Shot Girl

by Karen E. Olson

  "I’ll call you in a little bit," he whispered.

  I nodded. "Should I call Tom?"

  "About the condo?"

  "I might be able to get some information."

  "How will you say you know about it?" Vinny asked. "We weren’t there, remember?"

  I shrugged. "I’ll think of something."

  "Be careful," Vinny said. "Keep an eye out."

  I nodded, knowing he probably wouldn’t be too far behind me, anyway. I kissed him again, still unwilling to say those words I hadn’t said in years to anyone. I hoped the kisses were enough.

  I flipped through the rest of the paper, looking for Dick’s story about the raid at Ralph’s. I finally found it, buried on page A4 at the bottom.

  The FBI and ATF raided an apartment on Arch Street Saturday night, apparently in connection with the death of Ralph Seymour, manager at the Rouge Lounge, Thursday, sources said. No one would comment on what they took out of the apartment, which was next door to Seymour’s.

  The Rev. Reginald Shaw owns the two-family house and said the apartment is currently vacant.

  There was no mention in the paper about anything connected to the condo at City Point. It was long after deadline when we’d called 911, so it wasn’t surprising.

  Priscilla had just gotten on the train, so I had some time and stayed a few extra minutes in the shower before getting out and rummaging for a pair of khaki shorts and a tank top. The back of the shirt was drenched by my heavy, wet hair within seconds but provided no relief. I rarely put my hair up, but found a big hair clip in the drawer where my gun should be. I gathered up my locks and twisted them around and clamped the clip around them, leaving a sort of silly ponytailed look. But it was cooler, so who was I to give a shit what I looked like?

  I heard my cell phone ring in the depths of my bag, performing a duet with my stomach. I was hungry; I should’ve had those eggs at Vinny’s.

  As I flipped the cover on the phone, I gazed into my refrigerator, savoring the coolness but cursing its emptiness.

  "Hello?"

  "Are you the lady reporter?" His voice was young.

  "Yes. And this is?"

  "We met at the garden. And then yesterday. On the Green."

  "Jamond?"

  "I know you be askin’ about Michael, and I saw the paper. Ashley, she lies. She the one who got Michael in trouble, not the other way around."

  "Got him in trouble how?"

  "Those guns."

  Chapter 29

  I let the two words settle down before I asked, "What guns?"

  "The ones she be sellin’."

  I thought Ralph was selling guns. "She sold Michael guns?"

  "She didn’ t, well, herself, but she hooked him up."

  Ashley could be in on the straw purchases with Ralph. I wondered about Felicia. Did her disappearance have anything to do with this?

  "Did she hook him up with Ralph Seymour?" I asked.

  "Who?"

  "Who did she hook Michael up with for the guns?" I asked.

  "Some white dude. His name ain’t Ralph, though."

  "What is it?"

  "Said it be Johnny."

  John Decker, aka Jack Hammer? I immediately thought back to the duffel bag he was carrying. The snapshot of his face as we drove by him last night at the condo complex had imprinted itself in my memory. Had he killed one of those girls or both to cover up his role in all this? Why was he following me?

  "Do you know how I could reach this Johnny?" I asked Jamond. If Tom hadn’t rounded him up last night, I wanted to make sure he’d be able to find him.

  "I don’t know." But by the guarded tone, I was certain he did know but wasn’t going to tell.

  "He doesn’t have to know you told me." I made a lot of empty promises in my job, but this one wouldn’t be hard to keep. There were enough people involved so Jack wouldn’t have to find out a fifteen-year-old kid had ratted him out.

  "Listen, I ain’t no snitch."

  "No one has to know," I promised again.

  He was quiet a few seconds, then, "I really don’t know." It was all I was going to get out of him.

  Damn. "What about a phone number?"

  "Michael had that."

  Double damn. Michael right this very minute was spending the weekend at the Whalley Avenue jail. Where I couldn’t ask him anything. "Jamond, how involved are you in all this?"

  "Not too. Michael got shit for luck, though," he said.

  "How so?"

  "He jus’ turn eighteen."

  And was no longer a juvenile. He no longer had the protection of the system. If he managed to get himself out of this somehow, it would be on his record.

  "Jamond, you shouldn’t be involved. Listen to the Reverend Shaw." Christ, what was I saying? Shaw was as much a charlatan as Ralph had been, as Jack Hammer was. But the kids obviously looked up to Shaw, as much as I didn’t trust the man. "I’m sure he’s trying to help you."

  "True dat."

  I needed to hang out in the hood a little bit to get the jargon right, but like most places it just wasn’t my scene. Sort of like going to Istanbul Café to see belly dancers.

  "I need to go," Jamond was saying.

  "Wait—" But he’d already hung up.

  I stared at the phone after I snapped it closed. I thought Ralph was out of my life forever, and here he was, dead and making my life and the lives around him miserable.

  My stomach growled again. I needed to get something to eat. But something light. Priscilla would undoubtedly want to have lunch somewhere, since she’d arrive around noon, so maybe I could get something at Atticus to hold me over. I felt safer going somewhere where there’d be more people around.

  I furtively looked around for signs of anyone following me but saw no one. Not even Vinny.

  Atticus was not that crowded, and I sat at the counter and ordered a bagel with cream cheese and a latte. I was halfway through the bagel when he sat down next to me.

  "Ms. Seymour, what a pleasure." The good Reverend Shaw was always so polite. Even last night, when his property was being raided by the ATF and FBI.

  Since I’d just been talking about him with Jamond, it seemed more than merely a chance meeting, but I chalked it up to the bad karma that had surrounded me ever since I’d seen Ralph last week.

  I smiled as pleasantly as I could while still having nagging negative thoughts about this guy. "Good morning," I said through the cream cheese that had stuck to my teeth. I ran my tongue around my mouth to try to pull out all the poppy seeds. When I thought I’d been successful, I put the bagel down and said bluntly, "Isn’t this church time for you?" I knew Shaw didn’t have a parish of his own, which seemed odd to me.

  Shaw’s wide smile looked like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. "I’ve just come from church," he said, indicating his suit and tie. He’d looked as immaculate when I saw him in his gardening clothes.

  "So what did the feds find in your house?" I tried to ask nonchalantly.

  He knew what I was after, and the smile never wavered. "I’m not responsible for my tenants’ activities," he said simply.

  "But you said the apartment they raided was empty. At least that’s what was reported in the paper," I said, taking a sip of my coffee, keeping my eyes trained on his face to see any type of reaction.

  "That’s right. I have no idea who was storing anything in that apartment." He was smooth—had to give him that.

  "What about Ralph Seymour? What was your connection to him? What did you owe him that you felt it necessary to hire one of the best defense attorneys in the city for him?"

  Shaw’s face quivered slightly, and if I hadn’t been looking for it, I might have missed it. My question had thrown him, even though he recovered quickly. "Ralph and I met some years back. We had both been in trouble. We helped each other spiritually."

  Ralph had never helped anyone spiritually in his life. He was a goddamn atheist.

  "I understand you were married to Ralph at one point,"
Shaw was saying, and a tone had entered his voice that told me he didn’t like questions that he didn’t want to answer, so he was going to try to turn the tables on me.

  I took another bite of bagel and nodded.

  "When will the story about the garden be in the paper?" Shaw asked, switching gears again.

  That was supposed to be my job: throwing him off the subject. But I can be as flexible as the next guy. "Tomorrow," I said.

  "Did you get what you needed from the young people?" It was as if we’d had no other conversation until this point, and it told me that he wasn’t about to tell me shit about what went down the night before.

  I nodded.

  "The boy, Jamond, I hope you’ll protect him in the story." He was referring to the pot plants, and I nodded again. Felt like a bobble-head doll.

  "Seems like a nice kid, but he runs with a fast crowd," I said after I swallowed.

  Shaw frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "The kid who was arrested yesterday for shooting at that girl downtown, he was a friend of Jamond’s. I saw Jamond afterward."

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "Yeah."

  "Was he helpful?"

  Shaw was fishing for something, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. "Yeah, I guess you could say he was helpful." He didn’t need to know about the phone conversation just half an hour ago.

  "I saw in your story this morning that you spoke to Ms. Ellis."

  "Ashley?" I asked. "That’s right. Do you know her?" I thought about her comment about "Reggie" when Vinny was talking to her at Bar.

  "Yes. She’s the one who recommended Jamond for the community-garden program."

  My confusion must have been written all over my face.

  "She was his student teacher this past semester at Hillhouse," Shaw explained patiently, as if to a small child. I didn’t like being condescended to, but this was interesting shit. Jamond had never indicated that he knew Ashley outside Michael and the guns. I still had his number in my phone. I was going to have to give him a call back.

  "So you’ve met Ashley?" I asked.

  Shaw nodded, and for the first time his eyes looked behind me instead of at me. "She was lovely. Very caring. A good teacher. She wanted to do right by Jamond, saw his potential."

  That’s for fucking sure, if she was hooking him and his friends up with guns.

  Shaw’s eyes sank back into mine. "I don’t know what was going on yesterday, but those young people are the reason why I’m here. Someone needs to show them that people of color do not need to resort to crime and violence."

  If he didn’t watch out, he’d break his own arm from patting himself on the back. And from what I’d seen of Ashley Ellis, she wasn’t Mother Fucking Teresa. I pushed my plate and cup back and looked at the check, but before I could pick it up, Shaw’s hand had covered it. "Let me buy you breakfast," he said, the gleaming smile back.

  I shook my head. "My boss wouldn’t like that very much. I can’t have sources pay for anything for me."

  "I’m not a source. You did me a favor, writing that story. I’d like to repay that."

  I looked more closely at him. "I would prefer it if you didn’t." I pulled the check out from under his hand and got up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "How many guns did they find in that apartment last night?" I asked casually.

  He looked me straight in the eye. Didn’t flinch.

  "Twenty-five."

  "Had Ralph bought all of them?"

  His stare never wavered. "I don’t know." He paused a second, then said, "I know you’re suspicious of me and my relationship with your ex-husband. But he was trying to do the right thing after doing the wrong thing. He was paying penance for his sin."

  I snorted. "Ralph never paid penance for shit. He did what he wanted to do and to hell with everyone else. He was just trying to save his ass and send someone else to prison longer than he’d have to go. What I want to know is, who was he giving up to the feds?"

  He didn’t take the bait. He continued to smile at me. "Have a lovely day, Ms. Seymour. And I’m pleased that Jamond was such a help to you, for both stories. He’s a good boy. I have hope for him."

  I was dismissed. I pretended I wasn’t as pissed as I felt as I went up to the cashier and handed him the money for my food. While I waited for my change, I felt someone behind me and turned to see Shaw leaning down.

  "Watch your back," he whispered in my ear before disappearing out into the sunlight.

  Chapter 30

  I stepped outside and looked up and down the sidewalk, but Shaw had disappeared. Watch my back, he’d said. Yeah, right. Someone had been watching it all right. It was time to call my friend Paula Conrad, a special agent with the local FBI office. I’d waited too long as it was.

  I found myself back in my car and heading home. This conversation needed to be had in the confines of my own living room, on my landline. As I eased the car against the curb in front of my brownstone, I glanced over toward Vinny’s place, but his Explorer was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he’d followed me downtown, if he was following me now.

  I still wondered how I could call Tom and ask about the condo, the blood, what might be going on, without letting on how I knew about it.

  Maybe I could let Dick Whitfield do my dirty work, somehow get him to find out. But I couldn’t do that without some plausible story, and one just wasn’t coming to me at the moment.

  When I got into my apartment, I hit the top of my air conditioner a couple of times to see if it would start working again, but it just whirred loudly and spit out more hot air. The big fan might be too much, so I rummaged in my closet and came up with a smaller one, setting it on the floor in the living room before plugging it in. I sat on the couch in front of it, and it managed to do a mediocre job of cooling me off.

  I picked up the phone handset and dialed Paula’s home number.

  "Hello?" She sounded perky; she would, since she had central air in her house.

  "Hey, there," I said simply.

  "I was wondering when you’d call. Jeff Parker said he saw you last night on Arch Street. Wanted to know if I’d talked to you. I told him I hadn’t, that you hadn’t heard about this from me. Who’d you hear about it from?"

  "Another source," I lied easily. "I heard you guys found twenty-five guns in that apartment."

  "Jesus, how did you hear that?"

  I chuckled. "You know better than to ask me that."

  "And you know better than to try to get information out of me." She paused a second. "Really, Annie, this is big. Your ex was into some serious shit."

  "So they were his guns." I said it as fact.

  "Don’t trick me into telling you anything more." By saying that, she confirmed it. It was easy, too, for him. Use the apartment next door for storage. I wondered if Shaw really didn’t know, or if he had just been closing his eyes to it.

  "Can you at least tell me when you started this investigation?" I pushed further.

  "No."

  "Come on, Paula. Off the record." I hated saying it, but I didn’t have a choice.

  "No."

  "How about Ashley Ellis? I hear she was hooking up kids with guns."

  "How the hell do you get your information?"

  So Jamond was right.

  "What are you guys doing about that?"

  "I can’t tell you shit, Annie."

  I had another card to play. "What about Felicia Kowalski? She’s missing. Was she involved with this, too?"

  "What do you know about her?" Paula’s question came quickly, too quickly.

  "She called me. Said to tell the cops it wasn’t her fault. What wasn’t her fault, Paula?"

  "She called you?"

  "Yeah. On my cell. If you answer my questions, I can give you the number she called from."

  "Fuck you." But it was said halfheartedly; she might be persuaded by my little bribe.

  "What wasn’t her fault?" I tried again.

  I could almost hear the wheels in her brain whirri
ng. She didn’t say anything, though.

  "She was involved with Ralph, right? With the guns? Her and Ashley?" I couldn’t stop pushing. I needed to know.

  "It’s not been verified, but they have been identified as possible accomplices." Sometimes Paula got way too official with me.

  "So they helped him sell the guns?"

  "I can’t say. This is all part of a grand jury investigation." She paused. "As you may know, those proceedings are secret until an indictment is handed down."

  "Fuck that shit," I said.

  "Okay, listen. The minute we can release anything, I’ll call you first. But can you give me that number? We need to check it out."

  I gave it to her, again caught between a rock and a hard place about that condo. Paula should know about it, too. But with my luck, Tom and Paula might actually join forces—against me if they knew I’d been there and not fessed up immediately.

  "What about Reggie Shaw? What does he have to do with this?" I asked.

  "Why won’t you let up? I can’t say anything." She was getting pissed. I didn’t care.

  "Did you know Ralph was stalking me?"

  That stopped her. I heard her catch her breath. "What?"

  "So you didn’t know about the pictures of me in his apartment?"

  "Damn." She was silent for a few seconds, then, "Listen, Jeff Parker’s been asking me a lot of questions about you. I wasn’t there when they raided the place, but now the questions make sense to me."

  "Questions like what?"

  "Like, how much do I know about your relationship with him? You know, I really don’t know anything."

  "There’s not much to know,"I lied. I was getting good at lying, feeling more comfortable with it these days. That wasn’t a good thing, but it was necessary for the moment. "We weren’t married too long—it just wasn’t going to work out." I’d told Tom more than that, but somehow having the feds know what really happened didn’t sit right with me. And telling Paula was telling the feds, friend or no.

  "There’s got to be a story—," she started, but the buzzer interrupted.

  "Hey, Paula, someone’s here. I have to see who. I’ll call you later." I hung up before she could say anything else.