Citycide

by Gary Hardwick

  “Look,” said Baker. “I didn’t have anything to do with her dying. She was a good earner and… she was good at everything if you know what I mean. I had no reason. We were cool with each other.” Baker was nervous now and his accent had gotten thicker. “Look, if you want something, I know these guys who run a racket.”

  “What kind of racket?” asked Danny.

  “They’re the ones ripping off the hair salons,” said Baker. “I’m sure you heard about that.”

  For months, a crew of thieves had been stealing from various black hair salons. But they weren’t taking money or equipment. They were stealing expensive hairpieces used for hair weaves. The high-end pieces were from India and could go for thousands of dollars in bulk.

  “Who are they?” asked Erik.

  “They never give names but they come by now and then. They always give notice. Usually, they send a text and I text back.“

  “Give us the number,” said Erik.

  “Can’t,” said Baker. “It’s always anonymous. All I can do is send back a message.”

  “You wanna help us?” asked Danny. “You can start by giving me Rashindah’s pages from that book,” said Danny.

  Baker ripped the pages out and handed them over without protest.

  “We cool?” asked Baker.

  “For now,” said Danny. He got up and Erik followed.

  “I might be back for that cop freebie,” said Erik and Danny almost had to suppress his laugh. “And contact us when the hair thieves come back.”

  Danny and Erik left Apples. Erik took a moment to get the name of the girl who’d given him the sexy smile. When he was done, they left the building then walked toward their cruiser.

  “So now what?” asked Erik. “We got a name but my man has got to be laying low.”

  “That’s good for us,” said Danny. “As long as he’s safe, we got a chance to find him first.”

  “You know, we never considered that this Quinten got taken by the killer.”

  “I did,” said Danny, “but if a body doesn’t show up, we have to assume he’s still alive out there. Besides, the hitter probably wasn’t asked to kill them both.”

  “So you’re sure now it’s a hit?” asked Erik.

  “Pretty sure. Someone wanted the hooker dead, so they got a local hitter to put her down, only she’s chillin’ with her gay boyfriend. Killer pops the girl but leaves the witness who pisses his pants then runs like hell.”

  “What about the torch job?”

  “That’s where the shit gets tricky. I don’t think the same guy who pulled the trigger torched that apartment.”

  Erik was quiet for a moment. He’d known Danny

  Cavanaugh a long time and he knew better than to doubt him. What he was saying here was pretty big for a little case like this.

  “A conspiracy?” asked Erik.

  “Call it what you want, but there’s more than one person in this thing. Question is why does it take a group of people to kill one low-rent hooker?”

  “Well, this shit ain’t turning out like I thought. I was sure this one would be closed by the end of the week.”

  “If we can get the right Quinten Forrester, then we can track him to an address. Once we do that, we can ask around his neighborhood about him.”

  Danny and Erik got into their cruiser and rolled off. Danny was confident that he would find Forrester but what he could not get out of his head now was the dead girl and her precarious life. What filthy little line had she crossed in this world that had caused her to be taken out?

  

  Danny was off the clock but this was where he did his best work. Detroit became a different town at night, like the dark side of a good man.

  They had gotten the info on Quinten Forrester by checking the local clinics and community hospitals. As a gay man, Danny was sure he would have had an HIV screening on the regular. And he did.

  Quinten was a sometime waiter and hustler who’d managed to keep his nose clean. Quinten was a playboy according to his neighbors and was known to bring many men back to his place. He lived in a little apartment near the city’s south side.

  Danny had started with that apartment which was a run- down place. It had been easy to break in because someone else had beaten him to it. The place had been ruined and so he knew the killer was ahead of him.

  The police had impounded all of Rashindah Watson’s belongings from her apartment, at least those that weren’t burned to a crisp. They wanted to toss some stuff but Danny had instructed them to keep it all.

  There was no phone or computer in the salvage from the dead girl’s home. In fact, she wasn’t listed as a customer on any major carrier. If she had a phone, then it was either in a false name or with a local independent carrier. Either way, it would be a bitch to find it.

  Danny didn’t spend a lot of his free time in south Detroit. It was a very foreign land to him, home to one of his favorite restaurants, Xochimilco on Bagley. But he had street contacts there and he’d quickly put together the info. He had to press on even though he was now pretty sure Quinten was already dead.

  He was close to an area called Delray, which stretched from the Rouge River to the Detroit River. It was once a thriving little place but like much of the city, it was now a ghost town. Détroit, Rouge, Charlevoix, so many of the French names were still bound to the city, mocking its decay with their flourish.

  Danny was on a desolate little street near Lafayette. He was meeting an old contact, a former dealer turned community activist, named Keenan Tanner. The best street contacts were always former criminals. They had all the info and none of the personal problems. Keenan was particularly valuable because he still dealt with criminals in his work.

  Danny saw him approach. You couldn’t miss Keenan. He was as big as a defensive end and as tall as a basketball center. He’d played for Ohio State’s football team and been a finalist for the Outland Trophy. But a car accident had robbed the man they called KT of his bright future. Keenan fell quickly into drug dealing and enforcing and then got out of the game for good when he found God.

  “Danny two gun!” said Keenan in his booming voice. “Ain’t seen you in a minute.”

  “You know nobody calls me that anymore, man,” said Danny as they embraced. “How you been?”

  “I’m blessed,” said Keenan. “My wife and baby are good and I might be ordained this year, if I can finish my last classes.”

  “That’s good. Most of the old crews are in one place or the other, you know.” Danny meant the prison or the graveyard.

  “I know it,” said Keenan. “That’s why I pray every day.”

  “Need some info on a local here, Quinten Forrester.”

  “The gay boy,” said Keenan. “Tried my best to redeem that man, but he’s a lost cause. I take it he’s in trouble.”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Danny. “Somebody trashed his place and he’s missing. I’m hoping he’s still alive but you know how that goes. I need to know where he might go if he was in trouble.”

  “He used to run with that pretty girl, Rashimba or something like that.”

  “Don’t think he’s with her,” said Danny. “She’s dead.”

  “Lord Jesus,” said Keenan. “People are dropping off like the plague these days.”

  “It does seem like Death’s got a franchise in this damned city,” said Danny.

  “That’s good man. I’m gonna use that in my deacon sermon this week. Anyway, Quinten did it with a lot of men, some from my congregation, I’m sad to say. But I happen to know he kicks it with this married real estate agent in one of his empty rentals uptown.”

  “Source reliable?” asked Danny.

  “Yeah,” said Keenan. “It’s one of my church members. He was taken there for a little rendezvous. I could get into trouble for telling you that.”

  “Got an address for me?” asked Danny.

  “Naw, but I think my church member said it’s over on Cloverlawn near Fenkell,” said Keenan. “
Shitty blue house with a yellow rental sign from the company is what he told me.”

  “Got it,” said Danny. “You be cool and keep safe.”

  “Yo, do you know that dude they call Farmer?” asked Keenan.

  “Haven’t had the pleasure yet,” said Danny. “Why?”

  “Thought he might be good to have in church to talk to my congregation, him feeding the homeless and all.”

  “From what I hear, he ain’t the church going type.”

  “Heard he shot a dealer last week for tramping through one of his lots,” said Keenan.

  “I believe it,” said Danny. “What’s that now, two?”

  “That we know of. And that don’t count the ones he’s cut with that machete.”

  There was a man on the east side who took vacant lots and turned them into gardens. He was called an urban farmer and was known to be rather unstable. Rumor was he’d been in Special Ops and then he’d gone insane.

  “Well, if I’m out that way, I’ll be sure to stay away from his tomatoes,” said Danny.

  “You got that shit right,” said Keenan.

  Danny walked back to his car and took the long drive uptown. He got onto Cloverlawn at Davison and kept heading north just in case Keenan was off a little. As he crossed Fenkell, he soon saw yellow real estate signs. They were all over the place, something Keenan had neglected to tell him.

  Danny looked for the blue house. There were several houses that were part blue but he counted on Keenan to have told him “shitty blue” for a reason. Soon, he saw a house that was painted a garish pale blue. The windows were covered but he saw some light coming from inside.

  Danny parked up the block. He called for back up but knew if he waited, Quinten would see the cars and bolt. He could not afford for him to get away.

  Danny circled to the back of the house. He pulled his .45 and the Glock. He remembered the department shrink’s analysis of his duality of mind and how it related to the black and white guns. White man outside, black in his heart. He always thought how it didn’t matter. Either gun would kill.

  Danny went to the house next door and moved into the backyard. He knew that there were fewer windows in the back of most houses in these old neighborhoods. He would approach from behind to reduce the chance of being seen.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone home in the adjacent house. Danny looked over at the target house. He saw no one. He hopped the short metal fence between the two places.

  As he got to the back door, Danny heard voices inside. One of them sounded pained.

  He dreaded catching two men inside having sex. It would be embarrassing and he’d never hear the end of it at work.

  Danny was about to kick in the door when he saw it move a little. Then he noticed the door lock on the ground.

  Adrenalin flowed into his limbs as he realized that the killer was inside. He’d beaten him to this place as well.

  Danny moved quietly through the door and into the home. It was dark and so he was careful of what might be in front of him. He turned to his right, pushing the Glock out in front.

  The voices were louder and now he could clearly hear a man yelling and the other mumbling responses. Danny couldn’t make out anything yet. He moved closer.

  A blunt sounding blow followed and Danny heard a man groan in pain.

  Danny moved toward the voices in the front of the house. He was in the kitchen and it let out into a den, then the living room would be just beyond. Danny was moving toward the doorway.

  Suddenly, he heard a loud crunch below his shoe. He’d stepped on broken glass. He glanced down and saw a lot of it strewn about. In that instant, Danny knew the killer had set it there just for this purpose. Smart man. He only had a second to react.

  Danny dropped to the floor as the wall in front of him exploded. The killer had tried to anticipate where he was and fired. Drywall and wood flew into the air.

  Danny leaned into the doorway and saw Quinten tied to a chair, beaten and bloody. Beyond him near the front door, was a tall man in a dark hooded sweat jacket. In his hand was a gun.

  Danny fired both guns at the same time. The bullet from the Glock slammed into the door barely missing the killer. The bullet from the .45 caught him in the chest, dead center.

  The killer was lofted from his feet a little. He yelled and fired wildly, falling back into the door.

  Danny got back onto his feet and ran into the room, guns out in front.

  The killer lay near the front door, unmoving. Danny kicked his gun away. He checked the fallen man. He was dead.

  Danny cursed silently then quickly turned to find Quinten on his side, bleeding from a wound to the neck. The killer must have hit him with the wild shot.

  Danny went to Quinten, pulled his phone and called for an ambulance. With his other had, he tried to stop the bleeding.

  “Quinten, hold on,” said Danny applying pressure to the wound. He wanted to untie him but he could not waste the time. He had to stop the blood. “Come on,” Danny said trying to will the crimson flow to stop. He leaned in and put more of his weight behind his hand. Quinten’s eyes were rolling in his head as precious blood continued to flow. His handsome face was now swollen from the torture. Danny knew he didn’t have much time. He wasn’t going to make it.

  “What did he want?” Danny asked. He grunted a little trying to keep the pressure on.

  “Sm... ha...”

  “What?” asked Danny gently.

  Quinten struggled to form more words but his brain was losing the battle to stay coherent.

  He struggled all the way to the end, trying to tell Danny what he knew.

  9

  VINNY’S WAY

  Danny had been chewed out about the gunplay on Cloverdale. Riddeaux was pissed that he had gone into the house without waiting for back up. Danny’s response was that he had called for back up, but the life of the witness was in danger. In the end, he’d lost both witness and suspect in a round of gunfire.

  Danny had given up his guns, as was the custom. He was sure he would be cleared on the shoot, but for the time being, he was on administrative leave.

  The forensic tech on the scene was a transfer and had never worked with Danny before. He did a shooting analysis and had marveled at Danny’s ability to fire two weapons with such accuracy. He’d remarked that it was humanly possible, but just barely.

  Quinten was indeed their witness to the shooting. His fingerprints matched the ones they found in the victim’s car. The question was why wasn’t he killed that night, too?

  The suspect Danny shot was Rakeif Simms, a two-time loser and notorious street hitter. It was said that Rakeif had more than ten bodies on him. The narcotics cops had almost cheered at the news.

  The gun that killed Quinten was a .9mm, not the same one that killed Rashindah Watson. But when they searched Simms’s home, a garage he rented from his great aunt, they found a cache of guns, but not the murder weapon.

  Riddeaux contended that this was their killer, a street hitter on a rampage who had ditched the gun. It was a silly notion but Danny didn’t press the point.

  The fire at Rashindah Watson’s place was a clear indication that this was more than a random killing. He had explained this to his boss and she got it, but there seemed to be pressure on Riddeaux to end this thing quietly.

  Danny sat in his den watching Justified on TV. He remembered Quinten’s finals words, trying to explain why he was being tortured. Sm… ha… was meaningless but it had seemed very important to Quinten.

  It was amazing that he’d managed to say anything. Simms had beaten Quinten with a metal pipe wrapped in duct tape, a ghetto nightstick.

  Danny knew he should walk away from the case but he couldn’t. Whoever hired Rakeif Simms was the real killer, he thought. And what is it that Rashindah Watson knew that was worth killing two people for?

  In Detroit, the lives of a hooker and a gay hustler were not supposed to be worth much. They were just the human debris falling from the crumbling edifice o
f a once great city. They weren’t rich, famous or powerful, so he should just let them disappear from life and thank God the wrath of the evil or the mighty didn’t fall upon him.

  But this was his problem, Danny thought. He gave a shit about the Rashindahs and Quintens of the world. Their lives were just as important as a rich businessman or whatever blonde white girl went missing this week on the national news.

  So he could not give up. To do so, would go against everything that made him a cop. It would make him like the assholes that rooted for Detroit’s demise. Rashindah, Quinten and yes, even Rakeif would be avenged.

  Vinny came in and soon she and Danny were staring at each other over leftovers. Vinny had been unusually quiet lately. But he knew better than to say anything about it. She’d tell him what was wrong in due time.

  “If these people weren’t paying me so much, I’d quit,” said Vinny. “They want your life for this damned job.”

  “Then why do you love it, so much?” asked Danny.

  “I don’t know but I do,” Vinny laughed a little. “The law is so fascinating. I almost don’t miss being a cop anymore.”

  “I noticed you didn’t even interrogate me about the Simms thing.”

  “He had a shootout with you. I know how that story ends.”

  “I’m going to keep looking into it,” said Danny. “The bosses want to close the case but I have to find out what happened.”

  “I would try to discourage you but I’d do the same thing if I was still a cop. Why don’t they understand that we have to finish cases like this?”

  “The girl had one relative, an aunt. I think I’ll start with her. Since I’m on leave, they can’t make a fuss about it.”

  “Well, I still wouldn’t advertise, if you know what I mean,” said Vinny. “Hey, did you hear what Mayor Patterson did now? He was chauffeuring some ho around in a Porsche Cayenne on the city’s dime last year.”

  “My tax dollars hard at work. How’d he get caught?” asked Danny.

  “Internal audit. He’s calling her a consultant. She works for Planning and Development. The joke they were telling at the office is the Mayor was planning to develop some ass.“