Double Dead

by Gary Hardwick

  Tico moved over Walker's body. Walker was broken, bloody, and shaking. Tico noticed teeth lying next to his head covered in thick blood.

  Tico raised the heavy wooden chair leg with both arms and brought it down onto Walker's head.

  

  Cane lifted the big straight razor toward LoLo's throat. Seeing it, LoLo moved back, raising her arms. Cane caught LoLo on her right forearm just above the elbow. The razor cut through her coat and her sweater and opened a long gash. LoLo shrieked in pain. Cane pushed himself backward, toward the crowd.

  Turk pulled his weapon before Yolanda could get to hers and fired at her. His shot missed. Yolanda heard the bullet whiz by her ear. Before Yolanda could return fire, Turk was hit in the upper chest by Marly from across the way. Turk fell on his back, dropping his gun.

  The cop with the thick mustache pulled his weapon and put it to Marly's head. “Drop it!” he yelled.

  The advancing crowd heard the new gunfire and stopped. Someone screamed again, and the crowd surged in the other direction.

  Cane was in the crowd, moving toward the door. People ran in all directions, yelling and darting for cover.

  In the confusion Yolanda remembered to grab the backpack.

  “Damn!” said the cop with the mustache. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and was about to handcuff Marly.

  “Let her go,” said one of the twin girls in black leather. She held a gun to the cop's head, her braids swinging in her face.

  “What the--” said the cop. He dropped the handcuffs. Marly snatched the cop's gun and threw it out of reach. Then she ran with the twins toward the back entrance. As they got to the exit, three cops, two male, one female, came in the entrance. Their guns were out in front of them.

  Marly and the twins stopped in their tracks. For a moment the three cops and the three women held their weapons on each other. Then:

  “I got 'em,” said the cop with the thick mustache from behind the women. He had his gun trained on them. “Give it up-now!” he yelled.

  Marly and the women hesitated. The twins looked at Marly for direction. “Fuck it,” she said. She dropped her gun and put her hands up. The twins did the same. The cops arrested them.

  “There are two more somewhere outside,” said the cop with the thick mustache. He pointed at the back entrance. “One of them was cut by a man.”

  The two male cops ran out of the back entrance, talking into their walkie-talkies. The policewoman stayed behind and cuffed Marly and the two young girls. The cop with the thick mustache walked to the twin who'd put her gun to his head and reared back to hit her. The policewoman grabbed his clenched fist.

  “Not here,” she said. The cop dropped his fist, shooting the girl a nasty look. They took the women away.

  Cane was by the entrance, watching as people ran out around him. LoLo had the place packed with her people, Cane thought. A lot of damned good it did her. Cane saw Turk on the floor in a pool of spreading blood, unmoving. He was gone.

  Cane went outside in time to see his men who'd started the fight being put into a police cruiser. They smiled at Cane as they were arrested. They'd be all right, Cane thought. They were too young to be kept in jail, and he'd make sure they were rewarded when they got out.

  Cane looked down Monroe Street. He saw no sign of Yolanda and LoLo. The street was filled with people and police. Cane turned into a brisk October wind. It chilled his face. He had not gotten LoLo like he wanted, but the razor was new, and he wasn't used to it yet, he reasoned. LoLo would be really pissed when she discovered the backpack was filled with paper.

  Cane hurried down the busy street, out of the area to the 1-75 freeway service drive. A car pulled up, and Cane jumped in with his man Q behind the wheel.

  “Let's get the fuck out of here,” said Cane.

  The car rolled away as more cops poured into Trapper's Alley. If everything had gone according to plan, Cane thought, he and Tico would be having a beer tonight.

  13

  Packer’s

  The country music was loud in the background. Jesse put one hand over his free ear as he listened on the pay phone at the 7-Eleven. He'd been put on hold by the man who answered the phone, which at Packer's meant the phone was dropped on a counter while the man made drinks. It sounded lively at the bar, loud voices mixing with Travis Tritt's racy music.

  Ramona was in the car, probably still laughing at him because he couldn't remember where the hell Packer's was. Jesse glanced over and saw her with a big smile on her face. Women. They loved it when men screwed up.

  They were in the city of Taylor, a little town downriver from Detroit. Taylor was jokingly called Taylor-Tucky, as in Kentucky, because of its rural atmosphere and abundant population of trailer parks and self-proclaimed rednecks. It was actually just a working-class town, the very soul of America.

  A dirty-looking white man walked by the car. He looked at Ramona for a moment. Jesse watched nervously until the man moved on. He walked to a brick wall by the 7-Eleven and pulled at his pants. Jesse saw the stream of urine as the man pissed on the wall. Jesse breathed easier. Just a local drunk.

  Jesse turned up the collar on his jacket. It was getting colder, and he'd worn layers of clothes to keep warm. But the Michigan wind had a way of finding the one crack in your cover and going inside it.

  Jesse got the directions over the loud music and hung up the phone. He turned and saw Ramona getting out of the car. She looked at Jesse and pointed to the 7-Eleven. She held some money in her hand. She intended to go inside. Jesse shook his head. He was about to say no when the dirty white man moved toward Ramona. He was coming up behind her, and she didn't see him.

  “Move!” Jesse yelled as he ran to her. The man saw Jesse and pulled out a knife. Jesse cursed himself for leaving his gun in the car.

  Jesse got to Ramona just as she turned toward the man. He was bigger than Jesse first thought and mean-looking. The man swung a knife at Ramona as Jesse stepped between them. He caught the man's wrist as the knife struck him. It cut through Jesse's jacket and two shirts and hit his belt. The blade went up and cut Jesse just above the waist. There was a sharp sting, and Jesse could feel the blood come.

  Instinctively Jesse brought his knee up into the man's groin. The man yelled loudly and fell to one knee. Before he could do anything, Ramona's foot smashed the man on the side of the head, and he fell backward.

  “Are you okay?” Jesse asked Ramona. He held her shoulders and looked at her like a parent who catches a kid after he falls.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “I saw him coming at you and I--”

  Ramona stared at him strangely, like he was crazy. Her eyes fell. Jesse followed them and saw that the knife was still hanging out of his clothes. He pulled it out and hurled it as far away as he could. The man groaned. Ramona kicked him again. The would-be robber struggled to his feet and ran away.

  “Is it bad?” she asked.

  “No, it just cut me a little, but I'm bleeding.”

  Before Jesse could stop her, Ramona ran into the store. Jesse got in the car on the driver's side. Ramona came out of the store and pushed Jesse to the passenger side of the car. She settled into the driver's scat and stared at Jesse again.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. They drove away.

  Another semi pulled into the parking lot. Like most of the others, it pulled no cargo trailer, just the cab. Jesse had forgotten that Packer's was a trucker hangout. The parking lot was unpaved and filled with semis, older model cars, pickups, and assorted sport-utility vehicles.

  They sat in a dark corner of Packer's huge parking lot. They'd been there for three hours, looking for Florence. So far they had not seen her. Only five women had gone into the place.

  “You okay?” asked Ramona.

  “Yes,” said Jesse. “The bandage is fine, really. He didn't cut me too bad.”

  “I didn't even see him,” said Ramona. “I'm usually more on the ball, but we're not in D
etroit, you know.”

  Jesse laughed. “Hey, they have robbers out here too, you know.”

  “I know, I know. I was-- I wasn't thinking,” Ramona said. Her expression softened. “You know, if you hadn't stepped between us-”

  “I don't wanna think about it,” said Jesse. “I just ... you're welcome.”

  “I didn't say thank you.”

  “You don't have to. I'm not asking you to.” He inhaled sharply and shifted in his seat, trying to stop the pain from his bandaged wound. “He might have killed you, you know?”

  “You just had to say it, didn't you?” Ramona said, hiding the fear from her near miss. She turned up the radio. A rap tune came out.

  “Please,” Jesse groaned. “I'll start bleeding again.”

  “I should have known you don't like rap,” said Ramona.

  “Sorry, but it rubs me the wrong way.”

  Ramona turned off the radio. “So what we gonna do if she don't show?”

  “We keep coming here until she does,” said Jesse.

  “Well, you can, but not me.”

  Jesse sighed. “I'm too tired and hurt to argue with you.”

  “Good,” said Ramona. “We'll give her until midnight; then we're outta here.”

  A few minutes later a car pulled into the parking lot and rolled slowly over the unpaved ground of the lot. It looked like Florence's car, but Jesse wasn't sure. The car stopped, settling in across the way from Jesse and Ramona.

  “Well, is it her?” asked Ramona.

  “Not sure,” said Jesse.

  The woman inside the car didn't move. She turned off the engine and sat there. “Maybe I should go over and see,” said Jesse. He started to get out of the car.

  “No,” said Ramona. She grabbed his arm.

  “Why not?” asked Jesse.

  Ramona hesitated, and he could see that she was concerned. “Take out the gun first, that's all,” she said.

  “Right,” said Jesse. He pulled out the gun and put it in his waistband behind his back. Jesse walked over to the car, keeping the gun behind him. His wound flared up with renewed pain, and he winced a little.

  Halfway there the woman in the car flashed the lights. Jesse smiled. When he got there, the window rolled down, and he saw Florence's face behind the wheel.

  “About goddamned fuckin' time,” Florence said.

  Jesse signaled to Ramona, and she walked over and they got into the car.

  “You got heat,” asked Ramona. “Good.” She slipped into the backseat.

  Jesse got into the front seat. Florence kicked up the heat a notch. Jesse was so elated to see her he wanted to give her a hug. But it was too weird. It would be like hugging a guy.

  “Good to see you,” he said instead.

  “Yeah,” said Florence. “You look like shit, Jess.”

  “I know you don't have a lot of time,” said Jesse. “So tell me, how bad is it?”

  “Shitty,” said Florence. “The cops were all over me. It took me a half hour to lose them tonight. Fuckers. Don't even trust one of their own.”

  Jesse laughed at the irony, then said, “Okay, Florence, I know you believe in me, so here's the truth about what happened.”

  Jesse told her the whole story. Ramona filled in whenever he was missing information.

  “Holy shit in the blue morning,” said Florence when they were done. “So who--”

  “You got me,” said Jesse. “But I do know a few things. The mayor was calling in favors all over the state to get those casinos in the city. And he was not going to back D’Estenne in the election.”

  “Crawford is backing him,” said Florence. “Just came out this morning.”

  Jesse was quiet. He was thinking about D’Estenne's secretive manner during the case and the bug he'd found on his phone.

  “I see,” he said at last.

  “I know what you're thinking,” said Florence. “D’Estenne is an asswipe, but I don't think he'd kill to stay in office.”

  “All depends on what he had to lose,” said Ramona. Florence looked back at her with surprise in her face.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” said Florence. “And you'll be happy or sad to know that the cops picked up Walter Nicks a few days ago. They're holding him in a special cell for 'questioning.' That's all I could get out of anyone. They don't think he did it, but he ain't talking, and they're making sure he don't get bail.”

  Jesse thought about Nicks and the look of loss in his eyes. “He was there that night, and he feels responsible,” said Jesse. “But they won't get anything out of him.” Jesse felt good that Nicks was on ice. He was looking over his shoulder enough right now.

  “Well. I got a few things on Crawford,” said Florence. “They tell me that the city needed money.”

  “So what else is new?” said Jesse. “All cities need money.”

  “Not like this,” said Florence. “Apparently Detroit is in really deep shit. I don't know the details, but people arc plenty scared. The acting mayor, Crawford, is moving money around, robbing Peter to pay Paul. He calls it restructuring in his memos, but he's really putting up a big smoke screen for something.”

  “Makes sense,” said Jesse. “If the city is really strapped, he won't be able to pay his bills, and he'll never be officially elected mayor if his house isn't in order.”

  “Anyway,” said Florence, “while everyone is worried about you and your friend here, Crawford is trying to put out a big fire.”

  “And what is Crawford doing about the casino issue?” asked Jesse.

  “He killed it,” said Florence. “He very quietly disemboweled the task force.”

  “I'll be damned,” said Jesse. He considered what this might mean. “We got something here, Florence. Yancy was trying to save the city with those casinos, and he was willing to betray long-held confidences to do it. Maybe someone didn't like that, and they had him killed.”

  “Who?” asked Ramona, wanting to be part of the discussion and to know who had tried to kill her.

  “The answer is in that black briefcase,” said Jesse. “We gotta find that thing soon or we're dead.”

  “Oh, and a couple of other things,” said Florence. “The reward of fifty thousand for you two is up to a hundred thousand now.”

  “Who put up the new money?” said Jesse.

  “Anonymous,” said Florence. She waited, struggling with the difficulty of what she had to say. “And you were disbarred, Jesse.”

  “What?” said Jesse. “They can't-- not without a formal hearing.”

  “They did,” said Florence. “Some asshole in the state bar, trying to make a point. Says if you want to defend your license, all you have to do is show up. It was in the newspaper.”

  “Must have missed it,” Jesse muttered. “It's just a gimmick anyway. It doesn't mean anything.” Still, he was disturbed. His law degree was his certification that he had changed his life. Now he was a criminal and out of the bar. He was truly right back where he had started from.

  “So now I've committed a felony for your ass,” said Florence.

  “I appreciate it,” said Jesse.

  “This is gonna cost you more than overtime,” said Florence. To Ramona, she said, “Look in that green duffel bag back there.”

  Ramona opened the canvas bag. It contained clothes, money, snack foods, and a big envelope. “Where are my clothes?” she asked.

  “I don't know you,” Florence said. To Jesse, she said, “There's also a phone number. I want you to call me at it every night between eleven and midnight. If I don't answer, hang up and keep calling until I do.”

  “Right,” said Jesse.

  “I don't like your attitude,” Ramona said to Florence.

  “I was just kiddin' about the damn clothes.” “Boy, you really got your hands full with this one,” said Florence.

  She and Jesse shared a laugh.

  “Don't laugh at me, bitch,” said Ramona. “I'll kick your old white ass.”

  Florence turned in the seat and looked at Ra
mona. “You know, I just started liking you,” she said. “Okay, you two, get lost. I got things to do. And use that number, Jesse. We gotta keep talking.”

  Jesse and Ramona got out of the car. Jesse leaned in the window and shook Florence's hand. Florence's normally hard visage softened a little. It was the first time Jesse had ever seen anything but her business face. He felt strange but was moved by the gesture.

  As Florence drove away over the bumpy ground, Jesse felt lost and alone again. His link to the real world and his innocence was gone. Suddenly his dilemma rose like a mountain before him.

  “Let's go,” said Ramona. “It's cold as shit out here.”

  They got into the car and drove away. Jesse was thinking about all that Florence had told him. “I wonder if my mama will bust on us,” said Ramona. “I bet the police are looking for this car.”

  “I don't think your mother will say anything,” said Jesse quietly. “If she does, then she'll have had to turn in your sister. I don't know your mother, but I don't think she'd want her grandson's mother to get locked up.”

  “Yeah, maybe you're right,” Ramona said softly.

  “But still, we might wanna get rid of this car just in case,” said Jesse. “I'm sorry I didn't think about that earlier.”

  They drove away from Packer's, taking the streets. They were near 1-75 south, and Jesse could see the Porter Street exit sign. Eventually he had to get on an avenue as they headed back to Detroit.

  “I'm sleepy,” said Ramona. “Where we gonna crash tonight? And I don't wanna sleep in this damned car again.”

  “I don't have any idea,” said Jesse. “If you have another place where we might find your friend LoLo, we can head in that direction and see what comes up--”

  Just then a shot rang out. Jesse turned the wheel hard, and the car swerved to the right.

  “What the--” yelled Ramona.

  “Get down!” said Jesse. He pushed Ramona toward the floor. In the rearview mirror he saw the headlights of a car speeding toward them. Another shot rang out. Jesse heard a metallic clang and a loud pop as it struck the car's frame. Ramona raised herself up.