Cold Medina

by Gary Hardwick

  10

  Tony, Nikki, and Moe

  Tony watched the footage of Grip's funeral with disdain on TV at his home in Detroit's Palmer Woods. A fashionable, upscale neighborhood, former home to Detroit's affluent whites, it was now inhabited by decidedly middle-class blacks. Tony and his wife Nikki together made more than enough to afford their house. Heading the Sewer paid well, one of its few advantages.

  Big Money Grip was finally allowed to be buried, thanks in part to Carol Salinsky's ace reporting. The police had to admit that Grip's hands had been cut off and taken. The family had been kept in the dark. They had only been allowed to examine the corpse's tortured face.

  Hands. What did that mean? Tony had been thinking about it ever since Roberts's report. Was it just a lunatic's random pattern of violence or was it a clue to his identity?

  Carol Salinsky, dressed in a black suit, reported on the funeral. She had a pained, sad look on her face. Tony half believed she gave a damn about Grip's death.

  “Here at the Eastside Memorial Baptist Church there is an aura of dread and melancholy,” Salinsky said. “Floyd Turner, also known as Big Money Grip, was laid to rest. Family and friends were torn apart by their loss.”

  There was a shot of Grip's mother, a heavy, light-skinned woman, crying a river on camera for the television stations, and they caught every drop. She was held up by two big men as they left the church.

  “Etta Turner refused to comment to this reporter,” Salinsky said. “But did say that she's continuing with her lawsuit against the city, for not recovering the missing hands of her son. In case you're curious, the deceased's hands were replaced by the undertaker with hands made from plastic molds.”

  Salinsky appeared on camera again.

  “There is much speculation about the death of the man some say was the biggest street dealer in Detroit. But ironically, the thing some will remember most is the deceased's coffin.”

  The camera showed a picture of a coffin made to look like a fancy car. It even had hubcaps on it. Tony was disgusted. How could the stations broadcast that garbage into people's homes knowing that kids would see it? This kind of thing glorified drug dealing and the TV bastards didn't care what effect it had on inner-city children.

  Tony watched as the pallbearers walked down the church steps with the monstrosity. He could see several of them struggling as they carried it. It must have weighed a ton. Just as he was about to turn off the spectacle, Carol Salinsky's very serious looking face appeared again.

  “So, as Floyd Turner is laid to rest, one can only guess how the police will deal with his murder. Some suspect a street war will follow in the aftermath. But more importantly, how many more young black men will be slaughtered by this cunning and vicious killer?”

  Tony sighed heavily. She was really laying it on.

  Salinsky continued as the cameras went in for a close-up. “And in a fitting end to this day of mourning and fear, the killer of Floyd Turner now has a name.”

  “What?” Tony said aloud.

  “Because of the medical examiner's admission that the killer removed the victim's hands with uncommon skill, a sick joke began circulating within the police department that the murderer is very 'handy with a knife.' So some are calling Detroit's probable serial killer the Handyman.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Tony said. He switched off the TV. A name after only one victim. Cops had to use sick humor to deal with the job, but journalists didn't have to exploit it.

  Carol Salinsky was becoming a big pain in the ass. After her first story exposing the manner in which Grip was killed, Yancy sent Fuller to another press conference where he gave the department's official position on the matter. Fuller told the whole story and released an unofficial copy of the autopsy.

  The media was having a grand celebration. It was the juiciest story in quite a while and the press sensed what the police already knew. The killing was not over.

  Tony was taking the afternoon off in hopes of lowering his tension level. They hadn't found Alonzo Fields yet, and after his revelation to Jim about Darryl Simon, he was feeling more off-center than ever. He leaned back in his old La-Z-Boy recliner and closed his eyes.

  Now that the Handyman was an official citizen of Detroit, Tony's life would certainly be getting worse. He had actually thought of taking a vacation until it cooled down, but he knew that was impossible in an election year. The mayor would lean on Fuller, who would lean on him. And besides, he was not going to let someone else catch the killer.

  He just wanted to rest now, rest and forget about all of the politicians, criminals, degenerates, and assholes of the world. He slowly lowered into sleep, floating between slumber and wakefulness, the two realities shifted in dominance while he wiggled in the chair trying to find a comfortable position.

  When he finally drifted off, The Dream came again and he awoke with a faint cry

  Tony sat there, sweating in his favorite chair in the den, his heart beating like an untamed animal's. He breathed deeply. The events in his life seemed to be under their own power. Killers killed, rollers spread poison, politicians lied to the public, and The Dream tormented him without mercy. He straightened his back as his six-year old son Maurice walked in.

  “What's the matter, Daddy?” asked the small boy. He had a round head and big, bright eyes that were a dreamy shade of brown. He was small for his age and had a face that looked as if he would break into a smile at any time.

  Tony softened at the sight of him. He could never find words to express his feelings about his son. Moe was the only thing that ever seemed completely right. He was cute, smart, and just bad enough to make a father proud.

  “Just had a bad dream, that's all.”

  “Like the Freddy Krueger?”

  “No, not quite. Hey, I thought I told you not to watch that stuff on TV.”

  “I didn't see it. I heard it, in school.”

  “Well, don't listen.”

  “I cover my ears but it keeps getting in,” Moe laughed.

  Tony fought the smile as long as he could. He embraced his son and fought him playfully from his chair. This was better than therapy. He had never wanted children at first, but when Moe came along, he saw that he had been wrong. This was good, completely good, and there were not many things in life that he could say that about.

  Once Moe was born, he realized he had a lifetime of commitment and sacrifice. There were no more spontaneous trips and adventures. Always now, the child came first. But as he gave his life over, he found that his son held magic. He was honest, uncorrupted, and beautiful in his simplicity. Moe brought Tony in touch with great emotion. The miracle of birth and the mystery of life were twins, and while The Great Question was not answered, it was now easier to live with.

  But it was also a terrible responsibility. Children were, to some extent, only what you made them. How would he deal with the inevitable questions of race and prejudice that Moe would bring to him? What would he say to his son about the bitter discord in the world?

  Nikki Hill entered the den and broke up the wrestling match. Still half-asleep, she hadn't heard her husband's yell. She was thirty-two and very attractive, though she was putting on weight. Her dark brown skin and almond-shaped eyes gave her an exotic, almost Asian look. She pulled her son away from his father, trying not to drop him as he wiggled in her arms.

  “What have I told you about beating up your father?” she said.

  Moe just pointed at his father making a mean face and said, “Next time, next time,” like the professional wrestlers he saw on television.

  Tony sometimes felt strange when he saw his wife and son together. It was like he had just awakened from a daydream. He wondered who they were and what relation they had to him. My wife. My son. It did not seem possible sometimes that he had been so lucky.

  “Well, Mr. Hill, is this how we rest on our day off?” said Nikki. “You know you need to relax.”

  Tony knew he was in trouble. Whenever there was a “Mr. Hill” in the ho
use that meant he was messing up.

  “I was just fooling around. Besides, I already slept.” He forced a smile.

  ''I’ll get us dinner. You just take it easy,” she said then kissed him lightly on the lips and left with Moe in her arms.

  Tony sat down in the La-Z-Boy again. He was so lucky to have Nikki, he thought. She was bright and compassionate. She was a manager with Chrysler and made good money. Nikki was a businesswoman, a mother, and a wife. She was impressive. Then again, he had always admired her.

  They met while he was taking night classes in Criminal Justice at Wayne State. They were both studying in the Law Library Annex, a nice, carpeted area with dull gray cubicles for individual study. Tony had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. It was finals time and he had worked himself to exhaustion. He was awakened by a beautiful woman, looking down at him over her book.

  “You're making a lot of noise,” she had said.

  Tony sat up and a piece of paper had stuck to the side of his face. He had been drooling and the paper was glued by it. “Oh, God,” he said pulling the paper away and wiping himself. He was fatally embarrassed and he showed it. Nikki covered her mouth, laughing.

  “I fall asleep all the time in here, too,” she said.

  “I bet you don't slobber all over yourself.”

  Nikki disappeared into her cubicle. Tony had seen her before. She had a lovely face and, quite frankly, the best ass he had ever seen. She always studied alone but was too good-looking not to have a man, so he had never made a move. And now he was introduced to her with spit on his face. Tony Hill: Ladies' Man.

  Tony was totally surprised when Nikki returned with a Kleenex. He took it and laughed as he wiped at his face. “Well,” he said, “I guess we should make a date to go out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said that ...”

  “Oh, I heard you, I just don't get it. Where did that come from?” She was trying to suppress a smile and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I figure that since you've seen me at my worst, I have nothing to

  lose. I mean, I can't get any more stupid than that.”

  “I see your point.”

  They began to date casually. Although they were strongly attracted, they were wary of each other. They both had battle scars from dating and neither possessed a desire to add more. Nikki was pleasantly surprised at Tony's sensitivity and thoughtfulness. And he was flat-out in love.

  After a month of dating, they had gone to a concert and returned to Tony's home early. The soulful, melodic sound of the O'Jays still filled their heads. After a drink, some dull conversation and disguised foreplay, they went to bed. They attacked their endeavor like hungry workers at a long-awaited meal. They surprised even themselves with their intensity and the depth of their own selfish pleasure. They writhed in the covers, minds absorbed with their lust. Only when it was over, did they realize that neither of them had been so involved in a long time.

  “So, how long since you did it?” asked Nikki laughing.

  “Was it that obvious?” Tony said.

  “Eight months,” she said. “That's about how long it's been for me. “

  “Eight months!” Tony said trying to sound surprised. “It hasn't been near that long for me.”

  “Right. If you had come any harder, the neighbors would've called the cops. “

  “Do I have to say, I am a cop?”

  “Come on, Tony. How long?” She sat up in the bed.

  Tony paused, a little embarrassed.

  “Four months.”

  “That's long for a man, right?”

  “Yeah, it's like eight months for a woman.”

  She grabbed him and it started again. The encounter lasted the whole night. They had to make up for lost time. For Tony, Nikki was a godsend. He needed a good woman and he needed sex too. How nice to finally have them in the same package.

  “We should do this every night,” Tony said. “Screw all that going out crap. Just you, me, and the bed.” Tony grabbed her playfully, still in his briefs.

  Nikki pulled away gently, looking hurt. It soon turned to a look of mild anger. After an awkward discussion that turned into a bitter argument, she was gone.

  They didn't see each other again for a month. They spoke on the phone, but Nikki seemed to want to make him suffer. She gave him just enough hope to call again, but she would not go out with him.

  He wanted to write her off, but he could not. Nikki had made him feel whole, given him an essential, primal, part of life that he had needed for so long and he would not be denied her.

  Tony became obsessed with her. He sent flowers and cards. He wrote letters and called every day. He tried to convey to her what he was feeling and failed miserably. He tripped and fumbled over every word and statement and he was beside himself with his desire. And then, without reason, she forgave him. She never said why and he was too scared to pursue it. Women. Who knew why they did anything?

  Ironically, when they finally saw each other again, they made love. She almost had to force him. He was afraid that it would end badly again, but he was too taken with her and much too weak. They were just as feverish in their love-making the second time. Tony enjoyed it, but could not help feeling that something was wrong. When it was over, he was a mass of confusion-happy, afraid, anxious, and satisfied. Against his better judgment, he spoke.

  “I don't understand. I thought that you had a problem with us making love.”

  “No, it wasn't that.”

  “Then what?” He was pushing, and was surprised that he had the nerve.

  “Well,” she said, “it's complicated.”

  “Try me,” Tony said.

  “After we made love that first time you said can we do this all the time, like you didn't want me, just sex.”

  “But I didn't mean it that way.”

  “I know that now.” Nikki smiled.

  “I don't know how you get there from an innocent statement.”

  ''I'll tell you a secret,” Nikki said. “Life isn't fair to women. We have maybe six or seven years where everyone wants us then it's all downhill. Men mature. Women age. Women get fat. Men get 'that successful look. ' Women have children. Men become fathers. Life uses women. It chews up our youth and spits us out into middle age. So we are wary of men-- all men. And we are determined not to waste our good years on what we think is worthlessness. So a little thing becomes a big thing, a slip becomes a warning Signal. Sure it's paranoid, but it's also safe. No matter how successful or independent we are, we look for some measure of safety from the unfairness of life.”

  Her voice trailed off. Tony was quiet and he stayed that way. They made love again and not a word was spoken for the rest of the night. Thereafter, they referred to their first fight as Hell Night and it became a continuing reference and measuring device for other incidents in their lives. This or that wasn't as bad as Hell Night, they would often say. After a while, it became a joke and a link to their shared past.

  In retrospect, Tony thought that it was Hen Night that truly brought them together. They had probably opened up more about themselves because of it than they would have normally.

  Years later, after marriage, he witnessed Nikki's relentless intellect and subtle, manipulative manner, and he wondered whether their Hell Night was planned, contrived by an ingenious mind. When he thought about it, it made sense. She initiated the complaint and framed the issue during the fight. She had let him pursue her, and granted him her favors when it suited her and never told him the reason. And the beginning and end of Hell Night were both sexual encounters, poignant points of reference and subtle statements of trust. Had she played him? There was a pattern: adversity then sex. (Punishment and reward?) He considered the possibility that his wife had constructed an elaborate plan to get him to marry her from the very beginning, and he was exhilarated and upset all at once. Nikki was the kind of woman who could elicit that type of reaction.

  “Dinner is ready, honey,” Nikki called from
the kitchen.

  Tony answered and walked toward the bathroom to wash his hands. His mother always made him do that and old habits were hard to break. He was trying to relax, but there was just too much going on inside his mind. He would have to concentrate on just one thing and he knew it had to be his work. It was, next to his family, the most important thing in his life. And Nikki was a true cop's wife. She would understand if he threw himself into this thing. She had been through it before.

  Tony entered the half-bath downstairs and ran warm water over his hands. He stared at his tired face in the mirror.

  A reflection was a frightening thing, he thought. Just as the mirror doesn't lie, neither can you lie to yourself when you look into it. He saw all of his life's secrets in his eyes behind the glass.

  The Dream was a truth that he could see all too well. It was a truth that still haunted him, even after his confession to Jim.

  Tony was still concerned about telling Jim the GM story. It wasn't that he worried about being turned in by Jim. Their friendship was too strong. He was concerned that Jim would eventually ask more disturbing questions. Jim was a cop after all, and it was his job to see through a lie.

  The familiar frustration boiled inside of Tony. He had saved the lives of many people in the GM Building that night, and what was his reward? A nightmare of guilt and fear that was unnerving his very life.

  The water was hot and soothing as he lathered his hands. Tony looked at them and thought about the Handyman.

  11

  The House on Shalon Street

  The bright red Jeep sped down Livernois Avenue, jumping up and down as it hit bumps and potholes. Rap music pulsed out of the vehicle's large speakers as it darted in and out of the late-night traffic, changing lanes and passing other cars. It whizzed by the many shops, glowing streetlights, and restaurants as if on a mission.

  Inside, Derek Nelson and Jonnel Washington bopped and rapped along to the tune. They were off duty for a while. They had worked all day selling crack and now they were going to take a well-deserved break. It had been a long day and the cops had been out in force. It was like that every election year.