Friend or Foe

by Imani Black

  Brice hadn’t brought himself to have the talk with Ciara yet. In fact, he’d been avoiding her, dreading the tension that had developed after she said she was moving to Vietnam. Brice’s mother had been calling him non-stop about it. Maybe his worry was part of what had brought the nightmare back again.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to go back to sleep. Who was he fooling? Brice knew he wasn’t going back to sleep. He untangled himself from his bedsheets and sat up. He scrubbed his hands over his face again and picked up his phone, noticing a missed call from Cheyenne Turner’s number.

  “How did I miss this?” he grumbled, his own morning breath assailing his nostrils. He looked at the time again. There was no way he could return her call now. He’d have to wait for a decent hour.

  The last time he’d spoke to Cheyenne, she said she was going to track down her brother and make him come in to speak with Brice. It hadn’t happened. Everyone in the family needed to be questioned. Brice had made that clear the first time he’d spoken to them.

  Brice was still a bit unsettled after speaking to Kelsi Jones. She’d painted the picture that there was definite trouble in paradise between Desiree and Kevin Turner. Kelsi had also told Brice that Lil Kev was in trouble with some dangerous people in the streets who might’ve exacted revenge on his mother while trying to send him a message.

  Brice didn’t know what to believe. So far, he had a dead mother and wife who lived her life right, a husband fresh out of prison, crazy with jealousy and accusing her of cheating with an unknown man who drove a BMW, a son in the drug game with enemies piling up, and a daughter who was too distraught to know anything except that her mother didn’t deserve to be murdered.

  Brice realized he hadn’t had a chance to verify with Cheyenne anything that other family members had told him or do any more street reconnaissance. But not being able to sleep was a sure way to get some work done on the case.

  Brice walked over to his desk and grabbed the case file folder. He flopped into his computer chair, clicked on the desk light, and read over the notes he’d taken during Kelsi’s interview. Brice replayed some of the things she’d said and compared it to some of the things Cheyenne had told him. They’d both made statements that had raised the hairs on Brice’s neck.

  “Things with my parents changed after my father choked Lil Kev one day. With my brother gone from the house, probably for good, my mother and father argued incessantly. Kelsi and I had no choice but to listen,” Cheyenne had said to Brice.

  “I think you need to look into someone at her job that drove a BMW,” Kelsi had told Brice. “I heard them. They argued about it a couple of weeks ago,” Kelsi had continued. “Big K and Ms. Desi, they argued about it. About her getting rides in a BMW. It was loud and angry, but it was clear what the issue was—and that was it.”

  Now, Brice tapped his pen against the paper. Cheyenne had said that her father was different after he came home, but she hadn’t gone into much detail. She’d also mentioned a few times that things with her brother had been very tense in the house.

  Brice needed to know more about the Lil Kev angle of all of this. What if someone in the streets did shoot Desiree Turner down as a message to her son? Or what if he shot his own mother?

  * * *

  When Brice arrived at the Lafayette Gardens projects to check for Lil Kev, he already knew from speaking to Pop what to expect. This was Scorpio’s stronghold, and he had the youngins out on the streets for him. Brice expected dirty looks and even some flex when he pulled up. Those young street hustlers didn’t take kindly to strangers pulling up on them, especially in a darkly tinted SUV. Brice knew that could get him shot. Still, he felt for his weapon, blew out a breath, and got out of his truck.

  Brice felt the heat of many eyes on him as he entered one of the buildings. He always had to steel himself when he went into the projects. For one, it took him back to a place in his childhood that he hated to think about. Second, Brice thought the inside of the buildings were worse than he’d ever remembered when he lived in the projects. It seemed like with each passing generation, the tenants cared less and less about the living conditions, and the city cared even less than the residents about keeping the buildings in livable condition.

  Brice pushed through the bullet-hole-riddled front doors and stepped into the lobby. Several young dudes hanging around eyed him evilly. Brice was used to their type. He’d been working and living the streets of Brooklyn long enough to have seen all the wannabe gangsters he could take.

  Brice nodded at the fake tough guys but didn’t smile. His stoic face was the signal for I’m cool, but I’ll fuck you up if you try something. Brice pressed for the elevator and looked around. Times had changed, and not for the better. The walls of the lobby were spray-painted with profanities, and all the mailboxes were missing their covers. Someone had taken a piss in the far left corner of the lobby. Brice shook his head in disgust. Even the working-class people that lived there had to suffer at the hands of the few that didn’t care about their surroundings.

  Brice had found out from Kelsi that her ex-boyfriend, Scorpio, kept an apartment in the building on the eighth floor for his crew of workers, one of whom was Kevin Turner, Jr. Kelsi had told Brice that more than likely he’d find Lil Kev at the apartment since he was on the hook to Scorpio.

  Brice touched his gun to make sure it was there and was in the right proximity for a quick pull-out if he needed it. He took a deep breath and prepared for the unknown. He was wading in uncharted waters, which wasn’t something that often ended up happening on his cases.

  Arriving on the eighth floor, Brice used the door knocker for apartment 8G. He was out alone, no backup, no one alerted about his location. Risky, to say the least. Brice wasn’t really on a police visit, per se, so he knocked like a regular person and not with authority like the police.

  “Who the fuck is that?” a male voice boomed from the other side.

  “Simp,” Brice responded as if the person on the other side of the door knew him already.

  “Who? Who the fuck—”

  Brice heard bolts and locks clicking open. When the young guy pulled back the door, Brice came face to face with the long barrel of a big, silver handgun.

  “Who the fuck is you? What the fuck you want?” he snarled.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Brice said, putting his hands up and noticing how hard his heart was ramming into his chest wall. Brice’s eyes instinctively darted around, and his police brain started thinking about takedown methods and how fast he could get his gun before the guy would even be able to get a shot off.

  “I said, who the fuck is you? And what the fuck you want? Hurry up, nigga, before you eat this lead,” the young dude barked, his face scrunched tight.

  “Put the gun down. I’m looking for Lil Kev,” Brice said, keeping his voice level. “I don’t care about nothing else y’all got going on in here.”

  “That nigga ain’t here,” the dude replied, lowering his gun slightly. “And who the fuck you think you are coming here like you five-o? I’m looking for Lil Kev,” the young dude mocked.

  “Look, my dude,” Brice started.

  “I ain’t none of your fucking dude, nigga. Now, get the fuck from around here before I spill your brains out in this hallway,” the young guy threatened.

  “I’m a friend of his family. His mother just got killed, and I need to see him,” Brice pressed on, unfazed by the fake tough guy in front of him.

  They stared at each other for a few seconds. Brice looked over the guy’s shoulder into the apartment. He saw a few underage girls drinking and partying, some weed on the table, a scale, and a few stacks of money. Brice shook his head, suddenly understanding why the kid might’ve been so on edge.

  “Look, I’m here for Lil Kev, and Lil Kev alone. I don’t give a fuck what y’all got going on inside there. I need to speak to him, and I’m not leaving until I do. Now, if you don’t want all types of heat swarming this motherfucker in a minute, call Lil Kev or let me inside,” Brice
said, his tone stern and authoritative. He wasn’t backing down. He was hoping he didn’t have to pull out on this dude. Brice’s new way of handling things was much different than the old Brice. Still, he started counting in his head—ten, nine, eight, seven . . .

  “Look, I’ll see what the fuck I can do. I ain’t making no promises,” the young dude said and then turned around.

  Mistake number one: turning your back on somebody you don’t know. Dumb ass, Brice thought. If he was a robber, the young dude would’ve just gotten got.

  “Yo, bitch, go call Lil Kev. Tell him he got a visitor and this pain-in-the-ass nigga ain’t leaving,” the dude called to one of the young girls inside.

  Brice bit into his jaw. He immediately thought about his sister and what he would do to a young punk if he talked to Ciara that way.

  The guy walked into the apartment and prepared to slam the door on Brice.

  Brice stuck his foot in the way. “I’ma wait right here for Lil Kev,” Brice said firmly. He and the young dude locked eyes and held the stare until the dude finally relented. “Don’t be a tough guy. I already told you, I don’t want nothing you got going on,” Brice warned.

  Brice heard some hard talking coming from inside the apartment, and the girl who’d been sent to get Lil Kev came running back to the front.

  “That nigga is angry for no reason,” she huffed, holding her head. “Nigga just going to slap me for no reason. I didn’t want his ass no way,” she complained.

  “I fucking told y’all no fucking visitors. Don’t call me out here for shit. Fuck don’t y’all understand?” Lil Kev barked as he made his way toward the door. When he came upon Brice, he paused.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Lil Kev asked, screwing up his face at Brice.

  “Why don’t you step outside and let me holla at you?” Brice replied, tilting his head knowingly. “This is about your mother.”

  Lil Kev sucked his teeth, but Brice saw something change in his eyes.

  “My mother is dead, so ain’t nothing you can tell me,” Lil Kev snapped, but he still followed Brice into the hallway.

  Brice looked him up and down for a second. He could tell Lil Kev wanted to be harder than he really was.

  “I’m Detective Simpson, Kevin,” Brice said, extending his hand.

  Lil Kev ignored the gesture and sighed loudly. “I knew your ass was five-o. I told the cops before I don’t know shit. You think if I knew who did that shit to my moms, I’d be still walking the streets? Nah, I would be locked up for killing a nigga,” Lil Kev spat.

  “I’m hearing you had a big blowup with your parents right before your mother’s murder,” Brice said, taking in another eyeful of the victim’s son.

  “You heard wrong, nigga,” Lil Kev shot back. “I ain’t even been around since my mother’s husband been back. I don’t fuck with that nigga. Period.”

  “I get that, but people are saying you made some enemies that might’ve wanted to get back at you, so they might’ve harmed your mother,” Brice replied.

  “Nah. The thing is, we don’t extend to parents and children like that. A nigga got beef with me, he just going to take me down. Not my moms,” Lil Kev said, boldly looking Brice right in the eye.

  Brice felt more sincerity from Lil Kev than he had from any of the other family members except Kelsi. But he still wasn’t going to rule him out. He made a mental note to himself to put a car on Lil Kev.

  “I know how it is in the street, but not everybody plays by the rules,” Brice reminded Lil Kev. Brice looked him up and down again, and something caught his eye.

  “How’d you get that blood on your boot?” Brice asked, staring down at Lil Kev’s Timberland boots.

  “I had a nosebleed, nigga. What you trying to say? I would harm my own moms?” Lil Kev shot back. “A’ight, I’m done talking to you. You full of shit,” Lil Kev said, starting for the apartment door.

  Brice grabbed Lil Kev’s arm and gripped it painfully tight. “I promised your sister I would find out who killed your mother, and that’s what I intend to do. You can play hardball all you want, but if you know what happened or who did this to her and you don’t say shit, you’ll have to live with that the rest of your miserable fucking life. I grew up with dudes just like you—young, dumb, thought they were tough and badass, and you know where those niggas are? Huh? Pushing up fucking daisies or sitting behind bars, old and fucked up with nothing.

  “Think about what I’m saying to you. Your mother would’ve died in vain if you don’t stop acting tough and get your life together. You and your sister need to stick together more than ever now,” Brice said through clenched teeth.

  Lil Kev yanked his arm away and turned his back on Brice, but before he went into the apartment, and without turning back around, he said, “If you want to check out anybody, you need to look into her husband. He ain’t none of my pops, but I don’t trust that nigga. He been in the streets looking for a come-up. Tink about how much of a come-up he would get if my mother left him anything. Now, go investigate that shit,” Lil Kev said. With that, he pushed into the apartment door so hard it banged open. He wasted no time slamming the door in Brice’s face.

  Brice rushed out of the elevator and back to his truck. He fumbled with his cell phone because his hands shook so badly.

  “Michelle,” Brice huffed when the medical examiner picked up the line.

  “Detective Simpson, I left you a message days ago,” she said, sounding annoyed.

  “Sorry for the wait. Life and work collide sometimes,” Brice responded.

  “Well, we got back all the information. Like we suspected, your victim was in near perfect health. Death was caused by a bullet that pierced the heart. Lucille and the forensics folks have other news on the footprint,” Michelle relayed, pausing.

  “Yeah, and?” Brice asked, curling his toes up in his sneakers.

  “Looks like it was about a size 9 men’s Timberland boot,” Michelle said in her official voice. “I have the pictures of the imprint and the scientific reports. As you know, that brand, although the bottoms look the same, they’re not. There are unique characteristics to each boot’s bottom pattern. So, now it’s up to you to find the missing boot, because that’s where you’ll find your killer.”

  “Damn,” Brice mumbled. His mind raced in a thousand directions. He’d just witnessed Lil Kev wearing Timberland boots and saw blood splatter on them. Brice knew getting his hands on the boots now would be impossible without some help.

  Brice drove back to the squad like a madman. He needed to draft a search warrant for the apartment where Lil Kev was holed up. He needed to get his hands on those boots.

  Brice’s heart pumped so fast he could hardly contain his breathing. He rushed to his desk, dialed a number, and started whispering into the mouthpiece. He needed to call in a fast favor. Search warrants were a process, and they took time, something Brice felt like he didn’t have at this point.

  Brice sat at his desk, going over more things from the case. He’d reviewed the things found on Desiree Turner when she was murdered. He’d linked the BMW to a doctor at the hospital.

  Brice felt a flash of heat in his chest when he researched Dr. Drew MacIntosh, a married surgeon with three children. Brice had spoken to a few staff members at the hospital, and they’d all admitted to suspecting that Dr. MacIntosh and Desiree had something going on. Brice marked his name as a potential person of interest, but he hadn’t gotten to him yet.

  As Brice jotted notes at his desk, he looked up to find another detective watching him. Not again, Brice said to himself. The last detective that had been overly concerned with his case and his work ended up being a co-conspirator on the huge sex trafficking ring that had captured Brice’s sister.

  Brice was about to question the other detective when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

  “Hello?” Brice answered. “Wait, calm down! Ma, wait.... What ? I’m coming,” Brice huffed, scrambling up from his desk. Between work and home, Brice felt like his h
ead would explode.

  Chapter 10

  Brice

  Brice was exhausted by the time he finished breaking up the fight between his mother and his sister. Things had gone far, and Brice had decided that Ciara needed to get out of his mother’s house. Things had escalated, but Brice kept his cool when she ran off. He had no choice. She was an adult now. Brice stayed until his mother’s valium set in and she fell off to sleep. He didn’t know anymore how he was going to navigate being caught between his mother and his sister. It was getting to be a bit much.

  Brice drove his truck to his house and pulled in front. The sky was dark, and he could barely see the front of his house.

  “What the fuck happened to the light?” Brice grumbled as he moved the cone that he used to save his parking spot.

  He climbed back into the SUV to park it in the spot. As Brice put the truck into park, he noticed a shadowy figure running away from his front door. Fear caused adrenaline to pump through his veins, despite all the training he’d received. He reached under his jacket for his weapon.

  Brice frantically swung the SUV door open and exited, sliding on a slick spot of oil on the street. “Fuck,” he huffed.

  Getting his balance, Brice rushed toward his house, gun in hand, but it was too late. The dark figure disappeared down the street.

  With his chest heaving in and out, Brice swallowed hard and slowly approached his gaping front door with caution.

  What the fuck?

  The only sound Brice could hear was his own heavy breathing. Moving methodically, Brice dipped his head in and out of the doorway as if he were bobbing for apples. He didn’t see anyone inside.

  With his gun out in front of him, he slowly moved inside. With his back against a wall, he dipped in one more time. He didn’t see anyone. Brice cleared himself to enter, all the while maintaining a two-handed grip on his weapon.

  Once he felt the immediate area was clear, he stuck his hand inside and clicked on the light in the foyer. Inching around inside the house, making sure to keep his back against the walls, Brice searched his entire house. Nothing. He exhaled a windstorm of breath and relaxed a little bit.