by Traci Bee
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Kevin rested his throbbing head against the window of the car.
“Kevin.” LeCount slapped Kevin on the arm as they pulled up in front of Felicia’s building.
“I ain’t sleep, man,” Kevin mumbled. “My head just banging like a muthafucka.”
“You need me to go wit’ you?”
“Naw, everything’s cool,” Kevin said, hopping out of the car. “Don’t pay Ma no mind.” Closing the door, he headed into Felicia’s building and took the steps two at a time until he stood before her badly beaten door.
Damn, he lunchin’ for real, Kevin thought as he knocked. What the fuck is wrong with Toby’s ass?
“Yes?” Felicia asked.
“Bitch, open the door! It’s me, Toby!” Kevin joked. “I’m playing, girl. Open the door. It’s me.” The dead-bolts turned. Felicia swung the door open with her baby resting on her hip.
“He been back?” Kevin asked, walking into the apartment to see Tuffy sitting in the living room on the edge of the couch.
“Naw, not yet,” Felicia said as she quickly closed the door and secured the locks.
“Kevin, man, you need to talk to your peeps,” Tuffy said. “I couldn’t even leave this bitch! Me and my girl got into it, I came up here to get Felicia to do her thing on my shit, and this nigga fucked it up, banging on the door like a fuckin’ loony!”
“What the fuck you tell her to call me for? Where your raggedy-ass pistol at? Better yet, have y’all heard from James’s ass yet? Why the hell Toby lookin’ for him anyway?”
“‘Cause James robbed him,” Tuffy said.
“‘Cause he what?”
“Kevin, don’t listen to Tuffy,” Felicia said. “He don’t know what the hell he talkin’ ’bout.”
“Man, c’mon. That’s why he ain’t go to the club wit’ you and Ed. Remember he said he had some business to tend to? Some paper to collect? That’s what that shit was,” Tuffy informed. “You see his ass ain’t around, and he ain’t calling Felicia back. He somewhere hiding.”
Damn, Ma. Why didn’t I listen to you? Kevin screamed to himself as he plopped down on the couch. Shit, I can’t even call a fuckin’ cab to take me home. Not only was Kevin pissed, he was stuck. He could’ve called his mother but the last thing he needed was the lecture.
That’s a’right. I’ma call a cab in a few hours and take my ass back home, Kevin thought as he laid his head on the arm of the couch and dozed off.
A few hours later, Kevin awoke and headed into the kitchen to call a cab just as he’d planned. As he switched on the light, he saw what seemed like a million roaches scatter, trampling over the sink full of dirty dishes and baby bottles.
Damn, these muthafuckas trifling, he thought as he reached for the rotary phone on the wall.
“Your cab should be there within twenty minutes,” the operator informed him.
As he hung up the phone, the thought of the baby sipping on a nipple that had been trampled over by a squad of roaches made Kevin’s stomach weak. He rolled up his sleeves, placed the stopper in the sink, and turned the hot water on full blast. While the sink filled with water, he squeezed nearly half the bottle of dish detergent into the scalding-hot water and swished it around with his finger.
Damn, let me look out for my cab, Kevin thought as he shook the excess bubbles from his hand and opened the kitchen blinds.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The apartment shook.
Kevin jumped, caught off guard by the sudden outburst.
“Open this muthafuckin’ door!” Toby yelled, hammering the door with his shotgun.
“Shit,” Kevin said, heading out into the living room.
“See, that muthafucka back,” Tuffy said, sitting up on the floor. “Listen at his crazy ass. That’s how he was doing last night.”
“Damn. He making the whole building shake.”
“You’da thought one of the neighbors woulda called the police or something,” Tuffy said.
“Yeah, right. They just as scared as y’all are. Let me go talk to Toby’s crazy ass,” Kevin replied.
“No, Kevin.” Felicia ran out from her back bedroom, her baby on her hip. “Don’t open the door.”
“What, you think I’m stupid?” Kevin asked, heading to the sliding glass door. “I’ma climb down the balcony and run around to the front.”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Kevin eased the glass door open and stepped out onto the second-floor balcony.
“Hold up, Kevin,” Felicia yelled. “Tuffy, gimme your piece.”
Tuffy jumped from the floor, pulling his gun from his waistband.
“I don’t need no gun.” Kevin threw his legs over the railing.
“No, Kevin. Take it, please,” Felicia pleaded, handing him the gun, a Luger 9mm.
“Yeah, man. Take somethin’ wit’ you,” Tuffy said, standing in the doorway next to Felicia.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
“Let me get down here ‘fore he breaks the door down.”
Kevin shoved the gun in the waist of his pants and lowered himself onto the patio underneath Felicia’s balcony. As he ran around to the entrance of the building, Kevin spotted James ducking in between the cars in the parking lot.
“Man, where the fuck you been?” Kevin asked, full of rage. “Felicia was paging you all fucking night.”
“I was out wit’ this girl last night, man. I thought she was paging me to see where I was.”
“Go somewhere wit’ that bullshit, man. Toby been lookin’ for you all night. What the fuck you rob him for?”
“Kevin, man, I ain’t rob no muthafuckin’ body. I’m just getting home. I heard that nigga tryna bust my door in, so I went and got my shit.”
“He should be pounding on your door looking for your bitch ass!”
“Man, I’m telling you. I ain’t rob him.” James’s voice shot up two octaves, the way it always did when he was lying.
This shit ain’t good, Kevin thought. If Toby sees me with James’s ass, he gon’ think we in cahoots.
Toby’s lunges at the door echoed throughout the building.
“Look, just stay the fuck out here,” Kevin ordered as he entered the building alone. He crept up the steps until he stood on the landing that separated him from Toby. He called his name.
“Hey, Toby!”
But Toby was in a daze, pounding the door over and over again as if he was possessed.
James crept up the steps behind Kevin and yelled, “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DOOR!”
“What the fuck you doing?” Rage turned Kevin’s face upside down.
James had done some cold-blooded shit, and now Kevin stood knee-deep in the pile of crap right along with him.
Toby spun around, his face full of hatred as he pumped a bullet in the chamber of the shotgun. James shot his pistol and missed.
“Ah, shit,” Kevin growled as Toby shot toward the stairwell, lodging the bullet inside the mortar of the brick wall inches away from Kevin’s head. Kevin pulled Tuffy’s gun from his pants. He tried to shoot, but the gun jammed. James fired again, casting a bullet in Toby’s shoulder.
“Argh!” Toby screamed, leaving a trail of blood down Felicia’s door as he slid to the floor. Kevin pulled the gun’s slide to the rear, clearing the jam while Toby struggled to his feet and scrambled to the top level, pumping another bullet into the shotgun.
Chaos broke out. Bullets ricocheted all over the building.
“Open the door! Open the door!” Toby yelled frantically, banging on every apartment door.
“What the hell is going…”
“Let me in! Let me in!” Toby screamed to the neighbor as he forced his way inside the apartment. Kevin and James fired as Toby disappeared behind the door.
Sirens echoed off in the distance. Blood spilled from underneath the apartment door.
“Shit! C’mon!” Kevin said. He and James took off down the steps and out the building. “Man, we gotta split up. Hop in the car and get the fuck outta here ’fore they get h
ere,” Kevin ordered.
“Man, that shit stolen! How the fuck I’ma leave in a stolen car?”
“I don’t know, man, but go some fuckin’ where!”
Scrambling around to the back of the building, Kevin grabbed the metal rails and pulled himself back up to Felicia’s balcony.
“What happened, man? What happened?” Tuffy hopped around nervously.
“Man, that piece-of-shit gun jammed. Where the fuck is Felicia?”
As if on cue, Felicia pounced from the back, a sea of tears flowing down her face as she screamed into the phone.
“Shit,” Kevin said, noticing the gunpowder burns on his hands. He rushed to the kitchen and dunked his hands in the sudsy hot water he’d prepared for the bottles. “Felicia, who the fuck you talkin’ to?”
“It’s the police!”
Water flew all over the kitchen as Kevin yanked his hands from the sink and snatched the phone from Felicia.
“What the fuck is wrong wit’ you?” he screamed in her face. He slammed the cordless phone to the ground, shattering it to pieces. “Why you ain’t call those muthafuckas last night?”
“I heard the gunshots. I didn’t know what else to do. I ain’t know if you got shot.”
Shit! Kevin thought. The situation was getting out of control.
“Here. One of y’all do something with this,” Kevin ordered, passing Tuffy’s gun to her.
She scanned the room and hid the gun inside the baby’s diaper bag. Just then, mayhem broke out in the hallway.
“Shit, man,” Tuffy said, nervously pacing back and forth. “What we ’pose to do?”
“Man, just calm the fuck down,” Kevin ordered.
There was a tap at the door.
“Oh my God,” Felicia cried.
“What the fuck I tell you,” Kevin mumbled through gritted teeth. Heading to the door, he roared like a lion, “Who is it?”
“It’s the police. There’s been a homicide, and we need to ask you some questions.”
Ah, shit. Toby died, Kevin thought as a horn blew outside. And there go my fuckin’ cab.
Chapter Eleven
Isolated in a room with Sergeant Young, Kevin’s eyes darted back and forth between both two-way mirrors, watching Felicia’s and Tuffy’s interrogations.
An hour into the questioning, Sergeant Young and his detectives called the local greasy spoon and placed an order for carryout. Kevin was starving; his mouth watered as he watched Sergeant Young chop away at a steak-and-cheese sandwich loaded with everything. He tried to make a meal from the aromas floating in the air, but it wasn’t working. The smell of onions surged into his nostrils, but all Kevin could taste was the remnants of the alcohol he’d poured into his system at the club.
“Hey!” Kevin squirmed restlessly in his chair. “Ain’t I entitled to a phone call or something?” he asked, just as an officer dressed in a crisp white shirt decorated with what seemed like a gazillion ribbons strolled into the room.
“Hey, Lieutenant Goldstein,” Sergeant Young said, chewing on the plastic straw from his fountain soda. “You’re just in time. Mr. Kennard here is asking for a phone call.” He pulled the straw from his mouth and let out a loud, foul-smelling belch.
This stinky-ass muthafucka, Kevin thought.
Lieutenant Goldstein plunked his chubby butt on the table, causing it to squeak from his heaviness. “Did Mr. Kennard write his statement?”
“He says he doesn’t have anything to write because he doesn’t know anything. He went to the club last night, and now the poor baby has a hangover.”
Lieutenant Goldstein looked at Kevin. “Did you have fun at the club last night, Mr. Kennard?”
Slumped in the metal folding chair, Kevin dropped his head in his hands.
“Where’d you go after the club?” he continued to question.
“Look,” Kevin sprang up, “y’all have had me in here for hours. I’m starving, I’m tired, and my head is banging. All I wanna do is use the phone.”
“Mr. Kennard, you can do whatever you want,” the lieutenant informed. “You aren’t under arrest yet.” He glanced toward the two-way mirrors. “Sergeant Young, turn the mic on so I can hear what’s going on. Looks like Mr. Kennard’s girlfriend is getting a little antsy.”
Through the two-way mirror, Kevin heard Felicia cry, “Fuck dis shit! Where’s Kevin?”
Lieutenant Goldstein turned to Kevin with a raised brow and said, “Seems like you might want to write a statement before she breaks.”
“How I’ma write a statement if I don’t know nothing?” Kevin stood from his chair and headed toward the door. “And since you just said I wasn’t under arrest, I guess that means I can go.”
Sergeant Young tossed his straw to the floor, leaped from his chair, and hurried to block Kevin’s exit.
“Lieutenant, we can’t let him go!” he said. “Have you seen this clown’s criminal record? And he was in the apartment where the shit started!”
“Then charge him with something,” Lieutenant Goldstein demanded.
Sergeant Young sighed. He didn’t have enough evidence to charge Kevin with anything.
“We can’t hold him on your suspicions,” Lieutenant Goldstein added.
Kevin stood face-to-face with Sergeant Young, unable to conceal his victory smirk. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Shit! I’m telling you, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Young said as he stepped out of Kevin’s way. “He had something to do with it.”
● ● ●
Damn, where the fuck is a payphone? Kevin thought, rushing out of the precinct. He had to call his mother. Shit, where the fuck is a phone?
Kevin was ready to break as he turned the corner of the old brick building. He needed to put some distance between him and the police station as soon as possible. As he released a sigh of relief, a convoy of police cars approached, their sirens screaming as they screeched to a halt.
“Freeze, muthafucka!” The policemen jumped from their cruisers with their guns drawn. “Put your hands above your head.”
Kevin obeyed and inched his hands in the air. Two officers rushed up and threw him against the building.
“Damn, man,” Kevin said. His lips scraped the bricks as they nearly pulled his arms from their sockets to smack on the cuffs. “What the fuck y’all doing?” he yelled as they ushered him back inside the station. “Man, I’m telling you. The lieutenant just told me I could go.”
“Only place you’re going is jail.”
The officer opened the door to a smaller interrogation room and shoved Kevin inside.
“Take a seat,” he ordered.
Kevin squirmed nervously in the folding chair, trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong in a matter of minutes. He’d just been released.
Felicia’s ass musta fuckin’ broke, he thought as he glanced in the two-way mirror, but his assumption was wrong.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Kevin gasped.
James sat on the other side of the mirror, handcuffed to the table. Blood oozed from his busted lip, and the swollen knot above his brow weighed down his eyelid. Positioned in the middle of the table like a freshly bloomed bouquet was the diaper bag where Felicia had hidden Tuffy’s gun.
“Mr. Kennard,” the lieutenant beamed, greeting Kevin as if they were long-lost friends. “No sooner than I let you go, my guys walked in with Mr. Harris,” he said, patting Kevin lightly on the shoulder.
Sergeant Young strutted in behind the lieutenant, grinning the way Kevin had when he’d left.
“So? What does you finding him have to do with me?” Kevin asked.
“Nothing yet.” Lieutenant Goldstein straddled a chair and turned to face the mirror. “But we’re running prints on the gun that somebody shoved in the diaper bag. We believe that may be the murder weapon.” Turning his attention back to Kevin, he said, “And you were in the apartment where the potential murder weapon was found.”
Lieutenant Goldstein’s pager started chirping. He snatched the pager from his belt
and dismounted the chair. “Great. It’s the fucking captain. This shit is all over the got damn news,” he said, storming from the room.
Sergeant Young sat at the table with his face buried inside a file, studying documents. A few moments later, Lieutenant Goldstein reentered the room, slamming the door.
“This is fucking nonsense. The captain’s screaming down my ass. Sergeant Young, you or one of your detectives better beat a confession out of that piece of shit,” he screamed, pointing at James through the two-way mirror. “Hell, come up with some trumped-up charges if you have to. I don’t care how you do it, but I want a confession!”
“Hold up,” Kevin protested. “Y’all can’t do that shit. That’s against his constitutional rights.”
“Constitutional rights?” Lieutenant Goldstein frowned, as if Kevin’s words gave him heartburn. “What about the victim’s rights? I have a grieving family to deal with, thanks to your little game of Cowboys and Indians.”
“Sergeant Young,” Lieutenant Goldstein yelled, shifting his attention from Kevin. “Go in there and get a confession outta that son of a bitch, or your entire detective team will be writing parking tickets tomorrow.”
“Hold up, Lieutenant. I may have something.” Sergeant Young closed the file. “I pulled up some information on our men, Mr. Kennard and Mr. James Harris, our guest of honor in the other room. Seems like we should refer to James as Jesse James. According to his file, he gets a kick outta robbing people at gunpoint. The bastard damn sure didn’t finish school.” Sergeant Young chuckled. “You should read some of the statements his dumb ass tried to write. My German Shepherd can spell better than him.”
“Hey.” A plainclothes detective walked into the room and handed the lieutenant a piece of paper. “I think you guys can use this.”
“What’s this?”
“It’s Toby Lucille’s written statement. I just left the hospital. He admits that he was looking for Mr. Harris. He claims Harris robbed him last night for five thousand dollars.”
“Excellent work, Detective. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Lieutenant Goldstein passed the statement to Sergeant Young.
Toby? Kevin thought. I thought Toby was dead.