RCC05 - Some Degree of Murder

by Frank Zafiro

  “Can we sit on the front steps then?”

  She thought about it for a moment before stepping out of the house and pulling the door shut behind her. We both sat down on the concrete steps that led to her front porch. The taxi that I took to meet Natalia waited down the block, its engine running along with the fare meter.

  Natalia looked me up and down, no doubt taking in the black pants, tan polo shirt and black jacket. “Are you a cop? Because I’ve already talked to the cops.”

  “I’m not the police.”

  “Then who are you?”

  I shrugged. “I’m like a detective. Sort of.”

  Her face brightened. “Ah,” she said with a big smile. “You’re a private detective, like in the movies.”

  I smiled. “Something like that. You said the police came to see you?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t like the one who came,” she said with a shake of her head. “He was mean to me.”

  “Mean?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think he liked me because I’m Russian. He asked about Fawn. He tried to pretend he was my friend, Fawn’s friend, but I didn’t believe it. He kept looking around my house as he talked.”

  I stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to say to that.

  “Are you going to find who killed Fawn?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  ”Yes.”

  She stared at me waiting for my questions.

  “Natalia, did Fawn use drugs?”

  She lowered her head and stared at her white Reeboks.

  “I know she was using something. I just don’t know what it was.”

  She nodded without looking at me. “We use to smoke a little chronic together.”

  I rubbed my hands together. “I’m not talking weed. I’m talking something harder. Something that would make her run away.”

  “We went to a party with a bunch of guys we met at the mall. Fawn was really hot for this guy named Malcolm. At the party Malcolm asks us if we want to get high. We both said yeah. That’s when Malcolm took out a glass pipe.”

  “Crack?”

  “Yeah, I thought he was talking about smoking some dope when he said get high. So did Fawn. But when I saw it was something else, I didn’t want any part of it. I tried to make Fawn leave with me, but she wouldn’t. She really liked Malcolm and wanted to impress him. She told me she was going to stay and I left her. I ended up calling my brother to come pick me up and bring me home.”

  “Did Fawn say what happened?”

  “She said she got high with Malcolm and they had sex. She said he wasn’t very good at it, though.” Natalia smiled at the thought.

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “Did Fawn have sex before Malcolm?”

  Natalia glanced at me sideways. “We all have. Boys don’t want no girl who won’t hook up. If you don’t put out, you don’t go out. It’s as simple as that. That’s the rules.”

  A tricked-out Honda sped by, its stereo pumping out bass and its exhaust system revealing the car had an after-market muffler.

  “How old is Malcolm?”

  Natalia leaned back on her elbows, pushing her small breasts outward. “Nineteen.”

  “Nineteen? Why would Fawn hang out with someone that old?”

  Natalia shook her head at me. “Because he’s hot. Because he’s got a job. Because he’s got a car.”

  “Where’s he work?”

  She sat up and rubbed her arms. “At the Denny’s on Sprague. He washes dishes and stuff.”

  “You know where he lives?”

  She shook her head.

  “What’s he look like?”

  “He’s tall and skinny. Sometimes he wears his hair in cornrows. Sometimes it’s picked out in an afro.”

  “He’s black?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fawn likes black guys. Me, I can go either way, but she really dug it.”

  “Did you tell this to the cop who came and talked with you?”

  “No way. He never asked about a boyfriend and I probably wouldn’t have told him anyway. You’re not going to tell Fawn’s mom are you? That would kill her.”

  My mouth was dry. “Why didn’t she tell her mom about Malcolm?”

  Natalia looked at me like I was stupid. “Because he’s nineteen. Because he’s black. Because she was sleeping with him.”

  I stood up and walked off without saying a word.

  “Are we done?” she called after me.

  When I didn’t answer, I heard her say, “Asshole.” Then the door slammed behind me.

  We were headed down to a Denny’s on Sprague when the driver finally spoke. “I’m pretty sure I know which one you’re looking for. It’s near the Home Depot and the Costco.”

  I stared out the window as neighborhoods passed by.

  “I can recommend a couple of better places to eat than the Denny’s,” the driver said. He was balding, fat and breathed heavily as he drove.

  The cab hit a pothole and bounced me into the middle of the back seat. I pushed myself upright behind the passenger seat and fastened my seat belt.

  “Sorry about that. Damn city never repairs their pot holes.”

  When I didn’t answer him, he reminded me about his offer. “Like I said, I know a couple of better places to eat.”

  My eyes shut tight as I tried to block out his babbling. He must have gotten the hint because he became very quiet. Several minutes later we pulled up to a Denny’s on Sprague near Edward Road. I paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi.

  “Want me to wait for you? I’ll click the meter off until you’re ready.”

  I shook my head and turned away, not waiting for an answer.

  Inside the Denny’s, a wrinkled waitress with sagging breasts and a wide ass showed me to a small booth. When I realized I couldn’t see the kitchen, I told her I wanted a different booth and pointed out my choice. She crinkled her nose at me. “Makes me no never mind. Something to drink?”

  “Coffee.”

  She brought a clean cup and filled it. She laid a menu in front of me. “I’ll be back for your order.”

  I nodded and scanned the restaurant. Several elderly couples occupied the booths around me and a couple of single men sat at the bar eating their breakfasts. Older waitresses hurried about, helping out their customers..

  The door to the kitchen opened and a black kid walked out carrying a large grey tub. He loped over to a table and cleared it of dirty dishes and glasses. His hair was in cornrows and he had the gaunt look of someone who had seen too many long nights dancing with crack. How he managed to continue working surprised me, but by the way he looked I imagined he’d probably quit any day.

  He walked by me on his way to another dirty table.

  “Hey,” I said to him and held out a fifty.

  The kid stopped and eyed the green in my hand. “Yeah?”

  “Are you Malcolm?”

  “Nope,” he said flatly but never took his eyes off of the cash.

  I waved the bill in my hand. “I need to ask Malcolm a question.”

  He looked around the restaurant. “Go ahead and ask.”

  I shook my head and folded the bill in my hand. “Not here. Out back.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “Out back,” I said and got up from the table. I passed Malcolm on my way to the cashier. I dropped three bucks in front of the clerk. “I just had coffee. That should cover it and the tip.”

  She nodded and took the cash.

  Out back, I had just lit a cigarette when Malcolm came out. “Can I have one of those,” he asked with a motion towards my smoke. I gave him one and lit with my lighter.

  “Where’s the money?”

  I pulled the fifty out of my pocket and slipped it under the lip of the dumpster next to us. “You get it when you give me an answer.”

  “Then ask your question.”

  “Why was Fawn Taylor down on Sprague?”

  His eyes widened and he stopped midway through an inhale on his cigarette. The smoke came out in bursts as
he coughed. “You five-oh?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m looking into her death as an interested party.”

  “Interested party? What’s that mean?”

  “It means I want to know why she was down there.”

  Malcolm looked over at the cash that hung from the dumpster. “She was workin’.”

  “You mean hookin’?”

  “Same thing, gee.”

  “Why was she workin’?”

  “Girl didn’t have no cash. Couldn’t steal any from her parents. Them folks never left shit lying around.”

  “Why’d she need cash?”

  Malcolm looked at me. “That’s more than fifty dollars worth of questions.”

  “I’ll double it then. Why’d she need cash?”

  “She needed more of that cookie-cookie crack than she could afford.”

  “You got her smokin’ it?”

  “I didn’t make the girl do nothing she didn’t want to do.”

  “Who was she working for?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “I dunno. She was independent.”

  “No one’s independent.”

  The kid laughed at me. “Listen, this is how it worked. I hooked her up with my dealer. She wanted some of the juice but he wouldn’t give it to her for free. So she let him fuck her for a hit. He told her if she wanted more to go and earn it on Sprague. That bitch sure could fuck for a girl her age.”

  “You knew she was fourteen?”

  “Yeah, I did. She knew what she wanted. I just helped her find it.”

  “What did she want?”

  “Black dick and good times.”

  I pounced on him, forcing him into the building. When the back of his head hit the concrete wall, the cigarette fell from his mouth. I punched him hard in the gut and doubled him up. My hand grabbed his face and slammed his head again into the wall. I smashed him three times in to the wall and let him drop to the asphalt. He lay on the ground, moaning softly.

  As I walked away I tucked my shirt into my pants and straightened my jacket. I shook free another Camel and lit it. I wandered through the parking lot of the Home Depot and entered the store.

  An hour later, I climbed into a clean River City Taxi and told the driver I needed to go back to the Davenport hotel. He was a young, white kid in a pressed white shirt with a black tie. His spiky blonde hair and diamond stud earring clashed with the business attire but his attitude was professional none-the-less.

  “Yes, sir,” he said when I told him my destination. “I’ll have you there in a few minutes.”

  We were traveling westbound on Sprague behind a thick patch of traffic. The kid remained quiet except to ask me if I had a preference on a music station. When I told him I didn’t he turned off the radio. We rode in silence for a couple of miles when I saw it. Near Freya Street, the thing that nagged at me earlier when I was on Sprague finally worked its way into my consciousness. On one side of the street, an older white woman walked down the street in high heels and a short skirt. Across the street, a large black man walked at the same pace, his eyes always on her. His walking cane was for show and bounced lightly off the ground as he strolled.

  “Do me a favor and stop the car.”

  The driver looked over his shoulder at me before pulling into the parking lot of an auto detailing shop. “Sir?”

  “I’m getting out here. What do I owe you?”

  He rattled off an amount and I shoved some bills in his hand. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Axel.”

  “Well, Axel, I want you to be my driver next time. If I ask for you by name, they’ll send you, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks,” I said and climbed out of the cab.

  Axel radioed in to his dispatcher before pulling out of the parking lot. Across the street, a dark green Saturn pulled into a parking lot near the hooker. She walked over to the passenger window and talked to the driver for a moment before she climbed in. The car sped away from the area.

  The black dude that followed her on my side of the street continued towards me. His stroll was vintage pimp and his eyes scanned the neighborhood. When he looked at me, I stared back. He stopped for a moment before strutting into a bar called The Hole.

  I walked half a block and followed him into the bar.

  The bar was dark and dingy. A dented brass rail ran the length of the counter behind which a fat, greasy man poured drinks. My reflection shone back at me in the large mirror that hung behind the bottles of booze. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I found the pimp sitting in a back booth.

  I wandered over to him and waited patiently while he finished talking to a little Asian whore who knelt by his side. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.

  “Now, get out there and earn me some bank,” he cooed to the girl.

  “Okay, Rolo,” she said and stood up. “You waiting for me?” she asked me with a smile that revealed a tooth missing on the left side of her mouth.

  I shook my head and motioned towards the big man.

  The girl looked back down at Rolo who nodded back. “It’s alright.”

  When the girl was gone, he turned his attention to me. “You a cop?”

  “No.”

  “What the fuck you want?”

  “Answers.”

  His tongue darted over his lips. “About what?”

  “About the business.”

  A smile spread across his face. “You wanna start pimpin’?”

  I sat across from him.

  “I didn’t say you could sit down.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  The smile turned into a snarl. “Be careful who you play hard with.”

  I leaned in. “I am.”

  Rolo smiled again and leaned slowly back in the booth. He put his hands behind his head. “What do you wanna know?”

  “Who runs prostitution in this town?”

  The smile faded from Rolo’s face. “You’re a cop.”

  “I already told you no.”

  “You tryin’ to move in on my territory then?” Anger flashed in his eyes and his nostrils flared.

  “I’m trying to figure out who a girl was working for.”

  “Why?”

  From the inside of my jacket, I pulled out Fawn’s picture and slid it across the table to Rolo. “Because someone killed her.”

  “She’s a young one. Looks like a debutante.”

  “Were you running her?”

  “If I was I wouldn’t tell you,” his eyes flashed up to me. “But she wasn’t in my stable and that’s the truth. But she looks familiar. I might have seen her once or twice before.”

  I swirled my finger in the air. “Is this area yours?”

  “It is now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, ever since them racist motherfuckers decided to take a cut of the prostitution action.”

  “Who?”

  “The B.S.C. The Brotherhood of the Southern Cross.”

  “They're a motorcycle gang. They don’t mess around with prostitution. Drugs, yeah, but not whores.”

  “It’s part of the new world order, baby. Times are tough so the sharks are starting to eat the other sharks. They started pushing me out about a year and a half ago. They control all of the working girls from Altamont to downtown. I got the shit east of Altamont. Some other nigger is controlling the tail in downtown.”

  I nodded in understanding. That’s what bugged me about the area around the Brotherhood’s club house. There were no pimps on the street. There were hookers and dealers but no pimps.

  “Who’s controlling the drug trade?”

  “The Brotherhood. Ain’t no shit movin’ or happenin’ in their block unless they get a piece of it. They put a couple girls in the hospital who tried to say no to their protection.” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said ‘protection.’

  “They rough up the girls?”

  He nodded. “Stupid cracker motherfuckers. When they gonna understand that if
you damage the merchandise they can’t produce?”

  “Why do the girls stay in the area then? Why not move out here to you or downtown?”

  “That section of east Sprague is hot. That’s where the action has been for the past five or so years. Plus, the Brotherhood is hooking them up with cheap dope.”

  “What kind?”

  “Whatever the girls want. Smack, crack or crank. They got their fingers in all of the pies.”

  I tapped the picture of Fawn before scooping it up. “I want you to ask around about this girl. Find out which one of the Brotherhood was running her.”

  “And just why in the fuck should I do that for you?”

  “Because I’ll remove your competition if you do.”

  Rolo slowly moved his jaw as he thought. “How will I get in contact with you?”

  “Give me your cell number and I’ll check in with you.”

  Rolo stared at me for a moment and noisily sucked air through his teeth. “Alright,” he said and rattled off seven digits. I repeated the numbers to myself several times before I had it memorized.

  I stood up from the booth to leave.

  “I seen your type come down after these girls before.”

  “My type?”

  “Yeah. A daddy trying to bring his little girl home. They never go home.” His eyes didn’t brag. “I’m sorry what happened to your girl. Nobody deserves that shit.”

  I stuck out my hand and he shook it. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Wednesday, April 14th

  1904 hrs

  Club Tip Top

  TOWER

  The sound of music and the smell of smoke blasted into me as soon as I opened the door to the Tip Top. The speakers were tinny and struggled to pump out Joan Jett’s I Love Rock ‘n Roll. As I walked down the short corridor to the seating area, none of the six pairs of eyes seated there took the time to look over. All were glued to the small stage at the front of the large room.

  I glanced up to the stage. The woman dancing there was pushing forty. Loose skin adorned her belly and the backs of her arms, but her legs were surprisingly supple. She noticed me and flashed a confident grin as she gyrated her hips to the beat. I gave her what I hoped was a professional nod.

  Several patrons noticed her gaze and a few of them started eyeballing me. I’m sure they made me as a cop right away.