by Carey Lewis
“Jamal.”
He kept walking.
“Jamal.”
That’s when he turned and looked.
“Get in.”
So Jamal got in, no doubt leaving some blood on the door handle which Bulldog didn’t like but he suppressed his anger, decided that getting Jamal out of there was more important than the handle of his jeep.
“So what happened?” Bulldog tried to make it sound like he was asking about the weather. Jamal didn’t say anything, kept staring out the window.
“Notice you got some blood on you there. What’s up with that?”
Nothing from Jamal. Bulldog was starting to feel stupid, started to get angry at Jamal for making him feel stupid.
He drove the car out of the neighborhood, not wanting to run into any cops, took the Jeep down a few streets, taking smaller roads, until he came to another residential neighborhood.
“You’re the one they’re looking for? I should probably know being your chauffeur here.”
He sat there in his stupid silence. Bulldog pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number, let it ring. “Not going to give me shit about not having a hands-free?” Jamal didn’t take the bait.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Bulldog said into the phone, “I got him but he’s not talking. He’s got blood on his hands,” and got a look from Jamal. For the first time, Bulldog saw how sad he looked.
“Bring him to me,” The Boss said.
“To the house?”
“We don’t have time.”
Bulldog hung up and steered the Jeep out of the neighborhood, started driving toward The Boss’s house.
“It’s a brand new day Jamal. Can be a better one if you let it.”
The Boss was dipping his teabag into the mug of steaming water. Dipping it in and out, sitting on his cushioned swing, watching the sun rise to come through the trees into the yard.
He liked the way it casted shadows on his pruned garden and plants. Watching the plants come alive when the sun came up. He loved it when it was about to rain, watching the leaves turn to the sky, ready to absorb the gift nature was about to give them.
The Boss learned a lot from plants. The slow, steady pace of growing. The way they were patient, not rising or blooming until they were ready to, not moving their leaves until they were certain about being fed. Most people didn’t realize a lot of plants had poison in them, for the smaller insects. He liked the idea of being unsuspecting. You didn’t even know you crossed the line until it was too late.
The thing about plants, they could take a beating. You could cut them down, pull them apart, burn and freeze them, but they survived pretty much anything. All it took was a seed. Just one seed to fall and the whole thing would start over again. They had patience and knew when to make their move.
And they were hard work. The Boss had taken years and years cultivating his backyard masterpiece. Planting this one and that one, making sure all the pieces not only looked good together, but played well together. When he first started he had a raspberry bush. That damn thing sprawled like a sickness, constantly getting bigger, intruding on his other plants and plans for the yard. Eventually he had to rip it out. It took an entire day, making sure he got every root and every branch, it wasn’t easy. But the raspberry bush got too big and had to be taken out, it was as simple as that.
That’s what ambition got you.
It was the early mornings he liked best. That stretch of time when it felt like the world was still, quiet, asleep. That little time of limbo when everything stopped before it started again.
Everything was just getting started now, the peace and tranquility almost gone. The workday was beginning.
Cowboy called before Bulldog did, told him he had the Boppers, told him he was bringing them. He’d finally get some answers he hoped, like how this night happened. He was sure he already knew the ‘why’ and that was because Cyrus thought too big. But talking to the Boppers, hopefully he could salvage something, find out where he stood.
He was also about to find out what the hell was going on with Jamal, who the kid that answered the phone was. He would give Jamal a choice. You just had to be patient, let things come to you rather than force it.
The Boss heard the gate open, heard the footsteps shuffle in the grass behind him, but didn’t bother to turn. He looked up when Bulldog had Jamal at his side, standing beside the swing.
“Get him a towel,” The Boss said to Bulldog. He was right, Jamal looked like a Zombie. He told Jamal to sit beside him on the swing and he did, both of them silent, staring at the rising sun.
Bulldog came out after a few minutes and handed Jamal a towel. He looked guilty when he wiped the blood from his hands. The Boss told Bulldog to make himself a coffee and he left, went back in the house.
“You want to keep your job?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Say if it did.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a choice you have to make.”
“It really isn’t though.”
“Jamal,” The Boss waited for Jamal to look at him, “it really is.”
They waited, neither saying a word.
“I’ll give you the Black Knights,” The Boss said.
“We don’t have anything on them.”
“I’ll give you their bodies.”
Jamal turned on the swing to face him, his interest piqued.
“They’re at the old dry-docks. They cement the bodies into the walls, the pillars. From what I understand there’s a lot of them in there.”
“How’d you find that out?”
“Jamal, really? It’s me. I don’t think they’re going to shit-can the guy that brings in the Black Knights.”
Jamal turned back to face the sunrise, taking a moment to think. “I’m not a good cop.”
“No one said you were but you get to go out on your own terms.”
“A hero,” Jamal said under his breath.
“I give you the information, it’s up to you what you do with it. I just ask if you find out what Cyrus was planning, you return the favor.”
“The kid, the one that answered the phone? He’s still got it, and my gun.”
“Go see Bulldog, he’ll give you a gun and phone. His Jeep too. He won’t like that part, but keep telling him I said so.”
“I want that kid.”
“Patience Jamal. Everything comes with patience.”
“He didn’t say that.”
“He did, go ask him if you want.”
“It’s not like it’s stolen, it’s actually mine.”
“It’s what he said, go take it up with him.”
They were in the kitchen. Bulldog sat at the table with his cup of coffee reading the newspaper, Jamal stood in front of him. He watched Bulldog look out the glass doors to the yard, then back to Jamal. The Boss was right, he wasn’t happy about it, but he dug into his pocket and tossed the keys on the table, got up and went in the other room, came back with a gun and a phone.
Jamal was in the Jeep, surprised the radio station was on Asteria’s show, speaking in her cypher that Jamal didn’t have the patience to decode, fed up and knowing it was all coming to an end soon. Besides, he liked the music she played, playing ‘Ready or Not’ by the Delfonics, later covered by the Fugees. He kicked himself, thinking that was the song he should’ve played for Mesiah. He wondered who she was playing it for, then thought it didn’t matter. Whether Mesiah knew it or not, it was for him.
He dialed the precinct, asked for Ritchie. Told the operator who he was and she put him through to his office. Someone else answered the phone to tell him that Ritchie wasn’t in yet, which he knew, so he needed his cell number. Jamal told the guy who he was, said he needed to speak to Ritchie right away.
“We’re told to ask you to come in if we talk to you,” the guy on the other end of the line said.
“Now you told me, can you give me Ritchie’s number?”
Got his number and phoned him, Ritchie answer
ed the call from Kenzie’s house, still at the crime scene.
“We got dogs here looking for him. All the dogs in the neighborhood are barking at our dogs. You know how many dogs they have here? Christ.”
“Surprised you’re still there,” Jamal said.
“There’s not a cop isn’t here Jamal. Except you, but you were already here they tell me.”
“Went after the kid.”
“Don’t suppose you found him.”
“Not yet, found something else though.”
“What might that be?”
“You’d like it.”
“Going to leave it as a present for me? Like that kid in your car?”
“He killed his buddy, him and Lex. Says they both did it, both holding the rifle.”
“Quite the bonding experience. Asked him about that, the pool of blood at the canal? He says ‘oh that’s Rex.’ We ask him where Rex is he says he’s on top of the pool of blood you fucking idiot. We ask him as a stab in the dark, thinking maybe he’d know. Tell him Rex ain’t there anymore. He’s happy to be half that killed him but now he’s freaked out with the body gone. We joke that maybe he’s a vampire, can’t be killed by bullets. Guy’s actually considering it now, wondering how many times he saw Rex in daylight.”
“I think I found him.”
“He the sparkling kind or the kind that blows up in the sun?”
“He’s the kind been put under cement, hanging out in a wall.”
“Think he’s got his head hanging out like a moose when hunters put that shit up like a trophy?”
“You want to find out?”
“I should tell you Jamal, there’s a task force being formed to bring down the kid. Gang unit’s handling it.”
“I’m guessing you’re in charge?”
“They call the best.”
“You want to work together? Bring down the Black Knights?”
“That’s the something else?”
“It is.”
“Tell me where I’m going.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
He wasn’t happy about his Jeep being gone, it was his baby, the first thing he bought legitimately. He’d had a few cars and trucks he liked, stealing them, but they only lasted a few days at a time before the cops would find it and give it back to it’s owner. This was Bulldog’s first and only big purchase he made after he got clean and The Boss was paying him.
He was trying to put it out of his mind. The Boss wanted Jamal to have it, The Boss had a reason for it. He hadn’t liked Jamal ever since he caused Bulldog to get fired that first time. If he didn’t get his Jeep back, he saw no reason why he couldn’t take his frustration out on him. That’s what he was thinking when his phone rang.
“Bulldog, what the fuck you do to me?” Mick slurred his words over the phone, making his Irish accent almost impossible to understand.
“Thought you would’ve enjoyed it.”
“Not saying I didn’t. Meet me boy-o.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“Where’s your Jeep?”
Bulldog didn’t want to get into it, give Mick a reason to go off. “Where do you want to meet?”
“The old diner on Main. I’m fucking hungry boy-o.”
Bulldog hung up the phone and went outside to see The Boss, brought him another cup of tea, figured he could use it by now. Put him in a good mood, maybe he’d tell Bulldog why he gave his Jeep away.
He was still sitting there, on the swing, staring at the sun starting to rise over the trees. Bulldog wondered what he was thinking, coming out here every morning to watch it, wondered what could be the new thing he saw everyday.
“You give him a gun and phone?” The Boss asked, not looking at him.
“My Jeep too.”
“You’ll get it back.”
“Wasn’t sure if he was fucking with me, telling me you said it was okay.”
“You want to know why.”
“It’s crossed my mind.”
“He needs it.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s for the bigger picture.”
“Mick called, wants me to meet him.”
“Was he pissed?”
“He’s Irish, they always sound somewhat happy. Think it’s the singsong of their voice.”
“He still fired?” The Boss asked.
“Think so. Just worried how he’s going to take it, but we’ll get someone else to fill in. I’ll do a better job hiring.”
“If I know Jamal, there will be quite a few to choose from. Go take care of it.”
Bulldog left The Boss, got on his phone and called the car service, had someone meet him at the corner store a few blocks away because The Boss refused to have anyone come to his house. He took the keys from the driver, drove the Chrysler 300 to the diner on Main Street, wondering the whole time what that comment about Jamal meant - ‘if I know Jamal.’
He parked in the small lot that came off the street, fitting only about eight cars, three of the spots taken already, and saw Mick in a booth by the window. He looked both happy and confused.
Bulldog walked in to the rundown diner, bright red plastic on the booths, mini jukeboxes in each one, old posters of fifties and sixties movies hanging around the place. It was decorated in an oldies motif, apparently the owner’s mom was in a couple Hollywood pictures back in the day. The guy found all her old shit, decided to build a diner around it.
He walked over to Mick, passing a family he recognized, the guy having his kids for the weekend and they didn’t look too happy. Sat across from Mick and saw he already ordered some eggs and sausages with bacon on the side. Mick chewing on a slice when he sat down, seemed to be in a good mood.
The waitress came over in her pale blue dress, thick glasses on her, wearing white shoes and socks, looking around fifty in that getup of a uniform. Bulldog guessed she was closer to forty-five, the uniform putting some years on her. He ordered a coffee.
“I’m fired aren’t I boy-o?” Mick said.
“You didn’t seem like you were in the mood for it last night.”
“So you drugged me?”
“Told the girl to give you a good time.”
“Woke up to her going through my wallet.”
“She has to get paid.”
“I didn’t think anything of it. I knew I didn’t have any money in there, but then she comes out with a wad of cash. I’m thinking hold on a minute, that’s me money.”
“Even though you didn’t have any?” Bulldog smiled.
“I figure it’s in me pants, it’s mine even if I don’t know how it got there. I jump up and she tells me my friend put it in there, make sure she gets it and do me right.”
“Did she?”
“And again after that,” Mick smiled, slurping up the yolk from a piece of toast.
“You let her keep the money?”
“I was going to. We’re getting through it, the door busts open—”
“At your house?”
“No, she took me to a motel. The door busts open and this guy’s yelling at her, telling her it’s time to get to work. She tells him to fuck off and keeps trying to ride me.”
“For real?”
“This guy’s having none of it. I’m just laying there confused, wondering if maybe the guy’s going to sit down and watch or something.”
The waitress came and put Bulldog’s coffee on the table, sliding a menu across the booth to him.
“Just give us five minutes darling,” Mick said and she left, going over to weekend dad’s table. Mick continued, “I’m still groggy from the roofies you slipped me, the whole thing doesn’t seem real, like I’m dreaming it. The guy wants to watch, I never did it before boy-o, didn’t seem to bother me. But then he grabs her hair and yanks her off so I jump up and beat the shit out of him.”
“No way.”
“I’m wailing away on him, didn’t even think I was naked with a fucking hard-on, beating away at this guy.”
Bulldog tried to stifle his la
ughter, picturing a tiny leprechaun with a hard-on beating a man. “What’d the girl do?”
“She sat on the bed. Then she tells me, get this boy-o, that’s what they do. She brings people home from the strip club, waits until they get into it, then the guy busts in and robs the guy she’s with.”
“No shit.”
“Shit boy-o. Tells me he tried last night but you paid her so she didn’t tell him she had one. Says she likes me, didn’t want me to go through it. Turns out it’s her boyfriend, he don’t mind her getting stuffed, he minds it going on for too long, him not getting his money. So what I do then boy-o, I tie him up and make him watch me finish.”
Bulldog sat there with his mouth open, not believing the story at all. Not one word.
“You’re serious?”
“Gets better boy-o,” Mick smiled. “The girl didn’t like him much anyway. Says she knows a lot of girls could use a guy like me. Wants me to drive the girls around so they do house calls. I give them protection if it gets rough.”
“So you’re a pimp?”
“Think it’s more a delivery service.”
Bulldog was laughing.
“She says she’ll be the one handling the clients and such. I just drive the girls to where they need to go, pick them up when they’re done. She wants to retire.”
“Where’s the girl now?”
“Cleaning up the blood. Candi’s Canes is what she wants to call it.”
“It’s not bad.”
“What I told her too. I suggested Candi’s Dames, class it up a bit. We’re going to meet for lunch, talk more about it.”
“You going to start dating her?”
“If I play my cards right boy-o. Wouldn’t mind having a jump I can remember.”
“So you’re not sore about getting fired?”
