by Matt Rass
“This look like a brotha’s pad to you?” Ray asked.
“It just looks expensive,” DC said.
“And spotless,” Ray added. “It doesn’t look like anybody lives here.”
“He must have a cleaning lady.”
Ray entered the stark white kitchen off of the entrance and opened a few of the drawers. “Nothing but kitchen shit.”
“What’d you expect?” DC asked.
“Junk mail. Something with Sam’s name on it.”
He opened the fridge and the inside was organized like a hotel fridge: bottled water, cans of soda and juice for mixing drinks. “No food.”
“Whose place you think it is?” DC asked.
“Dwight was telling me about how Sam was involved with blackmailing rich folk. This, I would imagine, is a perfect place to set that kinda shit up.”
“If I walked into a joint like this,” DC said, “I’d think I had it made and was about to get paid.”
“Let’s check out the bedroom.”
The loft had half partitions separating kitchen, dining, and living room, but the bathroom and two bedrooms were completely walled-off.
Ray entered the first bedroom and DC peered around his shoulder. “The hell happen here?”
Holes were cut out of each of the four walls at about the same height. Lying discarded at the bottom of each wall were velvet paintings of homosexuals in various acts of sex. Each painting depicted a different race—African, Asian and Latin American—copulating with a Caucasian.
Ray picked up one of the paintings, turned it around, and held it up to the light. “They had cameras behind these walls,” he said. “The dude’s balls are translucent.”
“Trans-what?”
“See-through,” Ray explained. “Camera was in the wall, lookin’ right at whomever was in here. Recording.”
“All these other homos, too?” DC asked casting her hand like Glinda the Good Witch over the other discarded paintings.
“Based on the same four holes on each of the walls,” Ray said. “I’d say yes.” He cocked his head and stared into the corner, trying to imagine where the camera had been when he was at the stripper apartment, but couldn’t come up with anything. “Let’s check the second bedroom,” he said.
The second bedroom was twice the size of the first with two closets on each side of the the king-sized bed. The same four cutouts and discarded paintings marked each wall in this room, but the velvet paintings here depicted heterosexual sex—African, Asian and Latin American—with a Caucasian.
Ray stepped into the closet that shared the same wall as the first bedroom. It was empty. “No clothes, no nothing,” he said.
“What’re you thinkin’?” DC asked.
“Why would someone want me to believe this was Sam’s pad?”
DC thought a beat. “Maybe they’re trying to set Sam up? Like, maybe whoever they was recording in here found out, and they’re the ones pulled out all the cameras. Now they’re putting it all on your brother.”
“The only way it makes sense is if that’s what they want me to think. Put me off the real reason—”
Ray stopped. He and DC both heard someone enter the loft. Ray motioned for DC to go into the other closet while he slipped into the one he had already been in.
The voices were muffled at first, but as soon as they entered the first bedroom, Ray heard one of them say, “They had cameras behind these walls.”
“Check the other room,” the other man ordered.
One white man and one black, Ray guessed. He knew that they’d probably follow the same search pattern as he had, so he slipped out of his closet and tiptoed across the room to join DC in hers. He caught her fist in his hand as he entered her small space and covered her mouth as she almost shrieked.
“Same thing in here,” the first man said.
“Goddammit,” the other one said. “Check the closets.”
ALEX’S PAD
The congressman exited the condo elevator with Bradley in tow, turned right, and walked toward the single penthouse door at the east end of the hall. The synthetic smell of new carpets and fresh paint hung thick in the air. A lithe and athletic thirty-something year-old with sandy blonde hair and small breasts held the door open for them.
“Hello congressman,” she said. “I didn’t know you were visiting today.”
“Natalie, how are you, dear?” Frank replied. “I don’t need an appointment to see my nephew, now do I?”
“Of course not. He’s just getting out of the shower. Please, come in. Hello, Bradley.”
“Hello, Natalie.”
Frank winked at Natalie, and as he passed, he audibly breathed in her scent. She shuddered.
The congressman turned back to her, “No wonder you’re shivering,” he said. “You got the air conditioner on so high it’s like a fridge in here.”
Alex had organized his first Rainbow Party in college after his baseball team’s final roster was announced. They had the big house, the booze, and live music. When the girls arrived they were each handed a different colored lipstick to aid their contribution to the rainbow. It was a joke, of course—no one truly expected an orgy of blowjobs to materialize—although two rookies did get hummers in the bathrooms. When the coaches found out, they smiled and warned their team captain that he was lucky nothing exploitive was reported during the party or Alex would probably have to face a disciplinary board and possible suspension. Two days later, Alex was approached by the school’s Republican chapter about organizing fundraisers. They had heard about his Rainbow Party stunt and considered it genius. They also lamented that no one ever invited them to parties, especially ones with girls.
Alex balked at the offer to join the chapter’s cause until he was introduced to his current sweetheart, Natalie. Her father was an alumnus and had been the state’s former treasury secretary. Natalie was a Republican out of loyalty and obligation only. Neither she nor Alex shared the party’s full ideology, but together they excelled at promoting and fundraising on campus and at national student events. Alex and Natalie fell in love fast, and after his injury and the thought of not playing ball again, it was she who pulled him out of his deep depression.
It was the gambling that changed him more than anything else. During his long hospital recuperation, he got hooked on poker apps, and thanks to his roommate from Chicago, would make weekend trips to the Windy City for high-stakes poker. He was fifty large in debt by the time he graduated. Natalie never suspected a thing. He flipped his illegal prescriptions to Sam and Dominique at the strip club and used the money to keep his head above water with the mob in Chicago. Then came the sex parties. And with Sam’s help recruiting the girls, the extra money brought higher stakes and bigger personal losses as Alex started betting on everything under the sun and losing. When Sam went missing, Alex was into the mob by a hundred grand.
Alex appeared in the hallway of his condo with a towel around his waist. “I’m not late for our tee time, am I?” he asked.
His smile flattened as his uncle stepped up and slapped him across the face. Natalie leaped from where she’d been standing and Bradley caught her arm. The congressman looked back and stared a hole right through her.
“It’s okay baby,” Alex said to Natalie. “Why don’tcha ask Brad if he wants something to drink?”
Alex gestured for his uncle to enter his office. He smiled back at Natalie, and the red welt on the side of his face disappeared as the color came back into his cheeks.
Inside Alex’s office, with the door closed, the congressman took the seat across from Alex’s desk. “You messed up letting that DJ kid near my money.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how are you gonna fix it?”
Alex stammered. “I’m gonna, um, call in some favors and maybe borrow.”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars?”
Alex remained silent.
“You’re the city attorney for
chrissakes,” Frank continued, his voice rising in anger. “I thought I taught you how to make money, not give it away. Anyone wants to do anything in this town, they should have to pay you to even look at it. So, how are you really going to get my fucking money back?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.”
“Why’d you let this kid hold it in the first place?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Goddamn little more than a mistake I’d say.”
“I’ll find a way to get it back.”
“We’re having a barbecue at the house, why don’t you and Natalie come by?”
“Your brother and his son gonna be there?”
“You mean your uncle and cousin? Yes. Why does it always have to be a big deal?”
“’Cos they could’ve put me in prison.”
“Baa, look at you now… when’s your mother’s flying in? You’ll be there for dinner?”
Alex nodded. “Tomorrow around noon. Barbara is picking her up from the airport.”
“Can you call her Aunt Barbara? She’s my wife and your Aunt. You’re always so, I dunno, cold.”
“Sorry. Aunt Barbara.”
The congressmen stood and Alex followed suit. “Well, I don’t know if I can trust you again, and that saddens me. I already regret bringing you into this.”
Alex smiled.
“The fuck you smiling for?”
“Sorry. I was thinking of something else.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be thinking of something else. You should be thinking of this. Only this. I swear to God, I think when that Puerto Rican can-kicker hit you in the head with the fastball he scrambled your goddamn brains. And that’s your problem, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
“You ungrateful little…”
The two men stood staring at each other. A stalemate.
“I’ll forgive the money,” Frank began, breaking the silence, “but I’ve worked too long and too hard for you to fuck this up. When this is all settled, I want you to move to Lansing. “
Alex laughed. “I don’t care what you want, Frank.”
“Is that so? You’re finished listening to me? I’m trying to shape the career you obviously don’t care anything about.”
“To what end? To be like you?”
“Am I so bad? I paid your way through Michigan State. I’ve kept half your cousins employed and the other half out of jail. But I guess you’d rather have been a doper and a drunk just like your old man? Do what you want no matter the consequences.”
Alex shook his head; his uncle didn’t understand. Alex didn’t want to be like him. He didn’t want to be just another crooked politician.
The congressman took out his phone and sent a picture message. “Let me send you something I received this morning.”
Alex’s phone chimed and he picked it up and looked at the picture. It was a photograph of him and the FBI agent at the diner.
“You think you’re too big a fish for me? You’re gonna hafta learn,” the congressman was standing now, ready to leave. “You’re living in a bowl, not a pond. And it’s my fucking bowl you’re swimming in.”
JOHN THOMAS
Ray tried to push DC as far back into the loft closet as possible, anticipating being caught together when the door was opened. “Holy shit!” the white man hollered, and jumped back, slamming the door shut. “There’s someone in there,” he said.
Ray could hear the unmistakable sound of guns being drawn from holsters. “Sheriff’s department,” the other man shouted through the door. “Come out with your hands up.”
That would be the black man, Ray thought. “We’re coming,” he said. “But don’t shoot, I’m a Detroit police officer.”
“And we’re black!” DC added.
“Hands on top of your head,” the white man said.
Ray began to turn the doorknob slowly, “I’m opening the door and I’m unarmed,” he said. Ray stepped out of the closet followed by DC.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the black cop said. “He finally comes out of the closet.”
Ray dropped his hands from atop his head, “John fuckin’ Thomas,” he said. “A sheriff’s deputy. Imagine that.”
John Thomas holstered his weapon and tapped his partner to do the same. “Of all the closets in all the world, he’s gotta step outta mine,” he said before enveloping Ray in a big, brotherly hug.
“Funny,” Ray said, hugging his old friend. “I always figured you’d make a great outlaw.”
“And what about you? Detroit PD. The hell you doin’ here, man?”
“Asshole who owns the strip club said this was Sammy’s pad.”
“Your Sammy?”
“Yeah.”
John Thomas looked unconvinced. “So you break into the place?”
“Door was wide open when we got here,” Ray said, looking at DC for support. She nodded her head rapidly in agreement. “Wide open,” she said.
“Someone call us in?” Ray asked.
“Yeah,” John Thomas said. “They don’t have many black people living here. None, in fact.”
“Should take that up with the rental board. She’s a big building.”
“Big mortgage,” John countered.
“They don’t have rent control?”
“I’m not a real estate agent, Ray. I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy, remember?”
“So you just happened to get the call?” Ray asked. “Dressed in civvies.”
“They make you a detective in Detroit?”
Ray laughed, a non-genuine smile on his face. “I’m just tryin’ to understand why I’m being set-up to come down here to get busted.” Turning faux-serious, he said, “Would you have shot me?”
“Naw, man, we ain’t cowboys and we ain’t cowards. And I ain’t gonna arrest you, either. So, you home for good or what?”
Ray shook his head. “Not for good, no.”
“Ray goddamn Price. I can’t believe it.” To his partner he said, “I went to school with this motherfucker. He was into MMA before it was even called MMA. Ain’t that right, Ray? Ultimate fuckin’ Fighting Championship. Damn. I remember when we was kids; you, me, and Bobby White sneaking into the bar downtown to see UFC 1. We drew moustaches on our lips to get in. Remember that? Royce Gracie versus Ken Shamrock. Those were the days, eh?”
“Got us off the street and into the gym,” Ray said.
John agreed. “That it did,” he said, and then, “How many black belts you have now?”
“Five.”
“Five black belts?! Day-um. Say, you don’t know anything about a group of white boys beat up down at the Silver dealership, do ya?”
Ray shook his head, “No. What happened?”
“Heard over the rover that a black man was seen leaving the scene. Buncha white boys with broken faces... What was that sayin’ you liked to use back in the day? You know, before you put a nigga on his ass?”
“Gonna be hard to pick up your teeth with broken fingers,” Ray said.
“Yeah, I used to love that. Funny thing is, all these whiteboys had their teeth and fingers broken, too.”
“The Silver boys that own the dealership say the video surveillance was down due to maintenance,” the white deputy said, looking straight at Ray. “That may mean they plan to take care of this themselves.”
“Or the video surveillance was down due to maintenance,” Ray said.
“Sorry, Ray,” John said. “This is my partner, Jeff.”
Ray shook the other cop’s hand, “Ray Price.”
“And I know this lady,” John Thomas said. “Remind me what’s your name, again, sugah?”
“Desiree Chalmers, but everyone just calls me DC.”
She put out her hand to shake, but John Thomas scoffed. “Aren’t you a hooker?”
DC bit the inside of her lip. “Not today, officer.”
“Your pimp give you the weekends off? Lucky.”
“I heard all hookin’ had been adjourned till the fall,” Jeff
joked.
“That right, honey? You on special session?”
“Easy now,” Ray said to his old buddy. “She’s helping me find out what happened to Sammy. You ain’t got any news on him, do ya, JT?”
“I’m afraid it’s prolly not gonna work out the way you hoped, bro.”
“For who?”
“C’mon,” John said, “you don’t need me to tell you what your baby brother was into.”
“I got the name Alex Silver...”
John laughed. “Alex Silver is the city attorney, man. And you heard he was connected to Sam? How? On his worst day, Alex Silver wouldn’t be caught dead with someone didn’t have as many zeros in his bank account as I got in my phone number. Which I’m gonna give to you right now.”
“Why not?” Ray asked as John Thomas gave him a business card from his wallet. “Sam worked at the club his uncle owned.”
“The greaseball that told you this was Sam’s pad? Does it look like a DJ of a small town strip club could live in a place like this? And just ’cos they share the same last name, don’t mean they’s close.”
“Alex Silver doesn’t have any dealings with anyone from his family other than his uncle Frank, the congressman,” Jeff explained.
“You follow Michigan State baseball?” John asked.
Ray shook his head, “Never felt the need.”
“Alex Silver was a star first baseman for the Spartans. Good lookin’ kid, tall…”
“White.”
John nodded. “He got beaned by a Puerto Rican and it fucked him up big time. He couldn’t play ball no more.”
“Too bad for him.”
“And this greaseball from the club, uncle Tony? Him and his kid, big dude, named Mike, were the only suspects when they found this Puerto Rican kid dead a week later. But what does pretty boy Alex do? Pretends he doesn’t even know half his family exists. To this day! So the idea that Alex is hangin’ out with the DJ from his uncle’s strip club just don’t fly. Sorry, man.”
