One Dead Lawyer (David Price Mysteries)

by Tony Lindsay

  Ricky would go gambling if I begged him hard enough. And if he went out drinking, two drinks and he was gone, and he only drank at bars. He wouldn’t go anywhere near a club. To quote him: “I ain’t gonna end up being da oldest motherfucker in da club.”

  When Ricky Brown said, “Ain’t nothing out here in da streets fo’ me, D. I have more fun at home playing’ with da kids.” I believed him, only because Ricky Brown had already done everything there was to be done on the streets.

  The catalyst for Ricky’s change, although he would deny it, was the case we’d worked on together six months before. He hired me to protect his sister-in-law. That case changed us all, but he’d never admit it. I’d nicknamed the case “One Dead Preacher.”

  When we pulled up to Ricky’s mini castle, he was sitting on the front porch with his oldest daughter, Tiffany. Ricky and his wife Martha have six children. Tiffany is one hundred percent Martha, more clone than daughter. All she got from Ricky was his name. Her round face, her rich, flawless brown skin and her short curvy stature all came from Martha.

  As we walked up the stone steps, Tiffany got up to greet me with a hug and a smile. My best friend remained seated. His eyes were on Stanley.

  “Hey, Uncle Da—” She stopped midway through the greeting before I got my hug, and said, “Oh, hold up, I know that ain’t Snap coming over my joint. What’s up with you, kid!” She turned from me and gave Stanley my hug.

  “Hey, Tiff, what are you doing here?”

  “I live here!” She moved from him and hugged me briefly and turned her attention back to him.

  “You live here? I thought this was Ricky Brown’s house.”

  “Ricky Brown is my daddy.”

  “Yeah right, I woulda known if Ricky Brown was your pops.”

  “Some people’s business ain’t everybody’s business. My name is Tiffany Brown, right?” Her hands went to her budding hips.

  “Yeah. Wow. I didn’t even know.”

  She sucked her teeth. “You wasn’t supposed to know. Enough about that. Snap, I sure hope you been studying your French over the summer. I’m not with carrying you this year.” She was no longer smiling.

  “Carrying me?” He darted his eyes quickly to me and then Ricky. “You didn’t carry me last year. I just copped your notes a couple of times.”

  “Whatever. You know senior year is too serious to be playing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but later for all that, hear me on this. I’m gonna flip that Aurora this weekend!”

  “No!” Tiffany yelped.

  “I told y’all last year, I wasn’t tryin’ to be seventeen years old on the bus.”

  “You made seventeen?”

  “In July.”

  “And finna get a caaar! Daddy! Do you hear this? I told you seventeen is too old to be catching the bus to school.

  Daddy, I’m going to be the only seventeen-year-old on the bus. You got to think about it some more.” She had turned her pleading eyes to Ricky.

  Ricky rose from his seat and beckoned me to follow him. “Good grades first, and then a car. Show me first, baby.”

  I could tell this was an established point between them because her attention went back to Stanley. I followed Ricky into the house.

  “What color are you going to get?” The kids sat on opposite porch ledges, facing each other.

  “Gold. And I’m getting Floyd and them to do the tint. I saw the one I’m gettin’ over there on Western day before yesterday.”

  “Gold would look nice. I know May is happy.”

  “Ain’t no guarantee me and May gonna be together this year.”

  Standing inside the house away from the door and out of their sight, Ricky stopped to eavesdrop, and I did too. I wanted to hear what the kid said about Mitch’s daughter.

  “Yeah right, May the only good-looking girl that’s going to put up with you hanging out with them thugs, you’d better keep her.”

  “Why you always got to be like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “All direct and straight to the point.”

  “Well, I’m just telling you like it is. People judge you by the company you keep, and none of my girls trying to catch a bullet meant for you or one of your thug friends. Yeah, you cute and all, with that clean cut and bowlegs, and everybody says you dress nice, but you hang around thugs, and thugs be shooting at thugs. May is the only girl I know who thinks you worth the risk.”

  “Man, you and your girls ain’t all that.”

  “Whatever, that’s why every guy at the school been sweatin’ us since we were freshmen.”

  Ricky whispered, “That’s my girl,” and we walked to the dining room to join Martha, who was sitting on the couch with remote in hand, flipping the plasma screen’s channels.

  “Sixty-eight dollars a month for cable and there is not a darn thing on.” She placed the remote on the white marble coffee table. “Hey, D.” I went to her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hey yourself.” I slid next to her on the white leather sofa.

  “If you came over for dinner you’re in bad shape today. Ricky made a pizza out of sausage links, worst mess I ever tasted in my life.” Even though Martha was in her housecoat, I could tell she’d worked today. Her watch, wedding ring, diamond tennis bracelet and stockings lingered from her workday.

  Ricky started a small cleaning business about fifteen years ago, and under Martha’s watchful eye it had grown into the city’s second-largest office cleaning company. Last year he turned all operations over to her. He kept himself busy with his rental properties and liquor stores.

  “Links, bro?” I asked Ricky.

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time, but Martha’s right, it’s a mess. I got some shrimp coming from Whites if you hungry.” He dropped down to the rocker recliner next to the couch. The Browns had converted their formal dining room into a very cozy family room equipped with three computers, a foosball game, an overstuffed love seat and a surround-sound system. There was also a game table used for dominos, chess and backgammon, and all the Browns played competitively.

  “You ordered shrimp?”

  “Yeah, I had to get something. Your daughter wouldn’t touch da pizza.”

  “Where the rest of the kids?” I asked.

  “The boys are at dance and the girls are at karate.”

  “Huh?”

  Ricky and Martha chuckled, “It does sound backwards, don’t it? But that’s how it is. The boys are taking tap dance lessons and the twins are taking karate. You should see Monique and Monica in their karate suits. ‘Double trouble’ is what their sensei calls them.”

  “I would like to see that. How soon before they come in?”

  “Tiffany should be leaving to get them in a few, they’re right up the street, the South Shore Cultural Center has summer activities.”

  “Well maybe I’ll see them when I get back. I came to get Ricky to ride with me down to Forty-seventh Street.”

  A big grin appeared on his face.

  “Lord yes, get him out of here, I never thought I’d say that, but he needs to go out.”

  “Martha!” He sat up in the recliner.

  “Baby, I’m sorry, but you need some air and something to do. Being in the house is not for everybody.”

  “Sound like you sayin’ you sick of me.”

  “I didn’t say that, I simply said you need something to do. You haven’t been doing house things all these years. I see no sense in starting now.”

  Looking past Martha, a noticeable darker patch in the wall grabbed my attention. The wall was eggshell white, but the patch was almost yellow. Seeing a patch in Martha’s wall was unusual. Her home had been flawless for years. Ricky’s businesses had been doing well for years, and her home reflected that. Martha bought the best and she bought frequently. A patch in her wall was out of the norm.

  “What happened to the wall?” I thought it was an innocent enough question.

  Martha’s attention went to the television. Ricky, who
had stood from the recliner looked down to the polished floorboards.

  “The wall y’all, what happened?”

  “Nothin’, da boys just knocked a little hole in it and I fixed it.”

  I got up and walked over to it. “You fixed it, huh?”

  “Yeah, I fixed it,” he said, pulling up his pants.

  “He fixed it, just like he fixed the refrigerator that’s still leaking, the ceiling fan he taped up, the doorknob he nailed, and let’s not forget the floor tiles he fixed with Krazy Glue.”

  Ricky took his straw hat from atop one of the computers. “Let’s go man.”

  “Hold up a second, you fixed a door knob with a nail?”

  The tips of his ears were turning red. “If you want me to ride with you, let’s go man.”

  “A’ight, a’ight,” I said restraining a laugh. “Hey man can you cash a check for thirteen grand?”

  He looked to his wife, “Martha?”

  Something on television had her attention; she answered without looking up, “Yes, the receipts from the stores on Fifty-first Street didn’t get dropped.”

  I followed Ricky down to the basement. I saw more of his handiwork on the stairway railing. It had been taped into the brackets with duct tape. “Man, I can fix this railing for you.”

  “It’s fixed.”

  “Okay.”

  He pulled thirteen grand from his walk-in safe and cashed the check. The previous owner of Ricky’s mini castle home had had the safe installed. I believe it was one of the main reasons they bought the house. I peeled seven grand from the bundle of bills Ricky handed me.

  “I got a couple of Time-Life books on home maintenance. You can borrow them anytime you want.”

  “Look-a-here man, obviously I ain’t no handyman, but I tried, a’ight? It was just somethin’ to do.”

  “All I’m saying, Ricky, is we can do the repairs together, me, you and the books, cause I can’t fix everything either.”

  “You do a’ight. You can fix most thangs.”

  “But I use the books, Ricky. What I’m saying is I can show what I know, and the books can do the rest.”

  “Man, look-a-here, I’ma get somebody in here and fix those thangs. A’ight, I had a little time on my hands so I tried to do a little somethin’. I don’t need ya mister-fix-it books.”

  “Cool. I was just letting you know I had them.”

  “I don’t need ’em . . . Now what’s up with Forty-seventh Street, you goin’ to get a new brim?” He took a pistol from a shelf inside the safe and pushed the heavy door closed.

  “Nope, the kid upstairs is Daphne’s son, she hired me to help him pay off a debt.”

  “Daphne?”

  “She used to live across the alley from me in Harvey.”

  “Oh yeah, I seen her, Regina and Regina’s mama together at something Martha had me go to. That girl now grown up! That’s her boy huh? Is that the same li’l fellah that used to keep a pocketful of bottle tops, bones and nails and thangs?”

  I chuckled, “Yeah, that was him. And there is something else going on with Daphne too, man, some other threat, but she hasn’t felt the need to tell me about it yet. A guy in a white Bentley pulled alongside us and cursed her out. She acted like it was nothing, but something is up. The same is true with her rich friend out in Olympia Fields; we go out there and the butler all but pimp-slaps her.”

  “No shit. Well you know how womens is, D; they don’t never you tell the whole story until they have to. But I remember dat li’l chubby scamp of a boy though. He was always under your feet. Dat’s somthin’, dat li’l ole round kid now grew straight up. I thought he was gonna be fat. Umh. Let’s ride, partner.” He dropped the .38 into his sweatsuit jacket pocket without a second thought.

  When we walked into McDonald’s, Stanley’s problem was there with three of his crew. They were boys, none over twenty-one. Young prison apprentices who could easily become young productive members of society if given an ounce of encouragement. Their leader, James Taylor, also known as JT, damn near gagged when he saw Ricky and me walk in.

  He greeted us with, “Damn Snap, you said they was your uncles, but I thought you was bullshittin’. “

  After Stanley paid him, JT asked Ricky did he have any openings at his stores. “Because I’m really gettin’ tired of being out here like this and I hear you got a program for cats like me.”

  At one time, young men who worked for Ricky sold weed from his hot dog carts. The guys who were industrious and made their quotas moved up to management and got to oversee other hot dog carts. If they proved good managers, Ricky brought them into his legitimate liquor-store business.

  These street-recruited managers are largely responsible for the phenomenal growth of Ricky’s liquor stores. What he had done to continue getting young goal-orientated brothers to work for him, since he no longer dabbled in street distribution, was start a management training program with his handpicked street managers doing the training.

  Ricky told JT yes, he had a program for young cats looking to go straight, but to qualify a cat had to be either in high school, taking GED classes or in college. The program paid a management trainee eleven dollars and twenty-five cents an hour.

  A trainee worked three point five hours and got paid for eight, as long as he was enrolled in school or a GED program. The boys quickly calculated that to be $400 a week, after taxes.

  Of the boys sitting at the table, JT and Stanley were the only two in high school; the others were high-school dropouts. Stanley and JT wanted to know what they had to do next. Ricky told them to call him when school started, and if they were enrolled, they could apply to his program.

  To the dropouts, he gave phone numbers to libraries where he knew the GED instructors. He told them if they provided letters of their enrollment, they could apply to his program as well. He gave each boy sitting at the table his business card.

  I was a hundred percent sure Ricky would let all these kids into his program if they called. These were the kind of kids he bent over backwards for, those with desire, but no direction. His dominant interest however, was in the leader. JT was the diamond in the rough Ricky would refine. It was boys like him with the natural ability to lead who expanded Ricky’s liquor-store empire.

  Driving Ricky home and dropping him off, I found it curious how being in the company of the right person at the right time could provide the level-headedness that’s needed. Seeing Ricky with those boys, feeling his concern, and sensing how badly he wanted to guide them down a better path was all the confirmation I needed.

  My head was on right. Chester having my name was more important than him having Peal’s money. My name would provide him with identity, money wouldn’t. Fighting Regina on this was the right thing to do. She was wrong. I was right.

  When we pulled to my house I noticed a white Bentley parked across the street. Instead of going into the underground garage, I made the block and came back around on the west side. I parked three cars behind with my lights out. And Stanley and I watched a big guy getting out of the Bentley from the driver’s side. He was holding something in his hand. I drew both 9 mms and told Stanley to stay put. I slipped out of my Caddy and was about four steps behind the guy, who was a step away from my porch, when someone from across the street yelled, “MacKnock, watch out!” and opened fire on me from the Bentley. I dove to the grass, rolling. The big guy followed me, shooting down into the grass all around me. I stopped moving because maybe he was not trying to shoot me and I didn’t want to roll into a bullet.

  I guessed right because he stopped shooting and darted across the street into the Bentley. They pealed out from the curb. Stanley ran to me, “Are you okay, Mr. Price?” He helped me up and patted me for wounds. “I can’t believe he missed standing over you like that!”

  “He wasn’t trying to shoot me. He was trying to stop me from seeing him. Let’s get inside before the police roll up. If they don’t see us standing out front, they will ride on by. Let’s get in.”

&
nbsp; “Did you see him?”

  “Nothing but his feet and the fire from his pistol.”

  Shots fired are not a rarity on my block. Mostly it’s teenagers popping off rounds in an alley. With us not standing outside, I hoped the police would assume that was what occurred and roll on by. I didn’t feel like talking to them or filing a report.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Stanley and I walked into my house, Daphne was sitting on the sofa. She greeted us with a tense, nervous smile. I thought she was upset about the shots, but that wasn’t the case.

  “All done?” she asked us.

  “Huh?”

  “With Stanley’s situation?”

  “Oh yeah, that problem is solved,” I told her.

  “Hey Ma, check this, this dude tried to bust a ca—”

  Daphne cut him off with, “Tell me on the ride home, son.”

  “Y’all leaving?” I asked surprised.

  “Yes, I think it would be best . . . While you were gone . . . Regina called. I was dozing. The phone was ringing and I answered it. She was surprised I was here. Even more surprised that I was here and you weren’t. We talked . . . One thing led to another . . . She said Randolph called her and told her I was representing you . . . She’s pissed about it . . . called me some names . . . I called her some names, and she now knows that we were intimate.” She ran the last words together as she stood from the sofa.

  Her eyes were on me and she was holding her breath.

  “And what does that have to do with you leaving tonight?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know if you would want me to stay or not? And Regina said some things that made me uncomfortable.”

  Stanley stood there looking at us like we were the television.

  “You know what, we need to talk alone. Would you excuse us, Stanley? I got half a pizza from Nancy’s Space Age on the bottom shelf of the fridge.”

  “Cool.” He dashed to the kitchen.

  With the kid gone, I stood right up on her and asked, “Now what were you saying?”