A lot of the folks across the street are just passing by, but a few are hanging, a couple of them drunks, drinking their cheap liquor from brown paper bags. A couple of them look like crackheads, and one of them I recognize from past ops at this spot. It doesn’t take me long to make two of the Latino boys for dealers. They started up on the corner quicker than I thought they would. A lot of clients waiting to be served and a lot of money to be made.
The crackhead I recognize is more than likely holding the stash for them. He’s just moving around a small area surrounding the monument, acting like he’s got purpose. He was a regular when Angelo and company worked this corner. These boys will often use crackheads like him to hold for them, after they prove themselves as regulars and pay like they should. When it comes to work like that they’re usually dependable ’cause they don’t want to get the crap beat out of them, or worse, for pinching a bit of rock for themselves. Looks like these two guys who took over after Angelo got locked up work a different system. A crackhead for the stash instead of an empty Dorito bag tossed to the curb. I’ll have to walk the curb to make sure.
The old man beside me adjusts himself on the bench, straightens himself up.
“You spare a bit of change?” he asks.
I still have some rolls in my pants pocket, but I don’t want to pull out one of those. I reach in the pocket of my jacket for some loose bills. I pull a couple out. Two twenties.
He sees them, and his eyes widen with the possibility of getting even one of them.
“This your spot?” I ask.
“You the police?”
“Fuck no. I’m just a man looking for his runaway daughter. She went to school up the street, and I used to catch her hanging with some of those boys over there. That’s what brought me here.” I motion my head toward the boys I suspect are dealing.
“And you’re trying to work up the courage to go have a chat with them?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s about it. Can I show you a picture of her?”
“I don’t see much around here.”
“Just the same, if you could just look at a couple of pictures, maybe let me know if you’ve seen these guys around. I’ll make it worth your while.”
His eyes are on the bills again.
“You can get yourself hurt bad, messin’ with those boys there,” he mumbles.
“Let me worry about that. What do you say?”
“A’ight.”
I unzip an inner pocket of my hooded jacket and take out the photos. One is a photo of Miriam, and the other two are arrest photos of Angelo and Viktor. I show him the photo of Miriam first.
He studies it long and hard, then says, “Naw, can’t say I seen her. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I appreciate you taking the time. I got two more. The police gave me these pictures.”
I hand both of them to him. He doesn’t study them so hard.
“I seen them, but not for a bit. They used to work the corner where those boys are now.”
“You ever seen the two in the photos hanging with any of those boys across the street?”
“Just one of them. That little shit over there by the statue.”
“You mean the one that looks like he’s a drug addict?”
“Yeah, the little skinny fuck. He be holdin’ for those boys. He’s the only one that’s still around. He used to do the same for the two you showed me pictures of. They call him Cookie. But he ain’t sweet like that.”
He hands the photos back to me and I pocket them.
“He mess with you a lot?”
“You could say that.”
I hand him the two twenties, reach into my pocket, and pull out another twenty and two tens. I hand him those, too.
“Damn, thank you.”
“Buy yourself a bottle of some of the good stuff. What you’ve been drinking probably tore a hole in your gut.”
“And you think the good shit’d fix that?”
I smile.
“You might wanna go hang somewhere else for a little bit. I think I got some courage now.”
Sixty-nine
I zip up my jacket and walk south on 16th, then cross so I can come up to them from behind. When I get to the area where Angelo used to park his car, I scan the gutter along the parked cars, but I don’t see the kind of trash I’m looking for.
At the bus stop I turn and walk into the tree-lined area surrounding the statue.
I get closer and the two Latinos see me, but don’t seem to mind.
I flash my badge and say, “Roll on outta here.”
They obey without hesitation. Cookie starts to slowly walk away in the opposite direction. He could run, but I’d catch him in no time.
When the two Latino boys cross Park to the other corner, they look back to see what I’m doing. I motion for them to keep moving. They continue north on 16th.
I return to Cookie, who’s about to hit the sidewalk on 16th and make his way south. I get behind him.
“Hold on there, Cookie.”
He turns sideways and looks like he’s about to bolt.
“You make me run and I’ll fuck you up.”
“I ain’t done nothin’,” he tells me.
I grab a bit of his jacket behind his shoulder.
“What the fuck I do?”
He tries to struggle free, but with hardly any force.
“Keep your hands where I can see them and move on back here.”
I escort him back to the statue of the sitting man, and I push him face-first against the large granite base. “James Cardinal Gibbons” is etched on the pink granite. I can’t help but look up for a second. The seated figure’s right hand is extending out and lifted just above my head as if trying to bless me.
The crackhead smells. It’s the kinda smell that sticks to your clothing. Something I don’t like taking home with me.
“C’mon, now, Officer Friendly, what’s your cause?”
“I don’t need probable cause, dopey.”
I pat his waist area.
“You got anything that’s gonna poke me?” I ask him.
“Naw, man, I don’t do that shit.”
I search his pockets and pull out a couple of small green empty dime-bag zips and a cell phone. I drop the empty zips on the ground and pocket his cell.
“Aw shit, c’mon now,” he says.
When I reach into the pocket of his jacket I pull out a nice-size baggie that contains a shitload of the same small zips—dimes and twenties.
“This has gotta be more than a sixty here. Damn, that’ll get you some good time.”
“Fuck, you have no cause to reach in my pockets like that.”
I ignore him, slip the large baggie in my side coat pocket, and continue my search. I find another baggie that contains several more zips, but these are blue and stuffed with nice powder. It looks like it’s about an eight ball’s worth of coke. I stick it in the pocket with the crack.
I keep Cookie pushed against the monument with my left hand and reach around to my backside with my right to grab my cuffs.
He struggles when I start to handcuff him, but I twist his wrist so he yelps and changes his mind quick.
“Fuck,” he says.
I start marching him to the car, using caution as we walk across 16th. These drivers don’t pay attention. We get some stares from the pedestrians, but there’s nothing so unusual about someone who looks like me walking a handcuffed man like Cookie, so no worries there. Unless some cop decides to drive by. Then I’ll worry.
That doesn’t happen. Instead I get him quickly to the car, the passenger’s side.
“What in the…?” he spits out. “What kind of car is this?”
“It’s an undercover car, dope.”
I open the door and help him sit and then, trying to maintain a bit of distance, mostly because of his filth, I buckle him in.
I pop the trunk and grab my pack and hop in the front seat. I set the pack down on the floor behind Cookie and start the car.
“What kind of setup is this shit here? Let me see that badge again.”
“I’m not gonna show you shit, Cookie.”
“And how the fuck you know me like that?”
“I’m not here to answer your questions either, so you’d better just sit tight and shut the fuck up unless I ask you something.”
He looks at me with an amazed, openmouthed kinda look, but without fear, just really bad teeth.
I park the car in the lot between the two trailers where I met up with Tamie. Cookie’s been surprisingly quiet. I take him for someone who’s been in rougher situations than this. I’m sure he knows if I was gonna beat the fuck outta him, or even kill him, I would have taken him somewhere else.
I keep the car running.
Hard to tell how old some of these guys are. He’s probably in his thirties. His clothing stinks, but it’s not the kind of clothing a homeless person would wear, just something he doesn’t wash regularly. I can’t tell, but under the black skullcap it looks like he’s got an old-school barber cut.
“So here’s where we stand, Cookie.”
“These cuffs are kinda tight. You can loosen them up a bit?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I pull out the baggie with the crack and drop it in his lap. His big eyes immediately gravitate toward it.
“That’s a lot of crack. Looks like there’s a nice rock in there, too, something they shave off for a hit or two, huh?”
“Is this where you think you’re going to roll me?” Cookie asks. “’Cause I ain’t gonna roll. Your people done tried that before, but I took the time instead.”
“No, man. I don’t expect that much work from you. Let me lay it out here, ’cause I don’t have much time.”
I pull out the photos of Angelo and Viktor and set them on the dashboard in front of him. He leans forward as best as he can.
“Before you say anything, Cookie, I wanna make something real clear. You don’t answer my questions truthfully—and I’ll know if you don’t—I’m not gonna take you to jail or sit here and try to convince you with bullshit threats. I’m just gonna kill you.”
“What?!” he exclaims.
“Look at me.”
He does.
“No bluff. This shit is real.”
“You’re no cop.”
“It doesn’t matter whether I am or not. It only matters that you believe I’m gonna kill you if you don’t cooperate. Tell me you understand that.”
“Fucking understand that. Yeah.”
“Okay. Then let’s get started.”
Seventy
Tell me about those two ’migos in the photos.”
Cookie bends forward to look.
He motions with his head toward the first one.
“That one there is Angelo. He used to run the corner you got me at, but he got himself locked up. The other ’migo is his running partner, Vik.”
“Good, you’re being truthful. You ever been to their house?”
“Fuck no. They’d never take me to their house.”
I pick up the photos, set them in the center console, and take out the one of Miriam and place it gently on the dashboard.
“You ever seen her before?”
He looks at it, then leans back in his seat and turns to me.
“Who the fuck are you, man?”
“Fucking answer the question.”
“I seen her before. She stays in one of them row houses. Up at Seventeenth, Euclid.”
“She’s my niece. She’s only sixteen years old.”
“Aw, fuck that shit. I ain’t have nothin’ to do with her. C’mon, man…”
“I’m not accusing you of something like that. I just want to know where I can find her.”
“I told you where.”
“You know about the cop that just got shot up there, right?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Then you know they rolled outta that house. I need to know where they’re keeping themselves now.”
“I’m not in with them like that. They got themselves a lot of spots around there.”
“So you know Cordell?”
“Hell yeah. Everyone in this area knows Cordell.”
“You know what unit he keeps himself in at the Ritz?”
“His peoples are the only ones that know something like that.”
“Little Monster?”
“How the fuck?” He looks at me. “I mean, yeah, he be one of them.”
“What about Playboy?”
“There’s a lot of boys who like to call themselves that.”
“This one’s a good-lookin’ boy, real short-cut hair. He drives a black Lexus.”
“That sound like one of them I know.”
“I need to know everywhere they bed down.”
“I told you I don’t know all that.”
“All right, then. I guess we’re done here.”
“What the fuck you mean by that?”
I put the car in reverse.
“Hold on, man. Just hold the fuck on.”
I put it back in park.
“I might know someplace, but I don’t know if your niece be there, too.”
“I’ll drive. You direct me where to go.”
“I can just tell you. I can’t be seen like that.”
I reach over him and pull the latch on the side of his seat. He drops back suddenly; he isn’t prepared for it.
“Damn, man, give me some warning.”
“There’s some good tint on this car. All you gotta do is stay low. They won’t see you. I’m not some fucking rookie.”
I put it in reverse and back out.
“Which way?”
“You wanna go left, then to University Place. You know where that is, right?”
University Place? Fuckin’ A. Is that what the fuck the officer meant?
“Clifton and Euclid, or Fairmont?” I ask.
“Clifton and Euclid.”
It’s not far from here. I head toward 14th. Cookie goes quiet again. I think he hit the pipe before I snatched him up, and his brain hasn’t caught on to the reality of the situation.
I get to the light at 14th and Clifton and turn the blinker on to make a left.
“No, not here.” He panics. “That block’s too hot. Take that left at Euclid.”
I’ve done this more times than I can count and never had a problem. And as much as I’ve put up my nose, you’d think I’d be the paranoid one in this car. Yeah, I know this area well. The 1300 block of Clifton Terrace behind us is the real hot spot, and even Garfield Terrace, a couple more blocks east of that. We used to play around there all the time. Problem was, those mopes didn’t want to play with us.
I make the turn on Euclid. The next street is University Place.
Before we get there, Cookie says, “Keep on Euclid here. I’ll point the house out when we pass. It’ll be just to the left on University.”
I don’t do what he says. Instead I make the left.
“Fuck no! What’re you doing? Shit…”
On the left side, past the side of an apartment complex that faces Euclid and takes up about a quarter of the block on University Place, is a light green house with a large porch. A couple of boys are hanging out on the front porch.
“Shit. That’s the house there. To the left. Don’t fucking slow down. Just go. Man, you gonna burn the fuck outta me.”
“Relax. You stay low, they can’t see shit. You’re referring to the house with the two guys on the front porch, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Fucking get me out of here. I can’t be seen in a car with someone like you.”
“Now you fucking hurt my feelings.”
I prop my left elbow on the edge near the window and cup the left side of my face with my hand so they can’t make out my face. I drive at regular speed and pass them.
I make a left on Clifton and head back to 14th.
“Is there another spot you might want to show me?”
“Naw, man. That’s th
e only place I know outside of Seventeenth and Euclid. There be a couple places up there, but like you said, they probably be up outta there right now.”
“Did you recognize those two on the porch?”
“I didn’t look to see them good enough.”
“How do you know about the house?”
“A lot of ’migos be stayin’ in there.”
“Like the two you been holding for?”
“No. I told you I don’t know where they live.”
“What do they do outta this house, then?”
“They got some rooms up in there they rent out, but mostly for the ’migos. A lot of drinking and gambling. All that kinda shit.”
“What’s Cordell’s connection to that house?”
“He might keep some girls up in there and a couple of his boys. He’s got a piece of it.”
“Is it a stash house?”
I can see out of the corner of my eye that he looks at me funny.
“I don’t know that kinda shit, but I don’t think so. There be too many people in and out of there for him to keep his shit there.”
“He got some prostitutes working out of there?”
“Yeah, I said he got some girls in the house.”
“You been in there before?”
“Not like that, man.”
“You never went in to get your dick sucked?”
“No. No. I can’t afford any of them girls.”
He looks at me like he might have said the wrong thing.
“I don’t mean anything like that about your niece, all right?”
“But you’ve been in the house before?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do the girls stay?”
“I think they keep themselves in the basement. They got a lot of rooms in that house.”
I make a right on 14th.
“You still didn’t tell me how you know about what goes on in there.”
“This is my ’hood. I grew up here, man.”
“Where do you live?”
“C’mon, now, why I gotta tell you that?”
“Because I asked.”
“My moms and pops have a house on Girard.”
“What hundred block?”
“Shit. I told you what you want to know, so why do you need to get personal?”
“What hundred block?”
“Fourteen hundred. Shit.”
The Second Girl Page 23