E I G H T
I was hyped up . . . and I was alone.
When I checked the clock in my dashboard it read 4:48 A.M., twelve minutes to get to where I needed to be. Finally I pulled my car into the vacant lot of an abandoned hotel. The sound of the engine had been good company and I missed it when I parked. Glimpsing a cop car in my rearview mirror, I quickly ducked down and waited for it to pass. I sat back up and that little voice in my head, that little voice like everyone has, started singing. It was a new song. The verse went: I don’t like this . . . uh-un . . . This is scary. That was the verse. The chorus went: You must be crazy, yeah, you must be crazy.
I took the crisp hundred-dollar bills out of the bag, opened my glove compartment, and took out a bottle of pearl white fingernail polish I kept there. Flipping the bills over, in the part where it says “In God we trust” I whited out the word In with the polish. I was dotting, blowing, and fanning the bills to dry them. I checked my watch and the clock in the dash and realized I had somewhere shy of five minutes left. Quickly, I gathered the bills back together, folded five of them, and put them into the paper bag. The other five I folded and palmed in my hand.
It was a short walk over to the third pole by the tracks. I could see it through the darkness in the distance. My steps were steady, firm, maybe even sure as I began my sojourn to meet the voice that I’d hoped would whisper to me the secret of Butter’s whereabouts. Although it was dark and spooky, fear did not overwhelm me. I thought of my sister, Peaches, who always says I’m stone crazy with a dash and a half of nerve.
I stopped walking when I saw a stack of red bricks behind the fence. The fence was tall, silver, with spiked wire loops coiled across the top. Nearing the third pole, I reached down and tugged at the fence and part of it peeled back just as my instructions said. Boyfriend didn’t lie. Turning sideways, I squeezed through and walked over to the third pole, then tagged it with my hand. I thought, okay now you’re it.
The pole was just inches from the overhead el tracks. There was nothing beneath the tracks but trash, the lame leg of a table . . . the carcass of a compact car . . . wild weeds . . . raggedy iron rails . . . speckles of shattered glass . . . and the smell of stale pee. Nice way to start a morning, huh?
Suddenly the night’s sounds were interrupted by the caller. I heard the same voice I’d spoken with earlier on the phone. “You got it?” My head snapped in the direction of the voice, which was coming from behind a green metal switch box about fifteen feet away.
I squinted and answered, “Yes.”
I couldn’t see squat. The guy’s body was hidden by the box. It was about eight feet high and three feet wide. I just saw the black toes of his sneakers, one foot flat on the ground and the other foot cradled leisurely on top of a rock.
“It’s so dark out here,” I said.
“You can’t be afraid of the dark?! Better not be. Night never ends, baby,” he replied, then laughed a bit. “Just toss me the money.”
“How do I know you’re not trying to rip me off? Huh? You might not know where Butter is!” My mama ain’t raise no pushover. I’d come this far and I wasn’t about to just roll over and play stupid. I saw the toes of his shoes as his feet shifted. Two seconds later something came flying at me. I dodged and it hit off the pole, landing at my feet. It was a piece of material, pink and white cotton, wrapped around a rock with a rubber band—a piece of Butter’s dress!
“Now, toss the money here!”
I put the rock in the bag, wrapped the rubber band around it, and threw the bag back like I was trying to go upside his head with it. Instead a long arm reached out and caught it in midair, snatching the bag behind the metal box that continued to shield his body.
“Where’s Butter?”
“Where’s tha rest at?” he shouted back, crunching the paper bag with a pop. “This just half!”
“I’ve got it here. Tell me where she is and I’ll give you the rest.”
“Why you fucking playing? Give me the rest of the money, then I’ll tell you.”
As I walked closer, clutching the cloth, in the distance I heard the faint rumble of the el train moving our way. Everything was coming to me exceptionally loud and exceptionally clear. The train sound was grrrrr-clack. Grrrrr-clack.
Just as the train turned the bend and came barreling overhead, the beat kicked up a notch: GRRRRR-CLACK-CLACK! I bent my knees to drop the money and . . . something moved. Then glass broke somewhere nearby and I jerked around, shifting my body in that direction. I glimpsed a scrawny, gold-colored cat jetting away in the darkness.
“Bitch, you done brought somebody!” the caller shouted and I heard his steps coming toward me hard and fast.
“No,” I shouted. But before I could turn my head to look him in the eye, he grabbed me and slammed me back against the metal box. My shoulder took the brunt of the blow, making me bounce off the structure and hit the ground. He was on me now, pushing my face down. “Gimme the money!”
I felt the dirt against my cheek, and my nose filled up with the musky smell of neglected, abused soil. My purse was out in front of me after flying off my shoulder. I landed on my other arm, pinning the money beneath me. I couldn’t hear anything but the last sounds of the train passing. Then I felt his hot, sweaty hand on the back of my neck as he squeezed it and shook my body.
With adrenaline and anger pumping through my legs and arms, I jerked with every ounce of strength I had and flipped on my side. He seemed surprised at my strength and that moment of hesitation helped me as I kicked up with my right leg, catching him on the hip. I felt the weight from the kick in my ankle and I grunted as he flipped backward. I looked up but all I could see were sparks like fireworks floating down as the train roared on in the distance. I turned on my side, pushed off with my hands, tried to get up, but slipped backward and then he was on me again.
“Gimme! Bitch! Bitch!”
He dissed me in a hateful whisper that gave me more fear and more anger than before.
With all I had, I reached for my Mace, which had rolled out of my purse. He grabbed my arm from behind. His weight pinned me facedown again and he twisted my arm behind my back. I yelled, and mixed with my voice I heard another.
“Police!”
The weight rolled off me; reflex more than anything else made me turn and swipe at him with my arm. I caught the edge of his heel and tripped him up a bit. He started falling forward, but he kept his legs moving and started to windmill his arms, which kept him balanced. Suddenly gunfire erupted in the night and a chill ran through me. Bullets are blind.
My body ain’t fat-free but it’s bullet-free and I planned on keeping it that way. I covered my head, then peeked out from under my elbow in time to see a shot miss his fleeing heel. Two beat cops were chasing him now, two old guys, they were big-time heavy. Those guys had a better chance of catching the lottery than of catching my mystery man.
Clutching the piece of Butter’s dress in my hand, I squeezed it tighter out of frustration. I mean I wanted to jump on somebody! My heart pounded and it was a chore to merely catch my breath.
“Georgia, are you okay?”
I recognized Doug’s voice and stretched out my body right there on the ground and moaned, “No-ooooo.” In the distance two more shots rang out. I felt Doug’s hands around my shoulders as he lifted me up into a sitting position.
Like oil and water, exhaustion and adrenaline do not mix. My head wobbled before falling left to rest against Doug’s shoulder as he checked the arm I was cradling gently. My body was moving like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. I closed my eyes and a picture of me at six falling off a set of monkey bars flashed through my mind.
“Let me take a look,” Doug said, more to himself than to me, as he carefully examined my forearm.
I struggled to straighten up a bit and Doug held me close. “Lean on me.”
It was a great relief to rest and let him help me.
“It’s not broken. Does it hurt, Georgia?”
“No, it’s just numb from falling on it, I think.” Umphf! My mistake. I bragged on myself too soon. When Doug raised my arm out-ward, prickly nerves danced beneath my flesh and pain found my elbow. “Awww! Sssssh—take it easy.”
“Serves you right, coming out here alone!” Doug scolded now that he realized that my injury was minor. “He could have killed you, you know that?”
“Well, I tried to get help from you,” I shot back. “Where were you? Out—” then I stopped before saying, with some woman? My face flushed.
Doug waited two long beats before saying, “I was out driving one of my friends home. He’s got a drinking problem. His girl called me from a bar because he wouldn’t give up the car keys—that is till I got there.”
I felt about as big as an extra in The Wizard of Oz. Our eyes met and Doug had a glint in his. He was enjoying the fact that I had been a bit jealous. “It was a boneheaded idea you coming out here by yourself, but all in all, you handled yourself pretty well.”
“Thanks, I guess those self-defense classes paid off.”
Suddenly our attention was captured by the two cops who were now slowly walking back our way. “Aww, hell,” Doug cursed, “they didn’t get him!”
Doug began directing the officers. “Okay. Let’s check the immediate area and get an evidence tech down here. Georgia, where was he? And where were you?”
Doug helped me up and I pointed out the green switch box, the stack of red bricks, and finally the iron rails. “They’ve got half the money—five hundred dollars. I marked it.”
“How?”
“I asked the cashier at the currency exchange to give me new hundred-dollar bills and I took nail polish and whited out the word In, see?” And I showed Doug the bills I had left.
“Nice idea, but you need to leave the police business to me.”
I was too tired to crack back. We waited around for the evidence technician who worked this district. A small, wiry man in jeans, a short-sleeved blue shirt, and dark blue tie arrived in about twenty minutes. He had thick, black hair everywhere, on his head, eyebrows, and wisps coming out of his nose. He grunted out the name, Tillner, and asked me to point out all the places where the suspect was standing.
I walked him and Doug over to the metal switch box. Tillner opened up his evidence case and inside were three powders: white, black, and black metallic. He also had an assortment of brushes with soft hair that fanned out like the ones women use to apply makeup.
“Think you’ll be able to lift something?” Doug asked.
“I’m the master.” Tillner sniffed, then spit as he got on his knees and examined the metal surface of the switch box. “I don’t miss jack. The crapshoot comes later. The print I lift has to match a person with a set on file. The computer will spot the match and spit out a suspect.”
Doug gently took me by the arm, leading me off to the side. “Okay, Georgia, think. Did you get a look at the suspect’s face at all?”
“No, Doug, he kept holding me down and turning my face away.”
“Your mind could be hiding stuff from you. You can’t remember anything distinguishable about him?”
I shook my head no.
“Do you remember what he said?”
“On the phone he asked did I want Butter, and he asked for money, and he told me where to be, and I came. He gave me a piece of Butter’s dress as proof . . . then the stray cat ran through and all Cain broke loose.”
“Okay. You need to come back to the station with me right now. I’ve got some mug shots for you to look at. Maybe they’ll jog your memory.”
“Okay.”
Doug helped me walk over to my car. “Can you follow me or do you want me to have one of the officers drive your car?”
“I can drive, I’m okay,” I said, reaching for the door.
Then I noticed . . .
. . . I noticed it was still in my hand.
I turned around, took Doug’s hand, and placed the cloth in his palm. “Butter’s dress,” I said, and closed his fingers around the cloth.
N I N E
No . . . No . . . No!” I paused as I scanned Doug’s personal scrapbook of mug shots of the gangbangers in his district. “Gang-banging must be the only occupation with no age discrimination.”
“Yep. These guys range in age from fourteen to thirty-five. And most of them look like regular guys waiting for the el train.”
“Yeah, I guess I was like the average naive citizen thinking they’d look like the wolfman with a fade or a black Hannibal Lecter substituting pintos for fava beans.”
“Georgia, they’re regular-looking but freak-a-zoid acting. I can tell you some wild stories.”
“That’s quite all right. That’s more info than I need. None of these men look remotely familiar at all. But ah . . .” I flipped back two pages and stared at a corner photo.
“Got something?”
“No, I just thought he had a really scary look to him—but I don’t think that’s the guy—he’s just a little more menacing than the others. There’s something funky about him.”
Doug pulled out a folder with a Polaroid stapled to the top left-hand corner. He purposely held it close to his stomach to block out the address and other critical info. “Here’s a better picture. That’s Little Cap. The shooter in the drive-by.”
Little Cap’s eyes were oval platters of hazel; without the anger and defiance, they could be sweet love windows for a woman to gaze into. He had ruddy lacquered skin, an awning of black eyebrows, evenly spaced features, and a long, hard chin. A scar could be seen turning the corner on the left side of that chin, ending at a round, flat mole. It looked like someone had cut an exclamation point in his face.
“Little Cap has priors dating back to the age of fourteen. He’s twenty-three years old now. He’s fairly high in the Rockies organization,” Doug explained. “He’s often called on to do the dirty work.”
“Yeah, he looks like he could do some damage.”
Suddenly the door opened. Doug put the folder down on the desk and had a mini-conference with another detective at the door. Doug’s back was to me, and I couldn’t see the face of the detective he was talking to, just hear the smothered whispers of their voices.
Finally Doug shut the door, turned around, and came back over to me. “We’ve been rattling every sewer top on the South Side looking for this snake. Little Cap is in hiding, waiting for the heat to go down on the drive-by.”
“I hope he’s stupid enough to get homesick and turn up in the wrong place. Then maybe some snitch will turn his raggedy butt in,” I snorted.
“Not likely. He’s always been a vagabond, not many friends or very trusting, even within the gang. Little Cap always bounces around here and there for just a minute—his family claims they haven’t seen him in a year. Naw, Little Cap wouldn’t be under the el trying to put the squeeze on you. He wouldn’t take a chance like that. If anything, he’d send one of the other bangers out. I just wanted you to see him though, get a good look at what we’re dealing with.”
“What time is it?” My sleep jones was coming down hard on me.
“Early,” Doug said as he turned the page for me. Then he stood up, backpedaled to the door, opened it, and called out, “Ray, get us two black coffees huh?”
“Three sugars,” I said.
“Heavy sugar,” Doug ordered. “Georgia, you get back to those books. It’s important.”
I looked up at Doug. “You don’t have to sell me; I know.”
His eyebrows raised.
“Nope,” I answered the question only his eyes asked. “I wasn’t the victim of a crime. But I did witness one when I was a kid. Some nut grabbed my friend and tried to pull her into an alley. Luckily she was able to break away, but she was so hysterical she couldn’t give a description of the guy. I could.”
“Good enough for a sketch?” Doug asked as he sat on the edge of the desk, one foot swinging free and the other nestled toe first in a warped pocket on the floor.
“Yep, someon
e saw it on the news, phoned in a tip, and the police put the guy away.”
“That’s what I’m talking about—more people have to step up and help us, get involved.”
“Well, I’m certainly involved now, that’s for sure. I’ve got kidnappers calling my crib in the wee hours of the morning!”
“Speaking of, we’re putting a trace on that call to your apartment. Hopefully we’ll come up with something soon, Georgia.”
The door opened and Ray came in with a gray paper beverage container. One hole was empty, the others held long white cups of coffee and he had a newspaper rolled up under his arm. He sat the container on the table, picked up one of the cups, and sipped it. “Well,” Ray said, savoring the jolt of caffeine, “there’s good news and bad news.”
Details at Ten Page 7