by James H Roby
The interior of the house presented no surprises. In fact, it looked exactly the same as the last time they had been there. The pair entered a darken, scarcely furnished living room. A ghostly silence hung in the air. Quiet, dark and empty. Jordan often commented that it was the most depressing house in Detroit. On the plus side, the few furnishings meant there were fewer things to absorb sound. However, the darkness worked against them as anyone in the house would already be adapted to the lack of light, while the detectives’ eyes were still adjusting from the brighter outside.
E-Man started for the dining room. A voice floated from some unseen corner of the home. The detectives whirled towards the sound, guns first. They paused for a moment to try and pick up any more sounds. None came. Jordan pointed to the doorway on the far end of the dining room. E-Man headed in the direction. Through the portal was the kitchen. A week worth of dishes was stacked in a sink that would have been fashionable in 1986.
“On your right.” The voice rose from beneath the floor. They crept to the door ahead of them. With a squeak, E-Man slowly opened the door, revealing stairs going down. Their backs flat against the walls, Jordan and E-Man inched down the stairs. At the bottom, there was still more darkness. A handful of seconds went by and their eyes adjusted to the din. Ahead of them, a glow, almost a halo. The shapes emerged from the nimbus of light like specters abandoning a crypt. A pair of spheres – half spheres, actually, hovered over a field of blackness. Or, two heads resting on the back of a couch in front of a television.
Don Ross and Malcolm Ewing had some strange ways. In many ways, they were nothing alike. They argued constantly. The topics of their debate ranged from such matters as which superhero was better, Batman or Spider-Man, to moral injustice of the US’s foreign policy in Africa. Once you got use to them, almost nothing they did surprised you. The scene Jordan and E-Man walked in on was no exception.
The room had been converted into a den of sort. It was unfinished with a cold stone floor below and pipes crisscrossing the ceiling. Yet, Don was able to find the time to equip the level with a fifty-two-inch TV and accompanying gaming system.
“Get him, get him, get him!” Malcolm said.
Jordan holstered his gun, laughing to himself. He peered over the shoulders of his seated partners and saw on the TV a football video game. The players had on headphones and were oblivious to the presence of Jordan and E-Man. Jordan went to tap Don on the shoulder but E-Man gestured for him to stop. He positioned himself between the electronically comatose pair. Jordan covered his face and shook his head. E-Man latched down on both shoulders, violently shook both his arms and yelled at the top of his lungs. Don Ross flung his game controller into the air and Malcolm leapt forward, tripped and landed on his face.
“Jesus Chr- !” Malcolm said from the floor.
“What the Hell!” Don said.
E-Man stumbled backward and hugged himself as he laughed uncontrollably. Jordan tried vainly to contain his amusement and chuckle from the stairwell.
“That ain’t funny, man,” Malcolm said. He picked himself up and adjust his glasses disrupted in the fall. He was the smallest of the men with a skin darker than Jordan yet lighter than E-Man. He wore a Pistons jersey with jeans. “What’s wrong with you, man?” His voice was high and nasal.
E-Man said, “Ah, man, you should had seen your faces!”
Don and Malcolm exchanged glances. Their faces were far from mirth. It didn’t look like neither one thought E-Man’s attempt at humor was a success. E-Man sat on the couch in the spot that Malcolm held. He looked at Malcolm with a false display of sympathy. After a few moments, Malcolm resistance crumbled and he smiled and finally laughed at E-Man’s foolhardiness.
“Payback’s a bitch,” Malcolm said. His voice was lined with anger but the growing smile revealed his acceptance of the prank.
“This is my scared face,” E-Man said.
Jordan walked to the couch while Don went to the game and paused it.
“What are you doing here so late?” Don said. He was the tallest and the widest. His gear was a black tee with gray sweatpants.
Jordan and E-Man turned and arched their eyes brows at each other.
“What time do you think it is?” E-Man asked.
Don shrugged. “I dunno. Two…Three in the morning.”
Malcolm stood up, his cell phone in hand. “Holy crap, it’s eleven forty-five!”
Jordan said, “What the hell were you two doing down here.”
Don gestured to the frozen picture on the screen. “Uh, football?”
“The game?” Jordan asked.
“It’s the playoffs,” Malcolm said.
“The game. The video game?”
“What’s the big deal?” Malcolm asked. “If it was Foreign Combat, it would be OK?”
“No.” Jordan paused a moment as his jacket got caught on something jagged protruding from the wall. “I can’t believe you lost so much time paying make-believe football!”
E-Man got from the couch and wandered away, leaving a trail of laughs in his wake. Don leaned against the wall. “What’s up?”
“We need a little info,” Jordan said, “Wanted to see if you could help.”
Don formed his hand like a gun. “Shoot.” He was never one for a lot of words.
“E-Man and I are looking for someone who may be trying to hook up with someone in the drug trade.”
“Lot of someones,” Don said.
Jordan ignored him. “This person we’re looking for is big in designer drugs. Who’s the biggest designer drug dealer in the Metro?”
“ ‘Dirty’ Paul Monroe,” Malcolm said. The answer came without hesitation.
Jordan whipped his head to the voice. “Whoa. You sure?”
Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. “Of course I’m sure.” He responded in a false air of arrogance. “Who are you looking for?”
“It’s nothing important,” Jordan said. “Don’t worry about it.” His lie came out without a flinch.
“Malcolm shrugged. “No biggie. I just thought I could help out.” Jordan hadn’t counted on Malcolm being so persistent. Truth be told, he realized there was no other way to account for Malcolm. Persistence was synonymous with Malcolm. Jordan glanced over at E-Man. He knew his partner recognized the look. E-Man’s response was to turn his head to a stain on the couch. Jordan sighed at the betrayal.
He turned to the stairs. “It’s no thang, Malcolm, don’t worry about it. It’s just some case E and I came across.” He waved his hand to indicate the matter was unimportant. As Jordan passed E-Man, he tapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go and find this Dirty Paul.”
Before E-Man could move, Malcolm came to his feet. “I know where you can find him.”
Damn! Jordan thought.
He owns the Quakes night club,” Malcolm said.
“Quakes?” E-Man asked. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s in Plymouth,” Malcolm said with a shrug.
“Plymouth? What were you doing out there?” Don asked from behind Malcolm. Don had a way of suddenly breaking his silence at key moments.
“Yeah,” E-Man asked with a smile. “That’s a little out of your usual stomping grounds, isn’t it?”
Malcolm smiled nervously as Don and E-Man verbally boxed him in, “Well, you know - I get around.”
“Uh huh,” E-Man and Don said in near unison. They both smiled at the joke going on. In the Metro Detroit area, like many cities in America, the inner city was mostly African Americans, while the suburbs were the home of whites. Plymouth was in the outer ring of Detroit’s suburbs and nearly all white. This wouldn’t be an issue if every other minute Malcolm wasn’t contributing every ill of African Americans’ to white America, especially rich ‘white America’. It was part of his charms as a ‘part-time’ member of the Nation of Islam.
“Anyway,” Malcolm said, speaking faster, “I’m sure Big Paul will be at Quakes tonight, so let’s go.”
E-Man turned around. Jordan’s failing attempt to keep Malcolm and Don uninvolved was more than a little entertaining. Jordan frowned.
“It’s Monday,” Jordan said. “I’m sure the club’s closed tonight.”
“Are you kidding?” Malcolm said. “Man, Quakes is jumpin’ every night!”
What’s with this guy?
“What about your game?” Jordan gestured at the still frame on the TV screen. “I gave you the day off. E and I can handle this. So…”
“We’ll probably out of the rotation by now,” Don said. “We have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Wait,” E-Man shook his head. “There are more people involved in this playoff thing? Don’t these people have jobs?”
“Charles works nights, and Joe…” Don’s eyes went to the ceiling.
“Forget I asked.”
“Back to the case - we weren’t doin’ nothin’ no how,” Malcolm said. “We can help out. I mean, this is why you hired us.” He turned to Don. “Want to go?”
Don shrugged. “OK.”
I don’t believe this. Jordan shook his head. To continue protesting would raise suspicion. He felt his own rational for hiring this pair coming back to haunt him.
“All right,” Jordan said, “you can come. Let’s go.”
He mounted the stairs and E-Man jogged to catch him. They said nothing for a few steps.
“Traitor,” Jordan whispered.
“Hey, bruh, all for one and one for all!”
Jordan shook his head at E-Man’s reply. He really didn’t want Malcolm and Don involve with Cody Random. This was a personal matter. If anything should happen to his friends, he would feel it was his fault. He comforted himself with a thought.
Well, may be nothing will come of this ‘Big Paul’ guy. Maybe I can keep Don and Malcolm out of this mess yet.
Yeah, right.
Chapter Five: The UrbanKnights’ Night Out
Malcolm was right. Quakes was on jam – on a Monday no less. It took twenty minutes just to get through the door. The club was real state of the art. Three levels, six bars, laser beams and smoke filled the air above the dance floor. Everything stationary was covered with neon lights. The crowd was, as Don and E-Man predicted, almost all white. Most of the patrons looked like Millennials, with their suits and ties. Here and there, was a black guy, usually alone or with a white woman. It was possible these scattering of brothers lived in Plymouth, but most likely, they were from the city, on the prowl for the 'forbidden fruit'.
The place thundered to the sound of R&B and 'dance' music. Once upon a time, the musical taste this far from Detroit’s streets ran toward rock. Now, everyone was down with hip-hop and the urban sound.
Jordan was in a tan T-shirt and black slacks. He topped it all off with his A-2 leather jacket – the only thing from his assignment at Minot Air Force Base he ever wore. He thought of it as his ‘work’ coat. As it turned out, he would have been appropriately dressed in a suit. He was going to have to do a better job at reading and blending into his environment. As it stood now, he was almost more familiar with the Middle East than his own hometown. Well, he had Malcolm and Don to cover for him until he got up to speed. He knew Don since high school and Malcolm since college. And unlike Jordan and E-Man they never left the city. Jordan knew Detroit like a native but haven’t lived within her borders for so long, subtleties could be looming.
Like this bar. Apparently, it was an after-work hangout and almost everyone wore business casual or better. Every now and then, a woman would pass Jordan's position at the bar. She’d laugh softly and whisper to her girlfriend. Presently, one of the few black women in the club walked by. She stopped and turned to Jordan. Her gray jacket and black pencil skirt was all business.
"You're a little underdressed," she said to Jordan with a low seductive voice.
"It's not the packaging..."
The woman smiled slightly, "That's cute. Are there any more witty remarks where that came from?"
"Maybe."
The woman leaned forward and slipped a business card into the inside pocket of Jordan’s jacket. "I'd love to hear more. Call me."
And with that, she walked away, disappearing into the crowd. He shook his head. So much theatre and acting – not that he didn’t mind the attention but it was all unnecessary. He looked across the bar. It was a circle with the bar staff in the center. Opposite his position, E-Man was in a leather Pistons jacket and blue jeans. Jordan shrugged his shoulders at his partner. E-Man dipped his head, no doubt hiding his grin.
Jordan’s chest got tight and for a moment, he considered just going home. If it wasn’t for Usher’s “Yeah” (it must have been old school night or something) Jordan could have sworn they were in Turkey. Or United Arab Emirates. Or a dozen other similar assignments. For a moment, he felt they were trailing some terrorist or suspected terrorist or whoever the Defense Department had loosened them on. What was he doing here? And why was he doing it? Sure, Cody Random had personally targeted Jordan, but misgivings aside, he could have let the CIA handle this.
But there it was – the rub. Why was the CIA involved? They weren’t cops? But then again, neither were Jordan or E-Man or Heckle and Jeckle and it didn’t stop their manhunt. Something more was to Cody Random than met the eye. That wasn’t the point. None of this was Jordan’s business anymore. Instead of looking into the loan for the house off the Detroit River, he was in some nightclub in BFE, hunting a drug dealer. What was it that E-Man said: I thought you got off on that kind of stuff. Did he?
The music switched and Zhane’s “Groove Thang” played. Jordan remembered it from back in the day. The familiar bassline snapped him back to the now.
OK, down to business.
Jordan signaled the bartender. The muscle-bound man in the bowtie immediately came over.
"Yes, sir. What can I get you?"
"Nothing right now," Jordan said, "I was wondering if Paul was in."
The bartender's face remained unchanged. "Sorry, friend. No Paul here."
Jordan flashed a look of puzzlement. "Are you sure? There's no…Big Paul Monroe here?"
The bartender leaned closer to Jordan. "You kinda nosy, pal."
"My friends are too," Jordan’s expression stayed at neutral as he put his hand up on the bar. Beneath the tips of his fingers was a folded hundred-dollar bill. The bartender made a short humorless laugh. His hand blurred and he snatched up the bill.
"You just bought yourself a whole lot of pain, pal."
Jordan curved the corner of his mouth. Whether they’re couriers for a terrorist organization or bartenders that double as muscles for local drug dealers, lackeys are all the same. They always think their boss is the baddest mother in the valley. The bartender waved for one of his counterparts to cover for him. When the equally musclebound barkeep came over, the first gestured for Jordan to follow him. Jordan got out of his seat and snaked his way through the crowd. He flashed a look at E-Man. The responding nod was so slight, only Jordan could have possibly noticed.
The bulky barkeep guided Jordan through the crowd. Finally, they reached a door marked 'Employees Only'. The barkeep opened the door and stood to the side.
"After you," he said.
"Thanks, Sam."
"Who?"
"Forget it."
Sam followed Jordan through the door. When it closed, only the baseline penetrated. The single hallway’s floor was lined with crates of alcohol of various types. The deco included the finest in beer posters. The lights were spaced far apart causing moments of darkness followed by intense light. Sam grunted from behind. Jordan turned to see the bartender pointing down a short hall. At the end, another man stood in front of a door. He nodded as Sam gave him an OK sign. Jordan took that to mean it was permissible for him to pass.
The big guy was dress like Sam - bow tie, white shirt and black trousers. Only this guy favored one side as if he had something heavy on his hip. He gestured for Jordan t
o lift his arms to do a weapons search. The man stood up after the search, reached over and knocked on the door. From the inside, the door opened. Yet another weight-lifter stood at the portal. His frame filled the entire doorway.