Devan laughed. “Touché, D’Angelo. Touché.” And he walked from the room.
* * *
Marco decided to check out Norris Barber himself. He searched for a gun permit, but came up with nothing. He checked his driver’s license. Not even a parking ticket. He did a google search for the man himself and came up with a website. The website listed him as a political aid – Need help crafting the perfect public image, I’m your man! – and went on to enumerate the many things he was able to do for his client; ie., press releases, public events, meet and greets, etc.
Marco wondered if it was possible murder was a hidden benefit to hiring Mr. Barber. Could it be possible that the spin doctor had discovered the mayor’s adulterous ways and decided to take the matter into his own hands, eliminating the problem? Honestly, that seemed like a long way to go for an employer. Would Barber really chance risking his own career, his own freedom for a job, no matter how well it paid? That didn’t seem likely.
“Hello!” came a female voice from the lobby.
Pickles leapt from the bed and started barking. Marco grabbed his crutches and levered himself to his feet. “Bed,” Marco commanded and Pickles retreated to his box, sulking inside.
“Is anyone here?” came the voice again.
Marco crutched to the opening of his office. “How can I help you?” he said, then hesitated.
The young woman who’d been at the barbecue the previous day stood on the other side of the counter. She jumped when Marco appeared and glanced over her shoulder. Marco marked that she was alone.
“I wanna talk to the cop from yesterday. The black guy.”
Marco picked up the phone on Lee’s desk and pressed the buttons for Simons. Simons picked up on the second ring. “What’s up, Captain?”
“There’s a young woman here to see Danté. She approached the table yesterday and talked to us.”
“On our way,” said Simons, disconnecting the call.
Marco moved closer to the counter. “I’m Captain D’Angelo,” he said, offering her his hand. She accepted it reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”
“Cashea Thompkins.”
“Cashea, thanks for coming in.”
“I’m not talking to you. Get the black kid. Danté. I’ll talk to him.”
Pickles walked out of the office at that moment, looking up at the girl. Her expression softened. “Is that yours?” She pointed at him.
Marco bent down and picked up the dog, holding him so Cashea could reach over and pet him. “This is Pickles.”
“Pickles?” She laughed and Marco realized just how young she was. “That’s a funny name.”
“I know.”
Danté and Simons appeared from the back and Cashea’s eyes darted to them.
“Hey, Cashea,” said Danté. “I’m glad you came in.” His easy going demeanor was the perfect match to an anxious witness, Marco noticed.
“I got something to tell you, but only you.”
Danté pointed at Simons. “Inspector Simons is the one investigating Jamaad’s murder. He needs to hear what you have to say. And this is my captain. You can talk to them too, Cashea.”
She chewed on her inner lip and glanced at the door again. Marco was afraid she just might bolt.
“We can give you anonymity,” he said quickly, stroking Pickles’ ear. She watched him, smiling slightly at the little dog.
“That means no one has to know I come here.”
“Right,” he answered.
“But I gots to testify if you arrest someone.”
“We’ll do everything we can to protect your identity.”
She looked at Danté again. “I talk to you. I don’t care if they in the room, but I only talk to you.”
Danté glanced up at Marco for approval.
“Agreed. We’ll be in the room, but you can talk to Danté.”
“And no interrogation room. I don’t want no light shined in my eyes.”
Marco jerked his chin toward the conference room. Danté walked over to the half-door and held it open for her. “We’ll talk in here,” he said, motioning to the room with the tables and chairs arranged in a rectangle.
Simons took Pickles and followed them with Marco crutching behind. Marco grabbed a legal notepad off Lee’s desk and carried it into the conference room with him.
Once they all took a seat, Cashea held out her hands to Simons. “Can I hold him?”
Simons glanced at Marco for permission. Marco nodded and the big man passed the tiny dog over to the girl. She settled him on her lap, stroking his head. She continued to chew on her bottom lip, but petting Pickles seemed to calm her. Pickles laid his head along her arm as if he sensed her agitation.
Marco slid the pad of paper over to Danté and the young man removed a pen from his uniform pocket. “Can you tell me your full name?” he asked the girl.
“Cashea June Thompkins,” she said, staring down at Pickles.
“And your address?”
“Why you need that?”
“For our records.”
“You said I be anonymous.”
“You will be,” said Marco. “We need an address where we can find you. Danté won’t put it in any public record. It’ll be for our internal use.”
She thought about that for a moment, then she rattled off the information.
Danté asked for her phone number and a few other bits of information – where she went to school, her age, whom she lived with. She provided him with everything, but she didn’t seem comfortable with it.
“I know you’re nervous, Cashea, but I want you to know our priority is protecting people and we’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“How I know that? Jamaad got hurt, didn’t he?”
“Was Jamaad working with the police?” asked Danté.
“No, I just saying, you don’t know what you talking about. I still got to live in the same place. I still got to go to the same school. You think people there don’t want you to find Jamaad’s killer? They do, they’s just scared. And they got reason to be.”
“Why?” asked Danté.
She looked away, her hand still stroking Pickles. “The Mainline Gang. They just coming into the neighborhoods. They tag their M and G on everything. One day you think you outside their line, next day they take that street too.”
“And they’re threatening people?”
“She-et,” she said with a grim laugh. “They gots to make their reputation somehow.”
“How are they doing that?”
“They knock off the Stop and Rob. They go to the barber shop, make Lou cut they hair and then they walk out. He says something, they send him to the hospital. You goes in the laundromat, you gonna get shook down. They says they own that place now.”
“Do you know who they are?”
She pressed a hand to her temple. “I tell you this, they kill me.”
“Okay,” said Danté, holding up a hand. “Don’t tell us names yet. Do you think they killed Jamaad?”
She lifted Pickles in her arms and held him close to her chest, then she rubbed her face on his fur. “He’s a good dog,” she told Marco.
“He is,” Marco said, giving her a smile.
“Jamaad like dogs. He always talking about them. He really wanna help dogs who don’t got a home.”
“I know.” Marco couldn’t believe how much holding Pickles seemed to help the girl. “You were friends with Jamaad?”
“We had most all our classes together.” She gave a laugh, then looked up at the lights, trying to compose herself. “He had dog stickers on his binder. No guys do that. They puts half-naked women on there, but not Jamaad. It was dogs, but no one bother him about it. You knows, it like they understood. Dogs is cool.” She shrugged, swiping a hand under her nose. “I like that, you know? He weren’t fake.”
Marco nodded. “I know you’re afraid, Cashea, but we need your help.”
“If they finds out, I’m dead.”
Danté glance
d over at Marco.
“Just coming here was stupid. Someone might tell them.”
Simons rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I have a kid Jamaad’s age, Cashea. Sometimes, that kid just pisses me off. He leaves dirty dishes and socks everywhere and let me tell you, no seventeen year old boy’s socks smell like roses. Sometimes I think something died in that boy’s room.”
She laughed, rubbing her face on Pickles again.
“But if something happened to him,” said Simons, his voice going grim. “I would feel like most of me died.”
She went back to chewing on her bottom lip. “Like Jamaad’s mama.”
“Like Jamaad’s mama.”
She fell silent for a moment, then she lifted her head and firmed her jaw. “They calls him Chicago. I don’t think he mean to do it.”
“Do what?” asked Marco. “Kill Jamaad?”
“Yeah, I think he doing a driveby, shooting into the laundromat. They says someone disrespected him in there, so he’s gotta show ‘em who’s bad, right?”
Marco frowned. There didn’t seem to be much logic in that. “Wait. The person who disrespected Chicago was in the laundromat?”
“No, jus he feels disrespected by someone who go there, so he drives by and shoots out the windows. Problem is Jamaad walking there right at that time.”
Marco closed his eyes. Jamaad was walking there right at the time someone decided to shoot off his gun on a crowded street. The boy had nothing to do with it, probably didn’t even know what was going down, and bang, he was dead. Marco couldn’t get his head around the senselessness of it.
Simons made a sound and bowed his head.
“What’s Chicago’s real name, Cashea?” asked Danté.
“I tells you this, they gonna kill me.”
“They’ll never know you told us. I promise you. Your name doesn’t leave this place.”
“They gonna know I left the neighborhood when I come home on the bus. They all over the bus stations too.”
“Then I’ll drive you home.”
“In a cop car, yeah, that not gonna draw attention.”
“I’ll drive you home in my personal car.”
“No, we have some beaters in impound we can use,” said Marco. “The license plates won’t track that way. I’ll go with you.”
“No offense, Captain, but you sort of stand out in that neighborhood. The idea is to get in and out, so no one notices,” reasoned Danté.
Marco nodded, thinking. “Okay. Cashea, you give us the name and where you think he is, and we’ll go in after him, take him and as many of the gangbangers down as we can. I’ll put a call into a friend who works the gang task force and see if he wants to help us. While we’re doing that, Danté will get you home in an unmarked car.”
She went back to lip chewing. “Serious? You gonna take Mainline down like that?”
“I wish that was true, but they could be back on the streets in as little as twenty-four hours if they make bail, but we’ll have a shot at the guy who killed Jamaad.” Marco leaned toward Cashea. “It’s not a perfect fix, but it’s a start. I know this is terrifying, but you can either keep living in fear, Cashea, or you can do something about it. I think we should do something about it.”
She looked at Danté. “You promise to take me home, while they messing with Mainline.”
“I promise.”
She drew a deep breath and released it, cuddling Pickles close. “His real name Roscoe Butler, but they calls him Chicago ‘cause that where he come from. He and the other Mainliners, they flop in an abandoned warehouse off Nimitz Ave. You can’t miss it. It the first one when you turn off Blandy Street.”
“How do you know this?” asked Simons.
She brushed her face against Pickles once more. “My brother got jumped into Mainline ‘bout six months ago. Big Block gangsters caught him walking by hisself one night. They beat him so bad, he got brain damage. He can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t eat for hisself. My mama has to feed him, change his diapers. We get money from the state for his care, but it ain’t enough. When she go to work, guess who gets to take care of him?”
“I’m so sorry, Cashea,” said Danté.
She shrugged. “School the only time I get a break. I like talking to Jamaad about his dogs. It was nice.”
Marco couldn’t believe how much this young woman had been through. Her strength humbled him. There had to be something the mayor’s task force could do for a family like this. He needed to know just how much money he had at his disposal.
Simons glanced over at Marco. “You gonna call Javier?”
Marco nodded. “Yeah.” Javier Vargas had worked with him and Peyton when they went after the Aztecas more than a year ago. During the same case, they’d met DEA agents, Rosa Alvarez and Joe Miller, who were on alert that the Aztecas had some deep pocket funding from Mexico. As far as gangs went, no one knew more about them in San Francisco than Javier. “Take the rest of Cashea’s statement, Danté. Simons, you arrange for a loaner car for Danté to use and call everyone in. I’m gonna go make a few calls and see what sort of firepower we can get.”
Simons lifted his bulk to his feet. “On it.”
Marco rose also and leaned over, holding out his hand to Cashea. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for us. I know it took courage and you showed you have it. Thank you.”
She accepted his hand and gave him a grim smile, then she held out Pickles. “Dogs is cool,” she said. “Jamaad knew that.”
* * *
Marco called his mother first of all and begged off dinner. Abe and Jake were already there, so he talked to Jake and got him to agree to standby in case they needed him to come out to the warehouse on Nimitz. Then he called Javier.
“I’ll be right over,” said Javier before Marco could tell him everything.
By the time Javier arrived, Marco’s people were in place, suited up in riot gear and flak jackets and ready to roll. Simons had secured a car for Danté and the kid was ready to leave. Danté was heavily armed.
Javier shook hands with Marco. “Hey, Marco.”
“Hey, Javier.”
Javier turned and lifted his hand to greet Marco’s team. “Hello, everyone.”
They all nodded.
He stepped back so he could talk to all of them. “I have men waiting to roll as soon as I’m done debriefing you. Our job will be to go in, neutralize the situation, and drag out anyone we can find in the building. They’re trespassing on private property, so we have probable cause to go in there, but just to be safe, I also pulled a warrant.”
“What are we facing?” asked Cho.
“They’re heavily armed, but the guns are Saturday Night Specials mostly. They don’t have much money yet, haven’t really established themselves, and are constantly being swatted by the Big Block Gang. Up until recently, the Big Block has treated them as an annoying gnat, buzzing around their territory, but lately, the Mainline Gang has moved into traditional Big Block territory.”
“Gang war?” asked Tag, adjusting her flak jacket.
“That’s why we’ve been keeping an eye on them. Jamaad Jones’ murder may be a response to something that went down six months ago.”
“What?” asked Marco.
“Six months before Jamaad was killed, one of the Big Block gangster’s girlfriend was using the laundromat. Two Mainline gangsters came in, recognized her, and hassled her. Three days later, the Big Block Gang caught a Mainline gangster, beating him so bad, he has brain damage. About six days before Jamaad was killed, Big Block tagged the laundromat with their sign. Four days later, a large group of the Big Block gangsters showed up at the laundromat and sat there all night. Two days later, a Mainline gangster shot and killed Jamaad right in front of that laundry. Jamaad Jones was collateral damage.”
Javier gave Marco a grim look. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the gangster was that pulled the trigger, but until today, I was coming up empty.”
“After this is over, you and I need
to talk,” said Marco. “The mayor’s starting a task force to better communication between the neighborhoods and the police. I think you could help me out.”
Javier nodded. “Definitely.”
“So how are we going to play this?”
“We go in and surround the warehouse.” He pulled a map out of his pocket and unfolded it on the counter. “There are doors here and here, plus the rolling door. We break the smaller doors in and we enter. Then we arrest anyone who’s there and haul them out. I’ll take the bulk of them to my precinct and you get Chicago.”
Marco glanced over at Danté. “In the meantime, you get Cashea home and get out of there. Got it.”
Danté nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
“Everyone stay in touch on radio.”
Javier agreed. “All right, let’s move out.”
As everyone filed from the precinct into the vans, Marco looked back at Pickles who waited in the doorway, watching them. He figured it was safest to leave the little dog here. He could come back for him when it was over.
Lee had come in at their call to hold down the fort. He glanced at Pickles. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep things running here.”
Marco smiled at the huge man as he picked up the tiny dog. “See you soon,” he said, crutching toward the front door.
“Be careful, Captain,” said Lee.
* * *
Marco and Javier stared at the warehouse in the distance. It was run-down, siding falling off, holes in the roof. Debris lay piled up beside the rolling door and there was no electricity. Marine air had caused much of it to rust and some of metal I-beams holding up the front looked like they’d collapse during a small earthquake.
“Be careful,” Marco told Javier. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his people as they climbed out of the van.
Javier nodded and climbed out of the driver’s side after them, slapping a helmet on his head. “We’ll alert you by radio.”
Marco hated that he couldn’t join them, but his leg was more liability than aid. He watched the rest of the black clad police officers flow out of the vans, heavily armed, covered in gear. They sprinted over to the building, keeping low. Commands were called through the radio, but he could also see hand motions as well. He knew his people were out there. He could have stayed in the precinct, but he wanted to be here, with them, supporting them.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 32
