“Jews are not innocent. They deserve to die.” Ibrihim said glaring at Bernie.
“That’s it!” Nelley let go of a subdued Bernie and dragged Ibrihim out of the store. He shoved him to the ground. “Do not come back until you can be civil with ALL my customers!”
Carson helped Ibrihim up. “You have got to keep your feelings to yourself.”
Brushing his dirtied knees, Ibrihim said, “I cannot. It is how it is.”
“Just go home before you get into more trouble.”
Shaking his head, Carson got into the backseat of Ricky’s Chevy. He thought about Ibrihim’s outburst the whole way to Flatbush Ave. Ibrihim was openly anti-Israeli. Isreael and America were close allies, so he must also be anti-American. He was not the physical aggressor in this situation. He made mild-mannered Bernie made enough to lounge at him with just words. He may pose a real danger to the residents of New York. He bears watching, for sure.
Chapter 7
Carmella looked up wide-eyed. Her partner looked down at her, a silly grin on his face.
“Got ya,” Matt pointed at the two coffees on her desk. “Are one of those cups for me?”
“Not anymore.” She pushed her chair away and snatched both cups of coffee from the desk as she spun around.
“Mel, I was just kidding. Come on.”
She swiveled her chair around, faced him with a big smile and offered him a cup, “Got ya, back.”
Matt took the coffee and waved a piece of paper in front of her nose. It was a request for a workup.
“Do you want to help locate a murderer? Afterwards, we can grab some breakfast. My treat.”
Carmella grabbed a pen and pad. “What do you think?”
“That’s exactly what I thought. Anyway, the 2-6 is looking for Michael Washington. He’s the shooter of a homicide that went down in Harlem last night. Detective Morales thinks he is hiding out in Virginia.”
“Where should we start?” Carmella groaned. “With the phone book?” Locating a Michael Washington from Harlem would be as difficult as finding a Vinny Bertolli from Bensonhurst. Somehow, Carmella knew they would locate the right Michael Washington before McDonald’s stopped serving breakfast. It would just take some digging.
“Start with Arrest Booking and I will search the Complaint Index.” Matt sipped his coffee.
“What pedigree do you have on him?” Carmella asked, pen at the ready.
“He is approximately twenty-five years old. Last known address is on Morningside Avenue. He spent some time in Virginia after his last stint at Rikers Prison.”
“Good.” She nodded. “That should be enough to bring up his arrest record and we’ll take it from there.” She typed her password into the computer keyboard.
Matt sat in his chair, two cubicles away. Carmella heard him tapping furiously on his keyboard.
Less than a minute later he called, “I found his DOB. May 3rd, 1972. Back in 1995, he filed an assault complaint against the victim that he shot last night. Our victim and shooter have a history.”
“Surprise, surprise.” Matt and Carmella said at the same time.
Carmella found Michael Washington’s arrest record now that the search was narrowed by his date of birth. Actually, she found four Michael Washington’s with the same date of birth, but only one lived on Morningside Ave. She wrote down the arrest numbers for each time that Michael Washington, born on May 3rd 1972 and lived on Morningside Avenue, was arrested. She counted eight arrests.
Carmella viewed each arrest report, looking for persons Washington called each time he was a guest of the NYPD. One of them may help him hideout. She made a list of the telephone numbers and the names of the people he called. It was a short list because Washington called the same people over and over. Since Detective Morales had already checked the local places where Washington could hideout, she was searching for an out of state telephone number; ideally, in Virginia. She sighed, they were all local numbers.
It is unusual for a prisoner to make a long distance phone call during the arrest process. . She hoped, for some reason, an exception was made during one of Washington’s arrests. No such luck.
Wait a minute! If Washington received a visit from a friend that lived out of state, or made a long distance call while incarcerated at Rikers, the New York City Department of Corrections would keep a record of it.
She jumped out of her chair and trotted to the middle of the first row of cubicles. The corrections officer assigned to the RIC was hunched over his desk, busy at work. Roy was as dependable as he looked, solid as a stone wall.
Roy lifted his smooth tanned head. “Hey, Mel.” He pushed his chair from his desk. “What do you need?”
“Can you get me visitor and telephone contacts on Michael Washington?” She knew that Roy will set his own work aside to help her out.
“No Problem. DOB, NYSID?”
“5-3-72.” Carmella said, as she scribbled Washington’s NYSID number on a notepad.
“I’ll work on the numbers I have, for now.” She went back to her desk.
She knew better than to thank Roy for his help. When she was new to the RIC, he showed her the ins and outs of all the databases. When she thanked him for his help, his olive complexion turned red. She will ask Matt to invite him to breakfast.
Breakfast. Her stomach growled. Better get this done before McDonald’s menu switches over to lunch. She was so looking forward to pancakes.
Carmella began to work in earnest. She entered every telephone number that Washington called each time he was arrested into a reverse look up of telephone numbers website and retrieved the subscriber’s name and addresse. She compared the short list of telephone numbers Washington called when arrested to the list of the registered subscribers to those numbers. Telephone numbers were subscribed to only one resident in the household, but he could have called anyone at each number.
She accessed a database that lists area codes for Virginian counties and made a list of their exchanges. She entered each name that was on her expanded list of people contacted locally by Washington, or named as subscribers to the numbers he called, into a people finder database and narrowed the search by individual area codes and exchanges. She searched for a link between someone on the list of Washington’s local contacts to an out of state telephone number and address, preferably a Virginian address.
Now for the mundane part of the search. Starting with the first name on the list and narrowing the search with the first area code, she found eighty matches. Sheesh! Eighty matches for one name in one county in Virginia. She continued with the same name with the next area code and found fifty-six matches in another county. Breakfast would wait. Her stomach growled.
Chapter 8
Ibrihim slammed the receiver. His call did not go through. He needed more time. Time to make more calls, but the phone cards ran out- already! He purchased them last week and already they were used up.
Before he came to Brooklyn, he was in Lahore, in Gilani’s camp. Gilani told him what to do when he came to the United States. And what not to do. Do not talk about al-Fuqra, or The Impoverished, or the jihad. Do not call if the call can be traced or if you were being watched. Deal with the problem yourself. Do not bring attention to al-Fuqra.
Ibrihim dug into his pocket, pulled out a wad of twenty dollar bills and went into Nelley’s.
“More phone cards,” he said to Nelley, ignoring the customer already on line.
Nelley squared his shoulders. “This man is ahead of you. You have to wait.”
“I need cards— I mean, fine.” Remembering Carson’s advice from this morning, he tapped his foot. “I will wait.”
The costumer took his change from Nelley and left the store, after giving Ibrihim a sideways glance.
Ibrihim placed his used up phone cards on the counter and put a pile of twenties next to them. “I need more cards like these.”
“Here you go.” Nelley handed Ibrihim new phone cards.
“Thank you.”
“
That’s more like it. Keep it up and you will always be welcome in my store.”
Ibrihim nodded, but left the store without speaking a word.
He headed back to the public pay phone.
The man that was inside Nelley’s was now on the phone. “I will be at my next stop in twenty minutes. What’s the repair?”
Ibrihim stood so close to the man that he turned. Ibrihim hovering over him. “I will be off in a minute, chief.”
Ibrihim glared at him and huffed.
“Okay, got it. Talk to you later.” The man picked up the tool box at his feet and turned to go. But he was blocked by Ibrihim.
“Buddy, what is your problem? Let me pass.”
“Find another phone next time.”
“Yeah right, like you own this one.” He pushed past Ibrihim and headed for his work van parked at the curb.
Ibrihim spat at the man. “Stupid American.”
The man loaded the tool box into his van. He slammed the back door and approached Ibrihim. “Buddy, that is not how we do things here. You better apologize or I’ll teach you some manners.”
Ibrihim remembered his training in Lahore. Tell them that America is great, that you love New York. Lie to them, lie to them - every chance you get.
“Yes, I am sorry.”
“Okay, you better be.” The man got into his van and drove away.
Chapter 9
After forty minutes of compiling a list of persons Washington may have contacted in Virginia, Carmella was interrupted by an “Ahum”. She looked at the source of the sound.
Roy stood over her desk holding a handful of papers. Carmella took the papers and smiled. She pawed through them like a puppy digging up a bone, hunting for Virginia connections. The papers were full of telephone numbers and names of people Washington had called during his last incarceration at Rikers Island. The last page listed visitors with their names and addresses.
A minute or two passed before she noticed that Roy was still standing next to her desk. She looked up at him.
“Mel, I checked into your guy a little.”
“Great.” She moved the paperwork on her desk aside so Roy could sit. “What did you find?”
“Well, for starters, during his last stay at Rikers he converted to Islam. After his conversion, he started fist-fights with Jewish and Anglo inmates.”
Mel’s eyes widened. “Hmmm.”
She remembered Richard Carson’s penetration into The Impoverished, seven years ago. He was easily planted because he was a young American born male black with an extensive criminal record. Just like Washington.
“Mel, there is a rising trend of inmates converting to Islam in jail. It’s usually a good thing. You know rehabilitation and all that.”
“Yeah. Like Mohammad Ali, right?”
“Well, yeah. But sometimes a radical imam gets them. If Washington became a moderate Muslim in jail, he would be tolerant and peaceful.”
“So the violent and confrontational manner he displayed, especially on the heels of his conversion, shows that he converted to a radical form of Islam. Right?”
Roy nodded. “When Blood gang members stuck up for your guy, he called them infidels. Washington pissed his fellow inmates off so bad that he spent his last three weeks at Rikers in protective custody.”
“Roy, you are the man.” She did not want to embarrass him, but he came through for her and she wanted him to know it.
“If you need anything else, let me know.” He smiled and went back to his cubicle.
Mel read the papers Roy provided. Washington called two out-of-state telephone numbers over and over and they had the same area code – 434. Looking at the list of Virginia area codes, she saw that 434 encompassed two Virginian counties: Prince Edward and Charlotte.
She entered the telephone numbers in the reverse telephone number database. The subscribers of both telephone numbers lived in the same town, on the same street. She read the name of the street.
“No, that can’t be right,” she mumbled.
She shook her head rapidly from side to side, rubbed her eyes and looked at the computer screen again. The street name was the same that she read the first time. Sheikh Gilani Lane! The skin on Carmella’s arms broke out in goose bumps. She shivered.
Michael Washington, a young African American, who converted to a radical form of Islam while in prison, was hiding out in a rural American town on a street named after the founder of al- Fuqra.
The Impoverished was al-Fuqra’s American branch and has two known strongholds on American soil. Carson infiltrated the encampment in Deposit, New York and the FBI was watching the one in Trout Creek, Colorado. The attacks perpetrated or attempted by these encampments were alarming enough. Was there a third encampment in Virginia?
Carmella grabbed her desk phone and dialed Special Agent Arthur Henderson’s line. He was sitting seven floors above her head at his desk in the FBI offices, but she did not want to waste time with the restricted elevator banks and security clearances. What should be a two minute trot up the stairs became a forty minute nightmare. It was easier and faster just to pick up the phone.
She told Arthur Henderson about The Impoverished encampment in Virginia. He promised to get back to her after he checked Bureau resources.
She hung up and went straight to Matt’s cubicle. She gave him the two addresses, names and telephone numbers of Michael Washington’s associates on Sheikh Gilani Lane in Virginia.
Matt’s eyes widened as soon as he read the addresses. “I have to warn Detective Morales about The Impoverished so he can co-ordinate the take-down with the FBI.”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’m waiting to see what Henderson wants to do.”
Chapter 10
Carson circled the block twice before he found a parking spot. He parked the Blazer, around the corner from his building, and double checked the street regulation sign to ensure that it was parked in a legal spot. After all the trouble he went through to avoid a parking ticket, it would suck to get one now.
He turned the corner and spotted Ibrihim talking on the public pay phone in front of Nelley’s Grocery. There must not be a phone inside the apartment because Ibrihim was constantly running out of the building to use the pay phone.
Carson waved. Ibrihim did not even notice. He hung up the receiver, pulled a phone card from his pocket and made another call.
Since he was using a phone card he must be calling long distance. It was much easier to pay for expensive long distance calls with a calling card than dumping a cumbersome pile of quarters into the coin slot.
Hmm! If he knew what kind of calling card Ibrihim was using, it would say a lot about his intentions. If he was making innocent calls he could use a calling card from any of the major telephone carriers, with a unique personal identification number. But if he was using a prepaid calling card, it would be untraceable. Ibrihim would choose a pre-paid card if he had something to hide.
Carson now had two things to learn about his neighbors across the hall. First, was Khali an electronics wizard? If so, why? Was it for extra pocket money or did he build explosive devices? Second, what type did of calling card did Ibrihim use? Traceable or untraceable?
Ibrihim, like his roommates, was new to the country so he could not have many people to call. The few times Carson eavesdropped on his telephone conversations, he spoke in Arabic or Farsi. Never English.
Who the heck did he call?
Maybe to people he met at the Atlantic Avenue Mosque or in the close knit Arabic neighborhood in which the apartment building was on the outskirts. Maybe not.
Carson had an appointment, of sorts, with the electronic wizard and he planned to keep it. He climbed the stairs and went into his apartment. He turned on his Video Cassette Recorder and ejected Independence Day from the machine. He loved that movie. It was action-packed, uplifting, patriotic and funny. Plus, he thought he looked a bit like Will Smith. Not as handsome, but close.
He jammed the movie back into the Video Cassette Record
er door, but he shoved it in backwards. That should fool Khali.
He crossed the hall and knocked on his neighbors’ door.
A small Jordanian man opened the door, his eyes bloodshot and hair disheveled. Carson looked at his white tee shirt and baggy pajama bottoms. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll come back later.”
“No. It is okay. I should be up by now. I arrived late last night. I was on a long bus ride.” The young man rubbed his eyes. “You live next door?”
“That’s right.” Carson pointed at his open door across the hallway. “I’m Richard. Ibrihim said you could help with my VCR. But you’re tired. You could look at it later. I mean, if you want.”
Carson turned to leave.
“Wait, I will get my tools,” the young man said.
He opened the apartment door wide and Carson followed him inside. “Ibrihim said your name was Khali. Did I say it right?”
“Yes, fine.” He flipped open a shiny metal toolbox. After removing the top tray, filled with small electronic components, Khali rummaged through the bottom of the toolbox.
While Khali was hunting in the tool box, Carson looked all around the room. He tried to memorize everything he saw. Two air mattresses and a sleeping bag lay on the floor. In the space between the air mattresses were militant propaganda pamphlets Carson recognized from the Mosque. A television set and VCR stood on a cheap Formica table. Piled next to the TV was a stack of video tapes. Beside the table, were a couple of duffle bags. Another sleeping bag was rolled up in the corner.
The walls were bare except for a poster of Sheikh Rahman. A telephone was mounted on the wall in the kitchenette. A telephone? Carson wondered if it worked.
Carson said, “I hope you can get the video cassette out of the machine without damaging it. Otherwise I will lose my deposit at the video store.”
The Impoverished: Boxed Set Page 11