Specifically, Wade was looking for dancers or anything relative to Fool’s Paradise. His suspicions were further substantiated as he flipped through the album. There was Moet getting out of her car and going through the front yard of her house. There were close ups, full body shots and zooms. All of it was without her knowing, or so it seemed. By the looks of the album, David was an all-around-the-town type of Peeping Tom. More page flipping. There was Valerie. Wade remembered her face in Moet’s videos. Different snapshots showed her going into the club and leaving her house. When Wade saw a Camaytoned woman, he knew it was Debbie. He pulled it out of the book. A closer look brought him back to his days on the beat. He knew where that picture had been taken. He knew . . . he recognized the red exhibit with the balls racing throughout the giant contraption.
Port Authority.
Many more ideas tossed in his mind. Although David was moving even closer to becoming a prime suspect, Wade still needed to speak to Debbie. He had to hurry and reach Danni for the trip to Chicago. There was no way of knowing for certain, but David may have had a partner who had a dispute with him. Killed him off, and was now in the progress of completing the job. Far-fetched maybe, but there was indeed something brewing. Something beyond just brewing. There were three people dead; Moet, Bobby and now David. And Fool’s Paradise was the epicenter of it all.
How did Douglass play a roll? Wade wondered if a big mistake had been made on behalf of the FBI. He thought out the possible ingredients of tragedy. Sex, murder, money. Where was the money element? The motive? What the hell was going on? It was time to talk to Debbie. He pulled some additional photos of David, Moet, Valerie and another of Debbie. Then he stashed them in his shirt pocket and accelerated into traffic.
Chi-Town
Detective Wade and his new deputy, Danni, touched down in Chicago’s O’Hare Airport at 6pm. Just a couple of days after David Turner’s body was discovered. Wade brought along nothing but his pen, his previously-retired writing pad, and a pack of Doublemint gum. He wasn’t expecting to be in the Windy City for long, 12 hours at best. Danni, on the other hand, brought his usual traveling bag. Anytime he left New York, in the states, or out, his leather shoulder bag followed. Felix-The-Cat had his bag of tricks. Danni-The-Ninja had his bag of certain death.
For instance, there was a chess set that he rarely used. But inside the thin, compact box there was an arsenal. A nickle-plated set of nunchucks, a self extending steel rod, and a variety of blades; 14 blades in all, including daggers, knives and stars. All sharp enough to cut through skin and bone on contact. The exterior of the class set was plated with a special grade of uranium, an alloy from the mines of South Africa. The metal was immune to x-rays or laser scans, so the various compartments and sliding panels on the chess set could not be detected. The invention easily passed through airport security many times. If a jealous attendant wanted to see more, Danni would simply open the casing for them, revealing the many scrambled pieces of the game. Meanwhile, the next dangerous piece of artillery had already passed the checkpoint. Danni’s beeper also had blades concealed within its casing. No matter the weather, he was ready for prime time.
Through the corridors, an eatery, and hundreds of rush hour passengers mulling about, Wade and Danni moved at a steady, brisk pace towards the Hertz counter to obtain their pre-arranged rental car. Before long they were headed down Michigan Avenue, along the perimeter of monstrous Lake Michigan, towards the southside of Chicago. Conversation kept them occupied as Danni drove down streets he remembered from his youth.
“So what’s up with all of the artifacts and what-not?”
“Just collecting. Here and there. Nothing too serious.”
“Are you kidding? I know some people that haven’t traveled outside of their backyards. It looks like you’ve been everywhere. I’m not trying to play investigator or anything, but your home is one big-ole museum of precious artifacts,” Wade added curiously.
“. . . Well, you’d probably find out sooner or later. I used to . . . I used to be a pilot. Worked for a big outfit. I was all over the world.”
“Really. What did you fly?”
“Private planes and jets mostly.”
“Oh. Executives?” Wade easily slipped into the investigative habit.
“Not exactly. I moved drugs,” Danni answered, proud of his experiences, but ashamed still. Wade dropped his head an inch into his shoulders.
“You mean, prescription drugs, right?”
“No. Far from it. I was a trafficker in another life.”
“Another life?” Wade was hoping for better news. Like, the guy worked with the CIA in a government arms deal or something.
“Yeah. I crashed. Bad weather. When I woke up I was in a hospital bed with those special bracelets you’re so familiar with.”
“Whoa . . . hurt bad?”
“Hospitalized for a year. In a prison for nine more.” Danni held a slight grimace. Nothing shady or pretty about the truth.
Wade responded with another drawl. Still, the weight seemed to lift from the shoulders of both men. Wade realized that Danni had paid his debt to society. As far as he was concerned, Danni was still of value on this mission. Danni, on the other hand, was glad to be open and truthful.
“Well, obviously you’re a hundred percent better. All that kung-fu stuff you did on me back in Queens.”
“My body’s a hundred percent. My pockets aren’t quiet there yet.”
“Join the crowd. I try to stay patient. Many temptations, you know? But the discipline is key. If you’re standing on a cliff and down in the canyon there’s a bed of diamonds, you can’t jump. That’s the quick way to nowhere. But you can take the time to climb and navigate towards the goal. And learn some things about yourself along the way.”
“Well . . . thanks for the motivational speech, counselor.”
“Don’t mention it. I have to stay on point. My community depends on me. You’ve heard the song ‘Better Days’ by Diane Reeves?
“I might have.” Danni was now at the edge of South Chicago, working his way into the hood.
“There’s a line in the song that says ‘you can’t get through those better days until you make it through the night . . . you’ve got to be patient.’”
“Uh-huh. That sounds familiar.”
“To complete my point, you’ve got to focus on your objective in life. If everything you think about and act upon throughout your every living day is based in your objective, you can adapt to hard times. Accepting them as a kind of ‘Right of Passage’ if you will. Or, par for the course. I just know that in the balance of life there’s got to be night to have a day. A time when things rest and when they come to life. A time to live—a time to die. That’s the mastery of the universe.” Wade didn’t mind sharing wisdom. Besides, he found a bit of affirming energy in sharing.
The men were silent for a few moments until Danni pulled out a note from his pocket. It was an address that Debbie had confirmed with him. He made a left and a right, accordingly. When they arrived at Willowbrook Avenue there was a police road block erected and a traffic cop at the middle of the intersection who directed and re-routed vehicles to proceed in opposite directions or straight through the light. Crowds had formed at different areas along the sidewalks, observing the police activity. In passing the cop, Wade could see down Willowbrook, straight to the other end. A road block and more police capped that end as well. There were no visible indications of what exactly was happening on Willowbrook, but trouble was evident. A stone’s throw from the road block, Danni pulled into an available parking space.
“See down the alley?”
“Yeah.” Wade nodded, wondering what Danni was up to. If it was crazy, Wade wasn’t down. Not long till retirement.
“Well, that’s the backside of all the homes on Debbie’s side of Willowbrook.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Her house is only a few houses in. I say we execute business as usual. Make sure she’s okay. Protect our interests.”
“I don’t know. Police usually means serious business.”
“It could be a gas leak or something. Maybe they’re waiting for the gas company to show up. Besides, the alley isn’t blocked off. Nobody said we couldn’t take a little walk. You’re not chicken, are you? Feeling out of pocket? Playing it cool until ‘Better Days’ come along?” Danni threw Wade a curious glance.
“Okay. Alright already. Let’s go.” Wade grabbed Danni’s arm before he could exit the car. “Just be careful.”
Danni nodded and stretched over to the back seat for his shoulder bag. The two marched down the alleyway as the descent of the sun left an auburn sky. To the left was a block-long row of one-car garages. To the right were the fenced-in backyards to the homes on Willowbrook. There were telephone poles lining the alley and garbage cans at the base of each pole. The atmosphere was dim and gloomy. Lights were struggling to flicker on, as their time controls commanded. While approaching the back gate of 422 Willowbrook a sound of cracking and popping ripped through the sky. It was distant, but Wade knew the sound well enough. Heard them at the firing range all the time.
“Those are gunshots, Danni,” Wade issued matter-of-factly.
“If they are, they’re pretty far away.” Danni put his hand on Wade’s shoulder for support. “We’re here. That’s her back door. Four twenty-two Willowbrook. Let’s do this and get out.” Even Danni was concerned.
“How can you tell? There’s no number on the door.”
“The cans, Detective. The garbage cans.” Wade looked down to see 422 on the heavy-duty plastic container. “Lemme find out you bought your badge at an auction and didn’t earn it at the Police Academy,” said Danni.
Wade lifted his eyelids at the joke, but remained alert. Inside the gate and up the short path, Danni and his shadow stepped up to knock at the pane glass in the door. Less than 10 seconds passed before a flowered curtain shifted to the side in the kitchen window. The two men could barely see the woman’s face.
“Who?” She was abrupt and ginger.
“It’s Danni. Here to see Debbie . . .”
‘She’s not in. I’ll tell her you came by.” The woman abruptly shot out an answer before Danni finished his introduction. The two men swallowed as though they’d just been sent on their way. Suddenly, from a window on the second floor, Debbie waved to Danni. She lifted the window.
“Hey! What’s up, Danni?”
“What’s up with you? Are you on punishment or something?”
“No. Why?”
“Aaah . . .” Danni held a question mark on his face. Tossed between Debbie upstairs approving, and her mother downstairs, disapproving. “Your mother says you’re not home. So maybe we’ll come back later.” Danni pivoted as if to leave. Wade played along. They knew that eyes were watching.
“Mom!” Debbie yowled through the house so that her mother and everyone else could hear her. Danni and Wade waited anxiously for the back door to be opened. Some loud, aggressive words were thrown between the younger and older Roses. Wade felt awkward as he listened to the series of locks and latches flip, click and unfasten. The back door sucked in the outside air and Debbie pushed the screen door outward to invite the two inside. “Sorry. Mom even tells the mailman I’m not home.”
“Well, you can never be too safe,” Wade added as he followed Danni into the kitchen where Mrs. Rose could overhear.
“Good evening, ma’am . . .”
“Hello, ma’am.”
“Yes. Hi, gentlemen. I’m Mrs. Rose. Debbie’s mother.” Mrs. Rose spoke authoritatively, as if to put the two men on notice that security was in place for her daughter, in her house.
“Mom.” Debbie appealed with her tone. “Mom, this is Danni. He’s Jackie’s mother’s boyfriend, from Queens. Remember I told you how nice and hospitable he was to me?” Debbie was trying to indicate that some reciprocity was in order. But Mrs. Rose was holding back a growl, not knowing whether to bite or kiss Danni. Was he the reason her Debbie . . . her only remaining child, left the house in the first place? Was he doin’ the nasty with her daughter? Or was he genuinely kind? Not too many men were, according to Mrs. Rose. She’d been through too much to jump to conclusions.
“Yes. Yes. I remember. Hello, Danni. I’m sorry to be so rude. You never can be too safe ya know . . .” She was growing more comfortable now. “. . . and besides, that troubled family is at it again across the street. I swear I’m gonna leave this blessed neighborhood if it’s the last thing I do.”
“This is a friend of mine. Wade.” Everyone completed their greetings and took seats at the dining table cramped in a corner of the kitchen. Mrs. Rose went into the refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher. Then she went into a cabinet for some glasses. Wade looked over to Danni with uneasiness, knowing that what they had to discuss probably shouldn’t include the mother. Danni winked at Wade in understanding.
“So what brings you gentlemen out our way?” Mrs. Rose wasn’t letting down with her investigation. Danni looked at Wade without turning his way. But Wade slammed the serve back into Danni’s side of the net.
“A photographer in New York had taken some photos of Debbie and . . .” Wade jumped in.
“. . . and there seems to be some interest in Debbie doing some paid work, like runway shows of some sort . . .” Danni cut Wade off now, thinking that they shouldn’t imply Debbie leaving Chicago again.
“. . . and we wanted to . . . interview Debbie for possible opportunities . . . uhh . . . the guy would come out here and . . .” Danni was at a loss for words. Debbie read through the code and jumped in before they dug a hole any deeper.
“Mom . . . do you mind if I speak with them alone?”
“Honey, I’d like to know what’s happening . . . is this some modeling thing? I know how this industry abuses—”
“Mom! Please give me some time alone. I’ll fill you in. I’m a big girl.”
“Alright. Alright. I’m going to do some tidying.” Mrs. Rose was apprehensive, but got up from the table and headed for the living room. More shots could be heard in the distance.
“What’s this block caught up in, some kind of stand-off or something?” Wade put the question to Debbie and Danni, as if he was still a resident of the area.
“I guess the dealers are at it again. It’s like every other day we hear gunshots around here. You know that’s how my brother Ray Ray died. A bullet came right through the front window.”
“Wow. Chicago sure hasn’t changed a bit.”
“It’s worse than when you were young, Danni. Sometimes I can’t go outside.”
“Road blocks are set up outside, for God sakes.”
“That’s small time, Mr. Wade. You should be here when the helicopters are buzzin’ over the house. I need to get my mom the hell outta here.”
“Listen, Debbie. Not to cut you off, but Wade is a detective with . . .”
“Let me, Danni. Debbie, please tell us what you know about Moet. We’re not suspecting you of anything. We’re actually here to protect you. We think you could be a target.” Debbie suddenly realized the purpose of this meeting and all of its intensity. She was feeling all bottled up with information anyhow and needed to tell someone.
“You know, I’ve been wanting so much to tell someone about what happened that night. But I didn’t know where to go or who to tell.”
“Slow down, Debbie. What night are you talking about? Tell us what happened.” Wade attempted to comfort her. Debbie seemed to recapture the grief or horror from the experience. It showed in her eyes and on her face. With her elbows on the table and her face in her palms, she continued.
“Moet and I went out with this guy. He booked us for a private party. Said his name was Rick. He was nice at first. Never took off his glasses. Clean-shaven. Black hair and real-real white skin.”
Wade was scribbling furiously into his pad. “He picked us up from Fool’s Paradise—we worked there and . . .”
—Wade interrupted, explaining that she could move beyond the j
ob; he already knew where she worked, etc.—
“Okay, well, we went downtown to the Marriot, in Times Square.” Debbie recounted the event in her mind. Nervously combing ten fingers through her soft, bronze hair. “When we got to the hotel room Moe and I went into the bathroom to get ready. We had these leather outfits, whips. You know . . . fantasy stuff.” Danni tried to act surprised, even though Wade had schooled him about Debbie, her dancing and the erotic escapades with Moet.
“When we came out to start our routine, he like—had a whole ’nother plan. He wanted to play games with handcuffs and stuff. Moet was like, alright. But I was like, naw. So I did the first half of the gig. He still put the cuffs on himself, and we’re like—whatever. We teased him. Danced around a bit. Moet and I started a lil’ girl-on-girl thing. Then he insisted on the handcuffs. I said no again. Moet and I agreed to meet up downstairs in the lobby after the gig. So I left and she stayed with him. Before I went out the door, he grabbed me, askin’ if I was sure I didn’t want to play. His grip was so hard I tried to wiggle away, told him to let me go. Then I slammed the door. I waited and waited in the lobby. Nobody showed up. After an hour I went back up. They were gone. The place was a mess. Not like when I left, but like—wrecked.” Debbie put her face back in her palms. Ashamed and embarrassed, Danni put a comforting arm around Debbie’s shoulder. Brotherly love. But Wade didn’t want her to stop.
“What happened next, Debbie?” Swirling his ballpoint across a notepad.
“I took a cab home. I waited for Moet to call. The whole situation confused me, so I just packed my things and took a flight back home . . . here in Chicago, I mean. I think I called Moet a couple a times before I left.” Debbie’s sigh turned to tears that left moist impressions along her cheeks. Danni pulled Debbie into his collarbone and signaled for Wade to ease up. More popping sounds cracked outside. Then an answer-back crackle. Closer still. At that moment, glass shattered in the front of the house.
“Mom!” Debbie shook her remorse and sorrow instantly. She jumped up, darting to the front of the house. “Mom!!” Mrs. Rose was spread out on the floor of the living room. The giant picture window was broken at the lower left corner, a hole in it the size and shape of a foot-long asterisk. Debbie looked down to see her mom coughing up blood, holding her hand to her bosom where a splatter of dark red resulted from the bullet wound. Danni and Wade were just behind Debbie. Debbie was already on the floor, cuddling her mother’s head and torso in her lap. She wiped her mother’s brow, smoothing a strand of hair aside to her temple. Helplessly and hopelessly, Debbie rained tears over her mother’s trauma-stricken expression, how she stared up to the ceiling for some divine guidance.
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