Cold Flash

by Carrie H. Johnson

  “Mr. Bonanno, another outburst like that and you will be removed from this courtroom,” the judge commanded, hollering above the roar of the audience.

  When I got in my car after testifying, four missed calls showed on my cell, one from Detective Burgan and three from Hamp. I called Hamp first and left a message. I waited until I returned to work to call Burgan, who I hoped would provide information about the two guys Hamp said were hassling him about his gambling debt.

  Detective Zoila Burgan runs the Mobile Street Crimes Unit, where members of FBI, DEA, and PPD work together on gang issues. We went through the academy together. I helped her through the physical challenges where she was lacking. Since then, we’ve seen each other at a few gatherings, and spoke by phone a few times.

  Zoila bypassed any pleasantries. “Pebo ‘Bandit’ Miles and Murray ‘Muddy’ Wilson are badasses, wannabes,” Burgan said. “They have been on our watch list for a while. Both have long rap sheets.”

  “What’s their thing?”

  “They’re part of Berg Nation, a gang out of the Blumberg in North Philly. They are capitalizing on the heroin epidemic. Mercy, Lord.” I heard her breathe in and let out a sigh. “Anyway, I’m sure you know about the violence. They murder anyone who steps out of line. Black Mafia style. We like them for three murders in South Philly, but can’t prove it. Back in the nineties the Junior Black Mafia were ruthless, leaving dead bodies everywhere. It was like some Wild West antics around the Norris and Cambridge homes. They’ve demolished all of them now, and Blumberg is next.” She hesitated, seemingly contemplating the justice in the demolitions.

  “I’m aware of the history,” I said. A flicker of gut-wrenching memories peeped through. My first year on the police force, I was recruited to work undercover in the Black Mafia, one of the deadliest organizations in American history. I was not recruited for my experience but rather for my young age and appearance and for being stupid enough to do it. That same innocent stupidity is what had me jumping at the “opportunity.” Six months in, my cover was blown, I was turned into a heroin junky, rented out to so many men I lost count, and then dumped in an alley around the Norris Homes and left for dead. I wished I was dead during the severe, uncontrollable cold flashes, vomiting, and shitting on myself during the days before the police found me in a dumpster. I closed my eyes to the memory—seventeen years, three months, and twenty-eight days later, and still I feel the warm sensation of drugs penetrating my veins. Once an addict, always an addict.

  Burgan interrupted my thoughts. “Girl, I grew up in Passyunk on the south side. Raised my kids up in the projects too. Thank God they are grown now.”

  “Thanks for the information on Miles and Wilson, Zoila.”

  “What are you into, girl?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I might be calling you again.”

  “No problem. I got you.”

  I called Travis, Dulcey, and Hamp’s cells again. No answer. I left a message on each of their phones, then organized my desk and headed out.

  It was four thirty when I pulled out of the parking lot, calculating twenty minutes to Dulcey’s house, some time to check things out since Dulcey, Hamp, and Travis weren’t answering their phones, and twenty minutes home, in time for Bethany to leave for her regular babysitting job. I jumped on I-676. Dulcey lived at 4604 Locust Street in West Philly, in a neighborhood of twin row houses, most of which needed face-lifts and paint. Dulcey’s was the exception. I parked in front. Neither Dulcey’s or Travis’s car was there.

  Her neighbor, Mrs. Harris, whose house is connected to Dulcey’s, was watering flowers that lined her walkway. She used a bucket, swinging it back and forth so the water splashed out, hit the ground, and splattered mud on the hem of her pant legs. Mrs. Harris had to be crowding eighty, I guessed, and had lived next to Dulcey for the eighteen years Dulcey had been there. When I got out of the car, she took notice.

  “Hi there, Muriel.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Harris. How you doing?”

  “Oh, girl, you know, the best I can. Gettin’ old and doing the best I can.” She gestured to the flowers with the hand she held the water bucket in, causing water to splash over her shoes. “These flowers the only young things around here.” She chuckled.

  “Pretty.”

  “You know that Dulcey got everyone trying to make their houses beautiful. I’m not one for outdoor plants, but they sure do make a difference, I guess.” She turned and shuffled back to her house. “Ain’t nobody home over there.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Harris,” I said, getting back in the car.

  I decided there was nothing to do but go home and wait for Travis. If it was something important, dangerous, worth worrying about, Travis had sense enough to call me. One of them would call.

  CHAPTER 3

  When I put my key in the door, screams came from inside. I dropped my bag, fingered my gun, and pushed the door open. A moment of silence gave way to fits of laughter. I exhaled. I holstered my gun and stepped back outside to retrieve my bag, dropped it by the stairs, and went down the hall to the kitchen. The twins and Bethany were putting on a freak show at the kitchen island counter.

  Rose’s ugly face—wide eyes, scrunched nose, and bared teeth—amplified the horror of green, brown, white, yellow, and red mush spewing from her mouth. Bethany led the gruesomeness with an uglier face and a double mound of putridness, which dripped from her mouth, accompanied by screeching and growling.

  The twins squealed with delight. They covered their mouths when they saw me, unsure of my reaction to their nauseating play.

  I feigned puking, to more squealing.

  “We’re pretending to eat humans,” Helen explained. “Want to have some?” She scooped up the last spoonful of the mixture from her bowl and held it up to me.

  “Humans are not my favorite,” I confessed, “unless, of course, they are little girls with big eyes and ponytails cut up into tiny pieces and doused with hot sauce.” I made my own ugly face and growled at them, to their enjoyment and my mortification.

  Bethany’s recipe included Kraft macaroni and cheese, tomatoes, spinach, chocolate chip cookies, and cherry Kool-Aid. Yuck. What else could I say? They cleaned their bowls.

  Fact is, the twins were spindly. They did not eat or like anything edible except chocolate chip cookies, so seeing them fill their mouths with any kind of food that had some nutritional value registered as a blessing.

  “Travis hasn’t called, Auntie,” Rose said, slurping up the last of the mush from her bowl.

  “We tried to call him but he didn’t answer, so we left a message but he hasn’t called back,” Helen added.

  “He’ll be home soon,” I said, more to myself than them.

  Satisfied with my answer, the twins charged into the den to watch a most appropriate television program for nine-year-old girls who want to solve all the crime in Philadelphia, then the world: Cops. I could hear Nareece in my head ranting about my selfishness for letting her little darlings see such a perverted program that only encouraged their demonic behavior.

  “How about some plain macaroni and cheese, Miss Mabley?” Bethany offered. I sat at the table and watched her pull a plate from the cabinet and fill it with macaroni and cheese. “Here you go, plain.”

  Unconvinced of its purity, I moved the food around on the plate a few times before deciding it was safe for eating. A spoonful ignited my hunger, the slop taking on flavors of filet mignon and mashed potato. If only it were true.

  Bethany cleared the table and filled the dishwasher. She left, vowing to help the twins solve their latest case the next time she babysat.

  Halfway through the second bowl, the macaroni and cheese regained its true flavor and got dumped down the garbage disposal. I wiped down the counters and stove, then went into the den. The twins were stretched out on the floor, now engrossed in Terminator Genisys, their chins resting on upturned palms.

  A dull ache crept up the back of my head. My fingers grazed over a small lump where my head had slammed i
nto the pool deck. It was sore. I attempted to stretch out on the couch; instead jumped up, having been speared in the butt by the handle of a magnifying glass stuck between the cushions. The twins stayed glued to their movie, oblivious to my plight. I felt around for other Twofer Detective Agency paraphernalia. I settled back down and closed my eyes to the sounds of explosions, machine-gun fire, and loud voices swearing death to the bad guys.

  I press my sweaty finger against the trigger. My arms shimmy under the weight of the .44 Magnum. A cold breeze presses against my shoulders. I twist around, and back and around again, and drop my gun. A twisted, snarling face floats in suspended light, toward me. I fall to the floor and feel for my gun. Hands grab at my body, pull my hair. I slide across the floor. My fingers feel the cold metal. I pull the trigger.

  I bolted upright and jerked around in every direction, whipping through the uneasiness of not remembering where I was. The muted light from the television gave a spooky aura to the surroundings. The familiar sound of news anchor Monique Braxton interviewing witnesses to a shooting in North Philly eased my tension.

  Twenty years on the force and I had never fired my gun. That is, until I killed Jesse Boone. Even though I celebrated his death, a boulder of guilt pressed squarely on my spirit.

  The psychologist had said something about me being human, that the worry would be if it did not phase me at all. For me, I wanted uninterrupted sleep, without it being plagued by nightmares.

  My phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. Calvin’s name showed on the screen—my love, all five foot ten, 210 pounds of gorgeous, sexy, courageous, passionate, luscious man. Did I mention the man makes me scream in glorious, agonizing ecstasy when we make love?

  Calvin owns a nightclub—Calvin’s Place—where we met almost a year ago. Sometimes he headlines as the entertainment, showboating his Barry White–sounding self. Hmph. Hmph. Hmph. Make a woman of sound mind and body faint.

  “Love that sleepy voice. Sounds like I woke you.” His voice sparked goose bumps.

  I took a deep breath and got comfortable. “I just woke up. I called myself watching TV with the twins. What time is it?”

  “Going on eleven thirty. Long day, huh?”

  “Crazy day. I tackled this guy at the pool this morning and he tackled me back.”

  “Baby, how you gonna tackle some guy, as little as you are?”

  “Thanks for the compliment. The little part. But hey, I’m a hundred and forty pounds of might.”

  “I’d love to tackle those hundred and forty pounds of might.”

  “I could handle that right about now; long, slow, gentle tackling.”

  “A romantic dinner, sweet aromatic wine to tantalize your taste buds and satisfy your animal cravings before I ravish your body.”

  “Mmm, I am incapable of resisting that offer.”

  A few more minutes of sexual banter before making a dinner date for Saturday, left me relaxed and horny. I slid off the couch in slow motion to avoid a resurgence of head pain and tripped up the stairs to check on the twins. They were in their beds reading.

  “Why didn’t you wake me before you came up?” I asked.

  “We didn’t want to disturb you, Auntie. We know you had a long day and are worried about Travis. We were waiting for you, though, so we could say our prayers,” Rose said.

  “Well, that’s very thoughtful, but you-all don’t have to worry about me. It’s my job to worry about you guys and Travis. Now c’mon, prayers.” We knelt beside Rose’s bed, one on each side of me, and began.

  They said in unison, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God, please make Mommy better and bring her home. And give Daddy a kiss and hug from us, and keep Auntie and Travis safe. We love you. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”

  I kissed them and tucked them in, before I closed the door and returned to lying on the couch. A check of my phone showed 11:50 p.m. Worry resurfaced. I tried Travis’s phone again. Still no answer. The same with Dulcey’s and Hamp’s phones.

  An hour later, Travis stumbled in.

  “I must have called your phone ten times,” I said, trying to temper my tone. “What the hell is going on? Hamp and Dulcey didn’t answer their phones either.”

  “My phone didn’t have any juice.” Travis plopped down at my feet and rested his head back. “Ma, Aunt Dulcey and Hamp got serious problems. Why he called me I don’t know since they’re telling me not to say anything to you cuz they don’t want you to get involved.”

  “What do you mean they don’t want me involved?” I sat up and swung my legs around, ready to pounce.

  “Don’t go off on me, please. I spent hours dealing with the two of them. I had to keep Aunt Dulcey from killing Uncle Hamp.” He gave me a sideways look. “David against Goliath.”

  Dulcey was six one and a half, 200 pounds. Hamp was five eight, 160 pounds soaking wet. Travis was a little taller than Dulcey at six two, 180 pounds, but still no match. Yep, my girl had them. I know even if they attacked her together they would get pounded. What Dulcey wants, Dulcey gets, except for what she had now.

  “Can we do this in the morning, please?”

  “Boy, you better start talking and hope I don’t have too many questions when you’re done.” I massaged my temples in anticipation of a tale that would only escalate the throbbing.

  Travis pushed back on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table. “So I was messing around with the twins when Uncle Hamp called. It didn’t even sound like him. He sounded high. He talked all crazy—said Aunt Dulcey was dying and he would die without her. Said he needed to handle some trouble. I’m thinking it’s seven thirty a.m., how bad can he be? I picked him up at the Red Star, a dive on Mifflin on the south side. I picked him up cuz I thought he wanted me to take him home. I would have brought Rose and Helen with me, but I know that area definitely ain’t cool and like I said, Uncle Hamp sounded off the chain. Anyway, I figured I wouldn’t be gone more than an hour—pick him up, drop him off. He cussed me out for taking so long getting there, then begged me not to take him home. Said Aunt Dulcey would kill him if she knew what he did, only to keep her happy, especially now, since she’s so sick. I did not plan to go up against Aunt Dulcey, no matter what he said.”

  “What’s he into? Drugs again? And where the hell else would you take him?”

  “Just hold on, Ma. Chill and let me finish. When he got in the car he was real nervous, like he was scared. Directed me down back roads and alleyways, and through parking lots. Said he thought someone might be following us. When we got to the house the first time, Aunt Dulcey wasn’t home. He asked me to wait while he changed and then take him to a meeting or something. It took him forever to get ready. Man is worse than a woman, I swear.”

  “Where’d you take him?”

  “Will you please just let me finish?”

  “Well, go on then. Finish.”

  “I took him to some joint on the north side. We sat in there for hours waiting for somebody who never came.”

  “What do you mean you sat in there for hours? Doing what?”

  “Nothing. Uncle Hamp had a few drinks. We shot some pool. Ate some chicken wings.”

  “And never once did it occur to you to call me?”

  “Mom, my phone was dead.”

  “Hamp has a phone.”

  “Don’t you think I asked him? He said he left his phone at the house. And the pay phone was busted.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or are you just going to jam my behind?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When we left, I took him home. Aunt Dulcey was waiting at the door. Going in did not even enter my brain, but Uncle Hamp wouldn’t let me leave. Said I was the only thing that was going to save him from Aunt Dulcey killing him. It took everything I had to keep her from backing up on him. And I do mean she was seriously going to kill the man.”

  “Why was she so u
pset?”

  “She thinks Uncle Hamp is using again,” Travis said.

  “Shit, I was afraid of that.”

  “She said she’d rather see him dead than stuck in that game again. The neighbors must’ve called the cops with all the hollerin’ and cussin’ going on, and Aunt Dulcey almost got hauled off to jail. She was crying and promised not to bother Uncle Hamp anymore. Said she’s too sick to care, which is a lie. She cares. Then you know Aunt Dulcey had to cook some food, and made me eat. When I left she was in one room sleeping and Uncle Hamp was in another.”

  “What is Hamp thinking with all this nonsense, when Dulcey is fighting for her life?”

  “Ma, I actually had a good time hanging with Uncle Hamp. He is my godfather, after all.”

  “Yes. What was I thinking.”

  “I think Uncle Hamp got more going on than he’s talking. I ain’t never seen him freakin’ out like he was.” He hesitated before asking, with a brighter tone, “My girls are good?”

  “Yeah, your girls are fine.”

  “Well, I’m wiped, so I’m saying good night.” He got up and bent down to kiss me. “I love you.”

  “Love you too. Good night.”

  I toyed with calling Dulcey, then decided I would wait for her call in the morning. I shut the television off and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, shutting the lights on the way. When I got to the stairway, Travis sat on a step halfway up.

  “Ma, that ain’t everything. I wasn’t going to say anything about this, cuz I didn’t want Uncle Hamp to be salted, but . . .”

  “Travis, baby, just tell me.”

  “When I drove away I passed this hooked-up Beamer 650 coupe, parked down the street. A woman was behind the wheel. When I got to the corner, I checked my rearview mirror. She pulled to the house and Uncle Hamp came out and got in and they split. I turned around and drove back by the house but the house was dark, so I figured Aunt Dulcey’s resting, right? I didn’t want to, you know, make anything more of it and get her riled up again.”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak, so we both hung out in the silence, staring at each other until I worked through my disbelief and waved at him to go on to bed. I let Travis’s words hammer my brain for a few minutes before I shook them off. I shut the lights out and went upstairs. Hamp having an affair? Ridiculous.