by C. J. Hudson
“Little, are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so, sir,” Little said. His voice was groggy, and Moore could tell that he was in pain.
“What the hell happened?”
Before Little could fill his captain in on what had gone down, one of the other detectives stuck his head out the front door. With a somber look on his face, he just shook his head.
“Cap, I think you’d better come take a look at this.” Moore alternated looks between Little and the detective. The captain pulled his hand down the front of his face and walked into the house. Moore had been in law enforcement for a long time, so he wasn’t surprised by what he saw when he entered the house. The thing that did surprise him was that someone had managed to sneak up on one of his best detectives and get the jump on him. Moore looked around the room and tried to spot anything that would give him a clue about what had gone down.
“Smith, get a forensic team in here ASAP. I want this place combed from top to bottom.”
Both Moore and Little knew that Darnell was probably to blame for the young lady’s brains being scattered all over the floor. Apparently, he had gotten word that the young lady was going to blow the whistle on him and made sure that she would never get the chance. Moore walked back outside disgusted. He hated that Darnell seemed to be untouchable. He wanted to see the arrogant drug dealer get the needle for killing one of his officers. Detective Warren may have been an asshole, but he was an asshole protected by a shield. The fallout from Warren’s murder hadn’t fully hit the precinct yet, but it was only a matter of time before his father caused a shitstorm to rain down on the police department. It was always bad whenever a cop got killed. But the shit was really about to hit the fan since it was a judge’s brother that got murdered, especially when the judge and the mayor of the city were close friends.
“This shit stinks,” he yelled.
“Tell me about it.”
“No, I mean, this shit really stinks. Think about it. I send you over here to get this woman’s statement about a murder, and someone gets here before we do and kills her? What does that tell you, Little?”
The detective didn’t have to think long before figuring out what his captain was getting at. From what he was told, he and Moore were the only two to know about the witness. They gave each other a knowing look. There was a crack in the blue wall.
“Jesus, I hate to think that someone in my department is dirty, but obviously––” Moore’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket before he got a chance to finish his sentence. When he took it out and looked at the number on the screen, the situation had officially gone from bad to worse.
* * *
Mayor Thomas Brackens and Judge Ryan Senters had been best friends since junior high school. Their mothers worked as police dispatchers and were good friends. Their fathers owned a carpentry business together and tried hard to get them to enter the business with them, but neither of the boys was interested. Both of them had a fascination with the law. From the time they sat around watching cop shows on television until they were seniors in high school, the two friends dreamed of the day they could stand side by side and arrest criminals. In their eyes, people who committed crimes deserved to be in jail, no matter what the situation was. They just couldn’t understand why people who lived in the inner city had to resort to such drastic measures to survive. Their similar way of thinking was the catalyst for their strong bond. And although they took different career paths, they still had the same mentality and remained great friends. That’s why it hit Brackens just as hard as it hit Senters when Warren was killed.
The two of them sat stone-faced inside of Captain Moore’s office, awaiting his arrival. Every now and then, Brackens would place his hand on the shoulder of Senters and try to comfort him. Senters was struggling to keep his composure. He and his brother hadn’t spoken to each other in five years, and the guilt was weighing on his soul like an anvil. As much as he wanted to yell and scream, he had to act only as a concerned citizen and not the grieving brother that he was. Brackens was already looking into the future. He would pull every string he could to ensure that he, and he alone, would be the judge who tried the guilty party when they were finally caught. His beady eyes stared daggers at Captain Moore and Detective Little as the two of them entered Moore’s office.
Little chose to remain standing as Moore dropped down to the large leather seat behind his desk. For a few short moments, everyone just stared at one another.
“Well,” Mayor Brackens said, breaking the silence, “do you have any leads on this damn case, Captain Moore?” The mayor folded his arms and glared at Moore. While he was doing that, Senters was doing the same to Little. He knew that Little was Warren’s partner and wanted to know why in the hell wasn’t he there when his brother had gotten murdered.
“Well, actually, we had a lead, sir, but—”
“Well, what the hell happened then, Captain? Why isn’t the perpetrator in custody?”
“Because the witness is dead, sir. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I sent Little here over to the witness’s house to question her, but when he got there, he found her sitting on the couch with a bullet hole in her head.”
The mayor’s face went slack. Closing his eyes, he just shook his head.
“So, let me get this shit straight, Moore. One of this precinct’s officers goes undercover to help take down that piece of shit drug dealer Darnell McCord and gets murdered in the process. And now, you’re sitting in here telling me that the only potential witness to the crime had also been murdered? Is that what the fuck you’re trying to tell me, Moore?”
“Uh, yes, sir, that’s about the size of it, sir.”
The mayor opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Senters jumped up and stormed across the room. It first appeared that he was heading in Moore’s direction, but at the last second, he stopped, planted his foot on the floor, and turned to face Little.
“Jesus Christ, Captain! What the fuck kind of idiot do you have working in this fucking department?” The question was directed to Captain Moore, but Senters was staring at Detective Little. He was standing so close to Little that the detective could smell what he had for breakfast. Little looked at Senters like he’d lost his mind. For the first time since he’d followed his captain into his office, he wondered what the hell a judge was doing there.
“First of all, Judge Senters, I’m going to need you to back the fuck up out of my face. And second, I had no idea that Anthony was going to do what he did. What the hell are you doing here anyway?”
“What do you mean, you didn’t know? You’re his goddamn partner. How could you not know?” Senters said, ignoring Little’s question. Brackens quickly walked over and grabbed his friend. He didn’t want Senters to do something that they both were going to regret.
“Easy, my friend, easy.” He then turned his attention to Little. “Detective, this man is here as a friend of mine. He stopped by my office to see me when I was just getting ready to come over here,” Brackens lied. “And, like I said, he’s a good friend of mine, so I would appreciate it if you would show him the same fuckin’ respect that you show me. Are we clear on that, Detective?”
“Yes, sir, Mayor,” Little said through clenched teeth.
“Well, the last time I checked, this was still my office, and I don’t appreciate your friend barging into it accusing my detective of being an idiot, sir.”
“Well, what the hell do you call it, Captain?”
“We’re still gathering the facts, sir. I have a forensic team over there right now combing through the victim’s place, trying to find any clues or evidence that may be helpful to our investigation.”
The mayor took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. He would never say it publicly, but he needed to do something to ensure the community’s faith in him with the election coming up. Drugs had been running rampant throughout the neighborhood. The best chance he had at getting reelected was to take down some of the city’s dealers.
The judge then turned to face Detective Little. “Detective, I apologize if we’ve offended you in any way. Let’s remember that we’re all on the same team here.”
He held out his hand for Little to shake. Little thought about spitting on it. He was still pissed over the way Senters had talked to him, but he decided to let bygones be bygones. With a slight smile on his face, he reached out and shook Senters’s hand. He was about to do the same for Brackens, but before he had the chance, the judge abruptly turned and stomped out of the office. Both Moore and Little waited until the two unwelcome visitors were on the elevator and headed downstairs before voicing their opinions.
“Okay, is it just me, or was that some strange-ass shit?” Little asked. He turned to look at Moore, who had his head cocked to the side with a twisted expression on his face. He was still staring at the elevator thirty seconds after it closed.
“No, it wasn’t just you. That was definitely some strange-ass shit,” he said.
Chapter 13
All Rick could do was laugh and shake his head. His little cousin, Jamaal, was getting schooled on the basketball court, and Rick was enjoying every minute of it. For some reason, his cousin thought that he was the second coming of LeBron James. He starred on his high school team, and although he was a talented player, he still had a lot to learn. When he wasn’t chasing girls, the youngster could often be found on the courts alone practicing or embarrassing some of the lesser-talented players on the court. His ego had grown to enormous proportions. Rick, being the asshole that he was, decided to bring him down a peg or two. The young man had no way of knowing it, but the guys he was playing against today were former high school superstars who didn’t have the grades to attend premier colleges. They were old enough to be able to play circles around the young man without breaking a sweat but were young enough so that he wouldn’t get suspicious. Rick spat out a portion of the beer he was drinking when one of the players crossed over his cousin and dunked on him.
“Damn, nigga, you got took,” Rick yelled out. His cousin, clearly embarrassed, gave Rick the finger in response. At first, the players told Rick that they were too busy to be bothered with his bullshit, but it was amazing what some weed heads would do for a bag of smoke. As his cousin continued to get taken to school, Rick continued to agitate the situation.
“Damn, cuzzo, that shit was nasty,” he said when another one of the players went behind his back and nailed a jumper in his cousin’s face.
“Man, fuck you,” the youngster spat.
“Yo, don’t get mad at me ’cause them niggas putting something on your ass,” Rick said, laughing. After looking around the park to make sure no cops were trying to creep on him, Rick took another swig of his beer.
Richard “Rick” Baker had once himself been an outstanding basketball player. As a matter of fact, he received a partial scholarship to play at Cleveland State University, but his desire for fast money derailed his chances. He was busted twice for selling weed. The first time he was caught, the university chalked it up as a youthful mistake. The second time was the kiss of death. After that, Cleveland State quickly rescinded its scholarship offer. Instead of being seen as a rising star, he was seen as a knucklehead who didn’t have the discipline or common sense to stay out of trouble.
When Rick’s father grew tired of his antics and finally threw him out, he had no choice but to sell weed full time to survive. Later, while strolling through the mall, he ran into Jazmine.
After about thirty minutes of back-and-forth, the two of them discovered that they had something in common. . . weed.
The two of them had been hooking up for a few weeks before he found out who her father was. Had he known that she was the daughter of a drug-dealing murderer, he would have never even given her the time of day. He didn’t need or want that kind of smoke, but it was too late now. They’d already consummated the so-called relationship. Rick was on edge every time she suggested getting together. He just knew that at any moment, the hotel door would fly open, and five goons would come inside and beat him within an inch of his life. So far, that hadn’t happened . . . yet.
He was supposed to hook up with her a day or so ago, but he hadn’t heard from her. And he was just fine with that. Rick looked up to see his little cousin storming toward him with an attitude.
“Man, I am ready to roll,” he said.
Rick checked the time on his cell phone.
“Already, little cuz? What, you tired of them niggas dunkin’ and rainin’ threes on your ass?”
“Whatever, man.” Rick’s cousin dropped down on the hard bench and used his shirt to wipe excess sweat from his face. It amused Rick to see him pouting like a spoiled child. Although he felt bad about setting up his cousin, it was a lesson he thought he needed to learn.
“Let’s roll, cuz,” Rick said, as he stood up and headed toward his vehicle. Rick was still laughing as the two of them got in his whip.
“Man, what the fuck is so fuckin’ funny?”
“You, nigga. Every time something don’t go yo’ way, you start pouting and acting like a child. Nah, you know what? Check that. Nigga, you actin’ like a bitch.”
Rick’s cousin looked at him with a hurt look. He couldn’t believe his cousin was talking to him that way. “Whatever, man,” he said, leaning back on the headrest and staring out the window. Rick looked at his cousin and suddenly felt bad about the way he’d talked to him. His little cousin looked up to him, so he needed to do something to rectify the situation.
“Look, cuz. I’m sorry I talked to you that way. But you really need to stop wearing ya’ heart on ya’ sleeve like that. When people see you do that, they take advantage of it.” Rick looked at his gas gauge and saw that he was low, so he detoured from his destination and headed to the nearest gas station.
“What are you doing? I thought you were gonna get me a rib dinner, and then we were gonna smoke something.”
“Nigga, you wanna be walking? I need some damn gas. We can go after that. But check this shit out, dawg. I can’t hang out with yo’ ass too late. Hell, I don’t know about you, but I got some pussy lined up for later.”
His cousin frowned, remembering the last time he came close to getting his dick wet. His cousin noticed the look on his face.
“The fuck wrong with you, cuz?”
The youngster looked at him and wondered if he should say anything to Rick about what happened. He’d already been clowned one time today and didn’t want to suffer embarrassment anymore.
“Dude, get the fuck outta yo’ feelings,” Rick said, reading his cousin’s mind. “If something is on ya’ mind, you know damn well you can tell me what the fuck is going on.”
With a deep sigh, Rick’s cousin told him about what had gone down recently. When he was done telling his story, his cousin glared at him like he’d lost his ever-loving mind.
“Nigga, is you fuckin’ crazy? Don’t you know how much time you can get for some shit like that?”
“Man, didn’t nothing happen.”
“It don’t fuckin’ matter. All she needs to do is say something happened. Li’l nigga, you better get yo’ head on straight before they send yo’ ass up the road. The best thing you can do now is stay as far away from that bitch as you can,” Rick advised his kinfolk as he got ready to get out and pump gas.
“You right, fam. Fuck both of those bitches. Sunny and her friend Jazmine can kiss my ass.”
Rick froze in his tracks. The name his cousin said rang in his head like Christmas bells.
“Jazmine? Cuz, did you say her name was Jazmine?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Cuz, let me ask you something. What does this
bitch look like?”
As the young man described Jazmine’s appearance to Rick, the color began to drain out of Rick’s face, and a migraine started to creep in.
“Dude, after I pump this gas, we gotta have a fuckin’ talk.” Rick got out of the car and walked into the gas station to pay for his gas. “I can’t believe this shit,” he said, shaking his head all the way there.
Chapter 14
Moon’s eye’s swept back and forth as he sat on the steps of the now dilapidated East High School. For the last six hours, he’d been posted up there doing what he needed to do to survive. At 20 years old, Moon had learned early what it took most individuals a lifetime to learn . . . that the world didn’t give a shit about you. Moon had been on his own since he was 17 years old. A disagreement between him and his mother led to her kicking him out. For three years, he survived on the streets of Cleveland by robbing and stealing. So far, he hadn’t graduated to murder yet, but with a heart as cold as Moon’s, it was just a matter of time. The young man had brutish features. His hands were larger than an average person’s. He was only five foot ten, but he was powerfully built. Moon never felt sorry for himself, but he did wonder how long he was for this world. In his mind, nothing was as bad as living on the street and wondering where your next meal was coming from. Death struck no fear in his heart. He reasoned that even if he did die, he would be free of the world and its bullshit, and he didn’t see anything wrong with that.