Cold Flash

by Carrie H. Johnson

  The door was ajar. I pulled my gun from its holster and gently kicked the door open. A large circular entryway gave way to a long, curved staircase straight ahead. I crept in and went left to the living room. Fran lay on the floor at the far end with his hands and feet bound. I went to him and crouched down. He was unconscious but breathing. Men’s voices came from above. I moved back through the living room to the staircase and began the climb up, then stopped with the thought—there was more than one perpetrator. I backed down the stairs, retraced my steps through the living room, and hid behind the wall that connected the dining room, keeping Fran in my line of sight.

  Fran groaned, waking from his unconscious state.

  I heard the stairs squeak as the men came down. I waited, then peeked out from behind the wall. Two men stood over Fran. One of them had their gun aimed at him. Fran squirmed on the floor.

  “You don’t want to do this, man. I’m a cop. You shoot me and you’re done.”

  “I don’t shoot you and we’re done,” one snarled.

  I stepped out and yelled, “Police!”

  They both turned with weapons pointed in my direction. One of the men turned his gun back on Fran. I got off one shot and hit him. The other guy fell on the floor next to him. Laughton crowded the entryway.

  “Damn, about time you-all showed up,” Fran mumbled. “ ’Bout got my ass dead.” Fran tried to get up. I held him down. Laughton called an ambulance. “I’m thinking we need to finish this before one of us gets killed. I don’t know who these two were, but I do believe my death was going to be a message to you. They tried to beat out of me where Calvin stashed some heroin.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Laughton parked curbside in front of Calvin’s Place. There were two doors. The one to the club was boarded up. The other door led up to Calvin’s living quarters on the third and fourth floors of the old warehouse. I had never accessed Calvin’s apartment from the front, always by the elevator in the club.

  The lock to the outside door was broken. Laughton pushed it open and we climbed the stairs with weapons aimed and ready. The air smelled of smoke and burnt wood. At the top of the stairs, the entry door, a reclaimed barn door on a track, was open. The first floor of Calvin’s apartment was one large open area with vaulted ceilings and huge windows. The furniture had been tossed and turned over, along with broken lamps, shattered glass, splintered tables and chests.

  The second floor was walled off into three bedrooms and an office. In his office, the desk was upside-down with the underside caved in. I holstered my gun and went back into the bedroom and opened the closet door. A pile of clothes sat on the floor; the pole they had hung on was broken in half and dangled from the wall on each side.

  “Nice place. My man definitely had it together,” Laughton said.

  I pushed the pile of clothes out of the closet. I tapped the top left corner of the closet three times and twisted the hinge that held the pole on the left side of the closet. The back wall ground open to reveal a small room, big enough for a child’s bedroom.

  A faint smell of cleaning solvent made my nose run. The three walls were lined with different kinds of guns and rifles, top to bottom.

  “Damn, this is like something out of a spy movie,” Laughton said, as he took a rifle off the wall and inspected it. “Man, this is a Freund Boss Gun, said to be the finest weapon . . . how the hell . . . ain’t but a few of these in the world.” He replaced it and took another one down. “This baby is a Soviet AVS-36 automatic. This is some collection,” Laughton marveled as he rehung the weapon.

  “You never cease to amaze me when it comes to guns.” I knelt to access a black footlocker set off to the side. From my pocket I got the key Calvin left me and tried it in the lock. It fit. I pulled out two backpacks filled with packages of what I suspected was heroin. Laughton did the taste test to confirm my suspicions.

  Laughton picked up each backpack one at a time. “There has to be fifty to seventy-five pounds here. Damn. That’s worth about twenty million.”

  I fell back on my butt, dumbfounded. “I can’t believe Calvin played in this game.” I thought about it for thirty seconds and dismissed it. “No way. I don’t know where this came from, but I do know that Calvin was working an angle to keep this stuff out of circulation.”

  “How’d you know about this room?”

  “Calvin showed me after we’d been dating awhile. It was all about his gun collection.”

  “Whoever tore this place apart didn’t get in here. We need to leave before they come back. Leave the stuff here. We don’t want to be seen leaving with it. This is the safest place for it until we figure this all out.”

  We went back to the Rittenhouse and parked the car, then walked around Rittenhouse Square to Fogo de Chão, a Brazilian steakhouse. The hostess sat us at a table in the rear corner of the restaurant.

  “Here we are back in a situation that might get us both killed,” Laughton said.

  “What started out being about Hampton and his simple ass, turned into a major case, killed five people so far, three who are close to me, and put Fran in the hospital. The gang unit. Yeah right. FBI, DEA, police, can’t do a damn thing about it. Or won’t because there is some kind of conspiracy going on.”

  “No conspiracy. Not in the department anyway. Not this time.”

  “Laughton, I been checking into BJ. Calvin said he’s known BJ most of his life. You know him too?”

  “BJ’s always been a stand-up guy. He’s been with Calvin for a long time. They were in Special Forces together. I don’t think he would turn on Calvin.”

  “Not even for twenty million?”

  “So, say he is the man behind all this. Why would he protect Hamp and possibly get his main man Griffin put away? If BJ’s involved and he is concerned about Griffin going down, he would have gotten rid of Hamp, not protected him.”

  I told Laughton about the guy at Hamp’s boat who was killed. “I think Hamp got away because of circumstance and missed opportunities.”

  “Where’s Hamp now?”

  “He’s in a hotel outside the city. How could Calvin have missed BJ?”

  “I’d bet he didn’t miss a damn thing.”

  “There is a way we can find out. We can call and tell him about the heroin, say we’re going to turn it in to the police.”

  “Let’s eat first,” Laughton said, licking his lips as the waiter stopped at our table with beef on a skewer and put some on our plates. Another waiter came with chicken and another with pork. Laughton fed me from his plate. I took my shoes off and rested my feet in his lap, hidden by the length of tablecloth. He massaged my feet, my legs. I fed him caramelized bananas. We laughed at memories.

  Two hours later, we had eaten every kind of meat—chicken, beef, pork, cooked every way possible, made two trips to the salad bar, and finished three healthy servings of caramelized bananas. We waddled back to the hotel. Laughton held my hand all the way. When we got to the hotel, we went to the bar. Laughton ordered a two-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne—Taittinger Comtes de Champagne Rose, to be exact. The semisweet bubbly went straight to my head. Or was I making excuses for being so easily lured from the bar to Laughton’s suite?

  Laughton scooped me up like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold for a radiant first night. Maybe not so radiant for the bride with her virginity to lose. No worries here.

  It didn’t feel right. “Let’s not do this, Laughton. It’s not the time for us to be . . .”

  He stepped over the threshold, set me down, and pressed me against the wall.

  “It is exactly the time,” he whispered before kissing me so hard my head banged against the wall.

  He reached behind me and in one move unhooked my gun holster, unclipped my phone, and undid my belt, letting them fall to the floor. I did the same to him. We tripped over a chair unbuttoning, kissing, unzipping, kissing long and hard, until we fell on the bed. More kissing on the lips, breasts, over and under soft folds, until we each got lost in the del
icate flavors of each other’s love. Trying to quench an undying thirst sent us crashing to the floor.

  Uncontrollable laughter took hold, as though we were experiencing some neurologic condition or brain injury.

  The laughter waned. We embraced, every body part intertwined with one another, on the floor, wrapped in the bedspread.

  When we woke, the room was dark. Laughton lifted me on the bed and took me, with everything I had to give.

  In the morning, I called into the lab and told Parker I wouldn’t be in. He bitched but agreed to cover for me to the lieutenant.

  We made the call to BJ, who said he couldn’t believe that Calvin was dealing drugs and he didn’t know about it. I thought he was putting us on. Laughton thought he was sincere. We decided to put it on hold and went to Mercy Hospital to see Fran.

  From the outside, Mercy looks like an institution for the insane—an old brick monstrosity. The inside matched the depressing view of the outside. I made a mental note to let everyone know never to bring me to Mercy.

  Fran was halfway sitting up watching television, or at least trying to watch television given the bandages on his face, swollen eyes, and stitches across his left cheek. He waved me away when we walked in. I stopped and turned like a soldier, and headed back out the door.

  “No, no. Come back,” he mumbled, because that was all he could do.

  I did another turn. He waved me forward.

  “Just messing with you.”

  “You’re in no condition to mess with anybody, so ha-ha. They really did a number on you.”

  “They kept asking me where the drugs were. Hell, I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I did figure whatever opens using that key you have, contains a lot of what they want.”

  “You figured correct.” No sooner had I said the words than Zoila and Santiago came in with Laughton, who had stopped at the coffee shop on our way up.

  “Hey, guy, they worked you over good. Son of a bitch.” Laughton set a tall cup on the portable table that swung over Fran’s bed. “Brought you a mocha latte with extra espresso, which I understand is your favorite.”

  “I don’t mean to break up the party,” Zoila said.

  “Then don’t. Can’t you see this man is recovering from a brutal beating and needs to rest?” I said.

  “I would say we’ll come back, but we need to do this now, if you-all don’t mind. I’m glad you’re here, Muriel. Saves you a trip and me some time.”

  Laughton looked to Fran, who nodded his consent. Laughton and I sat down in the only two chairs in the room. Santiago stood by the door as though to stop anyone from entering. Zoila stood at the end of the bed. “The two dead guys were Berg Nation. Why’d they target you?”

  Fran shook his head no.

  “Ward Griffin’s still in custody. His trial begins in two days. Did they say anything, threaten you, ask for something?”

  Fran shook his head again.

  She turned her attention to me. “Griffin’s not going anywhere until after the trial, then he’s going away for a very long time.”

  “You’re that sure that Griffin will be convicted with Hamp’s testimony, even though there is no way of connecting him to the murder weapon?” I asked.

  “I’m that sure. He’s gotten out of other cases, mostly because of witnesses changing their testimony or deciding not to testify, or turning up dead. That won’t be the case this time.” She bore into me with a hard stare. “Two days can be a long time.”

  “He’ll be there.”

  “With Griffin locked up, the flow of heroin into the city should at least slow for a minute.”

  “All this and the flow slows, only to pick right up again with someone else.”

  “We can only do the best we can. It feels like a never-ending battle, but it’s one we can’t stop fighting.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound righteous.”

  Zoila smiled and nodded. “No problem. By the way, I apologize again for busting into your house like we did. I really didn’t know it was your residence. Elijah and his brother look so much alike, and I’m just not clear that Elijah is the good brother. I don’t get how they can be so different.”

  Her phone buzzed. She excused herself and went out into the hallway to take the call. When she got back her face had paled.

  “Ward Griffin hung himself in his cell last night.”

  CHAPTER 26

  When we pulled up to his house, Hamp rushed down the walkway, Dulcey jumped out of the car, and they collided with each other and embraced, long-lost lovers reunited. Tears flowed, “I love you” spewed from their lips, and kisses and more kisses. Laughton and I leaned against the car, watching.

  “This isn’t over,” I said. “We still have to find out who killed Calvin. A huge shipment of heroin and cocaine came into the city, and somehow Calvin confiscated it. Ward Griffin’s death doesn’t change anything, mainly because he’s not the boss. Another thing? He didn’t kill himself. Guys like him don’t do suicide.”

  “Muriel, go home to your family. Let Burgan and her crew take it from here.”

  I pushed away from the car. Laughton walked around to the driver’s side. Hamp and Dulcey moved up the walkway and into the house, a happy ending, in my book.

  “You’re right. Calvin’s killer is still out there, but I guess you’re right, we should give the drugs to Zoila, along with the flash drive, and be done with it. Let the detectives follow up and catch whoever it is.”

  “Indeed.”

  We got in the car and sat in silence for about two minutes.

  “Let’s pay a visit to Mr. BJ’s place of residence,” I said.

  “We can’t do that. If he’s the head of Berg Nation, he’s got a small army behind him. Berg Nation has a few hundred members. We can’t fight them by ourselves and he won’t hesitate to kill us. Besides, I don’t know where he lives.”

  “I do.”

  An eerie darkness, the kind that brings out the wolf man, made for good cover by the time we pulled to the curb a half block down from BJ’s residence on Chestnut Street in Center City. Laughton got out and entered the Commonwealth apartment building as someone exited.

  “Biltmore Jones. What kind of name is Biltmore?” he said when he got back in the car. “He’s on the sixth floor, 615A. Let’s sit for a while and see what happens.”

  I called the house and told Nareece I wouldn’t be home until late. She sounded agitated. Sounds of the twins clamoring for attention filtered through the receiver. She asked me where I was. I started down the path of a lie. She hung up three words in.

  “How’s your sister doing?”

  “Physically, she’s fine. Mentally, not so good. Half the time my own sister is a stranger to me. We were so close. At least I thought we were close.”

  “She’s been through a lot.”

  “Yes, and those little girls have been through a lot too. Sometimes I think the only person she thinks about is herself.”

  “How is Travis handling knowing Jesse is his father?”

  “Travis is Travis. He’s a good kid, and knowing hasn’t seemed to faze him. A bigger concern is how Nareece is always at him about being his mother and wanting him to call her Mom.”

  “How do you feel about that?” He reached over and took my hand and rubbed it between his.

  “Honestly, apprehensive at first. Angry because she didn’t want him when he was born, and now that he’s a man, she wants to be his mother.”

  “Hmm.” He put the hand he held in my lap, then took the other one.

  “Now I’m good with whatever Travis wants. She is his mother too. I will always be his mother regardless of their relationship.” I watched him caress my hand, then kiss it and place it on my lap.

  “Where have you been?”

  “After everything went down . . . you and Calvin were together. . . I felt like I needed to be out of here. I went over the water, Paris, London. Can’t run away from what ails you.”

  “Tell me about it.”

/>   Two hours passed as we watched people enter and exit the building. We decided it was a waste of time to stay longer. Laughton started the car and turned the wheel to pull out, when a BMW pulled up and parked in front of the building. I told Laughton to wait. BJ got out of the passenger side. He walked around and opened the door. A woman got out. BJ pushed the car door shut. He stepped up on the curb and froze as the woman walked toward the building. He turned in our direction. I stopped breathing. He turned in the opposite direction from us, took a few steps forward, and froze again. I took a breath. Two minutes seemed like an eternity, before he followed the woman into the building.

  “Travis said a woman picked Hamp up in a BMW.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “At the beginning of all this, Hamp called Travis for help. Travis picked him up somewhere and brought him home and kept Dulcey from kicking his butt. As Travis left Hamp’s house, he saw Hamp come out of the house and get in a BMW with a woman.”

  Hamp’s phone was turned off, so we went to the house. It was dark except for the television light that danced against the curtains. I tapped on the door. Hamp peeked out the curtain.

  “What brings you two back here at this hour?”

  Dulcey limped down the stairs as Hamp closed the door.

  “What’s going on? What are you two doing here this late?”

  “Hey, girl. Didn’t mean to wake you. I tried calling but both your phones are turned off. This couldn’t wait.”

  “It’s nothing, doll. You should go back to bed,” Hamp said in his sweet voice.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Dulcey stomped down the last steps. “C’mon in here and sit down.” She switched on a light and ushered us into the den, then plopped down on the couch. Laughton and I sat in the loveseat. Hamp stayed at the door until everyone was seated. He came in and sat at the far end of the couch from Dulcey.

  “Look, Hamp. I don’t mean to bring you any more trouble, but something tells me this isn’t over yet.”