Cold Flash

by Carrie H. Johnson

  I twitched at the sight of the long slender body, the sculpted features that were no longer sculpted but bloated, dark, and shapeless.

  “The cause of death was a heroin overdose. She was dead when she went into the water. The other two victims, Percy Morris and Sam Gunther, both nineteen, were also dead before going in the water. Heroin overdoses as well.”

  “Sam Gunther?”

  “Yes. You know him?” Hayes pulled the sheet over Kenyetta’s face and pushed the drawer in, then moved down two drawers and pulled out another drawer. I followed, holding my breath. He pulled the sheet away from Sam’s bloated, bruised face. I backed away.

  “Sam and Kenyetta did not use drugs. They were both good kids.” The words sounded hollow in my ears. There was no way that could be going on and I would miss it, I thought. I bowed my head and let the tears come.

  “Loving eyes oftentimes cannot or rather do not, see,” Hayes whispered in a tender way, tender for him anyway. I appreciated the attempt and had no reply. I recognized that it was the second time in as many weeks I’d heard those words.

  Fran came into the chamber as Hayes was closing the door on Sam’s body. “The gang unit had these pictures showing the three victims at the Blumberg housing project with the head honcho over there, Ward Griffin, street name War. They also had this photo.”

  I ignored Fran, stuck on Kenyetta and Sam’s death.

  “I’m sorry, Muriel. I know these kids meant a lot to you,” Fran said. “You have to look at these.”

  I took the pictures he held out to me. The first two showed Kenyetta and Sam entering a four-story apartment building. Fran said the photos were taken two weeks prior to finding the bodies. The second one, taken a few days earlier, showed Elijah and Travis entering the same building.

  I called Travis’s cell. No answer. I called the house and Nareece answered. Travis had not returned since leaving earlier. I called his cell again and left a message. He called right back. We agreed to meet at the house.

  I pulled into the driveway just as Travis and Elijah pulled up curbside. I sat in my car and listened to their banter and watched them playfully push and shove each other up the walkway and into the house. After they went into the house, I sat for a long while, gathering my thoughts and words. I said a prayer and went in.

  The house was quiet except for the voice of the television news anchor coming from the den. Travis was sitting on the couch helping Helen make a Scrabble word. Elijah was stretched out in the recliner next to the couch.

  “. . . Police are not yet commenting on what happened or releasing the names of the victims . . .”

  I walked into the room and sat on the couch next to Travis.

  “What’s happening, Moms? You sounded all serious on the phone, like somebody died or something.”

  “Something’s happened to Kenyetta and Sam, baby. They’re gone.”

  Travis looked at me with the same blankness Nareece did before she snapped out of it. I reached out to him. He pulled away.

  “What . . . what do you mean, they’re gone?”

  “They’re dead.”

  Elijah popped up out of his reclined position. “How?”

  “The police are investigating.”

  Travis turned to me, anguished. I embraced him. “I have to ask you something, son.”

  Travis pushed back to look at me.

  “Did Kenyetta and Sam use drugs?” The words forced their way past my lips.

  Neither of them responded right away. Travis’s face turned red. The wrinkles in his brow flattened as he calmed.

  “No. Kenyetta and Sam didn’t use drugs. I would know if my girlfriend and my best friend since kindergarten used heroin. You might as well ask me if I’m using.”

  “Well, are you?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out.

  Travis slammed his fists into the seat of the couch.

  I took the photos of Kenyetta and Sam with Ward Griffin out of my bag and spread them across the coffee table. “Tell me about these.”

  Travis leaned forward and handled each photo carefully. Elijah got up and strode over to the table and did the same. Elijah’s air of confidence chipped away until his shoulders slumped forward and he crumpled to the floor, cross-legged.

  Elijah spoke first. “I am so sorry I got anybody involved in my mess with WG. I just wanted to get right. I thought because I was his brother he wouldn’t . . . He’d just let me be.” He lay back on the floor.

  “Do you think your brother had something to do with Kenyetta and Sam’s death?”

  Elijah sat up and turned his attention to Travis. Neither spoke for a few moments.

  Then Travis said, “A few days ago we went to get Elijah’s things. He called his brother first, so we went and picked up his clothes and a few other things. I don’t know what Kenyetta and Sam . . . I don’t know what these pictures are about. I told you she’s been acting trifling, disappearing and not answering her phone.” He started crying. “She wasn’t using. She said she had some crazy stuff going on and would tell me about it when we got together, which we were supposed to do yesterday, but she never showed and never answered my calls. I’ve been trying to catch up with her ever since. I even went to her place today.”

  “I’m sorry, son.”

  “Miss Mabley. That guy, Mr. Kim.”

  “What about him?”

  “You’re looking for his daughter, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I saw her at the apartment while we were there. I mean, it didn’t seem like she wanted to leave or anything. She was pretty messed up . . . high.”

  “In your brother’s apartment?”

  “Yeah. He introduced her as his girl.”

  “Was she all right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Like I said, she was cooked.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Travis didn’t see her and I didn’t think of it until just now. I mean, I didn’t want to snitch on her or anything. She acted like she wanted to be where she was and all.”

  “Nobody wants to be messed up on heroin,” I said.

  CHAPTER 15

  Calvin was waiting outside when I pulled into the parking lot behind Calvin’s Place. BJ and two other men were sitting in a black Cadillac with the engine idling. Calvin opened my car door and offered me a hand. After we got in his Mercedes, he handed me a notebook.

  “We have visitors sign in to keep track of the comings and goings of folks who come to the center. Monroe mans the entrance and makes sure that everyone signs in. The log shows that Mr. Kim’s daughter was at the center the day before you said she went missing. My guys say she’s been hanging out with members of Berg Nation, or rather young dudes who claim to want out of the nation. I’ll tell you, she didn’t get mixed up with them for love.”

  I had the notebook open on my lap. He pointed to her signature, flipped a page and pointed again. “She signed in twice a week for the past month or more. If she’s on that junk, my bet would be that Griffin’s holding her in one of the crash pads at Blumberg. He controls several apartments. A few of them are flop houses for users. He keeps girls hepped up on that shit, just enough, and rents them out by the half hour.”

  “Elijah said Griffin called her his girl.”

  “Yeah, right. His girl that he pimps out for cash.”

  “How the hell do these kids even get it in their heads to use drugs? How does anyone get that thought moving through their brain? I mean, I know what happened to me . . .”

  “Don’t be naïve, Miss M. This stuff hits little black children and executives, doctors, lawyers, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers alike. No boundaries this go-round.”

  “I got guys doing surveillance to confirm what apartment in which building before we go storming in. Your police compadres would not be very happy if things got out of hand. Ward Griffin is a pretty shrewd young man. He controls eyes everywhere. Blumberg is a fortress. His own little city, if you will.”

  “So what y
ou’re saying is we can’t walk in there friendly-like, and take her out?”

  “Let’s find out where she is first.”

  “Waiting . . . we could be too late. She could end up like Kenyetta.”

  “Always the pessimist.” His phone buzzed. After a few curt grunts, he clicked off and shifted into drive. I got out and got back in my car to follow them.

  Calvin waited at the entrance to the Norman Blumberg Apartments while I parked. Across the street from the entryway to the projects was a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds, covered in cracked cement and trash. The rancid odor of decay floated on the hot air.

  “We must stop meeting like this, my darling Miss M,” he halfheartedly joked, when I got in his car. “She’s not being held against her will, right?”

  “According to Elijah, she’s not there against her will.”

  “So we can’t go busting in. Well, we’ll have to go in proper-like, and knock. If she doesn’t want to come, you’ll have to leave her?”

  “That is not an option.”

  The Cadillac followed us into the Norman Blumberg housing complex that stretches between Jefferson and Oxford and Twenty-Second and Twenty-Fourth Streets in North Philly, dodging between the two high-rise buildings and fifteen barracks-style buildings. He knew the area well and filled me in on the history. Blumberg was one of the most dangerous housing complexes in Philly. He called it a forgotten city. It was surrounded by a few hundred acres of vacant lots resulting from abandoned housing and other housing complexes that endured a more humane demise.

  The area was in the beginnings of a revitalization project that would include new affordable housing units on some of the lots in hopes of bringing it back to its once vibrant and productive state, a time I could not remember. It seemed clear from the transactions going on at every corner within the complex that certain factions denied the upgrade.

  Calvin stopped in front of building 1B on the Jefferson Street side of the complex, one of the two high-rise buildings.

  “You and me,” Calvin said. “Fifth floor.”

  When we entered, the smell of funk, mold, piss, and weed made me gag. I held my breath, squeaking it out a little at a time, until I had to breathe in again. Calvin breezed through as though he did not have a nose.

  The metal door clanged behind us. The elevator had “out of service” written on the door in black marker. We took the stairs rather than take the chance, even if it was working. My training for the triathlon paid off, allowing me to keep up with Calvin. Almost. I had to make a stop on floor three.

  When we entered the fifth floor, three armed men blocked our path.

  “Got a call to pick up someone on this floor,” Calvin said.

  “Who called?”

  “A young lady, Karin Kim.”

  “Wait here.”

  “We’re not going anywhere without her. You can tell whoever it is you grovel to. It ain’t happening.”

  The guy was gone for about two minutes. He came back and directed us two floors up to another apartment.

  We continued up the two flights. Calvin opened the door to the inside hallway, which reeked of the burnt-vinegar smell of cooked heroin. My eyes watered. My stomach lurched. I backed out and ran down a flight of stairs with Calvin on my heels. I puked in the stairwell, barely missing his shoes.

  “You good? C’mon.” Calvin gently took my arm and went to guide me down the stairs. I shook my head and leaned over. More puke. I took a breath and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I took a deep breath and moved to go back upstairs. I looked up to see Ward Griffin standing above us on the landing.

  “You treat someone else’s home like this. You shit and just move on, huh?” Griffin said.

  Calvin responded with cool reserve. “Hey, man, we’re here for a pickup.”

  “So my man here told me.”

  “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble.” Calvin turned to me. “Move.”

  I continued up the stairs behind Calvin. Griffin stepped aside for Calvin when he reached the landing. He backed up inside to the hallway.

  Karin came out of apartment 725 and froze when she saw Griffin. She turned to go back inside, but stopped when she saw me. Griffin grabbed her arm. Calvin stepped forward.

  “Where you goin’, you sexy thang, you?” Griffin pulled her close to him like he was going to kiss her but shoved her away instead. “She’s a damn junkie. Take the bitch.”

  I moved past Calvin, grabbed Karin, and double-timed down the steps. Two men were coming up, each anchored with a young girl. A flash of recognition of one of the girls registered before my focus returned to taking Karin out of the building.

  “You think you can come in here and take anything you want, you’re wrong. Next time you come up in here, don’t plan on visiting long. I got plenty for your fine ass. Tell my brother the next time he even thinks he wants to come up in here, he won’t be leavin’ either, along with his new brother, cuz they ain’t gonna wanna leave. What’s that nigga’s name? Travis, ain’t it?” He snarled, baring his teeth.

  I moved down the stairs, pulling Karin by the arm behind me.

  When we got outside the building, Calvin’s men were there holding ground, two against at least ten. I pushed Karin into the backseat and slid in the front passenger seat as Calvin exited the building. He jumped in the driver’s side and pulled away.

  “What the hell kind of place is that? Why hasn’t the gang unit or the DEA been able to shut them down?”

  Calvin gave me a sideways look.

  “Yeah, yeah, no evidence, no witnesses, I know the drill.”

  I twisted around to Karin. Her face was smudged with dirt except for white circles around her eyes, making her look like a raccoon. The black halter-dress that hugged her body like a girdle accentuated her boniness, not a word I would have thought of to describe the Karin I remembered. “How you doing?”

  She nodded. Calvin dropped us at my car. I drove down Jefferson and made a right on Girard Avenue.

  “I just went . . . the guy I was with said we were going to a party . . . I got messed up and couldn’t leave . . . I don’t know, but then I didn’t want to leave.”

  “So they didn’t force you to stay.”

  “No.”

  She was quiet for a bit, sniffling and looking out the window, anything to avoid facing me, or anyone for that matter. I remember well. I decided not to press, leaning on the hope that daughter and father would win out.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Mabley. I didn’t realize so much time had passed. I couldn’t call my father.” She turned toward the window. “My daughter.”

  “Your daughter and your father are fine, just worried sick about you. I haven’t called them.”

  “It was my own fault, Miss Mabley. I went with the guy for drugs.”

  “How long have you been using?” I glanced over at her when she didn’t answer. “You know you’ll have to go into rehab for any hope of stopping—that is, before you overdose and die. And you still might kill yourself, because getting clean messes you up. You get so sick you want to kill yourself. Cold hugs your bones with pure hatred, makes the devil retreat, and drags you every which way but right, toward the warmth of another fix.” I slammed on my brakes to keep from ramming the car in front of me. I realized I had been yelling. “I’m sorry, Karin. Hana and Kim are going to be so happy to see you. That’s all that matters now.”

  “I’m not so sure my father will want to see me, until I get clean, I mean.”

  “He will. We’ll get you freshened up before we call him and take you home.”

  “Miss Mabley, you talk like . . . I mean, I know you couldn’t have been . . . I was just wondering . . .”

  “Yes, I’m a recovering heroin addict. I’ve been where you’re at and then I got clean. I’ve been clean almost twenty years now. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about it. Maybe a day here and there. But I’ve come to where I can brush it off and keep going. One day at a time.”

  Karin was
quiet for the rest of the ride to Dulcey’s shop.

  Dulcey’s other business was taking care of women in need. Homeless women, women running from men, drug addicts. In the basement of her shop was a shower, clean clothes, and food.

  Dulcey said, “The doors are open to those passing through to the next opportunity.”

  After Karin was showered, Dulcey did her hair.

  “You might be feeling like some poor thing right now, feeling like you been beaten and bruised in more ways than you could shake a stick at. For sure you need a lot more than a shower and some clean clothes to set you right for the long haul, but right now it’s what you got,” Dulcey said, putting the last touches on Karin’s hair. “The rest is up to you, young lady.”

  “You a pretty little thing,” Marsha, one of the hairdressers, said. “Don’t you worry, young lady, there’s a man out there just for you. One who’ll treat you like his queen, the way you’re supposed to be treated.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And when you find that right guy, you won’t even remember the foolishness you been through till now. A good man, with good loving, makes you forget your own name,” Tracy said.

  The woman whose hair Tracy was doing said, “Amen to that.”

  Karin smiled, the first since I picked her up.

  When we pulled up to the top of the block on Longshore, Karin asked me to pull over. Sweat slicked her bangs to her forehead. Her chest heaved as she rocked back and forth, shaking her hands in the air.

  “Deep breaths, baby. Take deep breaths. You’re going to be fine.” I looked down the street and saw Mr. Kim standing outside the door. “Your father doesn’t care about anything else but that you’re okay. He loves you, Karin. Now you have to love yourself enough to get the help you need.”