Tony's eyes widened. “Shit,” he said. He knew the name. Campbell was one of the biggest dealers in Detroit. The city had about five or so top dealers who supplied it, three of whom, it was believed, composed the loosely formed gang known as the Union.
“This is it, my man,” Jim said. “This city's going to break wide open and I don't think we can stop it. We can't find Mbutu since that guy tried to whack him, but the Brotherhood’s passing out vigilante fliers saying “protect yourself from the black and white killers’”
“And there have been over thirty violent incidents between blacks and whites in the last week,” Tony said. “I need some air.”
Tony walked out of the room and then out of the house and Jim followed.
The air outside was soothing to Tony. It was evening and the heat was tapering off. The summer days were hot and sticky, but the nights were pleasant.
“I figured it out, you know,” said Jim, putting his hand on Tony's shoulder. His voice was low.
“What?”
“Your story. Simon. You letting him jump. It's a lie.”
Tony stood silent and looked his partner in the eye. Tony thought about Dr. Lincoln. He had to tell somebody and Jim was the best friend he had on earth, next to his wife.
“OK,” Tony said. “But let's get the hell out of here. There's nothing to do until the reports come in,”
**********
Detroit's Lafayette Coney Island is famous for two things: great chilidogs and all the cops who eat there.
Jim and Tony sat down in a corner booth. The place was rather empty, only a couple of teens, their girls, and the assorted bums having coffee. Jim ordered four coneys with onions, two Cokes, and told the waiter to get the two homeless men at the counter two bowls of chili.
“So,” said Tony. “How did you know?”
“I didn't,” said Jim. “I was guessing. You partner with a guy for a few years and you just know. Besides, I waited to see if you would get back on your game after you told me, and you didn't.”
The waiter brought the food. They ate in silence for a while, then,
“I murdered Darryl Simon,” Tony said. “I threw him out the window.”
Jim stopped chewing. He looked at Tony as if he were seeing him for the first time. “But how? There were cameras and SWAT guys all over the place.”
“Simon had all the shades pulled and lights dimmed so our snipers couldn't get a shot at him, and the SWAT guys were blown away by Simon's little booby trap, remember?”
“Right, he was some kind of engineering genius.”
“Electrical engineer. Anyway, they were killed and my partner was knocked unconscious. It was just me and him.” ' “And you just threw him out?”
“No, I apprehended him first. When he put the gun down, I pinned him, got the hostages out.”
Tony was perspiring a little. He wiped it away. “I was going to take him in, then I saw the black hostages. He had only killed the black ones! He smiled at me. 'End of the line for niggers,' he said.” Tony shook again as he said the line from The Dream.
“I hit him, he punched me back,” Tony said. “The next thing I knew, he was sailing out the window.”
“Man,” Jim leaned back. “I don't really know what to say. We all have things we wish we could take back.”
“I don't want to take it back.”
“Well, I would have done the same thing. Fuck him. He didn't deserve to live.”
“That case put me where I am today, Jim. I murdered my way to the top, partner.”
“Don't do this to yourself. You can't bring him back. If this is all that's bothering you, screw it, man. Simon was a low-life. Some lawyers would have gotten him off on a psycho anyway. It's better this way.”
“That's not all,” Tony said.
He removed the letter from his pocket. He had taken to carrying it around with him. He didn't want anyone to find out about it and no matter where he put it, the letter didn't seem safe.
“A few days ago, I got this in the mail. It's a letter from Simon's sister.” He held it out.
“So what?”
“She knew.”
“How could she--” Jim took the letter and read.
Dear Mr. Nigger Hero,
It took me a while to find you but I did it. I paid good money, too. I know you killed my brother. Darryl was afraid of heights and he would never have jumped out that window. I tried to tell that to the other nigger cops but they wouldn't listen to a dumb piece of trash like me. I know you wanted Darryl to die for killing those niggers. Well they deserved to die for making my brother go crazy You people get everything in the world you want and nobody cares if regular people get it up the ass as long as the damned niggers are happy!
Well, Mr. Hero, you killed more than my brother. After he died we had nothing no more. Darryl was all we had in our family We didn't get no insurance 'cause he killed himself. Just a little money from his job. My mamma and me we had to sell our house and move downriver. We ended up in a run-down housing project. We got on the welfare for a while but after Mamma got sick, I had to get a job to get money for her. But my job at the restaurant just wasn't enough for us to live, so I had to get dates with men to
make it up. That's right, I whored myself. I sucked off men to keep my mamma alive while she was sick, I took it up my ass and learned to like it. I even dated some women. I did it 'cause Darryl was gone and I never been smart or nothing. And all the time I thought about you. Every time some greasy, fat trucker climbed on me, I thought about you. Every time some young kid came in my face I saw your face. It was always you. You were doing it to me, every time.
I was doing it with a mechanic one time and he tried to take the money back. He pulled a knife on me. But I always kept a little gun in my purse. I shot him dead. He had about five hundred bucks on him, so I took it. And listen to this, Mr. Nigger: Darryl talked to me. He came into my brain and helped me kill that piece of shit. After that, we killed some more just for the money. Me and Darryl. After a while, we did it just for the hell of it. I forget how many, but it was you we thought about. It was you we was killing.
“Damn,” Jim said looking shocked. “The boys downriver never did catch that killer, did they? What was that?”
“About a year and a half ago,” said Tony. “Four men dead in all.”
A woman had gone on a killing spree in the suburbs downriver a year ago, shooting men in the head and in the groin each time. The police suspected she was a prostitute, but could not get an ID on her. The Detroit Police, Wayne County Sheriff, and the state boys had put together a combined task force, but had come up with nothing.
“Jesus, why didn't you--” Jim stopped and kept reading.
Mamma died a little bit ago and I tried to kill myself. I cut my wrists in the bathtub. Would have gone too, but my best friend Cheryl Ann saved me. My wrists hurt 'cause I just got out of the hospital a few days ago. I got stitches and they look like Frankenstein shit. That's funny, huh?
I see now about life. I see what it really is. I guess' cause I almost died, I know more than other folks do. Life ain't no good without love. All my love is gone and I'm already dead. I can't love nobody 'cause I gave it all up when Darryl and Mamma died.
I know you did it. I know you killed him. God knows it, too, and he ain't gonna let you get away. He'll take all your love like you took mine and then you'll be dead, too.
When you get this letter, I'll be gone. I'm gonna make sure this time. I got a whole bottle of Jack Black to get my nerve and there's a train that runs regular, close to my house. I'm gonna drink that Jack Black and let that train take me back to my family. I'll be back with them soon in heaven and that makes me happy, but I feel sorry for you. You have to go through what I did. I hope nobody stops you when you want to die.
Irene Simon
Jim put the letter down. “Did she do it?”
“No,” Tony said. “I made some calls. But she disappeared. Clean, just gone.”
Tony was a tou
gh cop but his morality had him by the balls. He felt like he was drowning and no one could save him.
“Remember the poem all the cadets learned at the academy?” Jim said. “The one you started when you were talking to those asshole rookies at the gym? 'We with the power of life and death-' “ Jim trailed off. He could see in Tony's eyes that he was going back to those days.
“We with the power of life and death,” Tony recited:
Cannot be weak, must not regret.
Be strong in the mission wherein we delve.
And kill for others, and not ourselves.
“Damned right,” said Jim leaning in to Tony. “I know it's a Silly cadet's poem, banned by the instructors and all that shit, but every cop still knows it. We have the power, Tony.”
“But I didn't kill for the public. I did it for me, Jim. For me! And that's not what the poem says, is it?”
“No, Tony. That's not right. You don't understand what the poem really means. You did it for those brothers Simon wasted and the others that he might have.”
''And look what happened. You know me, Jim. I threw the entire white race out that window with Darryl Simon. For all the shit they've done to me and our people over the years. I'm no better than the assholes fighting each other over the Handyman being white. Irene Simon murdered innocent men. Their blood is on my hands, too. All of them.”
“I know it's bad,” said Jim touching Tony's hand. “But we got a new guy out there killing brothers. The public needs us and you ain't got time to live in the past.”
“I know, don't you think I know that?! Every day I wake up knowing that the Handyman is out there, that he's got some sort of plan, and all I can do is wait for him to make a mistake. In the meantime, the bodies pile up.”
“Back on the horse, Tony.”
“It's not that easy, Jim. I killed a man.”
“So what? He wasn't the first or the last.”
“But this was different. He was helpless. I murdered him, Jim, there's no other word for it.”
“That's bullshit and you know it.”
“Look, I've been able to live with it so far, but my conscience has been beating me. I've had the same nightmare at least ten times since that news story came up. This Handyman thing has really fucked me up 'cause it's all about race, too. I feel like I'm back at the GM building but this time, it's me going through the damn window.”
Jim got a match from the waiter and burned Irene Simon's letter in an ashtray. “That's what I think about that bitch and her brother,” he said.
“No matter what we think of ourselves, we are not gods, Jim,” Tony said. ''I'm just a man, accountable to the law for his actions like every other man. “
“What are you going to do? Go to prison? You'll last three seconds before some can puts a sharpened spoon in your heart.” “I don't know what I'm going to do, but I've got to do something.”
“Promise me you won't do anything before you talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm your partner, goddammit. I shouldn't even have to ask.”
“All right, but don't act like I'm unstable. I just need to take it easy. “
“I can help. I'll take on more responsibility if you want.”
“You're already doing enough. Just keep watching my back.”
“Always, man. Always.”
11
Dead Presidents
T-Bone wrapped another rubber band around the bills and stacked them. He was hustling to get the Prince's money together. The cash came directly from the dealers, so it was all in small bills. Washington, Lincoln, and other dead presidents lay on the table.
T-Bone counted the money in a small flat on the cast side, another of his many living places. K-9 sat quietly to the side, watching.
T-Bone was dreaming of his life after drug dealing. After Medina had made him wealthy, he might come back to Detroit, buy a politician, and run the city. That would be the ultimate revenge. His father, Big Teddy, had always dreamed of becoming a city power broker. T-Bone would do it, then rub it in his sorry-ass face.
T-Bone's beeper went off. He checked the number, then called Traylor.
“Yeah,” T-Bone said.
There was a moment's hesitation, then, “Campbell's dead.”
T-Bone dropped the money. Bills fell to the floor. He instinctively searched for his shotgun.
“What? How did it happen?”
“He was fucking some married bitch and he got caught by the Handyman.” T-Bone couldn't speak for a second. He was thinking what this meant to his plan.
“OK, OK,” said T-Bone. “Get with Mayo and cover Campbell's territory. I'll call you later.”
T-Bone switched off the phone, then threw it into a wall, smashing it. K-9 jumped and moved away. T-Bone fumed and walked over to the table of money and turned it over.
“Fuck!”
T-Bone pumped a shell into the chamber, put his finger to the trigger and looked around, breathing heavily.
He took a second.
Then another.
He lowered the weapon and sat on the chair by the overturned table and scattered money. He put the gun on the floor. He could not afford to lose it now. He was too close to freedom.
T-Bone set the table back up. He had to keep his plan moving. The first order of business would be to get Medina on the street and take over the city. His prices would fall and by the time the Prince and his people could convert the other major cities, he would be on a sandy beach somewhere with a ton of money and the finest woman alive.
T-Bone was sure it was an external force at work on the Union and he had to find it. He was going to have to help the police catch the killer. Then again, he'd had a system of communication and payoffs in place for a long time now. He paid them monthly, giving money to rookie bagmen who spread it around like Christmas bonuses. He would have to let them know what he was about to do.
T-Bone began counting the money again. With Campbell gone, money would get tighter and he still had to pay the Prince, keep Santana and the South-of-the-Border boys happy, and fund the Medina project.
Of course, it would be easier to just have the Prince and his people eliminated, he thought, but that might not be good business. You should never kill a man who's doing business straight up unless he crosses you. And he didn't know who else the Prince might be connected to-- maybe someone who might not take kindly to his death.
“Damn,” he said again. The Handyman was ruining his life, he thought. White people were a pain in the ass.
12
Mayo and Donna
Steve Mayo had set up the Medina production as well as any Harvard MBA. He had his people working all through the last week, careful not to let any of the grunts steal a sample.
His orders were to send the new drug out in the suburbs to the wiggers, and to start pumping it into the city. They were raising the price about twenty percent over the old stuff. With the shortage, there would be a run on the new drug.
The summer had come early and that meant plenty of recreation, fun, and getting high. Mayo hated the hot, muggy Detroit summers but they were always good for business.
Mayo supervised the production in an abandoned warehouse on the upper eastside. They had turned out a carload of the stuff. Mayo made sure that the production was swift and clean. Medina seemed even easier to make than crack.
The mixture was the hard part. The Professor had whipped up several large bottles of the stuff. But they would need more. They trained a young kid named Dennis, who was a college dropout and claimed to be a former chemistry major. Whatever he was, he was smart, and the Professor had been impressed with how quickly he learned the process.
They set up a team of rollers to buy or steal all of the ingredients the Professor had told them they would need.
The Union could now create the drug. Mayo would kill the Prince and end the relationship right where it was if he were in charge. But T-Bone had not given the order, so the deal would probably stand.
Mayo swore that he had gotten high from the fumes once while it was cooking. He made everyone wear the little cloth masks at the Professor's insistence, but when he took it off briefly; he got a contact. He took a few deep breaths and put the mask back on. The rush was swift and wonderful. It faded inside of a minute.
The Prince and the Professor were there. Donna walked around, intentionally ignoring him. She wore a pair of jeans that looked painted on, and she corralled her breasts in a tight, leather top. He didn't understand the woman. After making love in the burned-out building, he thought she would be friendlier. But who knew women?
Mayo began to give the rollers their assignments. There were about thirty of them in all.
Campbell's death had shaken Mayo and that was no small feat. Campbell was a pretty boy, but he was smart. He was a pro and the last person Mayo expected would get taken out.
But Mayo knew that the woman was a factor, too. Women had been the end of many a good man. He couldn't count the rollers who got iced fucking with a bitch. He thought about Donna and what they had done. He knew it was wrong. One roller never screwed another's woman, but he couldn't help himself. She was sexy and provocative, and the danger she brought only made the sex better.
Mayo dispatched the rollers with the Medina. In a week or so, he thought, they would know whether the stuff was real or not.
“When can we expect the rest of our money, my brotha?” asked the Prince. He jingled his keys in his hand nervously.
“When the shit hits with the people. I told you already,” said Mayo, trying not to look at Donna, who was bending over.
“I know that, but who decides when it hits, as you say?”
“T-Bone.” Mayo looked at the noisy keys in his hand and then gave the Prince a nasty look.
Cold Medina Page 19
