When Cave materialized out of the alley, Reg's back was to him, but he noticed the look on Ghost's face and turned around. He saw the young boy standing there with his hood on his head.
Cave greeted them. “What's up, A?”
Ghost looked Cave up and down, then he looked over at Reg to see if he recognized the hooded boy.
If Reg sensed something was amiss, he didn't give away his intuitions when he responded amicably, “Just chilling, A. What you on?”
Cave looked around before answering.
That made Ghost even more suspicious. Reg seemed to have read his mind as he asked with a little more caution in his voice, “Where you from, A? I ain't never seen you before.”
Momentarily Cave almost panicked and ran, but the thought of Cold War brought him back to the task at hand. “I know you ain't trying to talk shit, A,” Cave spurted.
Reg looked at Ghost with a stupefied look on his face. He turned back to Cave. “Nigga, what the fuck is you talking ‘bout?”
Cave's face turned into an ugly mask. “Asshole, who the fuck you think you talking to!” His hand started to clear his pocket with the gun.
Reg turned, put his hand behind his head, and bolted.
Ghost stood transfixed with a look of fear plastered on his face.
His mouth framed the word “shit” but it couldn't be heard over the barking of the pistol in the hooded youth's hand. The sound of the slugs being launched from the semiauto gave Reg wings on his feet. He was halfway down the block when he felt something blur past him. Then he sensed more than felt a bullet disintegrate the tip of his middle finger and graze his ear. The cool wind felt good on his burning finger and ear as he raced across the street and cut through a vacant lot. Ghost finally willed his feet to move and he ran into the sandwich shop.
“Habib, Habib!” Ghost screamed as he beat on the gate that led to the kitchen of the sandwich shop. “Let me in, Habib!”
The Arab sandwich maker was nowhere to be seen. Cave stuck his hand in the door of the restaurant and fired several shots at Ghost. Two of the bullets struck the bulletproof glass, but the third slammed into his back. Ghost pitched forward into the counter, then fell backward onto the floor. Cave walked over to him and stood over him. With his eyes partially closed, Cave made the pistol bark and jerk until it was empty.
When the pistol in Cave's hand fell silent, Cave opened his eyes and peered at the dying youth at his feet. He felt faint, but the thought of being captured made him resolve to carry himself out the door of the sandwich shop into the waiting safety of the Chevy Celebrity. Two blocks from the shooting, Cave threw up all over the dashboard of the Celebrity. He was assured by Teddy that if he didn't pay to have the car cleaned he would be wearing Governor glasses for a month.
In the sandwich shop, on the floor, Ghost was turning into his nickname. He trembled as he watched the credits on the short film of his life roll in front of his eyes as he bled out on the floor among the cigarette butts, blunt guts, and old french fries. I hope Sherry get that job, he thought as he went to sleep.
Underneath the porch where Reg was hiding, his heart was colliding against his rib cage. The burn of his dinged ear was nothing in comparison to the throbbing pain accompanied by the pouring blood of his fingertip. As scared as he was, his thoughts were of his friend and fellow Apostle, Ghost. He knew that his friend was dead; he didn't move fast enough. Reg sat there under the porch with the spiders until he heard police sirens in the distance. His mind drifted as his adrenaline began to subside. The sirens reminded him of something. They almost sounded like a baby crying in the stillness after the shooting. “Moo-Moo!” he said as he scrambled from under the porch and began to run again.
A LIGHT, STEADY RAIN FELL ONTO THE BLUE-AND-WHITE Chicago police cars that blocked off both ends of the avenue. Bull and Grove pulled up to the police cruiser on the north end of the street. The officer in the blue-and-white wasn't paying attention, so Bull tapped the siren lightly. The dreadlocked policewoman behind the wheel looked up and saw the two GCU dicks. She dropped her vehicle into reverse and noiselessly glided out of their path. Once their car went past, she guided her vehicle back into position.
In the middle of the block in front of the sandwich shop, an area of twenty feet in either direction had been cordoned off with yellow tape. On the sidewalk beyond the yellow tape barrier a crowd of about fifty people stood, ignoring the slight rain in their curiosity. There were numerous police vehicles parked in the middle of the street, including a paddy wagon. Bull and Grove knew the large police truck was there to transport a dead body.
Bull glided the Crown Vic over to the gaggle of department vehicles and cut the engine. Dressed smartly, Grove wore a navy blue tailored suit complete with a Dobbs hat, and Bull was in an expensive sweater with nice slacks and size-fourteen alligator shoes. The two gang detectives exited the vehicle and made their way under the yellow tape. They received nods and even some catcalls from some of the officers and detectives, which they returned. Inside the sandwich shop several homicide detectives stood to the side smoking cigarettes, while a fourth instructed the crime scene photographer. Two uniformed officers with white surgical gloves on their hands were positioning Ghost's body in a black body bag.
Homicide Detective Lonihan was behind the bulletproof glass in the kitchen area of the restaurant finishing up a field interview with Habib. The frightened Arab was babbling in a strange mixture of Arabic, English, and street slang. Shock was still etched across his bearded face. Lonihan turned to his partner, Clara Casey, a fiery redheaded woman with a stern schoolmarm face, and said, “I can't understand a thing this guy is saying. Put him in a unit and have them take him to the station. Maybe if we can get him to calm down a bit we can begin to decipher this shit.”
Detective Casey nodded. She helped Habib up off the case of vegetable shortening he had been sitting on and escorted him out of the kitchen. Lonihan walked over to one of the deep fryers and lifted a wire basket containing two charred pizza puffs from the smoking grease. He wiped his hand on a towel and exited the kitchen to the lobby of the sandwich shop. There he saw Bull and Grove. Lonihan started to walk past them, but the captain's last stinging reprimand rang in his head. The Irish detective swallowed and walked over to them.
“How's it going, Detectives?” Lonihan asked evenly.
“Well if it ain't our old buddy O'Connor,” Grove said jovially.
Detective Casey walked back into the lobby.
“That's Lonihan. And this is my partner, Detective Casey. Casey, this is Detectives Thensen and Hargrove.”
Casey offered her freckled hand to the two GCU detectives. “Nice to meet you, Detectives Thensen and Hargrove,” she said politely.
“Bull and Grove, ma'am, GCU at your service,” Grove said as he touched the brim of his hat.
“You guys seem a tad overdressed for GCU,” Casey commented.
“On our way to get a commendation,” Bull grunted.
Grove smirked. “Another commendation.”
“Congratulations,” Casey said as she reeled her hand back in. She blushed a bit when she realized these two detectives were the ones her partner had ranted on and on about. Grove noticed her slight reddening and the self-conscious look on her face.
He laughed it off. “Ah, don't believe anything O'Brien says about us. He's just mad ‘cause he can't be Black and pretty like us.”
This time it was Lonihan's turn to blush. Vowing to not let Grove get under his skin, he turned and walked over to the bagged corpse. “If you guys will take a look at this, I'll give you what we got so far.” He whipped out his small notebook. “Teenage, Black, male. No ID. The owner of this fine establishment called him ‘Ghost.’ Habib Salaam, that's the owner, said he was an Apostle. We already figured that because of the locale and the stiff's headgear.” Lonihan pointed a fat pink finger at an evidence bag on the counter. In it was a bloody fitted hat with an A on it. “Do you guys know this kid?” Lonihan asked as the two GCU detectives jo
ined him over the unzipped body bag.
Bull and Grove both stared at the body for a few moments before answering.
“I've never seen this kid before. What about you, Bull?”
The large gang crimes dick shook his massive head.
Grove looked up at Lonihan. “He was probably some foot soldier. He wasn't big or anything or he would have been on our radar. Might have been one of their shorties hustling on the block or something. Did it look like a robbery?”
Casey fielded the question. “Near as we could tell, no. His jewelry is still on his neck and he had a couple of bucks in his pocket. Now I was thinking this may have been—”
Lonihan cut her off. “We're on our way to interview Habib at the station. Maybe he can shine some light on this thing. I think he knows more than he was saying.”
Grove wasn't so easily put off. “Casey, what were you saying?”
Slightly startled that Grove asked her opinion, Casey looked at Lonihan. She was unable to read his beefy face so she went ahead.
“I was thinking this may have been retaliation for the Bingham murder. I was on vacation when it happened, but my partner gave me the details. I know that someone wanted us to think that it was an Apostles hit for sure, but I couldn't really swallow that. It just seems too neat. Then this kid here, ‘Ghost,’ gets it. Seems to me that this is too much of a co-inky-dink.”
Lonihan didn't want to seem stubborn, so he offered, “We got the prints back on the champagne bottle we found at the Bingham scene. Partials from Shawn Terson aka Solemn Shawn and Michael Moore aka Murderman. We're going to pull them in for questioning.”
Grove looked at Bull. To the homicide detectives, he said, “If we bump into them, then we'll bring them in. I think the captain would appreciate that. What you think, O'Brien?”
Lonihan swallowed again. “I'm quite sure that he would appreciate that,” he said dryly. “Come on, Casey.”
Bull and Grove watched them leave. They took one last look at Ghost before the officer zipped up the body bag, then they left too.
“WHAT YOU WANT, TABBY?” SOLEMN SHAWN ASKED HIS SISTER as they stood in line at the Cajun Kitchen in the food court of the Orland Square Mall. He shifted the numerous shopping bags he was carrying as he turned to her.
“I want some bourbon chicken, rice, and vegetables, with lemonade.”
“Sounds good. I think I'll have the same,” Solemn Shawn said as he stepped up to the cashier. “I'd like two number twos with lemonade.”
When their food was ready, they made their way to one of the iron table sets in the seating area.
In between forkfuls of bourbon chicken, Solemn Shawn commented, “I don't know if all this shopping done made me hungry, but this chicken is tight. I must be starving too ‘cause even the vegetables is nice.”
“Yeah and you getting old, so you need all the veggies you can get.”
Solemn Shawn pointed his fork at her. “You better watch your mouth, young lady. Especially while I still have all the receipts to all your stuff.”
“Just kidding, big bro. You as young as one of R. Kelly's girlfriends.”
At her comment Solemn Shawn almost spit out the lemonade he was sipping. “Get your ass out of here. I ain't in preschool.”
They both cracked up and continued to eat.
“Seriously though, big bro, I got to thank you for all the new hotness you copped me.”
“Can't have my little sister at school looking like somebody's bum. I told you when you first went away to school that as long as I was around and you were in school that you wouldn't have to worry about a thing.”
“You ain't never lied,” Tabitha agreed after slurping some lemonade. “I haven't wanted for a thing since I started school. Then you copped me a truck for graduating. That was love right there.”
“You sure you aren't burning yourself out by going straight through the summer? Usually it's good to take the summer off to get some rest.”
“Hecky nall, big bro. I'm straight. I'm trying to get up out of there and get back to the real world. The only reason I'm going is because you've got to have at least a master's to be talking about any kind of money in corporate America. Even then you got to hustle and be willing to cut a nukka's throat to make it.”
“You know, Tabby Cat,” Solemn Shawn began softly, “I've always been proud of you. Your willingness to learn and take control of your own destiny. We're alike in many ways. I really am proud of you. I love you.”
Tabitha blushed. “Dag, big bro. It sound like you catchin' feelings and shit. I know you're proud of me and that helps me a lot. It's not always about money either. A lot of times when I call I just want to hear your voice. That and a few bucks. No, seriously, it's just that you've been like a father to me. Somehow I know that you will always make everything all right when I call you.
“I don't even get that from Sam and she's my twin. Sometimes you make me think about what our father would have been like if he woulda made it, you know. I know you're proud of me. You should have seen how you were looking at my college graduation. You were looking like you were about to burst at the seams from happiness.”
“Get outta here, Tabby Cat. Really, I was happy ‘cause I thought yo butt was gone get out of school and get a damn job. Then you turn around and go to grad school on me. If I paid taxes, I could file you as a dependent.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. “Yeah right. I never seen you that happy in my doggone life. That's what had me crying—the look of joy on my brother's face that I'd never seen before. That and my truck.”
Remembering that day, Solemn Shawn responded sourly, “Then your crazy mama had to go and start talking greasy. Auditorium full of people gathered together on what's supposed to be a joyous occasion and somehow she finds a way to be fucking with me.”
The pain in her brother's eyes at the mention of their mother was so strong, Tabitha had to look away.
“Big bro, you got to stop letting Ma rain on your parade,” she stated comfortingly.
“Tabby, that lady finds some way to embarrass me anytime I'm around her. I used to think as the years went by she would let the past go, but she hasn't. You don't know what it feels like to have your mother hate you. Like the shit she pulled at Lil Shawn's party. That was sick.”
“Awww, man. Don't nobody pay no attention to her. Sam knows that you ain't going to do anything to hurt your nephew. She was just worried about you having a gun in her house. You know she's straitlaced. Me though—I want you to protect yo neck. Do what you gotta do. You told me that shit a long time ago when I snuck and accepted a collect call from you when you was locked up. Man, Ma saw the charge for that call on the telephone bill and she beat the shit outta me.”
“Sorry ‘bout that, Tabby Cat. That must have been one of the few times that I got homesick while I was in there.”
“It wasn't your fault. I knew what I was doing. I just wanted to talk to my big bro. I hated it when you got locked up. Didn't have nobody to do my homework for me no more.”
“Get outta here. I know you thought you was slick by trying to get me to do your homework. I knew what you was on.”
Tabitha laughed and blew bubbles in her lemonade with the plastic drinking straw. “But it was fun trying to get you to do it. Plus it was faster. I used to be trying to get to that damn TV. You ain't know it but Woody Woodpecker was my boyfriend.”
Both of them laughed. When the laughter diminished, Solemn Shawn dug into his rice and asked, “You think you got enough clothes?”
Tabitha looked at all the bags from different stores. “Yeah, this stuff should hold me.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you hardly put a dent in me. You barely made it to a stack and I'd planned on at least spending two thousand on you. Then I was gone drop a stack in your pocket so you won't have to be out there eating Oodles of Noodles.”
Tabitha paused with a piece of chicken halfway to her lips. “Are you trying to tell me that I got a thousand more to spend?”
“Something like that. But first you got to take care of some business for me. I have to warn you that it's real serious. You might not be able to handle it.”
“What, big bro?” Tabitha asked eagerly.
Solemn Shawn leaned forward over his food tray and motioned for her to do the same. In a stage whisper, he said, “I need you to go over there to that McDonald's and get me a caramel sundae with nuts.”
“Boy, you stupid,” Tabitha said as she got out of her seat and headed over to the Mickey D's.
“Mission accomplished,” she announced when she came back and set the sundae on the table.
Solemn Shawn picked up the sundae and snapped his fingers. “My fault, Tabby. You took off so fast that I forgot to tell you that I wanted an apple pie.”
Again Tabitha jumped to her feet to make the short trip.
Laughing, Solemn Shawn said, “I was just joking, Tabby Cat. Sit down, girl.”
Tabitha sat down. “Shid, I woulda baked you a pie if you wanted me to.”
“Girl, you crazy.”
“You think I'm playing, try me,” Tabitha assured, as she polished off her last few bites of chicken. She picked up a napkin on her tray to wipe her mouth; underneath the napkin was a small jewelry box. Her eyes bucked as she looked up at her brother; he was playing innocent, eating his sundae and avoiding her eyes.
Picking up the box, Tabitha asked, “What's this, big bro?”
“I never seen that before. Why don't you open it and take a look.”
As she removed the small lid from the box, the sparkle of diamonds hit her eye. The precious stones were mounted on a small golden cross. An elaborately linked but thin gold chain completed the necklace. Tabitha's hand flew to her mouth.
“Good lord, Shawn!” she exclaimed. “This is so nice, big bro!”
Shoppers at the nearby tables gazed curiously at them. Some of them instantly decided that it wasn't a lovers' quarrel or a marriage proposal so they quickly became disinterested.
The Apostles Page 11