant. Then boom, everybody dies-except us.

  The only reason we didn’t die, too, was Monika fell on approach to the objective. Her ankle was broken and she couldn’t continue. She wanted us to leave her, but Jett refused. “You can go if you want to, Nick, but I’m not leavin’ her,” Jett told me that day.

  While Monika and I tried to lecture Jett on the need to follow orders and proceed to the objective, the objective blew up. I remember the three of us with our mouths wide open, watching it burn to the ground.

  When I got to Monika’s apartment, she looked surprised to see me. “I was just thinkin’ about you,” Monika said and shook her head. “Thinking about Jett really.”

  “That’s funny. I was just thinkin’ about him on the way over here.”

  “You know it’s ’cause of him that I read the paper now.” Monika pointed to the pile of newspa
pers in the corner. It didn’t matter what country we were in, Jett always read the paper every day. “You never know what’s goin’ on unless you read the paper,” Monika quoted Jett.

  They were already the best of friends when I met them, although Jett thought Monika was mean, overbearing at times, and has a tendency to be a pain in the ass. And she held Jett personally responsible for the sins of the white man; they would do anything for each other. He’s the reason why Monika is alive wearin’ that patch and not dead. She had been shot five times.

  The night that Monika got shot, I was at the hospital standing by the window and watching the sunrise. When I turned around Jett was sitting there. He just sat there staring at Monika, he didn’t even blink. I was worried because I’d never seen Jett like that before that night. Jett was always live. Finally, after about an hour, Jett said something. “I was there, Nick. I was right fuckin’ there, Nick-Right there. She called me, Nick. She said things didn’t go well with Chilly. She said to meet her at her house. When I got there I heard the shots. I ran to the door, yellin’ for Monika. I went inside and saw her. . lying there. I picked up the phone and called the cops. She tried to talk. But I couldn’t hear what she was sayin’. I did what I could to stop the bleeding and make her comfortable. I heard a noise in the back. I got to the back door in time to see someone drive away. I got to my heap and I followed him. He didn’t pick me up. He stopped at a house on 229th Street. I put on my gloves and went in after him. He didn’t hear me come in; caught him in the bathroom pissin’.

  “I popped him in the back of the neck and dragged him into the living room. I put him in a chair and tied him up. I slapped him around until he came out of it. I took out my knife. He tried to get free.” Jett shook his head. “That wasn’t happening. The more he moved the tighter the rope got. I asked him who he was and why he shot Monika. But he didn’t answer, so I cut him. Just a little cut on the arm to get him bleedin’. But he didn’t say shit. Didn’t even flinch. I told him I would cut him every time he didn’t answer me. He just looked at me. So I cut him again. But he wasn’t talkin’. I worked him over pretty good, but the bastard wasn’t sayin’ shit. So I went back to cuttin’ him. We had been there for hours, Nick. Blood was all over the floor. He was shakin’ and shit. I was really fuckin’ pissed when I saw the sun coming up. I walked up to him and cut his throat.”