Roberts looked like he was having a breakdown, Jim realized.
“So, you know what I did?” Roberts continued. “I took my dick out and finished while she watched me. She just grunted and left the room. The big, fat bitch just left without a word. She's not even human anymore, I thought. I felt like I wanted to die, like I was worthless. A man is only half of himself without a woman. You know what I mean? You need a woman to make you whole.”
Jim nodded but said nothing.
“I found Barbara soon after.” Roberts reclined in his chair and threw up his arms. “Well, you happy? You got me. Dr. Vincent Roberts: Jackass and Pervert.”
Jim felt sick. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“So am I, officer, so am I,” said Roberts quietly. “Well, I guess the press knows about the hair samples then?”
“Yes. We think It's gonna be on the eleven o'clock report.” Jim decided that he would not tell Roberts about Barbara Volkarwicz's other name. The information might come in handy. “We'd like it if you wouldn't tell her we know.”
Roberts looked amazed. “You mean, you're not going to turn me in to the mayor?”
“Shit no,” said Jim. “We respect a man's right to get laid. Just cool out on the information.”
“I appreciate this, officer, I really do,” Roberts gushed, grabbing Jim's hand and shaking it. L
“No problem, “ said Jim. “No more leaks, Doc.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Roberts. He seemed rejuvenated.
Jim said a half-hearted good-bye and left. He dropped his eyes as he passed Jane. Roberts had been through hell. 'When Jim thought about five years without sex, he shuddered. No one, not even Roberts, should suffer like that.
Jim walked out of the Crypt into the fresh air thinking that in just three more hours, the city would explode.
22
Yancy on the Hook
Tony and Chief Fuller watched the spectacle with amazement. Harris Yancy's temper was legendary in Detroit political circles-- a Mount St. Helens of choler, and it had erupted at Tony's news about Salinsky.
Fuller hung his head when he heard. He apologized to Tony about holding out. It wasn't right, he said, but it was the way life was. Now the mayor yelled and swore at a television executive on the phone. Yancy paced, gesturing with one hand as if the man were in front of him.
Tony sat and listened, taking in the familiar opulence of the mayor's office. The plush carpet, the rich wood of his large desk, the pictures of rivers that lined the walls. It was glorious.
The show continued. It was typical Yancy, trying to control others instead of dealing with the problem. Yancy still lived partially in the shadow of his predecessor and was frustrated because of it. His rage got in the way of his obvious intelligence, and he could be evil and nasty, even to his best friends. Insiders often whispered that his lack of grace with others would someday be his undoing.
“I don't give a goddamn about your journalistic commitment, Stan. I don't want the shit on the air tonight! Just give us twenty-four hours to prepare a statement and I’ll owe you one. Let us get to the people first.”
“No can do, Harris,” said the distorted voice of Stanley Cramer over the speakerphone. “We've got our interests, too. You tried to hide news and it's our job to expose the whole story.”
“Your job!” Yancy yelled. “It's not your job to throw the city into a blind panic. You know what's going to happen when it gets out?”
“Well, hell, Harris, it's going to get out. When, is the question.”
“You just don't give a damn do you, Stan?” Yancy said. “You sit out there in Franklin with your butlers and maids and talk about how bad things are in old Detroit.”
“Oh, come on, not that old stuff again.”
“I know how it is, Stan. You white people think blacks are your entertainment. The violence, death, and drugs, it's all just like a TV show to you. But this time it's different. This affects everyone in the metropolitan area. There will be turmoil in the city, but you just might find people knocking on your door, too.” Yancy was breathing hard.
“Are you threatening me, Harris?”
“Take it any way you want.”
“I never thought I'd see you sink this low. I'm truly disappointed in you.” Cramer's voice was low. “Usually, I just get called a racist hanky dog, but never, never have you threatened me. Well, Harris, sadly, it's not going to work I'm running the story tonight as planned.”
“Don't you come to me when the shit gets thick, Stan! I'm serious. You're letting me go this one alone, so I assure you, I'll let your ass fry when the time comes!” Yancy switched off the phone without saying good-bye.
Tony and Fuller were silent. fuller looked serious. Thus far, the mayor's anger was directed at Cramer but Tony knew the Chief, would have to take part of the blame, too.
“Well, how do you suppose this got out, fellas?” Yancy said. He walked to a wall and pushed a section. His hidden bar appeared. He poured himself a drink and returned to Fuller and Tony.
“We are still looking for the source,” Fuller said feebly.
“Source my ass, Bill!” yelled Yancy. Only you, me, and Roberts knew about this. Now, the way I see it, one of us spilled it. Now, I know it wasn't me, so that leaves you and the good doctor. One of you is dirty, and I want to know which one!” Yancy drank a large gulp.
“Excuse me, sir, but there was one other person who knew,” said Tony.
“And who is that?” asked Yancy.
“Doctor Neward sir, the assistant coroner,” said Tony. “In all honesty, Officer Cole and I were trying to find Neward to ask him some questions about the Shalon Street killings. Neward was there at the house and Roberts grabbed him and took him away. So we figured Neward must know something. Then he disappeared. He may have told someone before he left.”
Tony was proud of the story. He had decided to keep his info on Roberts as an ace in the hole. He told Yancy and Fuller about Salinsky's call, but nothing else.
Yancy walked back to his desk and sat.
“Well, wherever he is, he can stay there. Tell the doctor to take care of it, Bill,” Yancy said finishing his drink.
Fuller nodded.
Tony stood. “Sir, I didn't say that he did it. I said that he might have. It's a--”
“Sit your ass down!” snapped Yancy. “You don't even begin to have the knowledge to give me advice. Your job does not involve thinking.”
Tony sat down slowly. He did not like this mistreatment one bit, but you had to take Yancy's shit. It was the way things were done.
'Tm not saying that he did leak it,” Yancy said more calmly. “But someone has to go. I can't let things like this get out without my permission and do nothing. We'll take care of this Neward. He'll get another position, just not in my city.”
Tony watched Fuller nod like a robot. It was times like this that he lamented being involved in the politics of his office. ft was a sleazy undertaking. The direction of people's lives were changed at the whim of some asshole pushing papers. Say or do the wrong thing and you could wake up in the unemployment line. So he always considered the political consequences of everything he did. Sometimes he wished he could just do his job and forget all the crap, but then, he would be just another swinging dick with a gun and a badge.
Yancy stood up and walked around his large desk. He breathed deeply and faced the large bay windows overlooking the river turning his back on his guests.
“Bill, I want to hurry and feed the story to the other stations,” Yancy began. “Let's kill Cramer's scoop. I'm sure he knows that I'm going to do that, so he'll probably try to get it on a special bulletin before eleven, like they did when that nut Simon jumped out of the GM building.”
Tony flinched.
Fuller took a pad and pen and began to write.
“When the story hits tonight,” Yancy turned around to face them. “I want you to have a statement with our spin on it prepared. I want it to say that we withheld the information for the g
ood of the public and were going to release it in a few days, as soon as we completed our investigation of several suspects. Say that we knew what the impact would be and sought to protect the citizenry. You know all the damn community activist types will be all over us. They live to cash in on shit like this. Then let the public know that a member of the press recklessly broke the story ahead of time. They'll know who it is.” He took a deep breath. “And I want the killings condemned. Let the press have their fun with the racial aspect. Avoid any comment on that directly. Hill, I want you there with him, backing him up. I want it to go to all of the stations, except Cramer's.”
“No problem, Harris,” said Fuller.
Tony could see that Yancy didn't really mind lying to the public, and he had not expressed any remorse about impeding Tony's investigation. For him, it was now about damage control.
“And get some extra patrols out for the reaction to the news,” Yancy continued. 'Tm sure that the Brotherhood will demonstrate. I don't want any riots and attacks on white folks because of this.”
Fuller nodded again.
Tony sat quietly, like he was in the dunce corner in elementary school. Yancy's comment about Darryl Simon had sent his mind on an uneasy trip. Images of the incident and The Dream filled his thoughts and his head now ached dully.
“All that clear?” Yancy asked.
“Yes, sir,” Fuller said.
Tony nodded weakly.
“Officer Hill, could you excuse us for a moment?” Yancy looked at Tony. He was a different man now. The raging madman of a moment ago had been replaced with the kind, concerned father figure.
Tony said “yes” and left. Simon and his creations were running unbridled in his mind.
Tony took a seat in the waiting room among the nervous business types who constantly filled the area.
Tony rubbed his temples. More stress, that was all he needed now. It was times like this that he fantasized about living on a farm somewhere, with puffy white clouds, green meadows, and no assholes. Guys like Yancy made you wonder if it was worth it. If life had any fairness in it at all, he would lose the election and go to purgatory. But if he did, where would that leave Tony Hill? He was tied to him, personality and all. Life was a big, fat, evil bitch sometimes.
Fuller emerged from the mayor's office looking surprisingly relaxed. He pulled Tony away from the constant gallery of onlookers in the waiting room.
“You OK?” Fuller asked.
“Yeah.”
“Don't take it personally, you know how he is. I've been taking his shit for years.”
“Are you proud of that?”
“Yes. There are hundreds of guys who would kill to be in my position. And if I'm not mistaken, I'm talking to one of them.”
“Yeah, but that doesn't make it easier to take.”
“You know the game, Tony. Guys like Yancy have made it possible for us to be where we are. We take the good with the bad and all black folk prosper. Better than the old days, right?”
“You know I can't argue 'with that. It's just that I hate to be treated like shit.”
“Life in the big leagues, Tony;” Fuller said. He took a few steps away, then stopped. “I really wanted to tell you about the hair, but you know how it is.”
Tony nodded. He knew all too well.
“Now come on, we've got a lot of work to do.”
23
The Union in the House
Amir checked his gun again. Perfect. He was pumped up and ready Frank tapped the accelerator of the old Chevy and it responded nicely. Everything was cool. Almost time.
Frank poised the old sedan on the corner of Tireman and Faulkner-- Southend territory He was wearing a running suit and he didn't like it. But he was working and he had to dress accordingly From their vantage point they could see the traffic going in and out of the fifth house up the street. When a car pulled up, someone would run out of the car, into the house and quickly leave with the purchase. Others just walked in and bought the goods.
“Just like a McDonald's drive through,” Frank thought out loud. Amir chuckled.
It was a poor-looking street, peppered with vacant, boarded-up houses. Except for a few homes, the occupied houses on the street were unkempt and depressing. As Frank scanned the area, he laughed. The crackhouse was the best looking one on the block.
If T-Bone himself had not requested the hit, Frank would have left it up to Amir to handle. But any work for T-Bone had to have personal attention. Too important to fuck up. Frank had a reputation, and he couldn't let subordinates ruin it.
“Our men should be coming around any minute now,” said Frank Amir nodded and snorted coke from a small dispenser. “You know I don't like you getting high on a job,” Frank said mildly
Amir was a bum, he thought. He was reckless, used too much coke, fucked too many women, and talked too much. A dangerous man. But he was a good hitter, as mean and vicious as they came. If their families weren't so close, he would have gotten rid of him long ago. Still, he often thought that the day would come when he would have to kill him. The business was like that and smart men always thought about the future.
“I need some fuel, man,” Amir said. “I want to be cookin' when I hit these punks.” His accent was thick.
“Right,” said Frank sarcastically. “Just be sure that you don't hit our two guys.”
“No problem, baby.”
The house had two armed guards working near the inside and outside door. If a person they didn't know tried to come in, they would check him out first.
“Here they come,” said Frank, pointing to two large men walking up the street, Ty and B-Boy. They were Chaldean and black respectively.
They watched as a lanky roller stopped them on the sidewalk. He was wearing a black raincoat which obviously hid a gun. Frank could tell he was questioning them. They smiled in response and talked with the guard. The guard signaled and another roller who couldn't have been older than twelve came out of the house. The boy-man checked Frank's men for weapons, patting them down right there on the street. He found only the knives that Frank told them to carry. The lanky roller gave them back and continued to talk to the men. When the guard laughed and let them enter, Frank knew they were in.
“Ty and B-Boy are doing good,” Amir said, rubbing his gun.
Frank waited. It would be just a few moments before the action started. He breathed deeply. He was not really made for this kind of work. He was a thinker, a planner like T-Bone. He lived for the day when he would not have to do this kind of thing.
“Yes!” said Amir, taking another hit of coke.
“Get ready,” said Frank.
The lanky guard in the overcoat ran into the house suddenly and Frank hit the accelerator. Frank stopped the car in front of the crackhouse and he and Amir quickly jumped out and ran inside. Each held an Uzi, ready to fire.
In the house, Ty and B-Boy were on the floor fighting with the knives in a mock struggle. Several people around them watched the fight cheering. The two guards stood in front of the door. They both enjoyed the fight.
Amir burst through the front door with a yell, knocking over the two guards and spraying them with bullets. His veins pumped adrenaline and cocaine.
Frank followed through the door and turned his gun on the other occupants. Bodies jumped and blood sprayed the walls. One dealer tried to run, but Frank caught him in the back of the head with a burst of fire.
Amir moved into the kitchen, the drug raging inside him. He was electric with energy, his heart pumping like a freight train. He hit the area with gunfire. The three women inside dropped like cut flowers.
He never saw the baby crib nestled in the corner of the room and he hit it before he could stop. He ceased firing. For a moment, he could not believe that he hadn't seen the bed. He was too pumped. His chest heaved with anxiety. Never had he done such a thing. He peered into the bed and turned in disgust. He bent over and tried to stop himself from throwing up, but failed.
“Check the basem
ent!” Frank yelled from the other room. Amir kicked himself back into action. He stumbled toward the stairs that led to the basement. Ty and B-Boy grabbed the guns off the dead guards and ran upstairs. Gunfire, yelling, and screams erupted from the second floor.
Two crackheads pushed open the front door and Frank shot them. One was holding a roll of bills, which he tossed into the air when he was hit. The money fell like lumpy confetti.
“Basement ... clear,” Amir said, choking back bile. He ran into the living room, stepping over bodies and breathing heavily.
“Let's do it!” Frank yelled to Ty and B-Boy upstairs. They ran down, streaked with blood and sweating. Amir checked outside. The car was still running in the middle of the street. Amir ran out to it and got into the driver's seat. His hands were sweaty and shaking. He tried to steady them. Ty and B-Boy followed, jumping in the back.
Inside the house, Frank ripped a final salvo of shots into a wall before running out and jumping into the car. Amir hit the gas and they took off.
It wasn't until the police came an hour later that the first neighbor dared come out of his house.
**********
The van roared down the Freeway with its human cargo. Steve Mayo sat in the back next to the three bound and gagged prisoners. He had collected his targets, then recruited the necessary help,
Driving the van was a young roller named Larry Drake. He was seventeen and had just dropped out of school. His parents had thrown him out of their house and he was in desperate need of money. He had jumped when Mayo asked him to come on the job. He knew that if he performed well, it might lead to better things.
In the back with Mayo on a makeshift bench were two freelance enforcers named Pit and Nam. Pit was a huge black man with a face marked by terrible scars he had gotten in prison. Nam was a burly, white, self-proclaimed Vietnam vet. Mayo knew that the two men were barely sane, but he respected them. Each had a reputation for ruthlessness, and he could not afford to have any punks with him.
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