Crime Song

by David Swinson

  “I’m lucky to pocket a hundred bucks after a ten-hour day and expenses.”

  “How much extra do you make picking these guys up and taking them where they have to go?”

  He’s hesitant.

  “Is it worth getting locked up, losing your cab, and going to jail for? For what, a few more bucks?”

  “Naw, it ain’t.”

  My phone rings. I pull it out of the suit jacket’s inner pocket.

  Shit.

  It’s Hurley.

  “What’s up, partner?” I answer. “No, I can’t right now. On an interview. Yeah, I do have to work. No kidding? Really? Shit. Okay. Around two o’clock. A little hard to talk right now. Right. Sounds good, man. You got it. Bye.” I disconnect, slip it back into my inner pocket.

  Fuck, they found my .38.

  I turn to Diamond.

  “That was Detective Hurley. Seems he recovered some interesting property related to the burglary I’m working. Good for me, not really good for you.”

  “You playing me or somethin’?”

  “This is where the conversation ends, and you’re either with me or you’re fucked.”

  “You playin’ me. I know what you all do.”

  “Mr. Diamond, I’ve told you more than I would’ve told anyone else in your position. Don’t ask me why, ’cause I fucking don’t know. I got you picking up burglars who put stolen goods in the trunk of your car. I got you taking them to fences, like that spot on Fourteenth by Thomas Circle. I got them paying you after they sell the goods.” I stop just in case I’ve gone too far. Don’t mention the murder again. He might shut down. “All I’m going to say now is you can get yourself out of this and work with me here.”

  “How do I know you’re tellin’ the truth?”

  “You don’t. You don’t. But I am. For whatever that’s worth. You don’t get far in my line of work if you fuck people over. Word eventually gets out, then my name’s worth shit.”

  I pull out my wallet from my back pocket, open it, making sure he can see the edge of the badge shine just right, and I count out ten twenties. After I slip my wallet back in the pocket I hand it over to him.

  “This is to show good faith. That’s double a hard day’s work for you.”

  He looks at it, looks worried, like I’m offering him a bribe.

  “It’s for real. I’m not playing you.”

  “What kinda damn investigator are you?”

  “The kind you want as a friend.”

  He takes it. A gentle manner.

  “What you want me to do, then?”

  Thirty-Two

  I need you to take me to the location where Biddy beds down. Also, I wanna know where he buys his drugs.”

  He looks down, then out the window. I’m assuming it’s at nothing in particular. He just needs a second or two.

  Turns to me and says, “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “And whatever other fencing locations he sells property to.”

  “I only know of the two. The ones you already mentioned.”

  “You remember a place he hit right around the corner here? He came out with a couple hundred record albums and CDs, a flat-screen, and stereo equipment.”

  There he goes with that fucking guilty head drop. Then he’s got another expression. Fearful.

  “Talk to me,” I tell him.

  He’s hesitant.

  Then he looks at me direct.

  “I just wait where they tell me to wait. Nothing more. You understand?”

  “Yes, but then there’s that whole aiding-and-abetting thing. You go down just like the one who did it. It doesn’t have to be that way, though, ’cause you can lead me to the one responsible. It’ll go a long way for you, especially if it leads to who was responsible for what went on inside that house.”

  See what he says to that last bit.

  “I just sit in this here car. That’s all.”

  “Like I told you, I know, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “He took everything to Thrift World, but they only bought the stereo equipment. The rest of the stuff he sold to the store on Fourteenth Street.”

  “Okay, I already know about the stereo equipment, so you’re telling the truth. I appreciate that.”

  “All right.”

  “Did the convenience store buy the gun that was stolen from that house, too?”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about a gun.”

  “The convenience store bought everything else, though?”

  “Well, the boy didn’t come back out with anything.”

  “But that shit’s old. Why would they want that?”

  “Lord if I know.”

  “What time did you take Biddy there to hit the house?”

  “I can’t remember. Early morning, though.”

  I have a feeling he knows what happened in my house, and now he’s scared. Shit, for all I know, he’s the shooter and I’m totally off my game, but I have a stronger feeling he’s not capable of something like that. I want to go easy on this.

  “Let’s roll, then,” I say.

  “You mean you want to do this now?”

  “Yeah, of course. That was a substantial fare I gave you.”

  “I thought you said that was in good faith.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t come without some good faith on your part.”

  “Damn. All right. But can you at least sit yourself in the back like a regular customer? Looks too suspicious having you in the front like that.”

  “That I can understand.”

  I look at the keys in his ignition, think about taking them until I get in back. I decide not to, ’cause I have to show trust, even though I trust him for nothing.

  “You pull away on me when I step out, I’ll personally be kicking in the door to your house.”

  “How many times I gotta keep tellin’ you I ain’t stupid?”

  I shoot him an ever-so-slight smile. He’ll get nothing more.

  I slide open the Plexiglas window between the seats and step out of the car, but before I close the front door I open the rear door. When it opens, I shut the front door and hop in back. I roll down my window to see if I have control of it.

  “Show me where he buys his drugs first.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Give me a break. Take me to where Biddy buys his drugs.”

  He drives.

  We get to the 1300 block of Riggs, Northwest, where he slowly passes and points out a two-story connected home. I get the address and write it down in my pocket notebook. I never got any intel about the house back when I was working narcotics, and I had an excellent source for this area. They’re all, like, million-dollar homes now.

  “I don’t want them to see me here,” he says.

  “Don’t worry. No one’s gonna see you. Just drive to the next spot.”

  Riggs is a one-way street, so he drives west to 14th. After a couple of minutes, with traffic getting heavy, he makes a left on 14th and then a right on R Street, one block down. Again he drives slowly and points out a multistory apartment building. This block I am definitely familiar with. It was hoppin’ a few years back. I copy the address.

  “I don’t know what floor, but he stays at that building. I think with a woman, or maybe his mother.”

  “Make this right on Fifteenth, and drive by the store on Fourteenth so I can make sure we’re talking about the same place.”

  He makes a right and drives back around to 14th, where he makes another right. Once we pass Rhode Island Avenue, he points out the same convenience store I sat on the other day.

  “Good,” I tell him. “Now let’s find a private spot to talk for a minute, then that’ll be it for today.”

  “You talkin’ more of this shit?”

  “Let’s just get through this here first, okay? In fact just head back to the area of Eleventh and W and find a parking space. I can get out from there after we’re done.”

  “What the hell did I get myself into?” he mumbles.
<
br />   “Big mess, but nothing we can’t fix together. Right?”

  I see him look at me through the rearview, tighten his lips again.

  Diamond finds a parking place on 11th near the spot he was in before. I stay in the backseat but lean forward a bit to better talk to him through the slot portion in the Plexiglas window.

  “The place on Riggs—what does Biddy purchase there?”

  “Hell, I ain’t into drugs. I don’t mess with all that.”

  “I’m not saying you do, but we both know Biddy does. What does he buy?”

  “Mostly crack, but I know he’s got himself some heron on occasion.”

  Heron. I haven’t heard that in a while.

  “He’s on heroin, too?”

  “I never seen him use it. Don’t allow it in my cab. I just know he talked about getting some there.”

  “Are these young guys, old guys, what?”

  “You mean on Riggs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two young punks who think they’re tougher than they are.”

  “You ever see any of them with guns?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “They do a lot of business out of that house?”

  “I assume so. One day Biddy spent over four bills there for crack.”

  “Did Biddy just walk up to the door?”

  “No. No, sir. Can’t do that. Had to call beforehand, then he’d meet one of the young ones in the alley behind the house.”

  “You take any other of the boys there?”

  “Shee-it.”

  “Not anything I’ll write down. I just need to know the extent of their business.”

  “Yeah, and I can tell you they rollin’ big-time.”

  Oh, yeah. I love hearing that.

  “You know their names?”

  “No. I don’t know them like that.”

  “Any of the boys you bring here ever mention a nickname, anything like that?”

  “Not that I can recollect.”

  “So here’s the deal. I’m going to hold on to everything I got you on, and I’m not going to write it up or let the detective assigned to all these cases know about you. If I’m gonna do that, you’re going to have to stay away from transporting those boys around.”

  “All right.”

  “So what are you going to say if one of them calls?”

  “That I got a fare, something like that.”

  “I’m gonna trade cell numbers. You’re going to call me right after one of those boys calls you, especially Biddy.”

  “If you go snatch them up like that, they gonna know I set them up.”

  “No, it won’t be like that. I’ve done this sort of thing more times than I can remember, and they won’t have a clue. Don’t worry about that.”

  Shakes his head slow.

  “I mean it, Diamond. The only way you’re gonna work this off is doing what I tell you. Then you’ll be free of this shit. I’m also going to pay you a buck fifty a day for the next couple of days.”

  “One hundred and fifty? What do I got to do for that?”

  “Mostly like what we did today. I sit in the back here again, and maybe you show me some other spots.”

  “I showed you what I know.”

  “You showed me where Biddy goes. I want to know where all of them get their drugs, ’cause narcotics is mostly my line of work. Getting the property back, too, of course, and maybe solve a murder along the way.”

  “Shee-it. I told you I don’t know nothin’ about a murder.”

  I don’t respond to that. Instead I say, “You don’t know where I might have eyes, so I catch you doing something you shouldn’t be doing, everything is off, no deal, and you’ll have a warrant for your arrest.”

  “Don’t have to worry about that.”

  “So when Biddy or one of the other boys calls you, he uses a cell phone.”

  “I’m assumin’ so.”

  “It’s always the same number?”

  “Biddy’s is, but not always everyone else.”

  “Give me Biddy’s number.”

  “You ain’t gonna call him?”

  “Now you’re thinking I’m stupid. I’m going to see where the number goes to, that’s all,” I lie, because it’s not easy like a landline. It’ll take a subpoena to get that from the provider. I certainly can’t do that.

  I pull my phone out.

  “Let me get it,” I say.

  I tap the icon for Notes as he pulls his older smartphone out of his right front pants pocket. Searches his contacts, then calls out the number for me.

  “Now you call my phone from yours.”

  He’s reluctant, but he obeys. I give him my number, and he taps it in. Couple seconds later my phone rings.

  “I’m going to save you in my contacts. You do the same.”

  He does.

  “Put my name in your cell as Fagin,” I tell him.

  “That your real name?”

  “Yes.”

  He taps it in.

  “I’m going to go now, but tell me this: Why didn’t you get a call from any of those burglars today?”

  “I don’t always get a call. Sometimes it’s in the early morning. Sometimes in the evening. Sometimes not at all, ’cause most of the time they can haul their goods in a backpack.”

  “So you get a call when they get a big hit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know what to do then, right?”

  “Call you if they call.”

  “Call me the second after you disconnect with them.”

  “I got it.”

  “Unless I hear from you first, I’m gonna give you a call tomorrow in the early afternoon to come pick me up. I’ll give you the corner to drive to and hail you down when I see you.”

  “Just like a regular fare, huh?”

  “No. The buck fifty kind.”

  Thirty-Three

  Once I get home I change, pull out a cigarette, and wait for Hurley to show. He wanted to meet me at two o’clock, but after thinking about it, I decided I didn’t want to go to headquarters, run into the news or, worse, walk in and don’t walk out, so I called him when I got home and told him to come here.

  He shows up. Right on time. Tim Millhoff, too.

  I open the door.

  Hurley is shouldering an old tan canvas briefcase. His sweat is already seeping through the underarms of his orange Tommy Bahama shirt. “It’s suffocating out there,” I say. “Come in.”

  I close the door behind them, shake their hands.

  They follow me into the living room.

  They notice the wires still hanging out of the wall.

  “Have a seat.”

  Millhoff sits on the sofa. Hurley unshoulders his case and sits toward the middle. Guess they’re allowing me the hot seat.

  “You guys want something cold to drink? Or coffee?”

  “I’m good,” Millhoff says.

  “Me, too.”

  I plop down on the armchair.

  “So tell me about my .38.”

  “Even though the serial numbers match, and we know the gun belongs to you, I need you to identify it for me,” Millhoff says.

  “Of course.”

  Hurley pulls an evidence bag out of his briefcase, opens it so I can look in.

  “Definitely mine. I know because of the crack on the grip, and you say the serial numbers match, so…”

  Hurley carefully folds the evidence bag and slips it back into his briefcase.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Fourteen hundred block of Rhode Island,” Millhoff answers. “It was placed on the decedent’s chest, Marr. Kind of like the shooter was making some kind of a statement.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. I want to show you a photo of the body, see if you know him.”

  “All right.”

  Millhoff turns to Hurley, waits for him to take the photo out and hand it to him. Millhoff in turn hands it to me.

  “Aw, fuck. No.”

  It’s
fucking Ray.

  “You know him?”

  It’s just a medium shot, shoulders up. Bit of blood on the right side of his cheek, like spatter. His eyes are closed. Peaceful.

  “Fuck, that’s Ray, the kid who served Jeffrey at the club,” I say. “The kid I told you about. You never found him?”

  “Well, yeah, you just looked at the death photo.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Millhoff. You know what I mean.”

  “Your reaction made it sound like you know him better than you’re letting on.”

  “No,” I lie. “It’s just another connection that fucking doesn’t make sense.”

  Did I get him killed by talking to him?

  “We tried to find him. The car tag you gave us came back to someone else. She claimed she didn’t know him and her tags were stolen,” Hurley says.

  “But she didn’t report it, right?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course not. We staked out where you said he was hanging, stopped a few people, but he was in the wind.”

  “What can you tell me about the scene?”

  “Not a drive-by,” Millhoff begins. “More like face-to-face, and he was caught by surprise. Execution, maybe?”

  “Damn. What’s his full name?”

  “Came up in the system as Eugene Wrayburn. Don’t have his juvenile records, but he does have a few PWIDS and a CPWL charge.”

  I’m thinking I unknowingly got caught up in something else, something big as well as bad. Jeffrey’s murder, the burglary, and now this? All of it only seems to tie back to me.

  “You said the gun was placed on his chest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it used to shoot him?”

  Millhoff and Hurley look at each other, like there’s more to this.

  “What?”

  “The bullets that were recovered from your cousin’s body were a match to your pistol.”

  “No!”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Sorry, Frank,” Hurley says, too.

  Millhoff straightens himself on the sofa, looks at me.

  “You’re still not thinking I’m a suspect in all this.”

  “I don’t know what to think, Frank. Bodies dropping all around you.”

  “Fuck you. Tell me what Ray was shot with.”

  “A .38, but not your gun, unless you have another .38 in the house we should know about.”

  “Fuck this. No. That mean you gonna come back with a search warrant? Because if it does, I’ll save you the trouble and take you around my house so you can see for yourself.”