Killing a Snitch: The first of the Christopher Aiden Mysteries

by Brian Bradford

  “Karen wanted him,” Aiden smiled.

  He and the boys laughed when their granddad left the room. Frito laid back down and kept watching the game.

  The phone vibrated again. He expected that. He answered without looking. She started talking. “Aiden, why aren’t you answering Caleb’s calls? Are you on that case about the boxer? Do you have the money?”

  Aiden sighed. He knew that had Karen texted those messages she would have used three separate messages to ask those questions instead of one paragraph.

  “Yes, I’m working on that case. That’s why I can’t answer his call right now. I’m working on the money,” he said.

  “Ok. You’ll have it today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And Aiden,” she whispered. He knew she wanted to force him to do something he didn’t want to do. His tone changed because he recognized her manipulating techniques.

  “What?”

  “Next year, when Caden joins Caleb in Atlanta they’re living in an apartment off-campus,” she said.

  “I don’t agree with that, at all,” he said. “Caleb should live on campus for a year like you, and your parents and everyone else.”.

  “Well, they want to live together.”

  “Then they can be roommates in the dorm.”

  “Caden wants to move off-campus.”

  “He can’t have everything he wants. When will you learn that?”

  “Aiden, they want Frito.”

  “What?!”

  “Caleb and Caden want Frito to move to Atlanta next year,” she said firmly. “It’s their dog, Aiden. Caleb is homesick. He needs his little brothers. Both of them.”

  Aiden hung up.

  * * * * *

  Saturday, 2pm

  By the time Fats left the club, he was feeling like a new man. He felt taller. He felt clean and formidable. He headed to LA Fitness at the Ritz Carlton, where he had a rarely used membership. He knew it would be weeks before he returned to the gym, so he put in two hours on the weights and another thirty minutes on the treadmill before sitting in the sauna and hot tubs for another hour.

  Afterward he enjoyed a jumbo slice of greasy pepperoni pizza and a coke. He ate in the car as he drove to Georgetown University. Fats had a team playing in a summer pro league, but he had not seen them play a single game. He had been lying low at the club, and in the streets since Blinds’s arrest. He pulled his Tahoe onto the campus and shook his head while thinking about how lucky the students were to be able to attend the school. As a kid watching the Hoyas on television, he assumed he would one day star as the team’s point guard. The older he got the more reality set in.

  He parked in the lot and strolled into the small practice gym. He looked up at the giant black-and-white framed pictures of Georgetown’s past stars: John Thompson, Allen Iverson, Patrick Ewing, Alonzo Mourning, Dikembe Mutombo, Reggie Williams, Michael Jackson, Sleepy Floyd. Fats thought he should have a picture up there considering how much money he had invested in the team. He shook his head, but he smiled.

  Inside, the gym was packed with players and wanna-be players. NBA and college scouts were in the stands to see if their prospects choked up against inner city playground legends. Fats strolled over to the locker room and met his team.

  The Big Boys were being coached by a hustler from Baltimore named Petey Paul. Petey was muscular and made every T-shirt look too small. He obviously slept in a do-rag and thinks his waves are a part of his personality. Petey frequently brushes his hair and if a brush isn’t around he nervously smoothes the waves with his hands.

  “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “It’s a beautiful day, bruh,” he beamed. “I’m revived.”

  “Yeah?” Petey raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” Fats smiled. “I’m good now.”

  “Okay.”

  “I can get back to being me, you know. I can breathe again. I can go out again... I can live,” Fats said. He lowered his voice into Petey’s ear. “Thanks for letting me use those cars from your lot. I felt like the police were following me and I was paranoid. Having a different car every day made me feel more comfortable.

  “No problem. You know the car lot is a front for my real business. No sense in having them joints just sitting there when my man needs one, right?”

  “Well, I’m back. I’m about to bring the Phantom out tonight!”

  “Oh yeah?” Petey pulled him to the side and whispered. “Blinds was here not too long ago.” Fats froze.

  “What?”

  “He said he was in Moochie’s when that boy Six Hands was killed.”

  “What?!”

  “He said he went to Moochie to see if Mooch would try to get word to you and then the shop got crowded and he couldn’t really talk. Then the boy Six Hands comes in and gets blasted,” Petey said.

  “Get the,” Fats sat down in a chair staring at Petey in disbelief. “Six Hands was killed in Moochie’s Barbershop?”

  “Yeah,” he frowned. “You didn’t know that?”

  “I heard he was killed…I didn’t know it was in Moochie’s barbershop…and you said Blinds told you this?”

  “Yeah, bruh. It’s all over the news. Kid walked in and blasted champ three times in the chest with a Desert Eagle.”

  “Not Blinds?”

  “What?” Petey laughed. “Blinds? Nah, Blinds just left here. He’s running around here with half a head of hair!”

  Fats was not laughing, he was leaving. He was calling Big Vic, his henchmen.

  “Hey what’s up?” Big Vic said.

  “Ay, you hear from that boy?”

  “Nah, but I seen the news. You know he…” Fats had hung up and was calling Massacre.

  He got the voicemail. “I need you to call me as soon as you get this message,” he snorted into the phone as he stormed out of the gym and towards his Saab.

  “Fuck.”

  Fats wasn’t sure if killing Blinds was an absolute necessity to begin with. He wanted to believe Blinds was going to be a stand-up dude and take the fall without snitching. Fats liked Blinds. Being fond of Blinds is how he got in this situation initially.

  Blinds was always telling wild stories about the people he met and the places he saw on his runs. Fats had heard enough stories about crazy hookers in Vegas, crooked cops in Tijuana and cool Italians in Youngstown. Blinds was always the life of the party every time he started one of his funny tales, so Fats wanted to take the trip to San Juan with him.

  “Fuck.”

  Fats didn’t want to have to eliminate Blinds but there was the issue of the plane ticket. Fats envisioned the plane ticket with his name on it being called “States exhibit A”. When Blinds’ family put their home up for his bond it was clear Blinds would do just about anything to stay out of prison. Now that this idiot T had failed miserably, it was pretty much a certainty that Blinds was going to start talking to the police.

  “Fuck.”

  Fats thought about how the Feds might get involved now - if they weren’t already. Trying to have a witness killed doesn’t help with the innocent plea. Accidentally killing the wrong person in the process just adds insult to injury. Fats felt the air getting tight around him. He started thinking about being in a cage for the rest of his life. He thought about standing in line with 200 other men waiting to shower, or eat, or go outside.

  Fats thought about how much attention this Six Hands shooting would draw. There was pressure from every angle and no releases. The knock on his window startled him. He jumped out of his thoughts and turned to see Blinds laughing at him.

  “Fuck!”

  “You look like you seen a ghost,” Blinds said.

  Blinds smiled and walked around the front of the truck. Fats decided to take advantage of the opportunity and shoot him as soon as he opened the door. As Blinds scanned the parking lot around him, Fats pulled out a small pistol and stashed it between his seat and the console.

  Fats thought twice about shooting Blinds at this close range since th
at would get blood all over the inside of his truck. He knew a good guy who would detail the car without asking any questions. He decided to shoot him as soon as he could. Then he wondered if police were in the parking lot watching their informant. Blinds opened the door.

  “Man, I thought they had you too!”

  “What?”

  “The DEA. When they got me and saw your name on the ticket, I jus’ thought they would bag you too.”

  “Nah. I got through. I didn’t hear about what happened to you until I got home that night.” It dawned on Fats that Blinds might be wearing a wire. Fats imagined police all around in nearby cars waiting to pounce on him.

  “Fats, I did everything right, man.” Blinds looked apologetic. “Those White boys singled me out because of my race.”

  “Your race huh? Not them thick--ass glasses?” Fats said. They both laughed.

  “Whatever,” Blinds whispered as he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. He lit it and started talking again. “Then, as soon as I get out of jail…I’m in Moochie’s shop when that fool came in and blasted Six Hands Johnson. Shit, if Moochie hadn’t made me move 30 seconds before…” he dragged on the square again. “Motherfucker mighta shot me!”

  “Imagine that,” Fats said.

  “So anyway…” Blinds started.

  “Wait, what did you say?” Fats interrupted. “Moochie made you do what?”

  “Dude, I was sitting in the chair, when Six Hands pulled up. Moochie asked me to let Six Hands get his haircut because he was in a rush, so I--”

  “That’s why you only got half a haircut?” Fats asked.

  “Yeah, I gotta get to another barbershop and get the rest of my haircut because that sucker ass Moochie made me get outta the chair.”

  “Where was Six Hands in a rush to?” Fats asked.

  “I dunno,” Blinds continued. “Moochie was just tryna kiss his ass. That’s all. As soon as he saw Six Hands pull up outside, he was like, ‘Blinds you gotta get up. The champ don’t have to wait.”.’”

  “What?”

  “So, I got outta the chair and 20, maybe 30 seconds later the boy came in there and blasted Six Hands,” Blinds said.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Fats said.

  “But anyway, here’s the deal,” he started. “I ain’t nobody’s snitch. I ain’t never snitched on nobody never my entire life.” Fats nodded his head.

  “You know that. You know I ain’t gon’ snitch,” he said and waited for acknowledgement.

  Fats thought about what he could say that wasn’t incriminating, just in case Blinds was wearing a wire. “Right,” he said softly.

  “So, I’ma ride. I knew what the rules were when I got in the game, so I’ma jus’ take the time. I’ma fight the arrest and say they violated my civil rights by singlin’ me out like that, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  He lowered his voice. “Yeah. So, I was tryin to holla at you to see if you could help me get a lawyer.”

  “Yeah, I know a good lawyer.”

  “I need a little bread just to stay afloat, Fats.”

  “I feel you. I don’t have anything on me right now,” Fats said. He reached in his pocket and gave Blinds the three grand that he had for Terrance. “Meet me at the spot on Sunday and I can do something for you.”

  Blinds flipped through the cash and nodded his head. “Cool. Thanks Fats, I appreciate it.”

  * * * * *

  Aiden checked his watch and saw he only had three minutes before the 2pm drawing. He saw Gillespie apologizing to the councilmember, so he headed for his car. He crossed the middle of the four-lane street, stuck his key into his Ford and waited for traffic to allow him to open the door. Just as he started to open the driver’s side, he saw the bum stagger around the corner and reclaim his post.

  He looked at his watch again. He looked in his car and then back at the bum. They made eye contact. Aiden cursed, got in his car and closed the door. The engine was barely on before he started pushing buttons. The broadband switched to AM and the second button tuned the car in to WOL. A commercial. He looked in the rearview mirror. The bum was watching him.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. When he pulled it out he read the caller’s name before answering. “Hey, I saw your call earlier and meant to call you back,” he lied.

  “No problem. Did you listen to my message?”

  “No, I’ve been behind the eight ball all day. I caught a big case. Did you see? Six Hands Johnson?”

  “The boxer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard something about it. You’re on that case?”

  “Yes, it’s the big news of the day.”

  “Wow. Good luck. Dad, I really need that money.”

  “I know. It’ll be there before Friday,” he said.

  “I need it tomorrow, Dad.”

  “Ok, it’ll be late tomorrow,” Aiden said.

  “Ok, I’ll see what they say.”

  Aiden hung up and immediately dialed another number. The line rang four times before a New Yorker answered and said, “What’s good, playboy?”

  “Hey, today is the day. You need to shit or get off the pot,” Aiden said.

  “Yeah, don’t rush me, dog.”

  “I got another buyer who is ready now. What do you want to do?”

  “How you doin’? I’m fine. Thanks for asking. How’s the weather down in DC?”

  “The weather is nice, I’m not. Do you want it or should I let it go to this other guy?”

  “You sound desperate. What's the number again?”

  “The same its been all week. Stop playing with me. Are you joking?” Aiden said.

  “Slow down, playboy. Damn,” the guy laughed. “Ok, so you want 40?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about I give you $35 in cash today?”

  “Forty, cash, today or I sell it to somebody else,” Aiden said.

  “Aiight, shit. You must need the bread,” the man said. “I’ll come tonight.”

  Aiden hung up in time to hear the midday lottery numbers. When they were announced he balled up his tickets. “I guess I can’t quit this job right now,” he said. “Gotta wait at least until the night drawing.”

  Aiden got out of the car and walked back to the corner store. The homeless man wasn’t sitting in front anymore. Aiden turned the corner and saw an empty street. He went inside and peered down each aisle. Back on the sidewalk, he wondered how far he could have staggered. Aiden looked in every direction to no avail. He made a mental note of how he could see the entire crime scene from the front of the corner store.

  Detective Taylor was walking away from the yellow tape and toward Aiden. She wore beige slacks, a black turtleneck, and a blue police jacket. She walked with her head down in her notes and with what Aiden called a “mean switch.”

  When Taylor looked up from her pad she blew a sigh and shook her head. As soon as her heels stopped in front of him, her voice started. “Four witnesses were actually facing the shooter,” she said. “Your guy with the glasses, the two barbers, Moochie and Whitey, and this woman who was with her son, Candace Holmes.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She brought her kid to get a cut…a little boy named Marcus, four- years old. She was standing next to the barber in Chair 2 telling him how she wanted little Marcus’s hair to be shaped up, which is when the shooter came in.”

  “Do their descriptions match?”

  “No. She says he looks familiar but she doubts she knows him.”

  “The barber and the guy with the glasses claim they didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “What’s new in the hood?”

  “Right.”

  “Sketch artist?”

  Aiden looked around the store again. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ll call ‘em”.

  Chapter 9: No honor amongst us

  3pm

  M oochie was next door to the barber shop at World Pawn. The place was littered with old computers, used musical
instruments and gold. He was leaning on the glass display and flipping through a barber’s trade magazine looking for a new barber’s chair. Latifah, the store’s owner, was admiring him. He looked up at her and said, “Y’all got gold everything in here; gold rings, gold watches, gold teeth…”

  “Whatever. You messin up my business, man.”

  Moochie looked around the junk shop. “What business?”

  “Oh, you got jokes? Your little friends shooting all over the place, running my clients away…”

  “You run a pawn shop. Your clients ain't scared of a little shootout,” Moochie said.

  “Nah, but they are afraid of police.” They both looked out of the storefront at the crowd, the yellow tape and the news trucks.

  “You got the block hot,” Latifah said.

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  “Fats did this shit.”

  “You helped him. Now what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how you gon’ fix your shop up? How you gon’ get customers back in there?”

  “I’m thinking people gon’ want to get their haircut in the shop where the champ was killed,” he said.

  “You’re sick. You better hope the police don’t figure out you had something to do with it.”

  A bell chimed and a large bald man struggled through the front door. “Welcome to the World,” Latifah said. “May I help you?” Moochie looked over his shoulder. Noticing the man, he rolled his eyes and straightened up. The fat man ignored Latifah. He nudged Moochie’s shoulder with a cell phone.

  The phone was flipped open. Moochie looked at it like it was a broken condom. The big man smiled. Finally, Moochie sighed and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Mooch, hey, I need you to come pass the club,” Fats said.

  “Aiight, I’ll stop through there tonight.”

  “Nah, I need you to come through now,” Fats said.

  “I’m kinda busy right now,” Moochie started. He looked at the hulk. The hulk was running his finger over some used DVD titles.