“They didn't know we needed a car, you know,” said Ramona.
Jesse shot her a nasty look. “Is nag the only thing you know how to do?”
“It was stupid,” Ramona replied fiercely. “We didn't have time to grab that van. I could have popped it, but I'd need at least four or five minutes.”
“Well, we have to get rid of this car,” said Jesse equally as angry. “I know the cops. They're looking for this thing by now.”
Tension hung in the air as they rolled along. Silence fell upon them as they each stared out of the dirty windshield. “Okay, turn here,” said Ramona. “I know somebody who can help us.”
“No,” said Jesse. “I'm tired of your network of criminal screwups, unstable crackdealers and nail-polishing fences. We can risk it.”
“You know anybody who can help us?” asked Ramona.
“Florence. That's why we're going to Packer's.”
“Fuck Packer's,” Ramona protested. “This car ain't gonna make it downriver, and you know it. Besides, we never got the gas we stopped for.” Jesse pulled the car over. “You're not in charge of this thing,” he said grimly.
“Yes, I am,” said Ramona. “You just don't know it yet.”
“I'm making the rules here. You follow my lead or we'll both end up in prison.”
“Follow your lead? Like you almost led us into getting shot by that camel jockey just now?”
“He's a Chaldean, you stupid--” Jesse stopped.
“What?” said Ramona. “Go on and say it: bitch. Stupid bitch! You men. It's all you know with your simpleminded asses. And by the way, fuck you.”
Jesse gritted his teeth. She was completely juvenile. He wondered for a moment if he could find this LoLo person without her. He knew, though, that it was not an option.
“Look,” he said, fighting for a calm tone, “I'm sorry.”
“Like hell,” said Ramona.
“I'm just upset, and I'm taking it out on you,” said Jesse levelly. “I'm serious. Let's just forget this and start over, okay?”
Unexpectedly Ramona laughed. Jesse didn't know what was so funny, but he was glad to see she wasn't mad anymore.
“Is that your best rap?” she asked. “Is that how you get them high-class bitches in bed, with that weak shit?”
Jesse was pissed all over again. She was truly a child. “I'm not trying to get you in bed. I'm just apologizing.”
“Boy, I bet you didn't get any pussy when you was in the 'hood.” Ramona laughed at him again.
“And I bet everybody got some of yours-- if they had the money.” The taunt came out before he could stop it.
Ramona shot daggers at Jesse. “I told you, I'm not a ho.”
Her face was a paradox. Her anger was grown-up, but her face was cute, like a little girl pouting. Men were prejudiced by beauty, he thought. Beautiful women couldn't be angry or hard. But Ramona was shattering that myth for him with every passing moment.
“I'm not gonna tell you about that ho shit again,” Ramona said. “Next time I'm jumping your ass.”
“I look forward to that,” said Jesse.
It was obvious that Ramona cut a fine line between her occupation and the world's oldest. Jesse reasoned that she had to have some self-esteem, and this was her way of getting it.
When Jesse pulled away, the car rattled louder. He wasn't a mechanic, but he could tell that it wasn't going to last much longer. He glanced at Ramona. Even in the silly disguise she was stunning. He wondered how someone so beautiful could be so crass and hard. Then he realized that the ghetto is the same as any other place. It has beauty and ugliness like mainstream life. And just because God graced you with a pretty face didn't mean you were better than the place you grew up. None of us were, he thought.
“You're right about one thing,” said Jesse. “We can't make it to Packer's tonight. Not the way this car is running.”
“Well, we can go to a motel, spend the night,” said Ramona. “I'm tired anyway.”
“Can't,” said Jesse. “By now every motel owner in the tri-county area has a description of us. And even with our disguises, they'll be looking out for anything suspicious.”
“So you wanna sleep on the street or something?”
“Yeah, quite frankly,” said Jesse.
“Fuck, no,” said Ramona. “It's too damn cold.”
“We don't have a choice,” said Jesse. “This car is on its last legs. “
“I know where we can get another one,” said Ramona. Jesse sighed heavily. He didn't want to face any more of Ramona's friends.
“Okay,” he said. “Can we get there tonight?”
“Yeah, but it'll be late,” said Ramona.
“Then we should wait until tomorrow,” said Jesse. “Late at night there are less people out, which gives the cops a better chance of finding us.”
“Damn, did you used to be a dealer or something? You know an awful lot about the cops.”
“I worked with the cops,” said Jesse absently. “I know how they operate.”
Jesse drove along until he saw a big church on a corner. He turned off the lights, then pulled the old car into the church's parking lot. A big sign proclaimed: LAMB'S BLOOD TABERNACLE. There were church buses and vans in the parking lot. Jesse pulled the car between two buses.
“I don't like this,” said Ramona. “Me neither,” said Jesse. “But if we park anyplace public, we could get busted.”
Ramona looked angrily at the buses, then settled into her seat, leaning back. She looked almost innocent now, staring out the window. She seemed to be lost in thought, dreaming of better times and places, he guessed.
Suddenly Jesse felt responsible for her. If he was a better prosecutor, maybe he would have proved she was innocent and he could have protected her. She was no saint, but she was still mostly a kid, fresh out of a bad situation and in way over her head.
“I'm sorry,” Jesse said in a low voice. Ramona was silent. After a moment he tried again. “Well, do you accept my apology?” Jesse asked.
“Say I'm not a ho first.”
“Are you serious?”
“Say it or you can stick your apology up your ass,” said Ramona.
Jesse breathed deeply. She really was angry. He didn't particularly care one way or the other, but he had to stay on her good side, at least until he got that briefcase. “Okay,” he said. “You are not a whore.”
“The word is ho,” Ramona corrected. “Damn,” said Jesse. He took a breath then. “You are not a ho. Okay?”
Ramona considered his words for a moment, then said, “Thank you.” She closed her eyes.
The car was already growing cooler, and Jesse could feel the cold air around his ankles. He would start the car now and then just to keep it warm. They had enough gas for that.
“You know, I really don't like fighting with you,” he said. “It's just that... I feel responsible for all of this, you know, and I have to make sure-- I can't let anything happen to you.” He didn't know why he said that, but it was too late.
Ramona opened her eyes. She looked at him, her head cocked to one side. She smiled crookedly, one corner of her mouth rising before the other.
“Well, that was nice,” she said. “Now you could get laid with a rap like that.” She laughed softly and closed her eyes again.
10
Minnesota
Even in the dark basement Cane knew where the sun was. It was gone, and the night had risen. It was Cane's victory at each sunset. Another day gone. Another day of life for him.
These thoughts occupied Cane as he listened to the fat white man talk about their drug deal. Cane hadn't planned on the invasion of LoLo's territory going wrong. He had been talking with the white men for several months now about doing business. He needed more power to defeat the Nasty Girls. He needed product, and there was only one place to get it: the white man.
Cane and the fat man sat at an old card table in the middle of the basement in a house on the west side. He had friends who lived there. It
was not a drug house. He had been moving around a lot, and when doing this kind of business, he needed special places like this.
The fat man was called Minnesota, probably because of that pool player, Cane thought. Minnesota was a big boy, six feet three and about two-sixty. He had a head of thin blond hair and a face filled with tiny pink holes. Minnesota also had a terrible habit of belching in the middle of sentences. He obviously ate a lot, and over the years it had done him in. It was so second nature for him that Minnesota actually spoke around his burping.
“ ... so, after their family was [burp] taken out, my man took over,” Minnesota said. His accent was unmistakably East Coast. “So, we need to make a big move. I gotta layoff at [burp] at least thirty keys.”
“Thirty is a lot,” said Cane. “That will wipe out all of my cash.”
“Yeah, I [burp] I know,” said Minnesota. “But we're gonna extend some credit. Heroin is making a big comeback [burp]. With this shipment this city will be yours.”
“I don't like to be in debt,” said Cane. “Especially to men who kill for a living. What's to stop you from getting me over a barrel, then moving in yourself?”
Minnesota laughed and burped loudly in the middle of it. “I like you, man. Listen, we don't deal on a street level. My people have been [burp] out of that for a long time now.”
“I don't know that. I don't know anything about you.”
“Sure, you do. You've been asking about me all over. Look, we're not unreasonable men. And we don't kill our friends. We need you, and we'll [burp] do whatever it takes to make this work.”
Cane considered this. Here was his chance finally to become a real player in Detroit. After the Union there were no real big-time dealers. No one had the money or the muscle to make a major move.
Heroin was becoming the drug of choice again. From Hollywood to the inner-city projects people were going back to the needle or snorting it, which was just as dangerous. It was now called names like Redrum, Homicide, Super Buick, but it was definitely back in style.
While the other dealers were still selling crack, he would bring in heroin and cut them all out. He would get all of the high-end clientele and make mad money. He saw himself standing atop all of the other small-timers, but once again LoLo was an obstacle, right in the path of power.
“You have a deal,” said Cane. “But give me some time to get the money together. “
“No pro-- [burp] problem,” said Minnesota. “Give you until the beginning of November, next month.”
“Not enough time,” said Cane. “I'll need at least three months to get the money together.” He didn't want to tell Minnesota that he had to deal with Jaleel. If Minnesota knew he had a thief in his ranks, the fat man might not think he was worthy of being their man in Detroit.
“Sorry,” said Minnesota, “but we gotta get this shit on. We have people in [burp] other countries to answer to. Nasty people. And they don't take no for an answer.”
“Then I can't do it,” said Cane.
Minnesota's face hardened. Suddenly the fat, jolly salesman for killers was gone. Minnesota's pockmarked face turned sour.
“Then we'll go to [burp] your competition. Straight up. And your death [burp] will be the beginning of our business.”
“That's what I thought,” said Cane. “I think I like you people already.”
Minnesota laughed. “Smart. That's why we picked you.”
“How will the product be delivered?” asked Cane.
“The less you know, the [burp] better right now. We have a new and [burp] proven way of getting it in.”
“I've heard that shit before.”
“No, no, really,” said Minnesota. “It's--” He had an almost violent series of burps. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief and held up his hand as if asking Cane to wait for him.
Cane watched, thinking that maybe this man was actually very ill inside. He wondered if Minnesota had some contagious disease. It would be just like God, Cane thought, to try to kill him by bringing a sick man close like this.
“Oh, man,” Minnesota said. “Sorry. Like I said, our new method is a pain in the ass, but it works.”
“So what do we do?” asked Cane.
“Wait. We'll let you know right [burp] before it's time. So you'll need to be ready at a moment's notice. Our window of opportunity will be small.”
“I don't like it,” said Cane. “I'm used to knowing how and when my suppliers bring in their shit. I don't like being in the dark about these things.”
“Then you'd better learn to,” said Minnesota. “Because this is the way it's gonna [burp] be from now on.” He covered his mouth with the handkerchief again, but nothing happened. “I gotta jet,” he said. “But I'll be in touch.”
Minnesota got up and shook hands with Cane. Cane felt something cold and hard in the fat man's hand. Minnesota pulled his hand away, and Cane saw that Minnesota had put a straight razor in it. It was gold and bigger than the ones barbers used. Cane opened it. The blade shone dully in the dim light.
“We checked you out,” said Minnesota. “It's a gift from my people and me.”
“Gold?” asked Cane, clearly pleased with the gift.
“Gold-plated,” said Minnesota. “After all, we just met you. Use it wisely.”
Minnesota walked up the stairs and was soon gone. Cane could hear the big man's heavy footsteps on the ceiling above him grow softer as he left the house.
In the dimness of the cellar Cane admired the razor once more, then closed the weapon and placed it gently in his pocket.
11
The Missing Flower
They drove slowly down the street. Jesse was stiff from sleeping in the car all night. Ramona seemed irritated for the same reason.
On the radio they heard that the police had found Jesse's car and arrested two young kids joyriding in it. The kids had been taken downtown. That had bought them some time. The cops were probably interrogating the hell out of the kids, trying to get anything they could.
They had spent most of the day hiding, taking side streets, stopping and resting, trying to stay away from the police. Jesse was hurting at what he saw. Since leaving the ghetto, he had kept himself in solid middle-class circles. Downtown, Indian Village, Palmer Woods, Rosedale Park, and of course the suburbs. He'd forgotten how the city gets inside you, holds you, until it is indistinguishable from your identity. Seeing it again up close and personal was breaking him down. He was reminded of that terrible feeling that he would never get out alive.
And so he felt even more sorry for Ramona. She'd made it out, in her own way, but not far enough. She must be feeling a lot of what he was, he thought. But you wouldn't know it to look at her. She seemed thoroughly in control.
The old car was noisy as they moved along. It had just about given up, and if they didn't replace it soon, they would never get to Packer's.
The October wind was cold, but the afternoon sun was strong enough to fight it off. The trees were shedding, and their leaves were swept across the street by the wind.
Jesse hoped that Florence would not give up on him. She had to know that since he hadn't made it last night, he'd be there tonight. He needed to talk to her, to find out what was going on. If he was going to get out of this in one piece, he had to have help on the inside.
Jesse was still trying to put his case together. Whoever had killed Karen Bell had also killed the mayor. They had to be in a position to benefit from the deaths. That could be almost anyone, Jesse thought.
“It's that little house there,” Ramona said.
“Huh?” Jesse said, jerked from his thoughts.
“That's the house there,” Ramona said. “We need to get in as fast as we can.”
Jesse regarded the house. It was old and in need of repair. The street itself was in pretty good shape, though. There were only two vacant lots on the block.
“Wait,” said Jesse. “You still haven't told me who these people are. We don't want a car if it's hot.”
�
��Just come on,” said Ramona. “I know what I'm doing.”
“No. I'm not walking into the unknown here,” said Jesse. “I want to know what kind of house this is. Drugs? Stolen property? I don't want to get into something we can't get out of.” Ramona opened the door and got out. “You don't have to go. You can stay here if you want.”
“I'm not going to let you go in there by yourself,” Jesse said. And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he hadn't said it.
“I don't need protection from my sister,” Ramona said coldly. As she walked toward the little house, Jesse jumped out of the car and grabbed Ramona by the arm. “We have to go right now!” he said. He was looking up and down the street, panicked.
“Why?” Ramona asked.
“Your sister. The police will be watching her house.”
“They don't know Cheryl lives here,” said Ramona, shaking off his hand. “She got pregnant and ran away from home a few years ago. She moved back recently. No one in the family knows she's here but me.” Ramona walked on.
“But the police have resources that--” It was too late. Ramona was already at the door knocking. Jesse ran up to her. “Let's at least go to the back,” he said.
They moved off the front porch and walked through thick weeds to the back of the house. Jesse noticed for the first time that bars covered all the windows and the house was dark inside.
They got to the back door, and Ramona knocked again. After a moment the door opened, and a face peered at them.
“Who is it?” asked a woman's voice.
“Cheryl, it's me,” said Ramona.
“Jesus!” said the woman.
The door was opened, and dim light flooded the small wooden back porch. Jesse could see the woman inside. She was younger than Ramona, heavyset and dressed in a faded blue housecoat. He could see the resemblance, but Cheryl was not nearly as good-looking as her big sister.
They went inside. The back door led to a little kitchen and storage area. Ramona and Cheryl hugged tightly. Ramona smiled, and Cheryl tried to stop her tears. Jesse noticed that Cheryl was holding a little .22 pistol.
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