Chapter
2
Pettiway and Parish pulled up in front of 207 Alexander Avenue and Parish instantly stiffened up. They were in the heart of the Crips territory and he knew it. Parish stepped out of the car first from the passenger seat. He unfastened his gun for easier access as Pettiway glanced over at him.
Detective Pettiway shook his head in disbelief. “What was that for?”
“What you talking about?” Parish asked curiously.
“The thing you just did, with your weapon,” Pettiway explained as they stood on opposite ends of the sedan.
Parish glanced around for a brief moment. “Do you know where we are? This is Hell Bound territory. These animals don’t care if we’re police or not. If they deem us a threat they will not hesitate to act. And I don’t know about you, but I plan don’t plan on being on the ‘notify the next of kin’ list today,” Parish told him bluntly.
“Jesus. We’re homicide. We’re here to deliver bad news. Not bust anyone,” Pettiway said disgusted.
“Excuse me, but I rather be safe than sorry.”
“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” Pettiway grabbed the folder from the dashboard containing pictures of Ali Ricardo. He closed the car door making sure it was locked before they walked away.
As they approached the building Parish noticed there were a few people hanging out. The closer they got to the building the thinner the crowd got. There was no mistaking the men were already pegged as police.
“Gentlemen,” Parish said to the few remaining young men who refused to scurry off at the sight of the detectives.
“Cop,” one of the young men replied with a fake smile as he opened the door for the detectives. He looked them up and down with a look of disdain before letting the door go. “Fuckin’ Jake ass niggas,” the young man said in disgust as he watched the detectives through the glass, head for the elevator.
“You saw the look that guy gave us? Told you, animals,” Parish said in a hushed voice as he glanced around the hallway lobby making sure no one was hiding in wait to ambush them.
The detectives exited the elevator looking for Apartment 12-E. Parish, who had been in the housing complex several times before, became instantly reacquainted with the layout of the floor. “12-E is over here,” he told his partner as he led him around a corner.
“This is it,” Pettiway said as they stopped in front of the apartment door. “Let me do all the talking,” he said right before pounding on the metal door in that all too familiar ‘police knock’.
“Be my guest,” Parish said in a hushed voice. He hated this part of the job. Always had. So he had no problem allowing his partner handle it.
“Who is it?!” a loud and booming voice asked from the other side of the door.
“It’s the police, sir! 47th Precinct!” Pettiway announced in a loud voice.
The door snatched open giving way to a large, black man, who stood at least six feet, seven inches, and barefooted. The man stared down, hard and cold, at the detectives in their buttoned up dress shirts and bland ties. “What do you want?” the man asked menacingly.
Caught off guard by the man’s size, Detective Pettiway had to blink several times before he found his voice. He fumbled around in his jacket pocket before pulling out his badge. “I’m Detective Pettiway from the 4-7. Does Ali Ricardo live here?”
The man looked at the badge closely in the middle aged detective’s hand before saying, “I’m Ali Ricardo. What’s this about?” with an I’m not in the mood attitude.
The two detectives looked at one another confused for a moment before Pettiway removed a mug shot picture of the victim’s folder. “Uh, do you know this man?” he asked showing the man the mug shot.
The huge man took one look at the picture and recognized the person immediately. “Yeah. That’s my boy. What did he do know?”
“Uh, is it okay if we come inside and speak to you in private?” Pettiway asked politely.
“I rather you didn’t. It’s the maid’s day off,” the man said smartly.
“Okay,” Pettiway replied trying to get his words together. “Uh, like I said, I’m Detective Pettiway from the 47th Precinct. Homicide division and I…”
“Listen, whatever my boy’s accused of doing now I don’t know anything about. Especially any murder. So save yourself the time and energy and go question somebody else,” the man said rudely. As he began to shut the door in the detective’s face Parish shoved his foot in the doorway and his hand against the door to stop him.
“I think you should hear what my partner has to say first,” Parish told him with an attitude.
The huge man looked down at Parish’s foot, then at him. “You got ten seconds. Then you loose that foot.”
“Uh, sir. It’s about your son. He’s been found murdered,” Pettiway said before things escalated.
The huge man looked from Pettiway to Parish to see if this was some kind of sick joke. “My…my boy’s been…murdered?” the man asked trying not to loose it.
“I believe so. Is it okay if we come inside so we can ask you some questions?” Pettiway asked politely as if there was never any hostility from the man.
“Yeah…come on in,” the man replied as he stepped back, opening the door for the detectives.
As the man led them into the living room Parish looked around the apartment’s immediate area for anything suspicious. Force of habit.
“Have a seat,” the man said motioning to a sofa that had seen more better days. He took a seat himself, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his huge hands. “You said my son was…murdered. How?”
“We found him shot to death on the subway,” Pettiway answered in a soothing voice.
“On the subway?” the man asked surprised. “What happened?”
“Well, sir, to be quite honest with you we don’t know. His body was discovered late last night by a subway conductor. The train was shutting down and the conductor thought your son was asleep. When he attempted to wake him up he noticed your son was deceased,” Pettiway explained in a calming voice.
“Do…do you know who did it?”
Pettiway recognized the tone instantly. It was that of retribution. “At this time, sir, we don’t. To be quite honest with you we don’t know anything about your son. We don’t know where he was coming from. Where he was going. If he was in an altercation with another passenger. Nothing,” he told the grieving father. “Do you remember when was the last time you saw him? Did he tell you where he was going?”
“The last time I saw my son was yesterday morning. Around seven. I was getting ready to leave for work and I…I went in the bedroom and woke him up. I was angry at him and I…” the father said as he choked back tears of regret.
Pettiway empathized with him. He’d heard the story plenty of times over his years as a homicide detective. Two parties have choice words before going their separate ways. One doesn’t return leaving the other feeling bad for whatever was said between them. “Excuse me for saying this, sir, but don’t. Don’t place that burden on yourself. If you and your son had a disagreement it was simply that between father and son,” he said placing his hand on the man’s huge shoulder. “If you take on that burden you’ll regret it for ever.
The man’s shoulder’s heaved as a tear dropped from his eye. “You’re right. Me and my son have been at odds for years now. Every since he started running the streets. He didn’t wanna listen and I tried to keep him on the right path but he always managed to stray. It got to the point where I guess we started bumping heads. You know?” he asked as he stared up at the two detectives. The pain of a parent losing a child was written all over his face.
“Do you know where he might have been going?” Pettiway asked softly.
“It’s no telling where he was going. Either going to see his girlfriend in Harlem or going to see his parole officer. But if he was on the six train then he was coming home.”
Pettiway jotted down quick notes
. Girlfriend in Harlem. Parole officer.
As an after thought the father said, “It’s funny. I was always after that boy about all the money he spent on cabs. Telling him he need to stop acting like he was rich and take public transportation. I guess he finally listened.” He let out a laugh that quickly turned into bawling.
Pettiway gave him a second to recollect himself. “So he didn’t take the subway much?”
“Ali? Nah. That boy thought he was made of money. He took cabs so much he had two in particular he’d always call from American Taxi Service.”
Pettiway jotted down the name of the car service. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. “Do you have the girlfriend’s name? Her address of phone number?”
“I don’t have her number but she lives on 110th Street on the West Side. Her name is Kisha. I don’t have a last name. I doubt if you’ll get anywhere with her, though. She’s nothing but a gold digger. We argued about that, too. But he didn’t care. He loved her and that’s all that mattered.”
Pettiway jotted the name down and 110th. He circled the street number. It was his way of reminding himself that something was important. “Do you know if he an Kisha was having any problems?”
“Probably so. They was always arguing. I know a few weeks ago my son found out she was cheating on him. They had a big fight. My son beat the guy up and she threatened to call the police on him.”
“Would you happen to have the guy’s name?” Pettiway asked. It was a very long shot but one worth taking.
“Nah, he never told me. But I think it was someone he knew. Maybe a friend of their’s or something.”
“Why’d you say that?” Pettiway asked reaching.
“I over heard my son arguing with her on the phone.”
Pettiway jotted again. He dug in his jacket pocket and removed a business card. “Here’s my card. If you think of anything feel free to give me a call. I’m going to do everything in my power to find out who did this to your boy. You have my word on it.”
“Thank you, detective,” the father said as he stood, holding his hand out, offering it to Pettiway. “And I apologize for the way I behaved earlier.”
“No apology needed,” Pettiway replied as he shook the man’s hand. It was as huge as a baseball mitt.
Pettiway and Parish walked out of the building to a few stares. “We need to find out who Kisha is. She may be able to tell us something useful,” Pettiway said.
“I got an idea. Give me the vic’s photo.” Pettiway handed it over wondering what his partner was up to. Parish headed over to a group of young men who immediately decided it was time to start walking when they saw Parish was heading for him. “Hey, where you going?! Hold up for a minute!” Parish called out to the group.
Two of the young men looked back over their shoulders, but had no plans of stopping so they could be questioned by the police.
“I just want to ask a few questions,” Parish assured them as he followed behind them to catch up. “If you run. I’ll catch you. And I’m charging everyone with whatever I find. Answer my questions and you have nothing to worry about!” he warned them as he closed the distance between himself and the group.
The men hesitated for a moment considering their options.
“You have my word. No pat downs. Just questions. That’s it!” Parish promised them.
“What you want?” one guy asked with an attitude.
Parish held up the picture of Ali. “I’m looking for this guy’s girlfriend. Any of you know where I can find her?”
The guys looked at the picture. There was no doubt they knew who Ali was. “What y’all looking for A for?” the guy asked.
“We’re not. We’re trying to find his girlfriend. You know where she is?” Parish pressed.
“Her name is Kisha. She’s not from around here,” the guy answered.
“Tss. Yo, what you doing? Ali is gonna wild out when he find out you told them where Kisha live!” another guy spoke up.
“Take it easy. Ali isn’t going to find out and he’s certainly not going to do anything to any of you. You have my word,” Parish assured them. “So tell me where I can find her.”
“She be around here a lot. She’s from Harlem. 110th and Lenox,” the guy told Parish.
“Do you know who she hangs out with when she’s over here?” Parish pushed. The guy gave him a look that said his information sharing was over. Parish smirked and said, “Okay, I get it. She’s not one of y’all so you don’t have a problem with helping. But she hangs out with one of y’all and that person is off limits.”
“Smart cop,” the guy said with a tough guy attitude.
“Okay. One more question. Did Ali have any problems with anyone around here? In house arguing or anything?” Parish pushed. He knew it was a long shot, but figured he’d try anyway.
The guy gave him a funny look and said, “Really?” before turning to walk away with his two friends in tow.
“That went smoothly,” Pettiway said sarcastically as they headed for the car.
“I figured I give it a shot since you didn’t question the father about any gang affiliations,” Parish said defensively.
Pettiway stopped in his tracks for a moment. “I didn’t press the father about any gang affiliations because we already know he was waist deep. You confirmed that. Anything else we might find out we can get from the gang unit. They’re info is just as good as hearing it from the source.”
“Well excuse me for trying to help,” Parish said smartly as he climbed in the sedan and slammed the car door.
Parish and Pettiway had been partners for less than six months. Pettiway had been in the homicide division for nearly eight years and considered one of the top detectives in the department. He was highly sought after but remained humble.
Parish was transferred from the Gang Unit. The Gang Unit was his first stop fresh out of the academy. He earned a reputation for his tenacity and his smarts. After a five year stint he moved on to the Homicide Unit where he planned on making a better name for himself before shooting for a promotion.
Last Stop Page 2
