The Avenged

by Charles Prandy

  Coming out of one of the night spots was Turtle with an attractive brown-skinned girl around his arm. I quickly sat up in my seat and pointed, “There he is.”

  “Jesus, about time.”

  Turtle and the young girl walked by Angela’s car without giving us any notice. I got out and followed behind them. A couple of times, I saw Turtle stumble, which led me to believe that he’d been drinking and was probably drunk. Hope he didn’t think he’s getting behind the wheel? They crossed U Street and walked to a side street filled with parked cars. The girl reached into her purse for a set of keys and opened the door to a silver Honda Accord. She and Turtle talked for a few minutes and then kissed and waved goodbye.

  Turtle watched the car drive away and then started heading back the way he had come. I lowered my head and Turtle passed me without even looking and I smelled the remnants of alcohol and marijuana as if he were wearing it as cologne. I followed Turtle for another block and saw him reaching for his keys to a black Ford Crown Victoria.

  “I know you don’t plan on driving.”

  Turtle turned around and was apparently getting ready to say something when his eyes widened and his chin nearly dropped to the ground.

  “Oh shit, Jacob, is that you?”

  “Yeah, man, it’s me.”

  Turtle’s face beamed with excitement and he reached out and hugged me.

  “Man, I’ve been buggin ever since I heard you were dead.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m not.”

  Turtle backed away and looked me up and down, smiling as if he had won the Mega Millions. “Oh shit, Jacob, what the hell happened? I knew you couldn’t have done what they said you did. You know I don’t trust no cops, but you’ve always been a straight-up dude. I knew you couldn’t have killed your wife.” Turtle’s face suddenly turned solemn. “Sorry about your wife, man.”

  I nodded. “Appreciate it. Means a lot. Listen, man, we need to go somewhere and talk. Somewhere safe.”

  “I feel you, I feel you. We can go back to the crib. Nobody’s there.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “Oh, she’s over her boyfriend’s house. She won’t be home til tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ve got someone with me. She’s cool though, so I don’t want you to get all freaked out.”

  “No sweat.” Turtle smiled and lightly punched me in the arm. “Man, it’s good to see you. I was startin to think I was going to have to find somebody else to hook me up.”

  “I’m not back yet. Still got some unfinished business to attend to.”

  “Bet,” Turtle responded. “Whatever you need, man, I got your back.”

  We slapped five. Turtle opened the driver’s door and was getting ready to sit down.

  “Oh, no, I’m driving. I could smell the alcohol and weed a mile away.”

  One hundred one

  I WAS RELATIVELY SURPRISED when I first stepped into the Victorian row house. The place was nicely updated but kept the Victorian look. Brown wood floors that looked like they’d recently been refinished covered the first floor. To the right of the foyer was an expansive living room with two modern leather couches neatly across from each other in front of a fireplace. I looked around the room and nodded my head with approval.

  “What, you expected this to be a hole in the wall?” Turtle uttered.

  “Well, not a hole in the wall…but I must say, I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah, this is pretty nice,” Angela added.

  “Moms and I like to live in comfort and style,” Turtle said as he expanded his arms to show off the room.

  “All right, all right, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” I retorted.

  We both smiled at each other and then sat on the couches.

  “So what do you need to talk about, man?” Turtle started.

  I thought about the meeting at Dupont Circle, the one that had started the downward spiral of my life.

  “I want to talk about our meeting in Dupont Circle. You know, the one where the man was shot in front of us.”

  “How could I forget? Never seen nothing like it in my life.”

  I wanted to glance over at Angela, but decided not to. I didn’t want to let on in any way that she was the one who had actually killed Faraji Owusu.

  “So before that happened, we were talking about Judge Peters and you said that you had some inside information that he was dealing arms and that a law firm was a front to launder his money.”

  Turtle looked at Angela and it appeared that he was debating if he should say anything in front of her. “You sure she’s cool?”

  “Yeah, she’s cool.”

  “She a cop?”

  “No, she’s not a cop.” I snapped my fingers to get Turtle’s attention, get him refocused. “Let’s focus on that conversation. Who’d you get that information from?”

  Turtle began shaking his head and suddenly he didn’t seem that confident anymore. “I don’t know, man. Jacob…this is some serious shit you’re asking me. I mean these dudes don’t play. I was serious when I asked for protection if I’m going to be giving up this kind of info.”

  I leaned forward in my seat and I was beginning to get unnerved.

  “Turtle,” I held back my frustration, just a little. “This isn’t the time to be thinking about yourself. These guys have killed people. Now I need to know who your source is.”

  “I know they killed people. Why the fuck you think I’m hesitant to tell you?”

  “They killed my wife,” I blurted out. Tears started to fall from my eyes. I wanted to scream out in frustration, but fought the urge. I had to keep my cool if I was ever going to find the judge.

  “Turtle, I’m asking for your help. Man to man. I need to know your source.”

  Turtle reached in his front pocket for a pack of cigarettes and quickly lit one. He took a long drag and then let the white smoke slowly drift from his mouth.

  “It’s this white dude I sell weed to. He’s a lawyer over at the courthouse.”

  “I knew you were selling,” I said. “When I get my life back, me and you gonna have some words.”

  Turtle rolled his eyes and took a puff from the cigarette.

  “A defense attorney?” Angela asked.

  “Yeah. Name’s Tim Johnson. One night, we was smokin up and he was high as a kite. I only had a couple of drags, so I was cool. He started telling me about some crazy shit this judge was into and that the judge saw to it that Tim would defend certain people in order to get them off. People that were connected to the judge.”

  Turtle took another long drag and then let the smoke drift out of his mouth.

  “I didn’t care at first. I thought he was just another crazy white boy talkin shit, you know. Tryin to impress the local drug dealer. Until he started talkin about this kid I knew, RoRo, who was killed. He didn’t know I knew RoRo, so he was just runnin his mouth about how Judge Peters had RoRo killed because he thought RoRo was becoming a liability.”

  “By RoRo, you mean Ronald Jackson?” I asked. “The nineteen-year-old who was shot and killed in South East earlier this year?” I remembered the name.

  Turtle took another drag, “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “But another teenager was busted for the murder. The gun that was used to kill Ronald was found in his bedroom. Ballistics matched the bullets to the gun.”

  “Yeah, that was Swift. Claims he didn’t do it. Said he was being set up. Guess he was right.” Turtle took another drag from the cigarette. “RoRo was a friend of mine. He was a good dude.”

  Turtle mashed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray.

  “After I found that shit out, I was like, damn, we got to get this dude. So that’s when I called you.”

  And that’s when my life turned to hell, I thought. I leaned back on the couch and let the softness of the cushion absorb my tension.

  “Does the name, Tim Johnson, mean anything to you?” I asked Angela.

  She shook her head. “No, my brother never mentioned him
. He wasn’t someone on my radar.”

  By radar, I understood that to mean hit list. So now we had to track down Tim Johnson, hoping that he knew where the judge had gone. Luckily, Turtle gave us some much-needed help.

  “Well, if you guys need Tim, you’re in luck. Tomorrow’s his pick-up day and he’s always on time. I love selling weed to white boys.”

  Bingo, I thought. Finally, one of them will be coming to us.

  One hundred two

  THE NEXT DAY’S WORKDAY couldn’t have come to an end any sooner. Tim Johnson’s court-appointed client was the last of the day’s docket. A sixteen-year-old kid who’d been caught shoplifting from the Macy’s on F Street. It was his first offense, so the city accepted his no-contest plea to the charge and he received sixty days of community service. Tim shook the kid’s hand as he left the courtroom and knew he’d see him back in a couple of weeks for getting caught doing something else. Most of these kids didn’t learn their lesson, unfortunately, and usually got caught doing something worse than they had done the first time. No doubt Tim would see the kid again.

  He loosened his tie as he left the courthouse on Indiana Avenue and walked across the street to the Judiciary Square Metro station. Today was one of those days he wanted to forget. He couldn’t wait until Judge Peters gave him the word to leave the public defender’s office. But until then, he patiently waited, defending nickel and dime scumbags who kept getting in trouble. Don’t these idiots learn their lesson? If they did, then he’d be out of a job.

  The train was crowded as usual around rush hour. He wanted to sit and close his eyes for the few stops that he’d be on the train, but no one looked interested in giving up their seat. He pulled his BlackBerry from his pocket and punched in a text to Turtle that he was on his way. After a day like today, a little of the good stuff would calm his nerves and help him relax. Hopefully, Turtle would throw in a little extra for free. Sometimes that’s a perk of being in his position; they give him what he wants and in return, he helps them out if necessary.

  Turtle texted back and said, “Cool.”

  He looked around the train and happened to catch a picture on one of the local papers that someone standing across from him was reading. The title of the article read, “D.C. Detective Not Dead After All” and included Detective Jacob Hayden’s profile picture from the police department. Tim didn’t need to read the article to guess what it read. The detective’s reemergence had been the hot topic of the city for the past day and a half. The local news stations, four, five, seven and nine covered the story as if he were the Prince of Wales making a sudden visit to the District. Most of the people in the public defender’s office knew Detective Hayden and couldn’t believe that he had killed his wife and then gone on a rampage and killed those drug dealers.

  Yeah, well, you’re all right, Tim thought. He hadn’t killed his wife or the Gomez brothers.

  Tim switched trains at the Gallery Place-Chinatown station and hopped on the green line for a couple of stops until he got to the Shaw-Howard University station. He walked about ten minutes until he got to Turtle’s house. Turtle must have seen him coming because he opened the door as Tim started up the front steps.

  “How’s it going, my lawyer friend?” Turtle asked.

  “Better, soon as I can get a hit.”

  “No doubt, no doubt. I got some good shit this time.”

  “You always got some good shit, Turtle. That’s why I keep coming back to you.”

  Turtle stepped back from the front door and Tim walked in. He saw that there were a man and woman inside, sitting on the couch. He nodded his head and thought they were customers just like him. He’d been there before when people were getting their weed before him. Usually they stayed for a few minutes and then left. But when the man stood up, Tim’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.

  “So you know who I am, Mr. Tim Johnson,” Jacob said. “I think we need to have a little talk.”

  One hundred three

  “TURTLE, WHAT THE HELL is going on?” Tim asked. His voice was full of nerves.

  “My man thinks you might have some information for him.”

  I walked close to Tim Johnson, who stood nearly five inches shorter than me. Usually, I’m not an imposing figure. My demeanor doesn’t give off that I’m a badass, but today was different. I needed information that Tim probably had.

  I looked Tim up and down and then gritted my teeth. I wanted Tim to be scared of me, which I believe I accomplished. He looked like he wanted to pee in his pants.

  “No one knows you’re here,” I said smoothly. “No one knows that Turtle’s your weed guy. I know because a man in your position who wants to work his way up the ladder wouldn’t let anyone know that he does drugs, especially with a black kid from the inner city. Do you get my point?”

  Tim nodded.

  “Now, I know you know my reputation. I’ve never had a complaint of police brutality filed against me and I’ve never been accused of being dirty. I’ve always been a good cop. You know that. You work in the public defender’s office and they know shit on a lot of cops, but not me. I mention all of this to say that I might be on the straight and narrow, but my female friend behind me is not.”

  Angela stood up with her silenced Glock 9 millimeter in her hand.

  “Oh shit, Jacob, what’s this shit?” Turtle quickly asked.

  I ignored Turtle but was glad for his reaction. That made the setting all the more uncomfortable for Tim Johnson.

  “So I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to be straight up with me. Is that fair?”

  Tim nodded again. His eyes looked past me to the butch-looking woman holding the gun. I turned around and saw Angela’s cold eyes throwing ice darts at Tim.

  I motioned with my arm for Tim to sit. I wanted to make the man nervous but also allow him to relax a little. I didn’t want Tim so uptight that he might forget important details. I’d used that method plenty of times during interrogations.

  “So, let’s start with the easy questions first. Now remember, some of the questions I already know the answers to, so don’t start lying. I’ll know when you’re lying,” I assured him. I paused for a few seconds to let that thought settle in Tim’s mind. “Do you work for Judge Frank Peters?”

  Tim didn’t immediately answer, and that’s when Angela took a step closer, letting Tim get a better look at the gun in her hand.

  “It’s a simple yes or no answer,” I said.

  Tim looked down, “Yes,” he said in nearly a whisper.

  “Good, you see, we’re making progress. The next question will be tougher, but I know you’ll do just fine. How does the business work?”

  Tim started shaking his head like he was getting ready to say he didn’t know, but I quickly stopped him, “Ah, ah, ah, remember, I don’t want to be lied to. My friend is pretty good with that gun, and she can make the bullet enter your body in ways that’ll make your death long and painful. Now, do you want to start over?”

  Tim shook his head. He took a breath before speaking. “I don’t know all of the details, but I do know that the money and weapons go to Mexico and parts of Africa. He partnered with drug cartels in South America and insurgents in the Sudan and other hostile African nations to supply them weapons.”

  “The cartels use the weapons to protect narcotic production from the Mexican government,” Angela said.

  “And the law firm?” I asked.

  “It’s a front. The judge launders the money from the weapons sales and makes it appear that the money’s coming from negligence claims and car accidents.”

  “How much of it is a front?”

  “About forty percent.”

  “How does he get the claims through insurance companies if they’re bogus?”

  “He has a dummy insurance company that’s incorporated in Delaware that pays out the false claims. That’s about all I know.”

  “And how do you fit into all of this? What do you do for the judge?”

  �
�If someone affiliated with the business gets arrested, I’m the court-appointed defense attorney that represents them. Usually, they’re misdemeanor or low-level offenses. Before Stephen was killed, I was going to leave the Public Defender’s Office and work for the firm.”

  I slapped Tim on the knee. “See there, Tim, you’re doing a great job.”

  Tim started sniffling and then he let out a faint weep.

  “Is he crying?” Angela asked. “What a wimp.”

  “Tim, Tim, there’s nothing to cry about,” I said. “You’re doing just fine. A few more questions and we’ll be done.”

  Tim raised his head and his eyes were bloodshot red. He looked like a schoolboy who’d been sent to the principal’s office and then found out that the principal had called his parents.

  “You don’t seem like the type of person who’s cut out for this kind of business. How’d you get involved?”

  “The judge did a few favors for me when I was in law school, and he told me that one day he might need favors from me. I didn’t know at the time that I’d be caught up in this.”

  “What’d he do for you?”

  “I was caught drinking and driving and had marijuana in my system. I could have lost my scholarship if the judge hadn’t stepped in. I was clerking for him at the time.” He started crying again. “I didn’t know I was giving my soul to the devil.”

  “And let me guess, he said if you tried to leave, he’d have you killed?”