"What about her family?"
Nobody responded. The odds that she had a family were just as good as the odds she didn't.
"Go grab a couple large trash bags out of the house," I said to anyone listening.
When Mike came back with trash bags in hand, we all wrestled her body into a couple of them. One over her head, one over her legs. Then, we used a roll of duct tape to secure the bags in place. CG, Mike, and two youngsters muscled her over my shoulders, then I followed Mike to the stash house.
This was only a temporary arrangement. We'd be heading to a farm right outside the city with her body. There was a deep freezer that I would use to keep the body in until I figured out if she had a family or not. The farm was abandoned and off the beaten path. Nobody would find her there. I'd come back later with a truck and make the transport myself.
I felt like her death was my responsibility. Logically, I knew you couldn't control the actions of a man like Mahoney. But, the fact that he dumped her in the backyard of one of my houses made me think that he had hurt her in order to hurt me.
Maybe that was just my ego talking. She was the one dead, not me. He didn't have to do this. He chose to kill that woman. For whatever reason. He made a decision. Dropping it at my door was an afterthought.
I was going to find her family, and if she didn't have one, I'd give her a proper burial.
Couldn't say the same for Mahoney. The only place I'd bury him would be in a big, stinking pile of hot shit.
I borrowed a truck from a guy I knew. Didn't tell him why I needed it. None of his business. We loaded her body into the bed, then took off for the farm house. CG rode in the cab with me, and two youngsters rode in the back. Mike stayed behind to maintain the trap house.
Chapter 16
After returning from the farm house, I put all of my workers on a mission: Find Tammy. The brutality with which Starr had been murdered unnerved me, and I felt it necessary to track down the two remaining women who had testified against Mahoney, and get them to a safe place.
Tammy could help.
The rest of the day had been spent in my office at the warehouse, doing nothing, waiting to hear something. The saying, 'A watched pot doesn't boil,' held true, as minutes disguised themselves as hours.
Finally, mid afternoon brought about the chirping of my phone. It was the call I'd been waiting on. Tammy had been found.
Hopping on my bike, I high-tailed it to her location, one of my trap houses. She looked exactly the same as the last time I saw her. Hard living will do that. And, she didn't look too happy to see me.
"Tammy," I said. "Hop on."
"I ain't going nowhere with you!," she spat back at me.
"Look, Tammy. If you want to save some lives, then we need to go. You can sit here all mad if you want. Your choice. But, I know you want to help these women. Stop acting like that and get on the bike."
"Where we going?" Tammy asked.
"I need you to help me find Denise and Juicy. I'mma put them up somewhere safe. You know where they are?"
"I know where they be," she replied, then climbed onto the back of the motorcycle.
She directed me to an area inside another crew's territory, which also happened to be part of Mahoney's beat. Starr was in the back of my mind, and as we rode, I scanned the neighborhood in search of blood, or anything that might suggest she was killed in a particular place. An irrational search, but the mind is an odd thing, and it's hard not to indulge it at times.
Tapping my side to get my attention, Tammy had me stop in front of a small brick house that was surrounded by a short fence. She disappeared inside, and emerged in less than a minute. Caught my eye. Shook her head.
Our next stop was a two story, white building. A cheap, empty bar occupied the first floor. I wouldn't be surprised if the bottles contained more water than booze, this being that type of place. The real action happened on the second level.
Rooms were rented out to drug addicts and used as shooting galleries. The guy running the bar may, or may not have been, the origin of the drugs. I didn't know. Didn't care. Not my business.
I accompanied Tammy up the stairs, and we went room to room looking for the women. Inside room nine, of ten, we struck gold. Jennifer 'Juicy' Olmsted sat on the floor, back resting against the side of a bed. The origin of her name was apparent. Even sitting on the floor, you could see that she was built like a goddess, with curves that every man dreamed of, and smooth golden skin.
She glanced up as we entered, but didn't pay too much attention. The room also held three other people who were each in their own worlds.
I knelt beside Juicy, said, "I need to talk to you."
"I'm not doing nothing," was her response.
That statement could have meant a few different things, and nothing. She spoke in a monotone, devoid of inflection, expression, or body language.
I needed her to be coherent. I needed her attention. I don't condone men putting their hands on women. Domestic violence is a cancer. But in this instance… I slapped Juicy across her cheek, fairly hard. The sharp sound resonated throughout the quiet room. Heads turned in the direction of the noise.
Juicy's eyes shot open, wide.
"What the fuck was that about?" she questioned. Her words were full of anger.
Good.
"Get up. I need to talk to you," I repeated.
Tammy stepped forward. "He's gonna help. He's gonna take you somewhere that pig can't get to you. Come on. Let's go."
"Leave me alone. I ain't going nowhere."
I lifted her chin, directed her gaze to meet mine, asked, "You know Starr?"
Juicy thought for a second, then nodded.
"She's dead. Found her this morning. Mahoney's looking for y'all and eventually he's going to find you. Let me help."
Her eyes moistened as she asked, "She's dead?"
"He bashed her head in. All bad. He's dangerous. Let me help."
"Why would you help? You want some of this pussy, too?"
Life experience shapes the way we view the world, right…
"Under different circumstances, if we were different people, in a different lifetime… But, not here. Not now. You coming, or what? Yes, or no?"
"Fuck," she said. "You're serious."
"Yes, or no?"
"I'm coming, I'm coming..."
I left Tammy in the room to help Juicy get herself together, and I went downstairs to call Duster. He would take Juicy back to the warehouse while Tammy and I continued to look for Denise.
The women made it downstairs a minute before Duster pulled up in a low key Chevy. Juicy was hesitant, but got in the car with Duster after a little urging from Tammy.
We hopped back onto the bike and headed to our next stop, which turned out to be an apartment, and not a place of drug use or distribution.
The apartment complex was surrounded by a wrought iron gate, and we had to pass by a guard shack upon entry. Not the projects, and not luxury apartments either, I guess you'd consider these to be mid-upper middle class, if such a thing even existed. The grounds were clean, most of the cars were clean, and a diverse group of kids were running around a large playground.
We parked and walked up to a second level apartment. Tammy rang the bell.
The door was opened by a woman in her mid-fifties, with hair that was blonde with gray roots, and a distinguished air. Her pale, blue eyes questioned mine without need of words.
"We're looking for Denise," I said in answer to her silent question.
"And, you are..." Her voice held a little bit of red clay and sagebrush, and made me think of life on the prairie.
"I'm Jon, and this is Tammy. I think your daughter may be in serious danger-"
"Are you the danger?" She cut me off with the question.
"No. Not to your daughter. I hope to be at some point of time to the man who does pose the threat to Denise." I paused, took a breath, and continued. "I saw a woman this morning. Her head was bashed in. I'm trying to keep your daug
hter from suffering the same fate. Please. Let me talk to her."
"Are you with the police?" she asked.
"No."
"Are you a lawyer?"
I smiled. Everyone hated lawyers. "No."
"Then, how do you think you can help my daughter?"
"I'm just a guy with resources and a heart. I'm invested in this, and one way or another I'll see it through to the end. I found your door within a day. You can't convince me that he won't find this exact same door, and soon. If she's here, she's not safe, and there's no telling what he'll do to get you to talk if she isn't. I can help. If you'll let me. If she'll let me."
"I'll talk to her," she said. "Give me your number. We'll either be in touch or we won't."
She wrote my number on a small pad, then shut the door. My impression was that they were aware of the danger and wouldn't soon be trusting anybody. If she decided to accept my assistance I'd be there in a moment's notice. If not…
At least I was able to convince Juicy to get off the streets for a while.
"Starr really dead?" Tammy asked as we walked down the stairs, heading back to the bike.
"Unfortunately. Did you know her well?"
"Somewhat. Everyone in these streets ends up in the same place from time to time."
"She have family?" I asked.
"I never heard her talk about none, but that don't mean nothing. I got family I never talk about."
"Will you look into it for me? If she doesn't, I'm going to do something for her. If she does, I'd like her family to know what happened to her."
Tammy didn't respond, merely nodded. That nod held more weight than a million assurances could carry.
Tammy told me where she wanted to be dropped off, and I obliged. Before heading inside, she gave me a smile, and said, "Thanks. You're doing the right thing."
Then she turned and disappeared into the house.
Chapter 17
The early days of the Cold War coincided with the Civil Rights Movement. Many black Americans were unhappy with conditions in the US, and the communist regime saw an opportunity to work with people involved in the Movement to spread communism. The appeal of communism to many blacks was the emphasis on equality, and minimizing the power concentration for the benefit of everyone.
Many notable African Americans moved to, or spent time in Russia, including Langston Hughes. Many less notable and average black Americans moved to Russia as well.
The Civil Rights Movement also coincided with the migration of many Africans to Russia, after colonialism began to topple across the continent. This was all in the late '50s and early '60s. The children of these migrants were known as The Festival Children.
Edgar Ivanovich was born in America, but raised in Russia as one of The Festival Children. His parents, not too keen on the idea of raising their child in a segregated America, fled to Russia shortly after he was born.
The powers that be saw a golden opportunity: train a native born, African American, in the ways of Mother Russia and the Communist Party, then send him back to America when he was of age, to act as an agent for the Rodina.
He came back in the early '80s and realized that the West was nothing like he was led to believe, and ended up fully embracing capitalism. He stayed.
I met him in the mid '90s, as a young kid living in a tough neighborhood. Edgar Ivanovich made a priceless contribution to my life by teaching me the Russian System of Self Defense.
I'm still not sure what he saw in me, but I'm thankful he saw it. His teachings and wisdom have been invaluable over the years. He took me from being a scared kid, and turned me into a respected man. He didn't agree with my chosen profession, but he understood. You gotta get it how you get it.
Juicy straddled the bike, arms wrapped around my torso, as we pulled into his driveway. Which was more than just a driveway. About a hundred yards long, it was the entrance to an estate, complete with circular drive and a fountain outside of the front door.
Edgar Ivanovich had been alerted to my presence the moment I turned onto his property and he met us at the front door.
"Ivan!" He'd always called me by the Russian version of my name. "It's been too long, tovarishch. And, who is this beautiful creature you grace me with today?"
I made the introduction, then he led us into his house. The front door opened into a foyer with polished, hard wood floors. We followed Edgar down the hallway and into a sitting room, and sat in chairs around a coffee table.
"Want something to drink?" he offered.
"No," I replied.
He looked over at Juicy, who simply shook her head.
"I assume this isn't a social call," he prompted. "What can I do for you and the lady?"
I told him everything that had led up to this moment. From Tammy to Mama, Lisa, Mahoney, Starr, Juicy, and Denise. From my capture to his sitting room. He just listened, making the appropriate noises and comments to encourage my story and let me know that he was paying attention.
When I was done, he said, "Of course she can stay here. Taking on injustices and saving lives is much better that selling drugs, is it not?"
I smiled, said, "Selling drugs pays the bills and keeps me out of poverty."
He was obviously financially fortunate and nobody really knew where his money came from. I really thought he just enjoyed giving me a hard time. I also always thought his money came from some dubious means. Arms sales or money laundering. He didn't let his tradecraft and skills bestowed upon him by Mother Russia go to waste. That, I did know for sure.
A maid showed Juicy to her quarters while Edgar Ivanovich showed me out.
Before starting up my bike, he asked, "You sure she's ok?"
"Keep an eye on her. I'm really asking a big favor of you, but I can't let her head get bashed in for no good reason, like Starr. I'm gonna try to find the missing women first, dead or alive, then I'm gonna take Mahoney out. He's a loose cannon in general and a danger to me personally. Then Juicy can go on about her business. We all can go on about our business."
"Take care, tovarishch. She'll be here when you're done. No worries."
Chapter 18
Mahoney's beat encompassed the territory of a crew run by a guy called Big Duck. It was early morning as I rode up to his expansive, walled-in property. Yesterday had been a long one, and after dropping Juicy off with Edgar Ivanovich, I went home and crashed.
Mature trees lined the drive, and I noticed security cameras everywhere. Many more than the last time I was here.
Apparently, he'd beefed up his security.
After disembarking from my bike, I rang the doorbell. Took a minute, but eventually, the man himself opened the door.
"Jon Dough... I see you were kind enough to ring the doorbell this time. What can I do for you?" he asked in his gruff voice.
He led me back to the kitchen, where we sat at an island. A half eaten plate of sausage, grits, and eggs rested on top of the island. He dug right back into it, not bothering to offer me any. Which was fine. I wasn't here for breakfast.
"I need you to tell me everything you can about Officer Scott Mahoney. Any dirt, enemies, friends. He got any under the table deals going on, that you know about? I need it all, bro."
"He's as dirty as they come. You stay into some shit, Dough. You need to learn how to relax and enjoy all that bread you got. Take a vacation or something. Get some pussy. Let go of all that built up tension."
"You should know," I replied.
"Damned right I know! I got two sexy mamacitas upstairs in my bed right now. Wore they asses out! That's why I'm down here trying to refuel." He gestured toward his plate. "I'mma go back up there in a few and do it all over again. Soon as I finish eating. And get your ass outta my house."
I couldn't help but laugh. Big Duck definitely had personality and a zest for life.
"Maybe, one day," I said.
"If your ass live that long."
"Tell me about Mahoney, and I'ma let you get back to it."
"He's a snake
. The way he did his ex-partner… Boy, that was some cold shit right there."
"What happened?"
"He set him up, that's what happened. Rivers was a straight up cop. All the way around. By the book. He messed around and got partnered up with Mahoney, who don't have a straight bone in his body. Mahoney couldn't risk Rivers ratting him out, so he set him up so he'd have something to hang over his head. Don't know exactly what the set up was, but Rivers retired shortly after, and word on the street was that Mahoney had something on him."
"You know Rivers' first name?"
"Something with a L. Lane or Lance, or Larry. Something like that."
"Anything else you can tell me?"
"Yeah. Stay away from that snake eyed, mother fucker."
"Too late for that. Thanks for the info, bro. I'mma let you get back to it."
I let myself out as Big Duck finished his breakfast. Sent a text to Duster and asked him to get me everything he could find on an Officer L. Rivers, retired. Then, I climbed onto my motorcycle and took off for the warehouse.
Duster had already found the requested information by the time I got there.
Lance Rivers had retired a few years ago, and everyone seemed to think it abrupt. A couple diligent reporters had their curiosity piqued by the sudden exit, but they must not have found anything as the interest quickly blew over. I briefly thought about contacting the curious reporters, but I really didn't see a need. Duster had even managed to dig up an address for Lance Rivers.
Why go talk to some reporters when I could go talk to the man himself? I'm sure he'd have more to offer than anyone else possibly could.
If Rivers was as straight up as Big Duck claimed, then Lisa, with her personal connection to one of the missing women, might be able to help compel him to tell us anything he knew. So, I gave her a call and she was more than willing to go with me to visit Lance Rivers.
Chapter 19
Lisa was becoming ever more comfortable with my Tesla. And, to be honest, she looked good driving it. I was standing outside my warehouse, enjoying the warmth of the midday sun, when she pulled silently into the parking lot.
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