He came to me and grabbed my arms. I tried to pull away. He held firm.
“Listen to me. I’m sorry. Yes, I’m married. I wanted to tell you but . . . I was afraid you wouldn’t see me anymore.” He turned me loose.
“That’s all you got? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was married because I wanted to have my wife and you too,” I mimicked him. I was off and running again, my arms flailing like a lunatic. After all, I’m a man’s man and one woman is just not enough for what I have to offer. I grabbed my crotch and did a Michael Jackson. Childish. Out of control.
I stopped and fell in the chair. “That was my decision to make.”
“You’re right, it was your decision. I was wrong. Please, just let me explain.”
All I could think was how stupid love is. So why not hear him out? It couldn’t be any crazier if it were happening in a movie.
“I’ve been married for twenty-five years. Five years ago she had a massive stroke. She’s been bedridden ever since. She can’t move, can’t talk, she just stares. She’s not brain dead. Doctor says her brain waves show activity, but something keeps her from reacting. So she’s brain dead but she’s not.”
I was stunned.
He sat on the edge of his desk in front of me.
“She’s terminally ill but hanging on . . . It took a long time for me to go on with my life, knowing she would never come back. I thought . . . When I met you I didn’t intend to fall in love with you, it was about working the case for the feds. You know how it goes. In all my years of working with law enforcement. . . that was a first.”
I looked up at him with more surprise. “A first what? You mean when we sang duets all night and I thought we were falling in love, it was all about working a case for the FBI? You were trying to get next to me for information?”
“Only for a minute. Then I couldn’t get enough of you. It’s the first time I’ve felt anything for a woman other than my wife.”
“So you just brush your wife aside and pretend she’s not there anymore?”
“No. I love my wife. But she isn’t there anymore. It’s a hard reality, but it’s real.” He got up and came to me. He took my hand and kissed it. “Yes, circumstance brought us together.” He kissed my other hand. “And I never want us to be apart. I love you, Muriel Mabley.”
He swooped me up and carried me to his bed. The heat of his kisses over my body, between my legs, him inside me, filled my brain long after I left him.
Driving down I-95, my heart pounded, making breathing difficult; my heart ached with love for him. But he lied. He looked me in the eye with heartfelt sincerity and told me he loved me and wanted us to be together for the rest of our lives, a vow already spoken for.
CHAPTER 11
Fran was on the phone when I arrived at my desk forty minutes late to work. He grunted at my greeting.
Parker chided me. “Nice of you to show up.”
I crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it over the cubicle wall that separated our spaces.
After Fran hung up, Parker said, “We need to talk. You too, Riley.”
We followed him to the archive room, where about twelve hundred rifles, handguns, and other weapons are kept. The archive room is used as a reference room, for training, and when a firearm comes in broken and needs to be test fired. An examiner will take a part from a working gun to replace a part in a broken gun so it can be test fired to obtain evidence.
Parker held the door open for me and Fran and followed us inside.
“So what’s with all the secrecy?” Fran asked.
“I was doing some digging, like you asked, trying to figure how many cases our fellow officers completed and all that; and, well, I stumbled upon evidence of a cover-up.”
Fran perked up. “What kind of cover-up?”
“It looks like a few years back the son of retired Chief Inspector Bentley Norris confessed to stealing gun parts from two automatic weapons from evidence. Son’s name is Officer Bentley Jr.—that is, officer until he shot himself and claimed someone else shot him.”
“I remember,” I said. “Happened about a year ago. He’d only been on the force a few months, said he was patrolling in Germantown and his car was fired on. He chased the suspect, they exchanged gunfire, and he sustained a gunshot wound, in the arm, I think.”
“Resulted in a major manhunt for the guy, the schools were closed, folks in the neighborhood were panicked. Turned out to be a lie. Bentley is in the nut house as we speak and his daddy died about six months after the incident,” Parker said.
“So why are we talking about this now?” I said.
“The gun parts he stole, and by the way were never recovered, were taken from this gun”—Parker held up a Ruger—“found at the scene of the DePalma murder a few years back. It disappeared from evidence and the guy who killed DePalma, Joseph Bonanno, who you just testified against, got off, partially because of it. Turns out someone shipped it directly to the evidence storage room without its being examined.”
“How did you get it?”
“I can’t give away my secrets. Let’s just say I got lucky.”
“Wow. So it’s possible that Chief Norris was into the Bonanno family for something? Maybe the chief was clueless until his son confessed, or maybe they were both dirty.”
My phone buzzed on my hip for the fifth time. Each time it had been Hampton.
“Fact is, none of this may have ever been discovered if Internal Affairs wasn’t investigating the backlog of cases,” Parker said.
“You still haven’t answered my question. What is the deal with the backlog?”
“This is not the only gun shipped without being examined first. Good news is, it looks like only a few hundred got shipped. Bad news, it could still affect a number of convictions.”
“You need to update the lieutenant.”
Parker squinted his eyes at me like I was demented. He turned to Fran, who only shrugged.
Parker shook his head in denial. “I do all the work around here,” he mumbled on our way out.
When I got back to my desk, I called Hamp. “Finally. Hampton Dangervil. I’m about two minutes from kicking your behind back to Haiti, never to return,” I halfway kidded. Silence on the other end. “Hamp. What’s going on?” More silence. “You’re pushing it now.”
“I’m sorry, Muriel. I’m just so disgusted with myself and afraid for my love, Dulcey.”
“I’ll tell you this, you need to be afraid that you don’t end up dead and buried by the time your love gets through with you.”
“This’s serious, M.”
“You think I’m not?”
“Can you please meet me at the dock later on? I cannot talk about this over the phone.”
I agreed to meet him after work.
I was almost at the marina, rounding the corner from the exit to Columbus Boulevard, when Bertha decided she’d had enough, sputtered a stream of protests, then cut off. Bertha has served me faithfully for more than fifteen years. For years my to-do list has included buying a new car. I guess I finally needed to act on it. “Please, please, please don’t fail me now.” I turned the key and pumped the gas pedal in hopes of her making it another half mile to the parking lot. She revved right up. About a quarter mile down from Penn’s Landing marina where the Dulcey Maria is moored, Bertha died again. I got out and checked for any signs that prohibited parking. Finding none, I locked her up and went on my way.
Penn’s Landing is a waterfront area that runs along the Delaware River, where there are concerts, festivals, fireworks, and restaurants. It is named to commemorate the landing of Philly’s founder, William Penn. During the summer months, tourists fill the stores and restaurants along the way. Now, the car traffic clogged the streets but foot traffic was minimal.
I first stopped in the boathouse, where folks who housed their boats used the shower and bathroom facilities. Dulcey had given me a key some years ago, prompted by a Travis mishap. He was ten when Dulcey and Hamp invited us on our first boat
ing excursion. Before we got to the marina, Travis said he had to go to the bathroom, bad. After we parked, I rushed him into the boathouse, but we could not get into the bathroom area without a key, and no attendant on duty or anyone else was there. By the time we ran down the walkway to the boat, Travis had crapped his pants. We did not go on a boat trip that day. He refused. After I got him home, he spent three hours in the bathtub and the rest of the day hiding in his room. He made me promise that I would never speak of the mishap again for the rest of our lives, and that I would make Dulcey and Hampton make the same promise. He said if anyone ever talked about it, he would kill himself by jumping off the Benjamin Franklin Bridge.
So Dulcey gave me a key, just in case.
I chuckled at the memory as I clopped down the last length of walkway to the boat. Most days, other boat owners would be lounging on their boats, cleaning them, having cocktails and such. This night, only Mr. Lowry, who lived year round on the Family Sanctum, had his relaxation mode on, stretched out on a lounge chair on the deck, reading. Mr. Lowry’s boat was almost twice the size of Hamp and Dulcey’s twenty-eight-foot cabin cruiser. Yacht size, in my book. He and his wife had bought the boat for family vacations with their children and grandchildren. His wife died not long after their first family vacation when they cruised to the Bahamas. Cancer, I think Dulcey said. Anyway, Mr. Lowry vowed he would spend the rest of his life living there in memory of his wife, even though the children didn’t care to go on any more trips.
I approached the Dulcey Maria, moored in the farthest spot on the dock, set to nail Hamp for whatever stupidness he had gotten himself into but mostly for upsetting Dulcey. As soon as I stepped onto the back deck, I heard glass break. I pushed open the sliding door. “Hamp? What the hell is all the racket about?”
A tank of a man rammed me, pushing me backwards and over the side of the boat into the water.
My aquaphobia had me thrashing around, my brain fixed on drowning before settling on how ridiculous that would be since I now knew how to swim. I allowed myself to sink before pushing my way up and breaking the surface before my lungs burst. I thrashed around, trying to reach the dock to grab ahold of it. When I made it there, Mr. Lowry was kneeling down, reaching out to me. He pulled me up.
“Did . . . did . . . did you see the guy?” I said, through chattering teeth and breathlessness.
“Naw, I’d gone in the cabin. I heard someone running down the pier and heard splashing, so I come out to see what was goin’ on. We’ve had quite a few break-ins lately. Ain’t like it used to be when you didn’t have to worry. Folks are losing they minds, I swear.”
“Thanks, Mr. Lowry.”
“Let me get you a towel, young lady.”
“No thanks, Mr. Lowry. I’ll get one inside.” I sat on the back railing of the boat and took my boots off, then swung my legs over the railing. “You seen Hampton today?”
“Naw. Just been enjoying the day. Heat and humidity, I love it. But he usually comes around ’bout this time. You just wait a minute, he’ll be here. He ain’t gonna be too happy with that mess inside there.”
I twisted around to look at the mess.
“Glad I was here to pull you outta that water,” he said, walking away. “Tell Hampton to knock on my door later, if I can do anything to help him out.”
I crossed the back deck and went inside. Every cabinet drawer and storage bin was open and emptied until there was no room to walk or stand even, unless you kicked cans, towels, utensils, paper plates, and other contents that covered the entire floor area. I unhooked my gun holster and set it down. I picked up a towel from the floor and dried off the best I could before sitting down to tackle drying out my gun before rust took hold.
I disassembled my gun and wiped the parts dry with a pillow case I picked up from the floor. The next step would be to douse the parts in oil, but all I could find was WD-40, which may turn to goo and restrict the movement of the parts. Oiling the parts would have to wait.
I was reassembling the gun when Hampton arrived. “What? You decided to go for a swim this time of day?” he joked halfheartedly, checking his watch. His expression switched to surprise after his eyes adjusted to the mess.
“You’re a half hour late,” I snarled at him. “When I got here, I surprised an intruder.”
He set his bag on the table and fell onto the bench seat across from me.
“The guy surprised me more, though,” I continued. “Pushed my ass over the side on his way out.”
“Are you all right?”
“Don’t I look all right?” I continued working on putting my gun together to avoid looking at him. I wanted to claw his eyes out of his head and feed them to the fishes. “How you gonna ask me to meet you here and then leave to buy some . . .” I stopped and checked the bag. “Some whatever the hell this is.”
I finished putting together my weapon and snapped the magazine in place. Hamp slid out of the seat and began pacing, as much as he was able in the amount of available floor space. One step, two steps, turn—anything but fessing up to whatever it was he was into—using heroin again, I figured.
“Sit down,” I said.
“I think we should leave here now,” he countered. “We can go elsewhere and talk. If someone was here, they know about this place.”
“Sit down, Hamp. Mr. Lowry said a few of the boats have been broken into, druggies looking for cash. The man I saw was not a professional; he definitely looked strung out. And look at this place.”
Hamp sat down and took a six-pack of Prestige, a Haitian beer, out of the bag. He offered me one. I declined. I’m repulsed by the skunky smell and bitter taste of beer.
He opened a bottle and took a long slug. “I got myself in a mess. And even before you ask, I’m not using again. I would never do that to Dulcey—or myself, for that matter. No, though I might be better off if that was what was goin’ on.” He shifted in his seat and took another swig of beer. “I gambled, trying to get enough money so Dulcey wouldn’t have to work at the shop so much. Maybe she could sell the shop to one of the ladies there. Retire. She’s so sick, my Dulcey. An age-old story. I was doing good for a while, before a losing streak hammered me. I knew I was going to win it all back and make things right.”
“How much, Hamp?”
“Fifty.”
“Thousand?” I shrieked. “Just tell me it isn’t the Berg Nation gang.” He looked at me, then away. “Damn. I don’t know much about gambling and the Berg gang, except they kill people who don’t pay their gambling debts. Shoot ’em, execution style.”
“They don’t know about Dulcey, I mean that she’s my wife or anything else about me, where I live. That’s why I’ve been staying here. Nobody knows about the boat but us. They gave me a week to come up with the money, and when I couldn’t, they gave me an ultimatum, said they would be calling on me soon and I would have to do what they ask or they’d kill me.”
“I can give you the money, put these guys off your ass.”
“They will not take the money anymore.”
“What do you mean, they won’t take the money?”
“That is what they said. I must do a deed for them, end of story.”
“What the hell were you thinking? Are you out of your mind? Your wife is fighting for her life and you’re out here being stupid.” I leaned back on the bench seat. Hamp stayed silent. “What if they told you to kill someone? You really think killing someone would be worth it, even if it meant saving Dulcey’s life or your own?”
“I will do whatever I have to do to save my Dulcey.” He finished his beer and pulled another from the bag. “I just wanted you to know what is going on; in case something happens to me, you can tell Dulcey.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you that you can’t tell Dulcey about yourself.”
“I do not have a choice but to do whatever they ask.”
“You have a choice. Don’t even go there. You wouldn’t have called me if you seriously were considering doing this thing, so shut the
hell up.” I got up, straightened my clothes, and pushed down my hair, which I imagine was swirling about my head, making me a mirror image of Medusa by now. “You got food and drink here. Stay here. I mean stay here, Hamp. Don’t go to the store, don’t go anywhere off this boat until you hear from me.”
He nodded.
As angry and disgusted with him as I was at that moment, my other side felt his pain. He stood when I moved to leave. We hugged. When I moved away, tears streamed down Hamp’s face.
“I got you,” I said.
It was still light when I got to Bertha. Lost in thought about Hamp’s situation and Dulcey being sick, I forgot that Bertha had died right where she was parked. I got in and turned the key. Did I mention that Bertha had never failed me? She sputtered and went into chug mode. A mile or so down the road, she switched into purring mode, smooth as the day I bought her.
Hamp’s situation needed the kind of help Calvin offered. When I called, he answered on the first ring.
“I was worried I might not hear from you again.”
Strictly business, I thought. I explained Hamp’s situation and the ultimatum they put before him. When I was finished, Calvin was silent.
Then he said, “He should stay hidden for a while. Somewhere they can’t get to him to even put their demands on him.”
“That could make it worse. They could put a hit out on him or some mess.”
“Yes, and they could kill him anyway after he does whatever it is they order, which is probably executing somebody. Trust me on this.”
“Thanks, Calvin.”
“Anything for you, my love.”
“Really? You’re going to put these love-actually lines to me like that? It’s not all right, Calvin. So I appreciate your helping me out in this situation but don’t expect—”
“You don’t have to finish. I understand and I’m here no matter what,” he said.
CHAPTER 12
I did not need a mirror to know a frizzy-haired water buffalo would garner less attention than me in my state. I crept into the house hoping to bypass inspection and interrogation by the twins and Nareece. The open floor plan made invisibility impossible. I could see the twins in their usual positions, stretched out on the floor in the den, drawing and watching a cop show. I closed the front door and made it to the first step before they sang out, in unison, “Hi, Auntie.”
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