Dirty Work, Part 2
Page 5
“We won’t get anywhere just sitting in this hotel; we need to be out there. You should take a cab to the precinct and see what you can find out,” The Kid said to Eshon.
Eshon looked skeptical. “Honest, I don’t wanna fuck wit’ the city.”
“I’ll go wit’ her,” Brandy said.
“That probably won’t be a good idea, Brandy. It would probably look less threatening and less suspicious if one person went,” said Kid.
They felt he was right.
Eshon sighed and nodded. “I’ll play her cousin, just in case she’s there and they let her know.”
“Look concerned and let them know that her whole family is worried about her because she was supposed to be at that club and she hasn’t returned home yet. Play the worried family member,” The Kid said. “We need to find her and keep track of her.”
Eshon nodded.
With so many bodies under the rubble, it could be days until an exact death toll was announced and the dead were identified. The NYPD and the feds had a lot on their hands. There was so much to do, and everyone was watching.
For a split second, Eshon and Brandy noticed how Kid was giving them good ideas, and how at certain moments he sounded like his brother. It was strange. He was the same, but they couldn’t help but think that there was something slightly different about him.
The Kid had to catch himself from giving out orders. It was supposed to be Devon’s job. But he couldn’t help himself; things were critical. He also noticed how Eshon and Brandy were looking at him. Maybe he had said too much.
7
The cab inched through the Holland tunnel. Going into the city from New Jersey was nothing but continuous brake lights and bumper-to-bumper traffic. There was a checkpoint at the exit, and Eshon sighed heavily and cursed.
The driver, a bushy-haired Caucasian foreigner, sighed too and glanced at Eshon through his rearview mirror. “The city is a mess today. There was some bombing last night at a nightclub. It’s all over the news. I tell you, these damn terrorists, they just need to strap them all to a nuclear missile and send them off into space and blow them up. Show these idiots what a real explosion looks like.”
Eshon wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. The faster she got things over with, the better. She rolled her eyes at him because the last thing she wanted was a talkative cab driver while they sat in heavy traffic. She had a lot on her mind. Eshon had no idea what would transpire. What if Jessica was already with Maserati Meek and telling him everything? The last thing Eshon wanted was to be in the crosshairs of a ruthless terrorist. And with Kip dead, their leadership was shaky. She’d believed in Kip, but Devon was a different story.
It took nearly two hours to arrive at the 1st Precinct on Ericsson Place. It was a madhouse outside the precinct; cops, including Emergency Service Units, were everywhere. Security had been beefed up. With the city on red alert, paranoia had set in, and downtown looked like almost like a warzone with the military-like police vehicles parked everywhere. Eshon paid the driver and climbed out of the cab into a sea of chaos. She was in the same red and white dress she had worn to the nightclub, but she looked disheveled—it had been a very long night. She wanted to look inconspicuous, but her outfit stood out to some extent.
She walked into the building where everyone was uptight, angry, rude, and scared. It was crowded—lots of arrests and people wanting answers on whether it was a bomb or gas leak. The media said it was a suicide bombing, but there were some people saying that it wasn’t. Everything was scrambled. The mayor would address the tragic situation this afternoon. He would stand in front of City Hall and try to appease the panic ensuing in his city. He would also state if it was a terrorist attack or not. His city needed answers.
Eshon walked toward the desk sergeant, and she wasn’t the only one. His area was swamped with folks. People were talking over each other, and question after question was thrown his way. Eshon made her way toward the sergeant with a question of her own.
“I’m lookin’ for my cousin. Is she here?” she shouted.
Numerous folks were searching for someone, and they were waiting for answers. Who was responsible for last night’s explosion? Would there be more deaths? What were the police doing about it? Were they safe?
“People look, not now!” the sergeant screamed.
“But I’m lookin’ for my cousin, she was—” Eshon didn’t get to finish.
The sergeant glared at her and shouted, “I can’t help you right now! You need to wait like everyone else! And I’m a sergeant, not an officer! You see the gotdamn stripes, lady?”
She frowned. She would have to wait patiently like the others. Cops made her nervous, but she remained unruffled. She found a long bench near a narrow hallway and planted her behind into a seat, next to other civilians at the precinct for similar reasons. She had one task to do, and she was determined to do it. Her life was on the line.
As Eshon sat and waited, looking at the comings and goings of cops and people in such a cramped area, she pulled out her cell phone to text Devon.
I’m here. Shit is crazy right now.
Looking around, Eshon knew it was going to be a long day for her. It was also an emotional one. She had no breakfast, she was alone, and the precinct reeked badly of every odor imaginable. An hour went by, then another hour, and she still sat there waiting. Eshon wasn’t about to see the third hour go by without any results.
It was getting ugly in the atrium of the 1st Precinct. An altercation broke out between the sergeant and an irritated citizen. A man was angry because they had arrested his brother, and he wanted to know why. The sergeant lashed out at the man, but this person wasn’t taking no for an answer. He didn’t want to be shooed like some pesky pigeon in a park.
“Where is my fuckin’ brother?” he had cursed.
“Sir, you need to calm down and have a seat,” the sergeant replied.
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Y’all muthafuckas arrested my brother for no fuckin’ reason! He ain’t do shit! We ain’t fuckin’ Muslim, muthafucka. We gonna sue this fuckin’ place! Racial discrimination, nigga!”
“I’m not gonna tell you again. Have a seat,” the sergeant warned.
“Fuck you!”
His harsh reply angered the sergeant and a few other cops in the area. They approached with caution, but with a fiery attitude. The NYPD was dealing with enough today, and they weren’t about to take any disrespect inside their building.
“Calm the fuck down or leave the building,” said another cop.
“Fuck you too, cracker-ass muthafucka!”
The cop was raring to go with his hand on his holstered weapon, legs spread. A reaction was his next action. He wasn’t alone; several other officers had surrounded the disgruntled man and ordered him, “Get on the ground now! Get on the ground!”
The man wasn’t complying at all. He was ready for a fight. When they tried to restrain him with force, he fought back. He punched two officers in the face with a wallop that echoed like thunder, and he wrestled with the others. They struggled with him. Although he was slim, he was strong and feisty. He screamed. Eshon minded her business on the sidelines as she watched eight cops crash against the man to bring him down and handcuff him.
It was an eventful morning.
After the melee, things started to get back to normal, if they could call anything about this morning normal.
Impatience bubbled inside Eshon; this wasn’t about to be her entire day, sitting inside a precinct and seeking a cop’s attention. She stood up and looked for a cop who would most likely talk to her. But she would have to change her story. She soon spotted a female officer entering the building. She was a black woman, about Eshon’s own height and not looking sleep-deprived like the other cops. She looked refreshed and charged up. Eshon approached her, and uttered, “Officer! Officer! Please, I need your help.”
 
; The woman turned and looked at her. Her nametag read Miles. Officer Miles. Eshon had gotten her attention; now she needed to keep it.
“I was there!” Eshon uttered fretfully.
“You were where?” replied the cop.
“My friend and I were at the club when we got separated. I left the club, and then the building blew up suddenly. I just need to know, is she on that list? Is she dead?”
“No list has been put together yet; it’s still too early. Did you try contacting the hospitals in the area?”
“I did, and she’s not in any one of them. She’s not home, and her family is really worried. I need to find her, officer.”
“You’ll find her.”
“Has she been arrested?” asked Eshon.
“Arrested? Why would you think she’s been arrested?”
“I just see that it’s a madhouse here and in the city. Lots of people are being arrested since the explosion last night. And I’m just worried about her. It’s my paranoia talking, that’s all,” Eshon proclaimed.
Eshon’s outburst piqued Officer Miles’ interest. She was trained to spot suspicious behavior, and there was something suspicious about Eshon.
“What is your friend’s name?” she asked.
“Jessica Hernandez,” Eshon answered.
Officer Miles said, “Wait here, I’ll go check.”
The officer pivoted and walked toward the front desk to access the nearest computer. Eshon stood there with butterflies swimming around in her stomach and watched her from a short distance. She thought about everything that could go wrong. Shit—why am I here in the first place? she screamed to herself. She felt too vulnerable. She feared being arrested herself. She wasn’t a law abiding citizen, but a criminal herself. What if she had warrants? What if they came for her?
Keep cool! Keep cool. Chill, she told herself repeatedly.
Officer Miles approached Eshon and told her, “I have good news and bad news.”
Eshon puffed out and said, “What is it?”
“We found your friend, and she’s here. She has been arrested.”
Eshon lied and replied, “I’m just happy to know that she’s alive.”
“Wait here and I’ll find the arresting officer.”
Ten minutes later, the arresting officer came walking Eshon’s way. He was a tall, well built white boy with short-cropped hair, blue eyes, and a clean shave. He was looking fine in his NYPD uniform. Eshon fixed her eyes on him, and he fixed his eyes on her.
“Officer Spielberg. You’re the one asking about Jessica?” he said.
She nodded.
“And you were at the club last night?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s talk then. Follow me,” he said.
Eshon felt a lot more nervous now. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, and the tone of his voice made it feel like there was something wrong. She followed the cop through the reception area, into the heart of the precinct and amid a sea of blue uniforms, phones ringing, and everyone busy with something. She followed him down a brick hallway and into a small, windowless room. He gestured for her to take a seat at the metal table. She did. He sat opposite of her.
“Your friend was arrested last night, early morning. She was running full speed away from an NYPD checkpoint, and when she was confronted, she put up a fight, kicking and punching a few officers in the scuffle. She’s being charged with assault and resisting arrest. She’s being processed now and will be transferred to Central Booking. But the way this day is going, no time soon,” the officer stated.
Eshon fought to remain expressionless.
He continued. “Your friend is also unruly and disruptive, and if she keeps it up, we’ll add more charges on her.”
Fuckin’ dumb bitch! Eshon thought. If Maserati Meek weren’t such a threat to them, Eshon would have left her trifling ass to rot in jail. But Jessica being locked up was a threat to them, and they had to find some way to get to her or bail her out.
Officer Spielberg had his attention transfixed on Eshon. He noticed something about her—something a little off. “Can I question you?”
Eshon didn’t want to be questioned, but she had to play nice. “Yes.”
“You were at the nightclub last night, right?”
She nodded.
“What is your name?”
“Stephanie Brown,” she lied.
“Date of birth.”
“January first, nineteen ninety-five.”
It was stupid to lie because she had no I.D. indicating that she was that person. And if he suddenly asked for proof of identification, then she was fucked! But surprisingly, he believed her, for now.
“What time did you leave the club?”
“I think an hour before the explosion. I’m not exactly sure.”
“Did you notice anyone suspicious inside?”
She shook her head no.
“Were there any bags left unattended, that you noticed somewhere?”
“I didn’t see anything. We were all having a good time.”
“When did you become concerned with your friend’s whereabouts?”
She had to play things out and keep her cool, even though she felt like a suspect all of a sudden. The way he was looking at her was disturbing. She had nothing for him, but she had to play along.
“Like I told the female officer, I left before her and was on my way home. We got separated. I got wind of the terrible incident. I called Jessica’s phone repeatedly, but no answer. I checked the hospitals, but they said she wasn’t there. I came here as a last resort.”
“And why did you decide to leave the club?”
“I was tired. I had a long day, and I recently lost my fiancé . . . he was murdered. So Jessica wanted to take me out to have a good time and make me forget about my worries.”
“My condolences,” he said.
She didn’t give a flying fuck about his condolences—like he cared about her fiancé and her well-being.
Officer Spielberg continued to ask more questions. He wanted to get to the bottom of the terrorist attack and arrest every culprit behind it. So far, this girl was their only lead.
A half-hour later, he was done with his questions. He received nothing useful, but because Eshon was so cooperative, he told her he would try to get Jessica to Central Booking earlier than originally planned and that he would let her know that her friend was worried about her.
“Please, don’t let her know that I was here,” she said.
With a raised eyebrow, he asked, “Why not?”
“I just wanted to know if she was safe. Honestly, we had an argument at the club . . . and we both said some nasty things to each other. Being truthful, I was tired, and it was getting late, and she was my ride. So I left without her. Then I hear about the explosion. I felt so guilty leaving her behind. And Jessica has an anger problem.”
“I agree,” he said.
“And I just want to get her to see that her anger is a problem.” Eshon tried to sell her story to the officer. So far, there was no reason to have any doubts about her. In his eyes, he simply saw a concerned friend.
He removed himself from the table and handed Eshon his card before exiting the room. She took it. She was free to go, not that she had been detained in the first place. Everything seemed to check out, and, besides, he had more serious matters to deal with than a lone club patron who was worried about a friend. He figured that she was lucky to be alive.
The moment Eshon stepped out of the precinct, she dialed Devon’s number. He answered, and she said, “She’s here, at the 1st precinct being booked on assault and resisting arrest charges. But they’re not sure exactly when they’ll transfer her to Central Booking.”
“A’ight, that’s what’s up. We on it,” Devon replied.
She hung up.
N
ow it was their turn to do something—and do it fast. Jessica needed to be dealt with before Maserati Meek dealt with them.
8
Fuck the NYPD, fo’ real, homes! Y’all ain’t nuthin’ but some racist-ass muthafuckas. Fuckin’ stupid pigs! Oink, oink assholes! This is bullshit, homes! Y’all got me locked up when there’s fuckin’ terrorists out there blowing shit up! Fuck y’all!” Jessica shouted.
She marched around the bullpen angrily looking like she was hopped up on drugs. She was the best dressed in the bullpen with her black and gold dress and red bottoms. Her adrenaline was on twenty and climbing. She wouldn’t shut up and the cops couldn’t make her, although they were tired of her reckless mouth and insults.
She gripped the rusted bars and glared at the cop reclined in a nearby chair, reading today’s newspaper. “Officer, where’s my fuckin’ phone call? Don’t I get a phone call, homes? Y’all gonna deny me my rights, too, pendejo?”
He ignored her. She was definitely hood, and her slang was becoming irritating. Jessica frowned and continued to march around the bullpen that was occupied with several other ladies waiting for their day in court and their one phone call. Things had been so hectic since the nightclub bombing, that everything was out of whack.
Jessica finally took a seat on the cold, hard bench in the middle of the bullpen and sighed heavily. She was itching to be released. She felt that they couldn’t hold her for long. She would have to see a judge soon—within forty-eight hours. However, she was desperate to make her phone call. She’d just escaped being murdered, and Kid and his goons were still out there, plotting against her, and perhaps going after Maserati Meek, her sugar daddy. Also, the bombing had her in awe. She had never been that close to an explosion. Though she was held captive inside the van almost a block away when the blast happened, Jessica literally felt the ground shake underneath her. It felt like the van was going to tip over. The blast made everything tremble like a giant was stomping up and down the block.
What if she hadn’t made it out in time? Would Maserati Meek still have detonated the device? He did love her, and he did care for her safety and well-being, right? The twist of killing people with bombs instead of guns was a whole new world for Jessica, and she was officially linked to a deadly terrorist. She was smart enough not to speak his name or say anything about last night. She was in enough trouble as is. While jailed, she had lost track of the time and the world felt still. She didn’t know about anything on the outside and was nervous about what could be lurking once she was freed. She had underestimated Kid. He was much smarter than she predicted.