Citycide

by Gary Hardwick

  “Nothing about him surprises me anymore,” Danny said chuckling a little. “A class act.”

  “He’s screwing half the city literally and the other half figuratively.”

  They laughed again but soon, the familiar silence returned. Danny was thinking about his now unauthorized case. He didn’t know why Vinny was so quiet but he welcomed the chance to think.

  “We got a new Neighborhood Watch,” said Vinny. “Some of the neighbors left a flyer and asked for volunteers.”

  “I’m with that,” said Danny. “I see too many shady muthafuckas around here.”

  “Actually, I think Bevia’s situation did it. It just scared people into acting.”

  Danny nodded. He understood that. People in Detroit were scared of what their city was becoming and any act of violence raised fears.

  They finished watching Justified together and then they got into bed. Before he could think to make his own move, Vinny was all over him pulling, kissing and being very aggressive like she was lately. Danny met her eagerness with his own desire and soon they were going down a wonderfully familiar road.

  He didn’t know when couples developed sexual telepathy but it was nice to have it in his life. Everything was gone now, the case, the dead, the city’s troubles and his own. He melded with her and soon there was only joy in his head.

  They moved with each other, Danny inside her and Vinny clamped around him tightly. He was always aware of the stark contrast of their skin, how different and how beautiful hers was and he knew she felt the same way.

  When they were finished, he lay with her, staring at the ceiling. What was wrong with her? She was a cop like him, in many ways better and more intuitive. He knew Vinny was aware that he sensed the changes in her, the bouts of silence and the ascension to quick and delicate passion.

  Would he broach the subject, giving her the right to deny it, or fall into confession, or would Vinny end the stand off and just unburden herself?

  Suddenly, Danny thought of Rashindah Watson, young beautiful and dead. She’d never lay with a man again; never stir his mind to her womanly mystery.

  If Rashindah’s death wasn’t a drug hit, then it was something much worse. He felt he was about to step into a dense pool of trouble and he wished Vinny wouldn’t add to it by being so secretive.

  Danny felt Vinny stir next to him and for a moment, he thought she’d get up and go downstairs to do some work. She was doing that a lot and he was ready to veto it. But Vinny didn’t get up. Her back was to him. She turned to face him and spoke.

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think…”

  “What?” he asked gently.

  “I want,” she corrected herself, “to have a baby.”

  10

  THE WISE OF HEART

  Danny sat on the lovely flowered sofa trying not to think about Vinny’s bombshell. He’d asked what had brought on the statement. Vinny recounted her dislike of marriage and talked about her biological clock. It seemed Vinny’s timepiece wasn’t buzzing a dulcet tone but issuing a booming alarm that time was running out.

  He’d listened attentively even as his own alarms were going off. He certainly felt children were in his future and certainly with Vinny but he never thought the kid would come first. He told Vinny that he would think about it, that they both should. Vinny had agreed but it was clear that she was decided and he was not.

  Danny was in the living room of Rashindah Watson’s Aunt Joyce. The house was like time travel for Danny. The hardwood floor was clean enough to see a fuzzy reflection of yourself. The place smelled of cleaner, wood oil and strong coffee. In a corner, sat a Philco TV set with a dial on it. He hadn’t seen one of those in years. On top, the television had a digital box and Danny wondered how the hell anyone could hook up an old dinosaur TV like that.

  Next to the TV, was an old princess phone and what looked to be one of the first digital answering machines ever made.

  The mantle held pictures of black babies, faded fuzzy photos of people who seemed impossibly old. And right in the middle of the photos, was a picture of Jesus and President Obama.

  There were bibles, crucifixes and other religious symbols all over the place. Joyce was drinking tea from a cup with the twelve apostles on it.

  This felt like all the homes Danny had visited when he was a kid in Detroit, where no one’s mother ever let you sit on her good furniture and there was always a reminder of God somewhere.

  Joyce Watson was a fastidious woman in her fifties. To most, she looked much younger and she obviously kept herself in good shape. She was polite and charming and although she did a good job hiding it, Danny knew she enjoyed her alcohol. He could see it in the eyes and the mannerism. Strict behavior and discipline was how a lot of religious women deal with the sickness. Danny had enough drunks in his family to know this. Can’t fool an Irishman about that.

  “You want something to drink, Detective?” asked Joyce.

  “No, I’m good,” said Danny. “Thanks.”

  “Never would have guessed you weren’t black on the phone,” said Joyce with a smile. “You’re what we used to call a Zero.”

  “Haven’t heard that in a long time,” said Danny. A Zero was a candy bar that was vanilla on the outside and chocolate inside. “It wasn’t nice when I used to hear it.”

  “I was called an Oreo,” said Joyce. “Because I spoke properly, praise the Lord. So, you the man who caught the killer, huh?”

  “I didn’t catch him,” said Danny. “He’s dead.”

  “And good riddance,” said Joyce. “Well,” she sighed, “I suppose you wanna talk about my niece.”

  “If you don’t mind,” said Danny. He was glad he didn’t have to break the ice on the subject.

  “She was a bad girl, sinful and fast. Left me as soon as she turned legal and shacked up with some man. I can only guess what they did.”

  “So when would she come by to see you?” asked Danny.

  “I’d see her now and then, on my birthday, holidays, but she never wanted to go to church with me. I got so I didn’t trust her when she came here. I watched her to make sure she didn’t take anything. You can never tell when they’re on the drugs. I never let her bring friends over and I fixed my phone so you can’t call here unless I see your number.”

  A lot of criminals used blocked number or disposable phones with unknown ID’s, Danny thought. Smart woman. The old digital answering machine had a caller ID.

  “So when I heard she was dead,” Joyce continued, “I was sad of course but not surprised.”

  “Did she ever spend the night here with you after she left?” asked Danny.

  “Yes,” said Joyce. “Every once in a while she came here to eat. I always got the feeling she was running from something but I never said anything. We had made our peace.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “A few months ago. She came and ate, then signed the insurance papers and left.”

  “Insurance?”

  “Yes. She had life insurance and she assigned me as beneficiary. Twenty-five thousand in case you’re wondering.”

  “A lot of money,” said Danny and something in his voice made Joyce nervous.

  “I hope you don’t think I did it?” She laughed nervously.

  “I don’t know what to think right now,” said Danny. He was watching Joyce carefully. He’d run across many single, older black women with strong religious convictions in his life. They used the church to keep themselves strong and to create an outward persona of kindness, conviction and justified self-righteousness. If he was going to get anything useful out of this woman he’d have to play her game and he’d have to be sincere about it.

  “Why do you think your niece stopped going to church?” asked Danny.

  “It’s this world we live in,” said Joyce with conviction. “It tells kids that there’s nothing they can’t have on Earth, in this life. It shuns the truth that our reward is in the next life.”
<
br />   “I see a lot of that in my job,” said Danny. “Live right now, never think about your kids, your obligations or nothing bigger than yourself.”

  “Right!” said Joyce. “God is first, I tried to tell her but no, she worshipped sex, money and men.” Joyce smiled at Danny with confidence.

  “We still don’t know why she was killed and I’m thinking that maybe she confided something to you.”

  “No, she’d never do that,” said Joyce. “That’s what I told the other officer.”

  A chill ran through Danny, followed by hot anger. He did not want to upset his witness by telling her that he was the only cop on the case. He wanted her to remember as best she could whom she had talked with.

  “Oh yeah, I don’t remember his name,” said Danny.

  “I remember,” said Joyce. “His name was Roman Young.”

  Danny was even more pissed. He chastised himself for not coming to Joyce first. But he never had the time, really. The fire at the victim’s home followed the murder. Then he had the hunt for the witness and then the shooting. He guessed it wasn’t his fault if some asshole had come here looking for something. And that name was a dead giveaway to him. Roman Gribbs had been Mayor of Detroit right before the legendary Coleman Young.

  “What specifically did he want?” said Danny.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Joyce. “But he did have a look around to make sure Rashindah didn’t hide any evidence here. He didn’t find anything, though.”

  “What did he look like, this cop?”

  “He was a white man, small, thin, with really blue eyes and brown hair.”

  “So Joyce, do you ever remember your niece saying there was a place where she felt safe?”

  “No, not that I recall,” said Joyce looking up. “Me and the girl didn’t talk much toward the end.”

  Danny was putting together this story. Rashindah was orphaned when her mother died and forced to live with her aunt. Joyce seemed like the kind of woman who didn’t take any shit in her place. This was a nice, clean ordered home, he thought.

  “Okay ma’am,” Danny got up, “if you remember anything or if that other officer comes by again, you call me,” Danny handed her a card.

  “Of course, officer,” said Joyce. “I know you probably think I’m cold. But it’s not that I didn’t care for Rashindah. I did. I just believe in God and I know His judgment was fair. I hope she made things right before she died. If so, then she’s okay. If not, then it’s His will, you know?”

  “Yes, I do know,” said Danny. “I know all too well.”

  “When Rashindah misbehaved, I’d give her a beatin’ but when it was over, I’d always remind her you’re always safe in the Lord, then, I’d give her this.” Joyce went to a table and took off an old Bible.

  Danny took it and opened it but there was nothing inside, no hollowed out middle or anything.

  “Thanks,” he said with a little disappointment in his voice and handed the Bible back to her.

  “I always told Rashindah to live by Proverbs, so many useful sayings in there. Do you know Proverbs, Detective?”

  “A little,” said Danny, sounding like a kid. Catholic guilt, he mused. He really didn’t want to hear it but he’d taken her down this path.

  “He who troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind. And the fool shall be made servant to the wise of heart,” Joyce quoted. “Rashindah brought shame and sin on her house because she would not heed my wisdom.”

  “I think your niece was murdered for something she had and now it’s gone. If I can find it, I’ll be that much closer to whoever killed her.”

  “Don’t know what it could be,” said Joyce. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to remember.

  Danny thanked Joyce and left. He got into his car and headed to the station to check out Rashindah’s belongings.

  As soon as he was inside the car, he heard Vinny’s voice, soft and innocent beside him.

  I want… to have a baby.

  Danny sighed heavily. He had to deal with this in an adult manner. He was about the right age for a kid and he’d only be getting older. He didn’t want to be one of those old men with a little kid he’d never live to see graduate from high school.

  And of course, if they had the kid, would they raise it in Detroit? If things didn’t start to get better, the city wouldn’t be a fit place for anyone.

  Danny jumped on I-75 and was soon downtown. As he weaved his way toward 1300 Beaubien, he was struck again by the city. It was ugly, dangerous and struggling against fate itself, but it was still a beauty to him. He’d visited Philly once and was hit with the same feeling. It was an old city too, older than Detroit, and it had seen some rough years as well.

  Danny went inside the station house and into the precinct’s evidence room.

  The burned and wasted life of Rashindah Watson was in eight big boxes in a corner. He took off his jacket and began to go through the stuff.

  Danny’s mind wandered to thoughts of having a son as he filtered through the evidence. What would he look like? His boy would be mixed, so outwardly he’d be a composite of his father’s duality, a person of neither race but both.

  Danny was on box number three when he saw it. There, piled on shoes and pots was a burned-black copy of the Bible. It was wrapped in leather and had a folding clasp on the front cover. It had fused itself together and was just a big black chunk.

  It might have been tossed but the title of the book was clear. It was stamped in some kind of paint that had resisted the fire and only turned brown: the holy bible: king james version.

  If he were a more religious man, he would have thought it was a sign.

  Danny pulled out a knife and cut the book open. The inside was singed and unreadable in places. He went to Proverbs, looking for the quote he’d gotten from Joyce Watson. There was nothing between the pages but he saw a cut into the spine of the book there. Inside the Bible’s spine, Danny found the SIM card from Rashindah Watson’s phone.

  11

  SEXTING ON THE BURNER

  Ayar Mobile Tech was housed on Michigan Avenue in Dearborn in a slate gray building that blended into its bleak surroundings. The building had once been the corporate office of an autoparts maker. The name of the defunct company was still etched into parts of the building’s foundation, a reminder of the area’s economic loss over the years.

  The SIM card Danny found had the AMT logo on it, a blue globe with red lettering. AMT sold disposable cell phones or “burners” as the police called them. In the beginning, the burners were little flip phones without much power or storage. Now they had everything from flips to top of the line smart phones.

  Danny sat in the spacious office of the President, Michael Seba. Seba was of medium build with dark skin and darker eyes. His immigrant parents had fled anti-Christian forces in Iraq and come to Detroit in the 1960’s.

  Seba worked in his parent’s party store in Detroit until he went off to The University of Michigan to study business. When he graduated, Seba turned his parents’ store into three stores and then sold them and bought a fledgling phone company whose sole asset was a lucrative slice of the communications licenses given by the government.

  Seba confessed that the SIM card was his, from his top model, an Eon Smartphone patterned after the Droid.

  “This SIM belonged to a murder victim,” said Danny.

  “Oh, that’s awful,” said Seba calmly. “How can I help?”

  Danny saw no panic in Seba’s eyes. He had probably talked with police before about the owners of his phones.

  “I assume you keep records of activity.”

  “Yes, but I will need a warrant or something to release the information.”

  Danny handed Seba some papers. He’d dealt with this before and he had come prepared. Seba looked at the papers carefully.

  “I will need time for my attorneys to look at this,” he said.

  “I don’t have time for that,” said Danny. “I want all of the activity on this account and a si
gned letter of verification before I leave.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible,” said Seba. “My licenses have to run through other larger companies. I am bound by the agreements they make for our clients.“

  “Clients?” said Danny. “Like who? Only drug dealers and lowlives use burners and you know it. That’s a pretty good business in this town. You can refuse me but that will just bring the city down on you, or maybe I’ll call a friend at the FBI to help me.”

  Seba panicked at the mention of the Feds. His contract was probably federal, Danny thought and had scrutiny clauses in it. Danny was bluffing but Seba had no way of knowing that.

  “I can do what you want but I want it noted that I had reservations,” said Seba.

  “Noted,” said Danny.

  Seba took Danny into their data room, a cavernous basement with wall-to-wall servers and high tech equipment. The room was cold because of the heat thrown off by the machinery.

  Technology had helped the police in the past but now it also helped criminals hide their activities. Who knew how many illegal conversations took place through these computers?

  “Nicki here will take care of you,” said Seba, referring to a skinny kid of about twenty-five or so. “He handles many of the Eon accounts. Nicki, pull up the files on this SIM.”

  Seba handed Nicki the SIM and he put it in a slot on his terminal. The SIM’s PIN code login came up. Nicki entered a PIN override and the screen flashed as all of the records started to come up.

  “There you are,” said Seba.

  “I want the files printed and then I want a digital copy of the info on a flashdrive,” said Danny.

  “I got it,” said Nicki. He hit a few keys, then downloaded the information onto a small flashdrive with the AMT logo on it. “The print’s gonna take a while. There’s a lot on this account.”

  Danny ran through his evidence knowledge. He needed to make sure the record reflected that this evidence was obtained legally. He would need a release letter signed by Seba as President. It had to acknowledge the warrant and the request. He’d need this Nicki referenced as well.