The felony files had turned up nothing, but, thank God, Jim had remembered to check the old juvenile files, too. And when they did, Larry Drake's rap sheet came out.
They had forgotten about Mbutu and his street police; they finally had a break.
“This fucker could give us what we need to crack this thing,” said Jim, gunning the car faster. “If he's in the gang, maybe he can tell us what the Union knows about the Handyman.”
Tony didn't respond. He was deep in thought. Mbutu's barb and his confession had only added to the recurring sense of depression he felt. The Dream was now gone, but it was replaced by random thoughts of his guilt and Irene Simon's victims.
Jim stopped the car on a street on the near northwest side. The street was illuminated by the cherry lights of three marked police cruisers and an ambulance. There was also an unmarked detective's cruiser.
Six uniformed officers were outside the house. The cars were in the traditional barricade line. Tony had been informed that there were three cars with six uniforms backing up the rear. A small crowd was being dispersed by an officer. Tony got out of his car, kicking himself into high gear.
“Shit,” said Jim, as they approached.
“What?” Tony asked.
“The gang's all here.”
Tony looked at the line of cars, and sure enough, there was Orris Martin holding a bullhorn with his partner, young Steve Patrick, next to him. Tony had rotated them to Handyman street duty.
Fred Hampton and Pete Carter held guns over the hood of another car. Also in the crowd, Tony saw several of Mbutu's men. The black fists against a sea of red on their shirts.
“Great,” said Tony.
They walked over to Martin and Patrick. Patrick seemed happy to be rotated to the street. Martin was dour as usual.
“He's inside,” said Martin. “And he's armed. There's at least one other person inside, a woman we think. We don't know if she's armed or a hostage.”
“Contact?” asked Tony.
“None,” Martin said. ''I'm gonna ask him to give up.” lie tilted the bullhorn.
“I’ll take over from here,” said Tony, grabbing at the bullhorn.
“OK, already.” Martin pushed it at him.
“What's your fuckin' problem?” Tony asked.
“Somebody needs to take over this investigation,” Martin said. “Everyone knows you're screwin' it up.”
Tony felt someone grab at his arm. He turned to see Jim holding the fist he was planning to hit Martin with.
“Martin, get your ass back there and do crowd control,” Jim said.
Martin walked away mumbling. Patrick followed him. Three other squad cars pulled up and more cops got out with guns drawn.
Tony turned to the other men. ''I'm gonna talk to him. No shooting unless he starts, and in that case, you only fire on my signal.” Tony lifted the bullhorn. “Larry Drake, I'm Inspector Hill. There's no way out of this. Come out now and I promise you that you'll be treated fairly.”
Silence.
Someone walked by a window in the house.
“We're willing to stay here all night if necessary,” Tony said. “There's nothing you can-”
A shot hit the side of a cruiser. Tony and Jim drew their weapons, then Tony gave the signal and a barrage of police fire slammed into the small house, shattering windows and splintering the flimsy door.
“Hold!” Tony yelled out, holding up a fist. The shooting stopped.
There was a scream from the house. “No! No!” yelled the voice of a woman. The front door flung open and out came a young girl of about twenty holding a small girl by the hand.
“Don't shoot, please!” She yelled with tears streaming down her face. “We ain't with him!”
Fred Hampton ran from behind a car toward them.
“What the fuck--?!” yelled Jim.
“Get away!” Tony yelled through the bullhorn.
Hampton rushed the woman and young girl to safety. They were put into a patrol car. Tony was on his way to tear Hampton a new asshole when Drake spoke.
“All right, all right!” Drake yelled. “Fuck this, I'm coming out.”
“Throw out the weapon first,” said Tony on the bullhorn.
Drake threw out a handgun, then walked out of the house with his hands up high. He looked at the angry faces of the police on the street.
The officers rushed out and grabbed Drake. Carter got to him first.
Tony and Jim went over and pulled the officers off him and instructed several officers to go into the house to secure it. The officers complied and Larry Drake watched closely as the cops poured into the home. Only Tony, Jim, and three uniforms remained with Drake.
Jim put away his gun. “Man, for a minute there I thought we were gonna have a stand off,” he said.
Carter read Drake his rights while he cuffed Drake's hands behind his back. Carter was rough and punched him in the side. Drake uttered a groan.
“That's enough,” said Tony. “Go inside with the others. This man is ours.
Carter was finishing the cuffing of the struggling man when Tony walked up next to Drake. Tony's gun hung lazily in his hand. Drake jerked his right hand free of the cuff, which was only half on, and grabbed at Tony's gun.
Tony tried to pull his gun back, but Drake had it. Tony grabbed the gun and got a grip on it. They struggled, doing a weird dance on the yellowing lawn.
Carter yelled something. Drake lifted the gun up with Tony's hand still on it, and sent off a shot that whizzed past Jim's face. Jim fell to the ground.
Tony's hand slipped and Drake pulled the weapon away. Drake jerked his body away from Tony and stumbled back, the gun wavering in his hand. Drake fumbled with the weapon raising it at Tony's chest. He pulled the trigger.
For a second, Tony thought it was all over. He saw Pete Carter step in front of him. The bullet caught Carter in the chest and sent him crashing into Tony. They both fell to the ground.
Drake was moving away when his chest exploded in a burst of red. Tony looked up to find Fred Hampton in the shooting stance, his gun barrel still smoking.
“He's down!” yelled Hampton.
“Dammit!” yelled Jim. He raced to check Tony. “You OK, man?”
“Yeah, but the rookie got hit. Get an ambulance.”
“They're already here, partner,” said Jim.
Tony moved Carter over. He was unconscious. The paramedics descended on him. “You'll have to move away; sir,” said a woman. Tony rolled to his feet, dazed. Jim went over to check Drake. “Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed. “He's
dying.I”
''Are you all right, sir?” Hampton asked Tony.
Tony didn't answer. The gravity of what had just happened slammed into him. The flashing police lights bombarded his eyes in succession. He was frozen as he watched Jim desperately try to save Drake.
Tony's gun lay mockingly next to Drake's hand. The other officers rushed out of the house, weapons drawn. Tony watched, unable to move as Jim screamed for help and their only lead in the case bled to death on the lawn, surrounded by police.
15
End of the Line
Tony sat across from Chief Fuller in Fuller's office. It was cool inside, a perk of being in charge.
Since he blew the collar on Larry Drake yesterday, nothing was the same. Hampton was cleared for the shoot-justified homicide-- and Carter was in stable condition in the hospital. The bullet had broken three of Carter's ribs under his flak jacket, but no penetration. Lucky bastard.
After the medics pronounced Drake dead, Tony had the horrible realization that Drake had almost killed Jim and would have gotten him if Hampton hadn't shot first.
“Tough break yesterday, Tony.” Fuller had a big cigar in his hand. It was not lit.
“Yes, sir,” said Tony. “I take full responsibility.”
“The mayor was not pleased, but since we killed the bastard it looks good for us, like we took out one of the bad guys.”
“Sir, I... I haven't been pe
rforming lately.”
“Don't worry about it. We're all feeling the--”
''I'm resigning from the force, sir.” Fuller put the big cigar down.
“Why in God's name--”
“I don't have it anymore, sir.”
“I know you don't mean it, Tony,” Fuller said. “It's just the pressure, that's all.”
“No, I think I do mean it, sir.”
“Tony, I need you on this investigation. The mayor will--”Fuller thought better of whatever he was about to say. “OK, take a little vacation, but promise me you'll come back.”
“I can't do that. I've decided to leave all this to men better suited for it.”
“OK, Tony; so you fucked up on that Drake kid. Everybody fucks up, man.”
“I got a cop shot and my partner was almost killed. An inch more and we'd be at Jim's wake right now. And if it wasn't for the Carter kid, you'd be at mine. Not even the greenest rookie would have left his weapon so close to a suspect, even if he was being cuffed,” Tony said.
“OK, I'll put you on a desk,” Fuller said. “You can supervise the investigation. I can fix this. Just give me a chance.”
''I'm afraid the problem is where only I can fix it, Chief, but thanks anyway.”
Fuller stood up and Tony was reminded of how big he was. He limped from behind his big desk and faced Tony.
“Don't give up, Tony. We can work this thing out.”
“I'm sorry; Chief, I have to do this. I appreciate everything you've done for me. I owe you and I can never repay.”
Tony took off his shield and put it on Fuller's desk.
They shook hands. Fuller pulled Tony to his massive chest and bear-hugged him.
''I'm considering this a paid leave, Tony,” said Fuller. “I know you'll be back.”
Tony was silent. He just turned and walked out of the Chief's office. He went to Jim's office and waited. A half hour later, Jim walked into his office to find Tony sitting at his desk.
“Hey, man,” Jim said.
“Hey.”
“I, uh, got the info on that new drug. It's spreading fast. It's like crack, but it's selling for more on the street. The state troopers are analyzing some of it, our people are too, and... are you OK?”
''I'm quitting the force.”
“Jesus.” Jim sat down.
“I know what you're gonna say. I've been through it all with Fuller. I need to--”
“Come on, Tony; don't do this to me. Don't let the bastard beat you! You can't give in now. It's just a matter of time before we break this case.”
“The bastard” Jim referred to was the street. The street was like a person, the toughest son of a bitch and the most beautiful woman you ever met. It was seductive and brutal at the same time. It offered pleasure, but at a very high price.
Tony knew, however, that the street had not beaten him. He'd beaten himself. He murdered a man and he had to pay for it. But how? He guessed that answer would come from God.
“You can beat this,” Jim had said. “I know it. I know you fucked up with Drake, but--”
“I almost got you killed.”
“It's as much my fault as it was yours. I knew you weren't a hundred percent. I should have been looking out for you.” Tony loved Jim more then than he ever had. It was almost a believable lie.
“I never told you this, but--” Jim looked away for a moment. “I admire you. I know I seem like I don't give a shit about anything but my job and my dick, but I... I really need our friendship. It's important to me. You know how this job is. I need my other half.”
Tony stood and shook Jim's hand. Jim's grip was weak. And he couldn't bear to look at Tony as he walked away.
“Call me any time you wanna talk. I'll be here.”
“I know that,” Tony said. “You know, if Carter hadn't jumped in front of me, I'd be dead.”
“I know. He's OK after all, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
Tony laughed a little. “After all I've been through, a white man saves my life.”
Tony left, walking through the corridors of 1300 for the last time. He was flipping the script, as the kids said these days. Soon, he would see what the next chapter of his life held.
As he neared the end of the hall, Walter Nicks came out of an office, putting his fedora on his large head. He seemed startled at the sight of Tony. Tony didn't stop. Nicks was about to say something, but Tony passed by him without a word.
Tony got on an elevator and was soon at the front door in the lobby. He waited a moment, then pushed open the big door.
He stepped outside and the humidity wrapped itself around him. The weight of the world was gone, lifted away like a cover from a sleeping man.
16
Tumult
Medina took the city. T-Bone and his minions pumped it into every neighborhood, every school, every place of business they could. It flowed out of the city and into every walk of life. It was embraced from the nearest neighborhood to the outer reaches of the metropolitan area and the money rolled back in.
Medina became the drug of choice and the people couldn't get enough. But with the high-volume usage, there were odd occurrences. For every twenty who used it, one would have a violent reaction.
Some would have seizures and die instantly, while others would break down mentally and hurt themselves or others. No one noticed at first, because strangeness was within the nature of drug use, but slowly, steadily, the new drug began to leave its mark.
In the suburbs of Birmingham, a young art student killed herself by drinking a can of paint.
In the downriver suburbs, a man who thought he had superpowers lost a race with a train and was cut in two on the tracks.
In Detroit, a young man drowned, after having a seizure while trying to swim across the river to Canada.
On the east side, a mother sold her eight-year-old daughter to a man for a hit of Medina, then killed the man when he tried to molest the young girl.
The hospitals were filling up with cases of people sick, unconscious, and just plain crazy from contact with the drug. Medina was selling fast, but the users were dying off or going crazy just as quickly. It was an inner-city nightmare, a high-tech plague, out of control.
The police force had been focusing on the Handyman but now they had an even bigger worry-the new drug was causing acts of random violence. Manpower was diverted from catching the Handyman, who could now operate in the center of the chaos.
**********
Carol Salinsky stood across the street from the police scene. A young girl had been taken to the hospital, her dress soaked with blood. Police questioned three teenagers while photographers took pictures. A crazed student had ambushed her and several others with a lead pipe after school let out. No one knew the reason for the attack.
Her unit director prompted her, “OK, Carol, we're live in three, two, one.”
“The summer came early in the city. The heat driving everyone into shorts and T-shirts. But summer won't be coming for young Shauna Williams. She was killed by a lead pipe-wielding assailant only moments after Taft Middle School let out for summer recess. A massive manhunt is under way for the killer.”
Salinsky walked over to a school crossing sign covered with graffiti.
“I have learned that this is another drug-related slaying,” Salinsky said. “Several rocks of the new street drug called Medina, or cold Medina, were found at the scene of the crime. The city, county; and state police have verified that this new drug is cocaine-based and creates a strong, hallucinogenic effect.”
Salinsky walked over to a crowd of kids.
“Street sources tell me that Medina drives some users insane, said Salinsky. “The drug picks its victims at random and the streets are filling with danger. Police warn that Medina is ten times as addictive as crack and dangerous. And with the Handyman still at large, the summer looks like a vast graveyard, waiting to be filled....”
17
The Prince Breaks Wide
The
Prince was quiet as the bright new van rolled down Interstate 94 toward Chicago. The Professor drove, happily sipping beer from a long, swirling plastic straw that led to a bottle on the floor.
Donna and the Prince sat in the rear of the van, counting part of the large bundle of cash that T-Bone had paid them. Small bills. Drug dealers always gave you small bills.
The Prince was glad to be leaving Detroit. It had been a fruitful enterprise, but if they had stayed a week longer, they would all be dead. They had left a time bomb ticking in the drug-using populace.
“How long before the shit goes off?” the Prince asked the Professor.
“Probably a few weeks before people catch on.”
“Then all hell breaks loose,” said the Prince, laughing.
“We were lucky to get out. I read the papers every day looking for signs,” the Professor said. He took a big sip of his drink.
“Yeah, like that bitch who drunk that paint,” said the Prince. “She was so fucked up on that shit, she probably thought it was a milkshake.”
“That's actually very likely,” said the Professor. “The drug would produce a hallucination like that.” ''I'm just glad to get away from those damned drug pushers. Those boys are some mean-ass muthafuckas,” said the Prince.
“I kinda like them,” said Donna, as she placed the money in neat stacks. “They grow on you.”
“You fuckin' bitch!” said the Prince, knocking some bills from her hand onto the floor. “You gone just sit up here and say that shit right in my face.” His eyes narrowed to evil slits.
“Yeah, so what?”
“I was gone wait until we got to Chicago to call yo ass out, but since you wanna dis me, I'll do it right here.”
“What? I don't even know what you talkin' 'bout!”
“I can't believe you gone sit there and lie right up in my face.” “I ain't lying. I ain't gotta lie to you.”
The Professor withdrew his attention from them. They always fought like this, swearing and sometimes even coming to blows. The strangest thing was they were married and had been for about five years. Married drug pushers, fighting like the goddamned Honeymooners. It was funny, yet there was also a sickness about it.
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