The thing is, when Profit makes the call, I’m not too sure he’ll reach out to Romil and me. Whatever is going on with him and Ta’Shara is a done deal. He’s let it be known that he doesn’t want anyone to mention her name. The fact that she was so cool with us now has him looking at us sideways. A reminder as to why it’s important to stay out of muthafuckas’s relationships. The second that shit goes left, people choose sides.
I’m pulling out of Dime’s funeral with Romil when Tombstone’s number pops up on my screen. “Hello.”
“It’s going down tonight,” he rumbles over the line. “You in?”
Finally. “You know it.”
“Be at my crib, three o’clock. Three o’clock. Don’t be late.” He disconnects the call.
“Got it,” I say though he’s already gone. I glance at Romil.
She reads my excitement. “What? Was that the call?”
I nod.
“Good. This fucking sitting and waiting is for the birds. The whole damn city talks like we fell off. We’re not the only ones who’ve sustained a hit.” After Shariffa’s body was inexplicably found in Lucifer’s crib, the police then discovered her husband, Lynch, the chief of the Grape Street Crips, decapitated out in Tupelo. When LeShelle Murphy’s body made the news, cheers went up on Ruby Cove, but hours later, people worried about retaliation.
Romil and I follow Profit’s lead. Since he’s quiet about LeShelle’s murder, our lips are sealed, despite the fact that we would’ve been treated like celebrities. Will the Gangster Disciples come gunning for us again? Some are split on whether it was her death that set everything off in the first place.
Romil and I return to my place. Our mood goes from excitement to somber reflection. So much has happened so fast and our clique is now so small. It’s only natural to wonder about shit going left.
By two, we’re dressed for combat. We’re more than forty-five minutes early, but there’s already a crowd mobbin’ around the house. Everyone got their game faces on, heads nodding, repeating, “All is well” every other sentence.
At two thirty, Profit emerges from his house, mean mugging and exchanging dabs. There’s certainly a change about him. There’s no trace of the wide-eyed teenager who moved up here over a year ago, wanting to hang with his older brother Fat Ace. But most know that the newest change has more to do with his breakup with Ta’Shara than any of the battle scars he has earned from the streets.
When he approaches, I’m disheartened that he doesn’t acknowledge us.
At exactly three o’clock, Tombstone exits his house. To be honest, he and Profit are competing on who can hide their pain better.
“Let’s ride out.”
34
Hydeya
It’s never a good idea to roll into gang territory without backup, especially when you’re a cop and everyone knows your face.
However, I’m in an I don’t give a shit kind of mood and decide to take my chances. The second I cruise down Shotgun Row, I feel several sets of angry eyes on me. When I climb out of my car and bound up the steps to Momma Peaches’ old place, those same curious neighbors mill around their houses to get a better view of what is about to go down.
I hammer on the door, step back, place my hand on my holstered weapon, and wait.
No answer.
I repeat the process, but bang on the door harder.
No answer.
“Maybe he’s not home,” a smirking woman on the porch next door suggests.
I ignore her and the crying baby, who is wearing Pampers that look to be carrying a mighty load. Instead, I move over to the window and peer inside. I can’t see shit, but my gut tells me that my old man is in there, hiding from me. “Ain’t this some shit?”
“If you want,” the smug neighbor says, “I can tell him that you came by when I see him again.”
I cut my gaze in her direction and wonder if the slim cigarette is what I think it is. “Really?” I ask. “You’re gonna smoke that shit right in front of me?”
The woman looks at the blunt, her slow mind kicks into gear, and she drops the muthafucka like she’s shocked to see the weed in her hand.
I roll my eyes. I swear these muthafuckas out here get dumber with each passing day. After a couple of calming breaths, I turn my attention back to Momma Peaches’s closed door. I tell myself that I should leave and come back later, but the other part of me, the angry and frustrated part, whips out my service weapon, aims it at the door, and fires.
Pow! Pow! Pow!
“Holy shit!” The neighbor jumps and grabs her screaming baby while I send a solid kick to the door. It bangs opens and I proceed inside.
“What the fuck? You can’t do that shit,” the neighbor shouts.
“She’s right, you know,” Isaac says, appearing in the hallway. He looks me up and down and then crosses his arms as if holding down his territory. “I hate to be the one to tell you the laws that you’re supposedly sworn to uphold, but shooting your way into a private residence without a warrant is against the law.”
“Funny.” I smirk, holster my weapon, and back-kick the door closed. “We need to talk.”
“Humph.” He looks me up and down. “Are you here to talk as my chip-on-the-shoulder daughter or as the pain-in-my-ass cop?”
“Both.” I stroll farther into the house and make myself comfortable in one of the chairs in the living room.
Isaac’s gaze follows my movements, but he doesn’t budge from the hallway. “What do you want, Hydeya?”
“Hydeya? What? I’m not your little princess anymore?”
His chin comes up as he struggles with how to play out the current situation. “Of course you’ll always be my little princess. Now. What the hell do you want?”
I laugh. “So we’re going to play stupid this afternoon. All right. I’m game. We both know that it was you and your folks that leveled Ruby Cove. I saw the crates of weapons that night, remember?”
“I wouldn’t bank too much on your memory of that night. I recall you being highly intoxicated when you came over here.” Isaac moves out of the hall and strolls into the living room, where he eases into a chair across from me.
It doesn’t get by me that his movements are slow and stiff.
I watch him and shake my head. “Un-fucking-believable.” My blood pressure shoots through the roof. I’m just surrounded by frauds, cheats, and con artists. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” I ask him. “Pretend that I don’t know what I know? You killed thirty-seven people that night. They were people’s sons and daughters. You looked me dead in my eyes and told me that you were out of the game, that you were going to stay on the up-and-up.” My voice rises. “Am I going crazy? Did I imagine this conversation? All your pathetic letters over the last ten years were bullshit, right? Your word is bullshit. It always has been.”
Isaac remains calm while I lose it.
“Now your bullshit may cost me the very job I’ve worked hard to get. A job, by the way, that I take great pride in. I told you that this was my fucking city. That the bullshit you do puts my shit on the line. But I know, like I’ve always known, that my life, my shit, is a non-muthafuckin’ factor to you.”
“That’s not true,” he says tactically, subtle remorse rippling across his features.
“Don’t lie.” I close my eyes and keep the begging out of my voice as I add, “Please. I can’t take it if another muthafucka lies to my face.”
“Princess—”
“I’m not your fucking princess. Let’s at least get that shit straight,” I say, shaking. “It’s taking everything I have not to put a bullet in the center of your forehead and claim self-defense. We both know that nobody would blink an eye if I did.”
Amusement hugs the corners of Isaac’s lips. It’s a tell that his ass doesn’t believe for one second that I’d do it.
Maybe it’s his smugness that has me going for my weapon and firing off a shot that narrowly misses his head.
“THE FUCK?” Isaac is out of his se
at and magically palming his weapon.
“Ah. Ah. Ah,” I warn. “You don’t want to do that.”
My father looks at me with new eyes, but he lowers the gun.
“You do know that as a felon you’re not to own or possess a firearm, right? I mean, with you being so up on what is and isn’t against the law. Surely, you know that.”
“So what’s the play here?” Isaac asks, wanting to cut through the BS. “You came down here to shoot me or arrest me. Which is it?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” I tell him honestly. “Tell me what you know or remember about Captain Melvin Johnson.”
His outrage changes to confusion. “Why the hell do you want to know about that dirty muthafucka for? His ass is dead and gone. Good riddance.”
“Yeah. I know that he was dirty. My question is how dirty? My investigation into his corruption has hit a brick wall.”
Isaac laughs. “I’m not surprised. Y’all muthafuckin’ cops are the worst of the worst out here. But y’all get y’all’s rocks off locking brothahs like me up while guaranteeing the bloodshed continues as long as y’all pigs get your share of the profits.”
“Not all cops are dirty,” I tell him.
His laughter deepens. “I stand corrected.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“What’s not to know? Every nigga out here knew Captain Johnson was as dirty as they come. He made his whole career by keeping his foot on the necks of the Gangster Disciples while propping up the Vice Lords. Probably because his brother was a Vice Lord pimp. Nigga by the name of Smokestack. He’s still in the joint, still preaching that black power bullshit.”
“Wait. Sooo . . . Captain Johnson was a Vice Lord?”
“Is that so hard to believe? You’re the new captain and I bet you still got that six-pointed star on your back.”
Heat rushes up my neck. I start to protest that Captain Johnson and I are in no way alike, but then I think about how I’m protecting Isaac right now by not hauling his ass to jail, and I keep my mouth shut.
“So yeah. Captain Johnson did their bidding. He supplied the Vice Lords with arms and gave protection when their drugs shipped in. Those muthafuckas couldn’t have gotten a sweeter deal if they fuckin’ tried. But their superman is gone. I bet their asses don’t feel so invincible now.” Isaac stares at me as I take it all in. “C’mon. You can’t tell me that you didn’t know at least half of this shit.”
“I’ve been able to put a few pieces of the puzzle together,” I confess. “My main concern is how far up the Johnson corruption goes.”
“I’d imagine pretty damn far. No way he could get away with his shit for as long as he did without some fuckin’ cover. I’m sure as long as they kept the money flowing to the right people, everything was just copacetic.”
“What about Lieutenant John Fowler?” I ask. “Have you ever heard anything about him?”
Isaac shakes his head. “I can’t say that the name is familiar. Then again, I have been locked down for a dime, remember?”
“But you can ask around, right? Run the name by Terrell?”
Isaac tenses. “Maybe.”
I nod, appreciating him not playing me crazy.
“Speaking of Terrell—” I pause, trying to figure out a way to transition into a more delicate subject.
“Yeah?”
“LeShelle Murphy—her body was found in a shallow grave off of Mudville early this morning. Know anything about it?” One look into his shocked face and I have my answer. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news.”
“She’s dead?” he asks.
“Afraid so.”
“Shit.” Isaac hangs his head while the house fills with an uncomfortable silence. After a moment, he looks at me. “Now what?”
“Now I don’t know. I’m getting a lot of heat about that stunt you pulled.”
“Stunt?” Isaac repeats. His dark eyes level with mine. “Those Vice Lords killed my wife. Did you forget that shit? The very damn day I get out of the joint. To make matters even worse, they have the audacity to blast up her funeral and kill my baby girl’s husband right in front of her face.”
“Oh. So now I’m the reason you went all terminator on that block? Please. Miss me with that bullshit. You didn’t even fucking know Drake, and I could tell that you didn’t like him when you met him.”
Isaac’s gaze remains locked on me. “I didn’t have to fucking like him. You loved him, and that was enough. Do you have any fucking idea what it was like to hear you scream the way you did out in that cemetery, or watch the way you hugged and cradled his body? Those muthafuckas did that to my baby, my princess, and there wasn’t a damn thing that I could do about it. What kind of man do you think I am? Did you really think that I was just going to dust my shoulders off and chalk it up to the game? They declared war on me. And now you’re up in here, putting bullets in walls because I did what you couldn’t do? You’re right. I don’t give a fuck about that badge that you covet so much, but I do give a fuck about you and about what those assholes did to you. And you’re sorely mistaken if you think that I’m going to apologize for any of it.”
I lower my weapon, touched beyond words by what he has confessed. Before I know it, I’m being gathered in his embrace, wetting up his chest with tears that I’ve been trying to suppress ever since Drake’s urn was delivered to the house by UPS. I don’t know how long we stand in the living room with our arms locked around each other, but when we break away, I’ve made a decision to slap handcuffs on his wrists.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry, Dad. But you’re under arrest.”
35
Wendi
“What do you think he means by ‘take her out’?” I ask John as he disconnects the call with the mayor.
“What the hell do you think?” he asks, giving me a hard, impatient look before sighing. At least it’s a sign that he’s having a problem with possibly taking out a fellow cop.
I like Captain Hawkins. I actually do believe that she’s really one of the good ones; the ones who believe in the good fight, and in our ability to make a difference out here in these streets. I used to believe in those things. It was why I joined the force myself. But it doesn’t take long before you realize the kind of cesspool we’re dealing with out here. The hours are often long, the respect is nonexistent, and there is absolutely no money in the job.
The money. That’s what it all boils down to: I need the money. There’s no way for me to take care of my mother’s medical needs without it. An unbelievable amount of shame sweeps through me, but it’s a shame that I’m forced to live with because I don’t have any other options.
“Are you cool?” Fowler asks, his gaze hard and assessing.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “You?”
John doesn’t answer. He sits sullenly behind the wheel until we spot Captain Hawkins exit the hospital.
We watch in silence as Hawkins makes her way to her vehicle. I struggle to read her body language. Hawkins is a cool customer. She carries herself with such confidence that she’s one of the most difficult people to read. I know if I had a husband who was just gunned down in front of me, I’d still be curled up in the fetal position somewhere. Captain Hawkins doesn’t have an off switch.
It’s unfortunate that it might be the very thing that’ll get her killed.
The moment that Captain Hawkins pulls out of the parking deck, Fowler starts up the car and follows. While we tail our own captain, my stomach loops into a tighter and harder knot.
“Where is she going?” I ask when I notice that we’re not following her back to the station.
“She must be going to see her father.”
Her father. I’d almost forgotten about Fowler’s revelation about Hawkins’s biological father actually being one of Memphis’s most notorious gang leaders. I’ve lived here all my life, unlike Fowler and Hawkins, and I remember what it was like back in the day when King Isaac dominated the streets. He was brutal to his enemies and a s
aint to his friends. And he did it all without the amount of bloodshed we see out here now on a daily basis. New York, Compton, Detroit, and Chicago were the problem cities. Nobody ever dreamed Memphis would ever get as bad as it has.
Aren’t you contributing to the problem?
I lower my gaze as I look out the window to the pothole-littered streets. The guns were to prop up the Vice Lords over the Gangster Disciples because Captain Johnson claimed that we needed to back the lesser of the two evils. That was how it was presented. Well, that and the money. I keep circling back to the money.
When Captain Hawkins corners onto Shotgun Row, Fowler doesn’t follow. For good reason, I’d imagine. The street isn’t that long, and Hawkins would undoubtedly pick us out, if she hasn’t already. Instead, Fowler circles around onto East Trigg Avenue so that we’re now behind King Isaac’s place.
I look around the neighborhood, disgusted by how folks on this block don’t take any pride in their neighborhood. Dead or dying lawns, trash littered everywhere, and old cars propped up on cement blocks. These people have long stopped giving any kind of fuck about anything.
“PIG!” somebody shouts.
I take another glance around, and the number of people loitering about has tripled in less than a minute. Their hard, curious gazes are locked on us. The few older women I saw rocking on their porches have climbed to their feet and are going into their houses.
“Are you sure that it’s safe for us to be out here without backup?”
Fowler hardly spared the gathering crowd a look. “Relax. We’re fine. They aren’t going to do anything.”
I remain cool on the outside, but my mind is rioting on the inside. I don’t put nothing past anyone, and if these dangerous kids are behind the massacre of Ruby Cove, what the hell is taking out two nosy cops to them?
“Hey. Someone is going out the back door of Momma Peaches’s crib,” he says, leaning across my seat to squint between the houses and into the backyards of Shotgun Row.
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