The interrogation team was headed by D’Estenne, Dick Steals, and a good-looking blonde named Denise Wilkerson. D’Estenne was dressed in a beige suit with a brilliant white shirt and geometric tie. Florence didn't usually notice men's clothes, but he looked nice. He was also a wreck. He seemed like he was the wanted man.
The other two men and one woman were cops. Florence knew them, but they were basically grunts. This was D’Estenne's show.
“So did Jesse call you at any time yesterday?” asked D’Estenne.
“Shit, no,” said Florence. “We'd met a few days earlier, but since then nothing.”
“What did you talk about at that meeting?” asked D’Estenne.
“The Yancy case. I was trying to dig up info on that girl. But I didn't find jack shit we didn't already know.” She was a little scared, but she was not about to turn Jesse. This D’Estenne asshole was just looking for anything to stop the embarrassment of what Jesse had done. He was running for reelection against some black guy who was using this Jesse thing against him.
“So has he contacted you since he ran?” asked D’Estenne.
“I told you already, no. I ain't seen Jesse in a few days. Look, I know this is bad. But I don't know nothing about this crazy fuckin' stunt he pulled.”
Denise Wilkerson seemed bothered by Florence's language. Florence smiled at her. She liked upsetting little Suzie homemaker types like her. The other people just stood there like idiots. Dick Steals was jumpy, like he wanted to say something but was afraid to speak up.
“We know,” said D’Estenne. “But you're the only one he had contact with recently. We don't suspect you. It's just that we need to know where we stand.”
“I know how it is,” said Florence. “Fuck, I'd do the same shit myself.” She smiled as Denise Wilkerson cringed again.
“But if he contacts you, I’d like to know that you'll come to me first,” said D’Estenne.
He smiled ever so slightly at her. He was a handsome devil, Florence thought to herself. He'd be the perfect man if he had a dick that dispensed scotch.
“Sure, I will,” said Florence. “I think Jesse will turn himself in,” she lied. “He's just scared, so if he calls, we should hook up and try to help him. Can I go now?”
“Yes,” said D’Estenne. “And please don't forget your promise to me.”
“I won't.” Florence got up.
“An officer will escort you out,” said D’Estenne. “And please don't talk to the media.”
As Florence left, the other people in the room all huddled together and talked. She thought that they might put a tail on her, but if they did, she'd shake it in three seconds. She had to get to Jesse, to help him, before he completely fucked up his life.
Florence walked out of the little room in the long hallway of 1300 with a big uniformed cop behind her. She saw the faces of all of Jesse's coworkers at the office sitting on a wooden bench against a wall. D’Estenne was going to grill them too.
It suddenly occurred to Florence that D’Estenne hadn't bothered to put any of Jesse's black colleagues on his little interrogation team. He'd picked two white prosecutors. These guys were all alike, she thought. Sexist, racist, typical bullshit politicians playing the odds that anybody who was not white wasn't worth a damn.
Florence walked to the big front doors of 1300. At the bottom of the steps was a mob of reporters. She'd passed them coming in. They'd yelled questions at her and pushed big microphones in her face. The cop turned and led her to the side entrance. They had the side blocked off so the media couldn't get to it. That way they could bring in whomever they wanted. Florence had no sooner walked out of the door than a reporter started to yell at her beyond the barricade.
Florence stopped in her tracks. This was what she needed. Reporters. Cameras.
“Something wrong?” asked the uniformed cop.
“Naw,” she said.
They walked on. Florence was approaching her car when a big black limo pulled up. A crowd of reporters trailed it. They were stopped as the barricade opened and the limo went in. Florence and the cop instinctively looked at it. Lester Crawford, the acting mayor, got out and ran inside with his aides.
Florence snorted a laugh. Everybody was feeling the heat of this thing. She got into her car and was let out. She promptly circled to the front of the building.
“Okay, Flo,” she said to herself. “You're on.”
She pulled past the reporters. They yelled questions at her and took pictures. She crossed an intersection, then turned off her car. She coasted to the curb. She faked trying to start the car twice more again. Then she got out and popped the hood.
The reporters descended upon her. They ran to her, cameras and microphones out in front.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Florence said. “Can't ya see I'm stalled out here?”
The throng didn't hesitate. They yelled and pushed one another trying to get next to her.
“Did you work with Jesse King?”
“Do the police have any leads?”
“Is he in love with the girl who killed Yancy?”
“I don't know nothing, all right,” Florence said. “Just go away before I shoot you.”
“Do you think he's guilty?” asked Carol Salinsky.
“Like I said, I don't know nothing. I'm just a cop. I got blue in my heart just like the next guy. Now move, before I put a blue foot in your ass.” Florence pulled something under the hood.
“What did the police ask you?” asked another reporter.
“You want this blue foot in your ass too?” asked Florence.
Pushing her way through the crowd, she got into her car, started it after a moment, then drove away. The reporters immediately calmed down, like machines running out of power. Cameras and tape recorders were turned off, and they trudged back to the entrance of 1300.
As Florence drove away, she had to laugh a little at her acting. It wasn't half bad. She just hoped that Jesse was near a TV or a radio.
5
The Chair
Tico was hurting but still alive. After beating him, the Girls had tied him up to a heavy wooden chair in a dark room. He was out for a while, so he had no idea where he was. The house seemed old, and the room had boarded-up windows and a musty smell. It could be anywhere in Detroit. Below him he heard the muffled sound of a rap tune. He was in an upstairs room, maybe an attic, he reasoned.
Squirming, trying to get an angle, Tico struggled to get free. The ropes were too tight, and the damn chair weighed a ton. It was no use.
There was no way LoLo was going to let him live. He understood that he was still alive only because she needed him for some reason. He reasoned that she was trying to use him to lure Cane out, then kill him. She was smart. Cane was crazy, but he and Tico were tight, like brothers. Neither of them was close to his family. Tico was probably the one person in the crew that Cane would not forfeit.
The door to the room opened, and two figures came in. Tico strained to see them. One of the figures reached out and touched a wall. A dim light sprang on, and the flood of weak light hurt Tico's eyes. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Walker.
The Jamaican had a young girl with him. Tico recognized her as the one Walker had kissed when LoLo had captured him. She was young and very voluptuous. This was what Walker had betrayed the crew for? A piece of ass he could have gotten anywhere.
“Make it easy on yourself,” said Walker in his heavy Jamaican accent. “Come on over to our side.”
“Fuck you, dead man,” said Tico.
“Don't talk to my man like that,” said Marly.
“Young Marly here don't like you,” said Walker breezily. “And she's an excellent judge of people.” Walker gave her a wet kiss and felt her up. “Yes, she is.”
“I don't care about your little bitch,” said Tico.
Walker hit Tico viciously across the face with the back of his
hand. “Watch yourself, boy.”
“Big man,” Tico said, his face stinging from the assaul
t. “Big-ass man.”
Marly walked over to a little sofa by the boarded-up window. She was dressed in black jeans and a white top that showed off her large endowment. She was nice-looking, Tico thought, but not worth risking your life for. And that's what Walker had done. Cane had to know by now, and he would kill Walker for sure.
“Here's the deal,” said Walker. “You tell me where Cane's money house is, and we won't kill you. Simple.”
“Fuck you,” said Tico. “This is the reason he never told your island ass. I'm already dead, and you know it.”
“LoLo left it up to me,” said Walker. “And I say, if my boy Tico is down, then we should let him live.”
“That's right,” said Marly. “I heard him say it.”
Tico laughed. “You two must think I'm stupid. You think I’d fall for that? You stupid Rasta trash and some ho.”
Marly jumped up and started for Tico, but Walker held out a hand.
“Cool yourself, honey,” said Walker. “We're talking business now.” Marly went back to the sofa, pointing a threatening finger at Tico.
“First of all,” said Walker, “I ain't no Rasta. And second, you'd better believe me, if you want to live.” He moved closer to Tico and knelt next to him. “Just tell me where the money is, and after I get it, I'll let you go. But you have to leave town altogether, out of Detroit.”
“Even if I knew where Cane hid his cash,” said Tico, “I wouldn't tell you.”
“All right,” said Walker. He pulled out a knife and flicked it
open. “Maybe if I took off one of your fingers, you'd remember,” he said.
“Now you talkin',” said Marly. “Fuck his ass up, baby.”
Tico's hands were tied down, and he couldn't protect his fingers if he wanted to. He looked Walker in the eyes. He was going to let him do his worst, but he would not turn on Cane. Not if he had to lose all his fingers.
“I feel sorry for you, man,” Tico said. “You can cut me up, but it's nothing compared to what Cane will do to you.”
Walker grabbed Tico's right hand and pulled up his baby finger.
“You know how Cane is,” Tico said. “You know what he is. He'll take you somewhere and torture you for days. Remember the tiger? That's nothing compared to what's gonna happen to you.”
Walker put Tico's baby finger down and took his middle finger. He put the blade on it. “I'm gonna take it off a little at a time,” said Walker. “Where's the money?” Walker turned the knife.
“Go to hell,” said Tico.
Walker raised the knife, then brought it down hard between Tico's fingers. It stuck into the hard wood of the chair, but Tico was unharmed. The door opened again. Tico, Walker, and Marly all looked toward it. LoLo and Yolanda walked into the little room.
“What's up?” said LoLo.
“Just talking with my boy here,” said Walker.
“Get away from him,” LoLo barked.
Walker got up, snapping the knife closed.
“Wait. Gimme that knife,” LoLo said.
Walker gave her the blade. LoLo opened it. She lifted the point of the knife to Walker's eye. LoLo was so much smaller that she almost had to stand on her tiptoes.
“What the fuck is this?” Walker said. His eyes blinked rapidly.
“I told you to leave him alone. Anything you did to him, I'm gonna do to you,” said LoLo. She lowered the knife to his belly. “What did you do?”
Yolanda walked over next to Walker. She had a 9 mm in her hand.
“No, LoLo,” said Marly, bouncing off the sofa. “We was just trying to get some information out of him.” Yolanda shot Marly a look. Marly backed down.
“Nothing,” said Walker. “I didn't do nothing to him. Just talkin'.”
“He cut my dick off,” said Tico. He laughed, enjoying Walker's humiliation.
Walker stared down into LoLo's eyes. He was angry but aware that Yolanda was next to him with a loaded weapon.
“Get your ass over there, and sit down,” said LoLo.
Walker smiled, throwing up his hands in surrender. LoLo closed the knife and tossed it to Walker. He caught it, then went over to the sofa with Marly. LoLo moved over to Tico.
“This is some Mickey Mouse shit, you know that?” Tico said. “Go on and shoot me 'cause I know that's what you're gonna do. But you ain't gettin' nothing outta me. Nothing.”
“Your boy Cane made the deal,” said LoLo. “Just thought you should know that.” To Walker, she said, “Don't let nothing happen to him.” She walked out of the room, Yolanda on her heels.
Tico watched them leave, then looked at Walker, smiling. “It's all over for you now,” said Tico. “All over. Cane will kill you and these bitches as sure as I'm sittin' here.”
Walker got up slowly from the little sofa. He moved over to Tico, his eyes full of mischief. “Tell me, boy, you ever see Cane with a woman?”
“What?” said Tico. He was thrown by the question.
“A woman, boy. You ever see him get some?”
Tico said nothing.
“No, you've never seen him with one, and you know why? Because he's a faggot.” Marly laughed, slapping her leg loudly.
“Bullshit,” said Tico. “Cane is a man. He's just crazy.”
“No,” said Walker. “What's bullshit is you thinking he's some kind of nut because he don't like pussy.” To the girl, Walker said, “Cane don't even look at women. All he cares about is this man right here.”
“We're friends, a crew,” said Tico. “But you wouldn't know nothing about that, would you?”
“Fags!” said Walker. “I think he's fucking you, boy. That's why he's gonna risk his neck to save you.”
Tico struggled violently against the ropes that held him to the chair. “I'm gonna kill your ass!”
“When you gonna do that?” Walker asked lightly. “Before or after Cane gives it to you up the ass?”
The Jamaican went to Marly on the little sofa. “Hey, boy, see this woman here? This beautiful woman. This is what people like you and Cane don't want.”
Walker unbuttoned Marly’s blouse and kissed her. Marly rubbed Walker's leg, then moved over to his crotch, pulling at his zipper. Walker soon had her blouse open, exposing Marly's ample cleavage.
She unsnapped the bra, and her breasts tumbled out. Walker's face soon covered them. Marly threw her head back, then looked at Tico, blowing him silent kisses.
“I don't fucking believe this,” Tico mumbled. He was disgusted but couldn't take his eyes from the couple.
Walker stood up and dropped his pants. Marly got on her knees and took him in her mouth. Walker looked over at Tico. “Want some of this, boy? I don't think so.”
“Sick son of a bitch,” said Tico.
Marly continued to work on Walker for a while; then she stood up and wiggled out of her pants. She got on the floor on all fours, and Walker knelt behind her. He slipped himself inside her. As the couple rocked back and forth, Walker looked over to the bound man, laughing at him.
Tico closed his eyes, but he was unable to control the erection in his pants. And he swore if he got out of this alive, he would kill Walker; kill him with his bare hands.
6
Roxanne, Roxanne
Jesse and Ramona sat in the back of Roxanne's Nail Salon. The outer room was filled with black women getting their nails done or waiting. The room was loud with talk and laughter. Toni Braxton crooned on a radio.
These places were a new cultural phenomenon to Jesse. Young black women had grown fond of wearing long, colorful, elaborately decorated fake nails. They were striped, polka-dotted, lined with glitter, and curved at the ends. Jesse personally found them grotesque, but Roxanne was doing a brisk business.
They had left Dell and Cat's drug house and gone east to LoLo's safe house. It was a little one-story building on the far east side, right on the border. They got there, but no one was home. Ramona wrote out a note, then decided that it was too dangerous to leave any evidence that they'd been there.
Roxanne was a friend of LoLo's and had sneaked them in the back, hiding them in the little storage room. They sat on stools behind a plastic curtain in Roxanne's. The room was dark and filled with boxes stacked high and covered with sheets.
Jesse had always disliked these places. When he was young, he used to run errands for his mother and her friends, and he had to come to joints like Roxanne's, dirty, shady little places with shady people in them. It was all coming back to him now. He wanted out all over again.
“Maybe we should have just waited for your friend to come to that safe house,” said Jesse.
“No,” Ramona said curtly. “LoLo might not go there for weeks, and the man who lives there wouldn't let us hang around without her.”
“Who is he?” Jesse asked curiously.
“Never mind,” said Ramona. “But he would run us off-- or worse.”
“Can't we call her or something?” said Jesse, growing frustrated.
“LoLo don't like cellular phones. One of her friends is in jail because she had one. FBI busted her doin' a deal.”
Smart girl, Jesse thought. The airwaves are not protected. It was no wonder they had such a hard time at the prosecutor's office. Damn dealers were almost lawyers themselves.
“So how long do we wait?” asked Jesse.
“Why you sweatin' me?” asked Ramona. “I know as much as you do.”
Jesse fell silent. He did not want to get into an argument with Ramona. They had enough trouble already. He wondered what the people in his life were doing, what they were thinking of him now. His coworkers, Connie. Poor Connie. Jesse was sure her parents were using this to try to break them up. Hell, how hard could it be? he thought. Murder, flight with a young woman. He was surprised that Connie had defended him. He found himself missing her, wanting to be with her.
Jesse reached for the little TV Roxanne had in the back room. It sat on a wooden crate.
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