by David Skato
“What is it? “Sandy asked.
“Nothing.”
Dontae takes the phone and puts it neatly back on the nightstand. He turns and looks Sandy in the eye, appearing to head towards a serious conversation. “Now, where are those stilettos?”
She Laughs as he jumps on top of her.
Ω
The morning was fresh with sunshine, which was far different from the previous one. The sun beamed through Dontae’s window as he lay on the bed a bit groggy from a good night’s sleep. Sandy was gone, but as usual, she left breakfast on the stove. Dontae’, now thoroughly showered and dressed, flipped on the TV while stuffing the last bit of toast in his mouth. He thought he’d catch the news and catch more of the fallout from Rochelle’s untimely death. To his surprise, there was nothing. He waited a while as he flipped through a few of the news stations, but nothing. Although this was strange, his thoughts were either it had passed very quickly, or her publicist managed to deflect long enough to get their story straight. Either way, it was on his lap now. He had to find out what really happened that night, who she was running from, and why. If it was a suicide, she deemed whoever was on the other side of that door worse than death. Dontae’ had a tough time imagining that. There were not too many things in his world worse than death.
Maybe one.
Some cops get into the field because they were bullied in school or a “following in the family footsteps” kind of thing. Not Dontae’. He was the complete opposite. He was the bully, and most of his family were on the wrong side of the law. Growing up, he had a favorite cousin. Squirt, they called him. He thought it was maybe because he was small in stature but didn’t really know. The two were thick as thieves, and on occasion, they were just thieves. Squirt taught him how to grow up on the streets and kept him out of trouble for the most part. Not because they didn’t look for it, but because Squirt was so good at getting out of it. Except for that time, he wasn’t. Squirt was now doing life for a murder during a botched house burglary.
The man he shot, Mr. Peterson, decided that he wasn’t going out of town with his wife as he planned. It turns out that Mr. Peterson had a friend on the side that just happened to visit this one faithful night. Dontae’ and Squirt hid in the closet after being surprised by the unexpected Mr. Peterson and his mistress. By sheer bad luck, it was the closet that Mr. Peterson hid his condoms. The door opened, there was a BANG, and Mr. Peterson hit the floor holding his chest. Dontae’ will never know if Squirt meant to do it or was just nervous and made a terrible mistake. He would never ask. At the lineup, the mistress pointed squirt out without a doubt. Apparently, he looked her dead in the eyes, and she saw something that was cold and unhuman. Well, that was what she said at trial. But the strangest thing happened. She didn’t remember Dontae’; At all. She only recalled one assailant. Squirt went with that story and took the charge all by himself. There was one thing worse than death, life in prison. Dontae’ never forgot this, and after the life-changing event, he became the man he is. A detective with street smarts. All thanks to Squirt.
The smell of musk was in the air as Dontae walked into the Zone 5 Atlanta Police department and heads to his desk. He had felt uneasy at this place since his transfer roughly three years prior. There was something off that he couldn’t pinpoint. It could have been that a few of his coworkers didn’t like him because he ruined their chances of being promoted to detective. This wasn’t his fault; the chief decided to hire from outside rather than promote from within.
Nevertheless, the stares were there, ugly and vicious at times. This didn’t bother Dontae’ at all. He “wished a motherfucker would...”
He passed Jessi sitting at her “rat hole” of a desk across from his own. In the first few weeks as partners, he didn’t find it funny that her space was always a mess. Oh, how he hated her. The snarky remarks, the bad-ass-er-ry attitude, the sexy ass with that beautiful smile. He hated it all. As time progressed, he saw her for the wonderful person she is. He started to love how she was outspoken, direct, and didn’t hide behind the badge when it was time to get dirty in the field. She could definitely back up any shit that she talked. These six months were fast, and they were now friends. He still hated her desk.
He riffles through his files but seems to be missing one. “Yo Jess, you got that Rochelle file?”
“No. I thought you had it,” she said as she looked up at him confusingly.
“I did. It’s gone. Have you seen anyone at my desk?”
“No.”
Dontae picked up his desk phone, quickly dialing. “Hi Hollie, I’m missing the file from that suicide yesterday. It seemed that some- “He pauses for a second, listening. You got to be kidding!” He slams the phone down so hard it causes Jessi to jump.
“What’s up?” she asked. Dontae’, ignoring the question, jumped up and headed for the chief’s office. Jessi hurried behind him.
The chief’s office was in the corner of the bullpen. Easy to locate by the big emblem on the glass window. Dontae didn’t even bother knocking; he pushed the door open and voiced his displeasure. “Why did you give Marcartney and Farreti my case!? “Dontae’ demanded.
The large black man sitting behind the desk in an office filled with sports memorabilia, mainly baseball, peered over his glasses directly at Dontae’. His coffee-stained teeth crept from under his dark black lips as he made a face so angry you would have thought murder was the next move.
“Don’t come in here like you in charge son! Who the fuck do you think you are?” Chief Wilcox wasn’t intimidated by Dontae’ outburst, but he sure was angry.
“Me and Jessi, I mean Mason, were the detectives on the scene. That’s our case!”
“And now the case is closed. You’re homicide! Your asses weren’t supposed to be there anyway. Marcarney and Faretti handled it. It was a publicity stunt. Case closed!”
“Wait? What?” Dontae asked, baffled at what was coming out of the chief’s mouth.
“The crazy bitch pretended to commit suicide to get attention for her new album. Next thing you know, one of these silly ass-holes will be fucking a koala to get on the view.”
“What the hell are you talking about? No, no, no, we were there,” Dontae’ insisted.
“Yea and we saw the body. I'm sure she was dead chief,” Jessi added.
“Yeah, and what makes you an expert?” Wilcox raises one eyebrow. Jessi nonchalantly steps back.
Dontae’ steps in and defends Jessi. “My 20 years makes me an expert, and I assure you she was dead.”
“All prosthetics and make up. There was no body. No real one at least. I got the D.A. working up charges to sue her ass right now.”
“That can’t be right,” Dontae’ said to himself. Was he crazy? Did he really mistake a dummy for a real body? There’s no way. Right?
“It’s an open and shut case Wade. Leave it alone! Now get out of my office. I already got too much shit to do.” The Chief waved his hand dismissively. Dontae wanted to stay and argue, but knowing it was a moot point, the two walked out.
“There’s no way this was faked. I know a dead body when I see one,” Dontae’ said as he rubbed his hand over his face. “We need to find the so-called prosthetics.”
Peggy Freeman, an older black woman, was parked at the front counter of the evidence room. A position she had held for the last twenty-four years. With less than one year left until her retirement, she was out of fucks to give when it came to needy cops demanding anything from her.
“Peggy, my main girl, I need to see the evidence that was logged in from the Rochelle case yesterday.” He gave her his brightest smile, one she did not return. Instead, she types the case name into her computer. She turns and heads to the back of the evidence room without a word, returning with a small box.
“Here you go. Sign this,” She demanded with her voice raspy due to years of heavy smoking as she tossed Dontae’ a sign-in sheet. While signing his name, he notices that there are no other names listed on the sheet. He slides P
eggy the sheet, and she hands him the box. Removing the lid, he’s shocked at what he sees. The box is filled with pictures of a mannequin. Turning to Peggy, Dontae’ asks, “Where’s the rest of it?”
“All I have is what’s in the box,” Peggy countered.
“No, there should be a note, an ID, and bagged black soot,” Dontae’ insisted
“I said I only have what in the damn box. I just store it; you sign in, you sign out. If it’s not in there, it wasn’t signed in,” Peggy growled.
“Woah. So, the officer didn’t sign it in. You think he sold it or something?” Jessi asked Dontae’.
“I don’t think so. Look at these pictures. This is not the same scene.” He hands Jessi the box. She goes through the pictures.
“Hell no. Look at this shit! That’s a dummy. What I saw crashed into that car was not this,” Jessie shouted.
Dontae’ turns and looks at Peggy. “What's the name of the officer that checked this in?”
With a heavy sigh, she types on her computer. “Harnando Vasquez.”
“Thanks.”
With their questioned answered, Dontae’ and Jessi head outside to her car.
“So, we are going to work the case anyway right?” Jessi asked.
“We’re going to find out what the hell is going on.” Dontae’ replied.
“Well, I haven’t found the language yet or anything that looks close. I did manage to find Adonis Sterling in the criminal database. Nothing major. A misdemeanor for weed possession, but I did get an address. It’s back on my desk.”
“Ok great. Text it to me and I’ll head that way. I need you to stay here and keep your eyes and ears open. Hide the discs for now then take them home. Scan them for anything that looks funny and take notes.”
“Okay, I’ll play it cool. I’ll look for Mr. Vasquez and try to find that dummy that’s in the pictures. The thing is, what happened to the real body? When Rochelle starts missing tour dates, what then?”
“One thing at a time. Keep me posted on what you find, and I'll do the same.” Dontae’ suggests. Jessi turned to go back, but Dontae’ stopped her mid-step.
“Jessi, be careful. Don’t share any info with anyone until we can find proof that what we saw was real. I don't know what this is about, but it's not good.”
“You know I'm a pro.” She jokes. “For real, I got this. Handle your business and call me when you’re done.” Jessi assured him.
“Okay, be careful.” Dontae’ slides into his car as Jessi turns and heads back into the building.
CHAPTER V
Dontae walks up the stairs to Adonis’ apartment to find the front door wide open. He pulls his gun and slowly walks in, looking around. Suddenly a woman speaks. “Hey! What are you doing in there?” The woman asks, scaring Dontae’.
“I’m looking for Mr. Sterling. His door was open.” Holstering his gun, he shows her his badge. The woman pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The older woman looked as she could be someone’s “hood” grandmother. You know, the woman who had children so early in life that her grandkids called her moma and called the actual mom by her first name. Doris Ashford had lived in the brownstone for the last forty or so years. It was hard to remember because she had been there so long, seeing the neighborhood go from crack ridden streets, in which she played a part, to gentrification, causing the value of her once cheap residence to add vastly to her net worth.
“Try the city morgue. He was killed last night. Got hit by a car.” She said as she lit a smoke.
Confusion struck Dontae’s face.
“Right outside. Just ran in the street.” The woman said as she took a pull of a freshly lit cigarette.
“Did you know him well,” Dontae’ asked
“Not really. Techy guy. Helped with my computer a few times. Nice kid though. A damn shame. You guys move a little slow.”
“What?” Donate’ inquired.
“I called last night after it happened,” Doris replied.
“Called who?”
“The police. Someone was in his apartment after he was killed. I thought that was why you were here,” Doris explained, now looking just as confused as Dontae’.
“Okay. Yea. I came as soon as I could.”
“No wonder people are dead when ya’ll arrive.” The old woman laughed-coughed violently.
“Did you get a look at the people that broke in?” Dontae’ asked, ignoring her comment.
“Now baby?” In a hinting question as if Donte’s should have known this already.
“I’m Doris, of course I did. Come on in.”
Dontae walks with the woman into her small apartment. The place was very “grandma”-y with little what-nots laid about the shelves as if it was a collection. But of what? The small items ranged randomly from people to turtles and everything in-between. There was even a little figurine of a mermaid. Dontae’ could also see what appeared to be a Christmas tree hiding behind stacks of, well, stuff. Doris goes to a small table centered in the living area and picks up a cell phone. She starts to finger through.
“I can’t see a damn thing,” She snarks. “Let me get my glasses.” She walks over to a small desk and pulls the drawer, reaching in and pulling out reading glasses. She places them on the tip of her nose. She goes over and takes a seat beside Dontae. She continues swiping.
The elderly lady has a slight grin on her face. It’s clear she enjoys being nosey a little too much. She looks over the tip of her glasses.
“You want something to eat baby?” she mutters in her nice grandma’s voice.
“No thanks,” Dontae’ replies.
“Can you describe-”
She abruptly cuts him off.
“-Hold on now,” she flips for a few more seconds.
“I’m going to do you one better,” she hands him the phone.
Dontae takes the phone, and to his surprise, there’s an image of two men clearly visible going into Adonis’ apartment. The photos appear to be taken from Doris’s barely cracked door. Dontae didn’t know if he should be mortified or amazed at the will or the pure nosey-ness of this strange yet amusing old lady.
“Do you mind if I text these to myself?” He asks.
“Sure, but don’t erase them!” she insists.
“Ok no problem. Also, you will now have my number in case you think of anything else.” Dontae’ stands and heads towards the door. “I think whoever these guys were, found what they were looking for and probably won’t return. But if they do, please stay out of sight. These people are very dangerous,” He suggests.
“Oh I will. And I will call you instead of the regular police.” She laughs.
“Thank you.” Dontae walks out. Doris leans her back on the door.
“I wonder if I can post this on Quest?” She thinks for a second. “Nah”
Dontae walks downstairs and on to the street just as a large cement mixer truck rumbles past. He takes out his phone and zooms in on the image of the two guys. He notices a small tattoo on one of the guy’s neck, but it’s so tiny that it’s not usable.
ZOOOOOMMM! Dontae’ is startled by the same truck zooming by again. This time faster and a little closer to his car than he would like. Getting into his car, he starts the engine and takes off. As he drives, he starts checking out each block. He doesn’t come downtown much. Even when he does, it was like he couldn’t remember the trip very well. He thought about how Sandy always likes to look up at the tall buildings as if she was a child visiting the city for the first time. He reaches for his phone. In a brief moment, he thinks to himself. “This is why.” He then laughs.
He taps the phone to dial Jessi.
“Hello bud.” She answers in an 80’s sitcom voice.
“Really?”
“What’s up?” she asks, laughing.
“Get this, Sterling is dead,” he explains. “Got hit by a car last night.”
“Damn!”
“It’s more than a coincidence. I think he was murdered, and I think it’s related to t
he ID being in Rochelle’s possession.”
“Taking out the witnesses,” Jessi mutters.
“Anything on the evidence guy?” he asks.
“Oh yea” she responds. “Mr. Harnando Vasquez badge number 2433. It appears that this fool didn’t remember getting a note. He was acting real funny when I asked about it.”
“You sure it was the same guy?”
“Yep. I’m a hundred percent sure.” Jessi responds confidently. “Even though he insists that it was someone else. That’s the same motherfucker. I would recognize those goddamn blackheads all over his nose from mars. He either kept it or passed it off before he got to the station. And get this, the doll, the so-called publicity stunt, got cremated. Yep, I said cremated. A doll. Who the fuck cremates a doll?”
“Okay, find out what you can about the Sterling accident. I’m coming to talk with Mr. Vasquez.”
“No prob. I’ll be here.” Jessie assures.
As Dontae’ hangs up the phone, the roar of a truck’s engine vibrates through his ears just as his car is struck from behind, sending his body whiplashing forward against the steering wheel. Looking into his rearview mirror, he notices the same cement truck he’d seen earlier.
Before he could register what had just happened, the truck bumps him again, causing the car to swerve and Dontae’ to fight to keep control. Not taking another moment to be confused, he slammed his foot against the gas, his charger shot forward, giving a little space between it and the truck.
No matter how fast he tried to go, the truck stayed behind him. As Dontae’ speeds through traffic, the truck manages to clip his back bumper from the side, sending the car into a tailspin, causing Dontae’ to lose control, coming to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Onlookers immediately take out their phones and start to film the scene. Dontae’ raises his head, looking around for the truck, but it is nowhere to be found. He touches his head just below the hairline and pulls his hand back to notice a few drops of blood on his fingers. He opens the door and steps out of the car. Dizzy, he leans on the car. At the far end of the street, he could hear the loud roar of an engine. He turns his head to notice the truck barreling towards him at full speed. He takes his gun from the holster and fires at the driver’s side window, making five bullet holes in the windshield. The truck didn’t miss a beat and kept rushing towards him. In the last second, he dives out of the way, landing on the curve smashing his ribs on a traffic light pole, and landing on his head, knocking him out cold. The truck hits his car with an impact so hard that the car flips three times, landing inside a small café on the corner. The truck, not being phased by the impact at all, kept barreling up the street and out of view. People were now in shock at what had just happened. A pedestrian who was doing homework at the café was now pinned under Dontae’s car. A few bystanders got together and helped lift the car off the woman. A young man stood about two feet from Dontae’ filming him on Quest live, not even attempting to help.