Ray's Hell: A Crime Action Thriller

by Matt Rass

  Ray thought about mentioning the hidden photos of himself and the strippers to John, get him back on his side, but this hadn’t played out the way he imagined. He thought JT would’ve wanted to help him find Sam, but all he was giving him was reasons to not even look. “What can you tell me about Sam’s disappearance then? I heard you guys were down at the Welcome the next day asking questions.”

  “Wasn’t me,” John said. “Was that you, Jeff?”

  Jeff shook his head.

  “So, you don’t got nothin’ for me, then?” Ray said.

  “Do you know what happened to him since you been gone? You talk to him on the phone since you left for the Army? He went bad, bro. Sellin’ dope with his faggot friends. Pimpin’ homos and junkie women...” John looked over at DC. “You ask your girlfriend if she knows what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know shit about him,” DC said.

  “This is a small town, Ray. Drug dealing pimp goes missing there’s not much we can do.”

  “That’s my baby brother, JT. Take your foot off.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t some gangbanger took Sam out?”

  “’Cos if it was just some fool, Sam would be lying in your morgue right now.”

  “Chill, Ray, I’m sorry I was so harsh. I know he used to be a good kid, but the truth is, he changed.”

  “Someone made him disappear,” Ray said. “And that takes fuckin’ work.”

  “Did you check his cards? Maybe he just took off?”

  “Cards are cold. Waitress at the Welcome says he met someone in the parking lot and that’s the last anyone’s seen of him.”

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you, Ray.”

  “Whattabout other known associates?” Ray asked.

  “You been to see Mandy, yet?”

  “I was planning on going there after here. But if this pad ain’t his, what other address do you have for him?”

  “He had an apartment behind the club, but he was a couch surfer, mostly. You know the club burned down this morning? You wouldn’t have any idea what started it, do you?”

  “They said it was a kitchen fire,” DC said.

  “They don’t know that for sure yet,” Jeff said.

  “Looks like I’m just gonna hafta knock on some doors of my own if I’m gonna get any real answers.”

  “You’re prolly not gonna like what’s on the other side, brother.”

  “Worse than pimpin’ homos and junkie women?”

  “I’ll let you find that out on your own,” John said.

  “See ya round, John.”

  “You too, Ray.”

  “Later fellas,” DC said.

  “And Ray,” John said.

  “Yeah?”

  “That Puerto Rican kid who hit Alex with the pitch…? When they found him, his face looked like week-old hamburger. Maggots and shit.”

  “Thanks,” Ray said. “I think I’ll have salad for lunch."

  TOLL STOP

  Ray’s Caddy approached the rear of the single sheriff's cruiser occupying its permanent location behind the toll booth on the small, man made island separating Benson Bridge and St. Andrews.

  A big, beautiful black woman extended her hand out the tollbooth window and said, “Two fiddy.”

  Ray laid three one-dollar bills over the woman’s palm and waited for his change. The woman’s hand returned holding two quarters between her long, fake fingernails and appeared to see Ray for the first time. “Well, lookit you,” she said. “I ain’t never seen you before.”

  “Just visiting,” Ray said.

  “Guess I’m gonna hafta get all my lookin’ in now then, ain’t I?” she said.

  “Gotta do whatcha gotta do,” Ray said.

  “Ugh,” DC groaned.

  The tollbooth woman peered around Ray at DC. “The city dump is north on highway 60,” she said coldly.

  “Why don’tcha shut yo’ fat mouth and give up the change, ya damn cashier.”

  The woman held her cold eyes on DC and dropped the coins in Ray’s hand.

  “Don’t mind my baby sister,” Ray said. “She’s pregnant.”

  “What?!” DC said and slapped Ray’s shoulder. “Shut yo’ mouth!”

  Ray looked straight ahead and gave the Caddy a little too much gas and the tires squealed.

  “Why’d you say I was pregnant?” DC asked.

  “I saw your belly in the bath.”

  “That’s nothing. I just ain’t been eating right, is all.”

  Ray eased the Caddy past the single cruiser on his left. He locked eyes with the white cop behind the wheel and knew it was coming when the Caddy’s wheels rolled over the bridge expansion joint and he heard the whoop of the siren behind him.

  “They shoot black folk in this town?”

  “You still in America, aren’t ya?” DC asked.

  Ray angled the Caddy to the side of the road, off the bridge, and killed the engine.

  The cop rapped his wedding ring on the Caddy’s window frame. “License,” he said.

  Ray handed it up and the cop matched the picture to Ray’s face. “You know you’re all over the news?”

  “For what’s goin’ on in Detroit?”

  “There any other reason you should be?”

  “I was hoping the Red Wings were gonna draft me,” Ray said.

  “Very funny,” the cop said. “What isn’t funny is killing an innocent little boy.”

  Ray stopped smiling and looked straight ahead. Pleased with himself, the cop kept Ray’s license and walked to the rear of the Caddy, where he made a call on his cell phone.

  “What’s he talkin’ about killed an innocent little boy?” DC asked.

  “I didn’t know he was there,” Ray explained. “I was being shot at, for chrissakes…”

  The cop walked back and handed Ray his license. “Your wife’s on the news, too,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah? What does she have to say?”

  The cop tipped his hat, “Drive safe,” he said.

  Ray bit his lip, “Mother… Yo!” he shouted. “What did she say?”

  JAYNEEN

  Ray checked online for the video and after clicking through the different Detroit news sources, found the full clip on YouTube.

  Jayneen was standing in the doorway of her home. “I’m a self-employed business woman,” she whined.

  “She’s very pretty,” DC said.

  “Everything I have”—Jayneen continued on the video—“this house, this car, an in-ground swimming pool. I’ve worked diligently to acquire. And as a strong, black woman I’m very proud to provide haircare products to women of color who demand only the very best!” The camera view was over the heads of three or four recognizable Detroit news personalities and their accompanying cameras. A news ticker crawled at the bottom of the screen but was too small to read due to the size of Ray’s phone.

  Jayneen seemed to break away from her script as she addressed a popular Asian newswoman from Fox 2 Detroit, Tina Chow. “Can y’all put the link to my website while I’m talkin’?” she asked.

  “This is live,” Ms. Chow said.

  “Tell us about your husband, ma’am,” a male newsman shouted from the back of the crowd.

  Jayneen produced her large cell phone. “I received this video message on my phone this morning,” she said, “while’s I was eatin’ my avocado toast.” The camera in the YouTube video zoomed-in while the news personalities up front leaned forward to see exactly what was showing on Jayneen’s screen. It was the surveillance video of Ray eating Angelique’s ass.

  Tina Chow jumped back, and with the back of her head, struck a black woman in the nose. “Bitch,” the struck woman said.

  “Don’t show that!” Ms. Chow yelled, waving her hand in front of Jayneen’s phone.

  “Ray Price,” Jayneen hollered above Ms. Chow’s protest, “has got his face all up in ’dis white bitch’s ass!”

  Ray closed his phone and sighed. Leaning back in his seat, he removed his wedding band
from his pocket one last time and dropped it out the window. He wished he were alone. Wished his wife hadn’t been on camera. And then, like a wave that had been suspended over him all day long, finally came crashing down atop his head; he thought of the little boy in Detroit. “Why the fuck didn’t we wait for backup?” he said.

  “What?” DC asked.

  “I didn’t even see him. He came outta nowhere.”

  “Who came outta nowhere?”

  Ray became animated in his seat, rambling. “The little boy. Dude was gonna kill me. He had his gun down on me. I was dead. And if I didn’t shoot him first...” He covered his face with his hands. “What did I do?”

  DC was confused. “The little boy had a gun?”

  Ray removed his hands from his face. His eyes were red and swollen with tears. “No,” he said. “He didn’t have a gun. I shot the guy who had the gun. He was right in front of me. But the little boy was behind him the whole time. I just didn’t see him.”

  “If you didn’t see him, then it’s not your fault,” DC said.

  “God,” Ray growled, long and deep. “I haven’t cried this much since all my friends died in Afghanistan.”

  “Is that why you’re being so good to me?” DC asked. “You feel like you need to make up for killing a little boy?”

  Ray didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m not complainin’ or tryin’ to make this about me. I really didn’t think you needed my help. I just couldn’t figure out why y’all wanted me around in the first place for.”

  “You wanna go get your things from your ol’ man’s?” Ray asked, sniffling, and wiping his wet nose.

  “Yes,” DC said.

  “Is he the father of your baby?”

  DC rolled her eyes, “Ugh. Yes.”

  “And he doesn’t know?”

  “What does he care about a baby?”

  “You need to ask him. And you need to find out why he set you up in that hotel room.”

  DC pulled the Detroit Lions phone out of her purse. “He told me to get this.”

  “That’s the Junkie’s phone?”

  “Dre’s suppose to give it to the white dude he owes his money to.”

  “What’s on the phone?”

  “I’m not sure, the battery is dead. You have a charger?”

  “Not for an iPhone.” Ray held out his hand and DC gave him the phone. “I’m gonna guess Andre owes his money to Tony Silver and this Junkie is connected to Sam somehow.”

  DC agreed and Ray started the Caddy and pulled back into traffic.

  ANDRE’S

  DC was out front of Andre’s house kicking at the front door as Ray sat in the Caddy across the street.

  “Open ’dis door,” she screamed, “before I huff and I puff and I blow this house down!”

  A methy-looking caucasian prostitute appeared at the window behind a drawn curtain. “Nuh-huh, bitch. Youze already in deep-shit with Dre.”

  “Bitch!” DC screamed again. “Open. The. Door.”

  “You just wait and see.”

  “You tell Andre all’s I want is my shit.”

  “He ain’t here, and your shit already been thrown out with all the other trash.”

  “If that’s true, then why you still here?”

  Oh, snap! The methy-looking hooker flung the curtains closed as DC looked up and down the block, and not seeing any signs of it being garbage day, returned to kicking the front door.

  Andre appeared around the corner of the house with a 9mm in his hand. “Yo, yo, Desiree,” he said. “I need you to chill.”

  DC got down in a panther’s crouch and wagged her finger at him, not intimidated by the sight of his gun. “You sonuvabitch. You sent me to kill that old bastard with a shot of dope!”

  He tried to shush her. “Keep quiet, baby. It ain’t like dat.”

  “Nigga,” she said. “You give me my shit and let me git the fuck outta here before I tell the cops everything I know about you.”

  Andre looked over at Ray as if for help, but Ray looked away, convinced the pimp wasn’t the type to use his weapon.

  “Get over here and open this door before I kick it down,” DC threatened.

  “Okay, okay, lemme open it for you.” Andre fit his nine in the back of his waistband and yelled at the prostitute inside: “Tammy! Open the goddamn door.”

  “You just keep that crazy ho away from me when I do,” Tammy said.

  “Bitch,” DC said, “I don’t even care about you.”

  As Tammy unlocked the door on the other side and opened it, DC pulled the 9mm from the back of Andre’s pants and shoved him into the house. “Now I got you two,” she said.

  Witnessing the bold move, Ray jogged across the street and to the front door. He heard more yelling between the two females inside and Andre trying to keep the peace, followed by the sound of crashing furniture. He opened the door and hollered inside, “It’s Ray, Dee, I’m coming in.”

  “I am going to shoot you,” DC said.

  Ray entered the house still calling out to DC that it was him.

  In the living room, DC was holding the gun on the other two. The place looked like it had been ransacked; drawers emptied and everything overturned. Andre was trying to diffuse the situation with coos, asking her to lower the gun.

  “You tell me right now,” DC said, “why you sent me to steal that man’s phone and shoot him with dope. Was that needle going to kill him?”

  “Man,” Andre said to Ray, “can you tell her to put the gun down?”

  “I think you should answer the question,” Ray said.

  “I told you, baby,” he said. “It was to settle my debt. Now look ’round you. They came in here lookin’ for that phone, thinkin’ I had it. I’m in deep shit now, baby. Please.”

  “With who?” Ray asked.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Andre said. “It ain’t yo’ business.”

  “Then I’m gonna let her shoot you and you can tell the police about your debt.” To DC, he said, “You don’t want to kill him, right? Just wound him?”

  “This is bullshit, man,” Andre cried. “You can’t just let her shoot me.”

  “She don’t even know how to shoot straight,” Tammy said.

  “Shut up, bitch,” DC said and picked an empty coffee cup off the top of a speaker and threw it at her, shattering it against the wall above her head.

  “Was it Tony Silver told you to take the phone?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t know what’s up with the phone,” Andre said. “Why he wants it or what.”

  “Thanks for confirming who told you to get the phone,” Ray said, “but the rest of that bullshit is called “evading” the question. What’s on the phone and does it have anything to do with my brother, Sam?”

  Andre looked at Ray quizzically. “You’re a cop,” he said and to DC he said, “Desiree, why you bring a no-good cop up in here? Now I know you ain’t gonna shoot me in front of no pig.”

  DC fired into an old Lay-Z-Boy between Tammy and Andre. They both turned to look at the smoking hole in the brown vinyl, then back at her and Ray.

  “Sam who?” Andre asked.

  Ray performed a back kick and shattered the screen of Andre’s sixty-five inch television.

  “Man,” Andre whined.

  “Sam Beck. If you know Tony, then you know my brother.” Ray put out his hand and DC gave the gun to him and he pointed it at Andre’s groin. “I’m gonna shoot you in your dick if you don’t tell me what I wanna know,” he said.

  “What do you wanna know?” Andre asked.

  MEET EMMA AND MANDY

  In the 1980’s, the North Beach Trailer Park was originally owned by the city and located in the beautiful northern beaches area, amongst the forest and original highway. But after it was purchased by a consortium of developers in the early nineties, the new landlords secretly colluded to drive down property values by purposely renting to drug dealers and people on welfare, then evicting them when they couldn
’t afford the rent hikes. The motive, of course, was to bulldoze the entire property and build a new, luxury subdivision. The developers had been doing the same thing in Benson Bridge: driving out the mainly poor black population and replacing them with middle-class whites. Capitalist gentrification at its finest.

  Back in Ray’s day, this all had been wild country, untouched forest as far as the eye could see. The sheriff at the time was none other than Carl “Cinder Block” Barron. Ray had cousins who were one of the first families to move into the trailer park, and he remembered the attempted housecleaning by the sheriff’s office after they had been previously living peacefully for a dozen years or more. Dealers slingin’ dimebags were rounded up and put in jail, and people with as little as a parking ticket were arraigned and ordered to pay exorbitant costs to go free on bail—and when they couldn’t afford that bail, they were evicted from the trailer park in absentia. But those families with no criminal history put up a fight and the state court allowed them to remain. And they did, despite the harassment. It didn’t curb Sheriff Carl’s enthusiasm though. Residents complained of search lights in windows, police sirens at night, and early morning drug raids based on confidential “informants.” And rumors that a known meth cook was put up in one of the trailers by the landlord, who had planned to blow up the trailer and force the eviction of the other tenants, turned out to be true when the cook fell hard for a neighbor chick and went to the press with the story. He never made it to the Michigan grand jury. Someone put a gun in his mouth and he was labelled a suicide. And exactly no one was surprised when development of a private lodge on the opposite banks of the trailer park eventually went ahead. The papers later revealed a huge sheriff’s reelection campaign donation was connected to the new lodge owner’s not-for-profit organization, and anyone who paid any attention to local business and politics knew that the family behind the lodge was none other than the Silvers. CB withdrew from the sheriff race and nothing ever came of the investigation thereafter, because back then, the only sitting judge with the power to indict was today’s local congressman, Frank Silver.