Bury the Past

by James L'Etoile

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your pink girlie backpack, Erica. What was in it?” Paula pushed.

  Stubbs’s face reddened. “No wonder Sherman wanted you dead. I get it now.”

  “She has that effect on people,” John said.

  Paula leaned forward. “So Sherman arranged for you to take me out? You missed, asshole.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Why didn’t Sherman take care of business himself?” she pressed.

  He shrugged, and the restraints jangled. “Maybe ’cause he don’t have the stones for it.”

  John fanned out the photos in front of Stubbs. “I don’t care about your little bag of takeout. I want this. Is Sherman trying to move it?”

  Stubbs tipped his head up at John. “What’s in it for me?”

  “You walk on this possession charge.”

  “Wait a second,” Paula said.

  “You walk on the possession,” John said in a louder voice.

  Stubbs grinned. “I see who wears the pants in this family. Yeah, okay, I walk on the possession, not that you coulda proved they were mine.”

  “So tell me about Sherman,” John said.

  “Sherman’s a pussy. Always has been. Even inside, he was a scared rabbit.”

  “You knew him from prison?” John said.

  “Yeah, he came to us for protection from everyone. White, black, brown—everybody wanted a piece of that cop.”

  “Who’s ‘us’?” Paula asked.

  Stubbs cracked his neck. “Let’s call them concerned citizens.”

  “With a penchant for cross-burning,” she responded.

  “A pen-what?”

  “Never mind. Back to Sherman. What was he trying to set up?” John asked.

  “He’s been nickel-and-dime dealing through a guy named Junior for the past year or so.”

  Paula shot a kick under the table at John when Stubbs mentioned Junior’s name.

  “Yeah, so?” John said, urging him on.

  “Now that he’s out, Sherman wanted to get out of the business and liquidate his inventory. It’s no surprise where that came from. Everyone knew it. You all knew it and turned a blind eye.” Stubbs pointed a shackled hand at the photo of the drug-laden van.

  “Okay, so why screw you in the process?” John said.

  “It’s gonna cost you.”

  “We already told you. You get to walk on the possession beef,” Paula said.

  “This is worth more than a nickel’s worth of time. I need more.” Stubbs regained some smugness and leaned back in his chair.

  “I think Erica’s full of shit,” Paula said.

  “Could be,” John responded.

  “He doesn’t have anything else, or he would have put it on the table already.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t want to play ball on the possession for sale changes, we can book him and let the public defender’s office try to punch holes in the case.”

  Stubbs looked from one detective to the other. “Hey, I’m right here.”

  They ignored him, which made the gangster uneasy, and he began to rock in the chair.

  “With all the video, that’s not likely. Is he a second striker?” Paula said.

  “Are you a second striker? ’Cause you’re looking at a ton of time if that’s the case—more than a nickel’s worth.”

  Stubbs looked like he was having trouble keeping up with the conversation, and the tremor in his hands became more noticeable.

  “I want an immunity deal,” Stubbs said.

  “Immunity from what?” John said.

  He paused.

  “Tell us where this is.” John tapped the photo of the drug van.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “That’s not helpful,” Paula said.

  “He was supposed to take me to it.”

  “Now why would Sherman take you there?” she asked.

  “On account of the hundred grand that was in the backpack.”

  John whistled. “Now we’re talking. You bought the whole damned thing?”

  Stubbs shook his head hard enough to send sweat droplets onto the table. “Now, do I look like I got a hundred grand to toss away? And you know that’s worth way more than a hundred K. It was more pay-to-play, and I was just the bag man.”

  “Who was the money?” John said.

  “Not going there. It don’t matter. Sherman crossed some very powerful Brotherhood players, and he has no idea that he’s already dead.”

  “The backpack was a down payment?”

  He nodded.

  “And the hit on my partner?” John asked.

  “Part of the deal, so I hear.”

  “How much money’s in play here?”

  “A half million, maybe more. And that still leaves a lot of meat on the bone for profit.”

  “What do you have on Sherman? Come on, you gotta give us a taste,” John said.

  “The name Leo Simpkins mean anything to you?”

  “Sounds familiar; help me pin it down.”

  “Simple Simpkins was the guy Sherman killed in prison.”

  “Oh, yeah. The DA didn’t prosecute that one. Lack of evidence and diminished capacity, they claimed.”

  “What if I can get you a witness?” Stubbs said.

  “Sure, who’s that?”

  “Me,” Stubbs said.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Junior rode shotgun with a cut-down 12-gauge on the seat between him and Wallace. He pointed to someone leaning on a motorcycle ahead in the shade of a tall but diseased elm in William Land Park. As they pulled closer, Wallace couldn’t tell which one was more diseased, the tree or the man with his yellow-cast skin.

  “What you got, Dutch?” Junior said.

  Dutch leaned on the driver’s window, and Wallace smelled stale beer and rotting teeth. “Stubbs got hisself into some shit.”

  “What’d you see?”

  “He tossed a backpack or something into a passing car.”

  “You see who was driving?”

  “Yeah, it was Sherman,” Dutch said.

  “Son of a bitch!” Junior punched the dash with a fist. “I thought you said you put him down.”

  “Fucker’s like a cat—he’s got nine lives,” Wallace said.

  “I seen the cops take Stubbs down like they was waiting for him. They ain’t booked him yet. Our eyes on the jail say he ain’t showed there.”

  “That means they’re sitting on him and pressuring him to roll,” Wallace said.

  “Stubbs ain’t like that. He’s solid wood,” Dutch said.

  “Hey, I know he drank the Kool-Aid and he’s down with the cause and all that, but does he know enough to bring it all down?” Wallace asked.

  “Stubbs is righteous,” Junior said.

  “Righteous doesn’t give me warm fuzzy feelings,” Wallace said.

  “He won’t open his mouth. We have people everywhere and he knows it.”

  “Then he’s on your property card, not mine,” Wallace said.

  “He’s ours to deal with—if there’s a problem. You feel me?” Junior said.

  “Yeah, yeah, he’s your problem.” Wallace turned in his seat and faced Junior. “Sherman’s got you by the short curlies. You got no verification of the stuff he’s holding, and you’re no closer to finding it before he sells it to Simmons and his crew. How stupid are—”

  Dutch moved fast, pressing a switchblade under Wallace’s jaw. “You need to show some respect,” Dutch growled. Wallace felt a warm trickle down the front of his neck.

  “I’m starting to think I don’t have much use for you,” Junior said.

  Wallace glared back at the huge man, stone-faced. Junior picked up the 12-gauge cut-down and placed the barrel under Wallace’s chin. “Dutch, you might want to step out of the splatter zone.”

  Dutch removed the knife from Wallace’s throat and took a long pace back.

  “What can you do for me now?” Junior asked.

  “I got
you here, didn’t I?” Wallace answered.

  “Can you get me to Sherman?”

  “Maybe.”

  The barrel pressed harder into the soft spot under his chin. “Can you or not?”

  “Dutch, you have eyes on Simmons?” Wallace asked.

  From a safe space near the back window, Dutch didn’t step forward but answered, “What’s it to you?”

  “Of course we do,” Junior said. “Since he cut me out, I’ve had Red on him.”

  “You follow Simmons, and he’ll take you to Sherman,” Wallace said.

  Junior’s eyes narrowed with a slow burn of recognition. “Dutch, call Red and get an update.”

  “On it, boss.” He pulled a cell from an inside pocket of his leather vest, next to the bone handle of the knife that had been at Wallace’s throat moments earlier.

  While Dutch was calling, Wallace lifted his chin away from the gun barrel and Junior didn’t press back.

  “You need me to get to Sherman. Even if you can find him, he’s not gonna deal with you or Simmons face-to-face. I can get him to agree to a meet,” Wallace said.

  “You’d be surprised how persuasive we can be. He might need a friend in his issues with Simmons and the Brand,” Junior said.

  “You gonna take on the whole lot of them? Not likely.”

  “But Sherman don’t know that.”

  Dutch came to the window, ducking first to make certain the 12-gauge wasn’t pointed in his direction.

  “Simmons is out. Red says he’s been circling downtown for twenty minutes,” Dutch said.

  “He alone?” Junior asked.

  “Nope. Two of his guys with him. They’re just riding around.”

  “They’re looking for Sherman,” Wallace said. “Follow them, and we’ll find him.”

  Junior pulled the shotgun away and put it by his leg against the door. “Let’s go see what we can find out. Dutch, meet up with Red.” Junior told Wallace to pull away from the curb and take Freeport into downtown.

  As they passed the police department headquarters, Stubbs’s GTO was being winched onto a flatbed tow truck. Wallace slowed down and scanned the few people left on the sidewalk. A man stood over the candles and flower offerings trampled during the disruption.

  “That’s Penley,” Wallace said when they drew close.

  “Looks like he’s waiting for someone.”

  “Gimme that shotgun,” Wallace said.

  “What you got in mind?”

  “We’ll never have a better chance to take him out. The cops will be so busy dealing with that, they’ll forget about Sherman, and he’s all ours.”

  “You forgetting the part where they’ll come after us for shooting a cop?” Junior asked.

  “Risk and reward, Junior. Hand it over.”

  Junior slid the gun over, keeping it low and out of sight. Wallace grabbed the cut-down shotgun and cradled it in his right hand, resting the barrel on his left forearm. He slowed the vehicle and leveled the barrel out the window. His finger caressed the trigger, waiting for the opening when he was directly behind the detective.

  Less than ten feet between Penley and the barrel. Wallace pulled the trigger, and nothing but a loud click sounded. He squeezed the trigger again, and another click as the firing pin fell on an empty chamber.

  Junior held the 12-gauge shells in his palm and rattled them. “You think I’m gonna give you a loaded gun and let you screw this up?”

  Wallace tossed the gun in the back seat.

  “We’re after that drug shipment and Sherman—nothing else.”

  Junior’s cell phone rang. He listened and hung up after a short conversation.

  “Turn left on Twenty-Ninth. Simmons is circling around Capitol Park.”

  “That’s it. That’s where Sherman will make the deal. Security, public spaces, lots of cops. That’s him. That’s where we take him down.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  John’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and a quick glance showed his home number. “Paula, can you finish up with our boy Eric here? I need to take this.”

  “No problem, I think we’ve come to an understanding. Haven’t we?”

  “Whatever,” Stubbs replied.

  John stepped out of the interview room and accepted the call. “Mel? Are you okay?”

  “Dad, it’s me,” Tommy’s voice sounded on the other end.

  “Tommy, is everything all right?”

  “Mom’s here. Just thought you should know she came back.”

  “Okay, Tommy. Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be right there.” John hung up and immediately dialed Mel’s cell. It went straight to voice mail. So she was back but still avoiding his calls.

  John ducked into the interview room and pulled Paula aside while Stubbs scribbled out his statement on a legal tablet.

  “I need to run home for a bit. You got this?”

  “Yeah. Everything all right?”

  “I’ll find out when I get there. It’s Mel—”

  “Just go and do what you need to do.”

  “You stay out of sight. You hear?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  John left his partner in the middle of an interrogation, something he’d never done before. The pang of guilt at leaving Paula had built into a full-blown storm of self-doubt by the time he arrived home.

  He turned the doorknob slowly—he’d felt less nervous going into crack houses. Melissa wasn’t waiting at the door to confront him. John heard her laugh in the kitchen.

  He eased his way to the edge of the counter and saw Melissa and Kari talking.

  “What’d I miss?” John said.

  “Kari was telling me about you and Paula at school.”

  “Mom, you should have seen Aunt Paula. She was so awesome. I thought she was gonna make Lanette pee herself.”

  “Oh, God, I can picture Paula doing that,” Melissa said.

  Kari hopped off the seat at the counter and started to her room. “I’ve got to get some homework done. I’ll help you with dinner after.”

  There was a slight tremble of an earthquake, or the universe shifted on its axis. John and Melissa looked at one another.

  When Kari had closed her door, Melissa looked at John and whispered, “What just happened?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll take it.”

  “I’m sorry, John.”

  “Me too.” He hugged her and said, “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get through it.” He felt her shudder in his arms.

  She held him tight. “I don’t know how you can say that. That principal at Kari’s school as much as said I was a bad parent for allowing my daughter to become a schoolyard thug.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Mrs. Thompkins and what she said to you. I may have dropped an f-bomb on her.”

  Melissa pulled back and looked up at her husband. “You didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I may have.”

  “Another reason I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. And I think Paula may have nipped the Lanette problem in the bud. My guess is we’ll get a call from Mrs. Thompkins reconsidering the whole situation.”

  “She is a piece of work,” Melissa said, drying her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Mrs. Thompkins or Kari?”

  Melissa laughed, and her brightness came back.

  “Come on. I’ll make the kids and us some dinner,” John said.

  “You cook?”

  “I can microwave with the best of them.”

  “Not really.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Paula was pecking away at a report on the information that Stubbs had offered when her cell phone chirped. The screen showed a blocked number. She held the phone to her ear, listening. The faint whoosh of city street noise carried through.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “It’s so nice to hear your voice, Detective,” Sherman said on the other end. To Paula’s ear, he sounded surprised to hear her.

  “I’m not that easy to kill.
Next time, have the balls to face me like a man.”

  “I’m calling to help you, Detective.”

  “Who says I need your help?”

  “You’re looking for Wallace. I can tell you where he’s gonna be. I need him out of the picture as much as you do. You understand that, don’t you, Detective?”

  “I know why I’m looking for him, but I don’t much care what he did to hurt your feelings.”

  Sherman sighed. “Fine. Don’t believe me. You getting him will clear you and me from the killings. I had nothing to do with them. You have to help me to help yourself.”

  “You gonna come in and show us where Wallace is hiding?”

  Sherman laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Wallace isn’t hiding. In fact, he’s palling around with some Aryan Brotherhood types.”

  “And they want your stash,” she said.

  “Of course they do. But they aren’t gonna get it.”

  “That’s kinda risky, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve got my reasons. I’ll turn the stuff—all of it—over to you.”

  “Not that I’m not the trusting sort, but why would you do that?” Paula asked.

  “Like I said. I’ve got my reasons.”

  “All right, tell me.”

  “Wallace and his racist pals will be at the state capitol in about an hour.”

  “The capitol? What do they have going on there?”

  “It’s not because they’ve had a sudden crisis of civic consciousness. That’s where the deal will go down.”

  “I need you there,” Paula said.

  “Why, Detective, I’m touched. See you in an hour.” Sherman disconnected the call.

  Paula sat back in her chair and questioned Sherman’s motives. Nothing was straightforward with this creep.

  She dialed John and gave him a rundown on Sherman’s demand for a meet up. “He’s trying to sell us Wallace,” she said.

  “What’s his angle? I mean, he’s not gonna just hand over his stash without something in it for him.”

  “I don’t have much of a choice but to go with it. Unless I get Wallace, I’ll never get the DA off my back.”

  “You can’t trust him,” John said. “You think he’d actually turn over his stash? This is a big risk.”

  “I can live with that.” Paula rose from her chair and grabbed her jacket. “Sherman said the deal is going down in an hour at the state capitol. That’s a whole lot of space to cover.”