Cold Medina

by Gary Hardwick

  Traylor took the weapon and despite himself he laughed.

  He'd been in cars with police before, but this was the first time he could remember enjoying it.

  The cruiser rolled down the street. Traylor never saw the other police car pull up to the building with two more uniformed cops and a blindfolded Steve Mayo in the backseat.

  13

  The Snitch

  Tony hated computers. Even though he knew one day you wouldn't be able to take a dump without one, he fought their necessity in his life. He wished that he had taken time to learn more about them as he struggled with the machine.

  All the cops called the Information Access Unit main computer the Snitch because it gave the story on every criminal who had ever been arrested in the city. He was happy that no one had canceled his clearance to use the thing.

  The boy K-9 had been very helpful. There were more potential Handyman victims out there. Tony had four leads, but only three of them could be traced: Butchie, Baby Knife, and the gang that all the Handyman victims belonged to. The big dealer would remain a mystery for now.

  The leads sounded good, but what made no sense was the men at Shalon Street. They were the missing link. Rolan Nelson and his brother Derek were slaughtered in typical Handyman fashion, but Jonnel Washington was simply shot. But according to K-9, the Nelson brothers were not in the gang.

  Tony asked the computer to give him the files on the Nelson brothers. He had seen this information before, but had obviously missed something. Tony typed in the request. He asked the computer to retrieve any known drug or criminal gang member among all the Handyman victims. The computer screen went blank, then:

  ERROR DATA LOST

  “What?”

  Tony accessed the files on all known felons, then typed:

  RETRIEVE: ALIAS: BABY KNIFE

  He hit enter and watched the screen go blank. It would hopefully give him any felon with that alias. After a moment, the screen went blank and spat out a message.

  ERROR. DATA LOST

  “Shit!” he said.

  Tony settled, then typed:

  RETRIEVE: ALIAS: BUTCHIE

  The computer screen read:

  ERROR. DATA LOST

  Tony hit the computer a solid blow.

  “Why you in here, cussin' out my baby?” asked Rosalie Young, an IAU computer technician.

  “This is impossible, Rosie,” said Tony. “I got the command right, but this thing's telling me there's no information. There's gotta be.”

  Rosalie looked at the screen. “Maybe not. We lost a lot of information recently on a computer glitch. But this system's got an automatic back up. Saves any information that's erased intentionally or by accident.”

  “The information that was lost, was it an accident?”

  “Oh, it must have been an accident. The system keeps track of requests to erase data.”

  “When did it happen, before or after the Handyman investigation started?”

  “After. Anyway; we got most of it back, but we must have missed whatever it is you're trying to find. Let me try.” She sat down next to Tony and began to type rapidly.

  “Tony, I'm not gonna ask why you looking up names of the Handyman victims. I won't even ask why you in here when you supposed to be on leave.”

  “That's why I love you, Rosalie.”

  “Hopefully, it's not gone. The system will only keep erased info in memory backup for about a month, then it gets discarded.”

  “Ask it to pull up all known gangs in common to the victims.”

  Tony looked at the screen. It read:

  ALLEGED GANG CALLED “THE UNION.”

  He already knew that. He was looking for a different, possibly older gang, but apparently the cops had never catalogued it.

  Tony had Rosalie look up information on Theodore Bone. Bone had no known address and an almost nonexistent record. He had some juvenile offenses, but several plans to prosecute him as an adult had ended in nothing. He was clean.

  “Rosalie, ask it for an alias called Baby Knife.”

  Rosalie complied, then:

  ALIAS ID: “BABY KNIFE” -- THELLIS, RANDALL MARK.

  “Yes!” Tony shouted. “OK, Rosalie pull up his rap sheet.”

  Rosalie did and the computer spat out felony after felony that started in 1980 for Thellis, ending in his death at the hands of a cop named Hansed. Nothing else in the file was of significance.

  “Rosalie, ask it for the alias Butchie.”

  Rosalie typed and the screen listed thirty-three names.

  A popular alias,” said Rosalie.

  “Damn,” said Tony. “Print that list of names for me. I guess I'll have to find this guy the old fashioned way.”

  “Does this help you?” asked Rosalie.

  “Yes, but by the time I track this guy down, he might be in a body bag. Can I get a printout of the Thellis file too?”

  “Sure. You want all of it?”

  “What do you mean all of it? Didn't I just see it all?” Tony asked.

  “No, there's a criminal file and a file for all personal information.”

  “Let me take a look at Thellis's personal info.”

  Rosalie pulled up the personal file on Randall Thellis alias Baby Knife. The file listed his mother's address on Orleans Street. Marabell Thellis was his only relative.

  “Well, well,” said Tony. “His mother is only fifty-two. She might still be alive.”

  “I can skip trace that address if you want,” said Rosalie. ''I'm sure she's moved in all these years.”

  “Please,” said Tony.

  Rosalie went to a phone and dialed. She read the address and they waited.

  “OK,” Rosalie said into the phone. “Thanks, Denise. Well, Tony, your witness now lives on Dequindre.”

  “Thanks, Rosalie. I owe you.”

  “They all do.”

  Tony took the address and left the data center, stopping only to call Nikki at her mother's in Ypsilanti. His family was safe.

  Tony stepped outside into the heat of midday, hoping that Thellis's mother had not moved away in the last ten years. He could no longer deny what he was doing. He was conducting a murder investigation, even though he was no longer a cop. This was a dangerous undertaking, as Walter Nicks had shown him last night.

  Tony pulled away from the building and circled the corner and waited, making sure he was not followed.

  14

  Disappearing Act

  The only thing that scared T-Bone more than being killed was being poor, and he'd lost a fortune. His people could no longer be trusted. Rollers were skimming and dealing on the side and most houses were not sending in any money at all. It was now officially chaos in the street, every man for himself. Even Traylor and Mayo could no longer be trusted. He wanted to bring the Prince back to life and kill him again.

  T-Bone walked around the motel room, thinking of how many things he had to do. He was taking quite a chance being so close to Detroit. The small motel in Redford was only minutes from the city. The cops were looking for him for sure, but he didn't plan to be around for long. He'd been living out of his car and motels for the last week.

  T-Bone had hoped to exit the business gracefully, but now he had no time for grace. The police would send a hitter to get him or bribe one of his own to do the deed. He wasn't about to wait around for that.

  T-Bone had spent the past few years routing cash out of Detroit to the west coast. He sent it in boxes by a private shipper to storage houses in California. He had saved a couple of million. That would last him for a while.

  He was waiting for his banker to get the rest of his money, then he could leave. The white boys were taking a big cut for laundering the money, but he didn't have time to argue. Before anyone knew anything, he would be in LA soaking up the sun, breathing smog, and planning his next move. Fuck Detroit, he thought. He was tired of it anyway.

  **********

  The Handyman watched T-Bone get into the old car. He had to keep track of T-Bo
ne for a while, then he would take him. He would not kill this one right away. T-Bone was special and he would die spectacularly.

  But first he 'had to get Butchie. He'd been dose at Butchie's home in Boston-Edison, but his damned bodyguards had gotten in the way. He slammed his fist hard into his dashboard. He'd failed with Butchie. He hated failure. There was no room for mistakes. He had to be perfect from now on. Failure was for lesser human beings. He was special, and he could not afford any more slipups. He'd come too far.

  T-Bone was supposed to be the last to die, after Butchie, but he might have to take T-Bone now and kill him later.

  His plan had been helped by the drug called Medina. T-Bone's gang of poison-pushers had only poisoned themselves with it. The resulting chaos destroyed all allegiances and forced T-Bone out into the open. And now that he'd found him, he would not let him get away. He'd follow him until Butchie could be obtained. Then he'd rip him from the face of the earth.

  The Handyman thought about how he would kill T-Bone. No quick death for him. It would be slow, painful, beautiful.

  He watched as T-Bone drove away. He waited, then followed. Contempt filled his heart as he trailed the drug dealer at a safe distance.

  He had the dirtiest hands of them all.

  15

  Traylor Makes His Move

  David Traylor outlined how the Union was to take back the city. Ten of the Union's top rollers filled the small dining room of a former crackhouse on the west side. Several pizzas were on the table, their scents filling the room.

  After his abduction by the cops, Traylor had moved fast to assemble a team of dealers. Mayo had to be dealt with, but Traylor had people out looking for him.

  Traylor's new team was young, ambitious, and ready to rebuild the Union's dominance. They knew that Medina would not last forever. Sooner or later it would run out and crack would again be the drug of first choice. And when that day came, they would find themselves on top of the whole city.

  “First, we get our best houses back in business,” Traylor began. “Then we get rid of the muthafuckas causing us trouble by being in business for themselves. We give 'em the chance to get back with us, and if they don't, we pop 'em just like the others.”

  “What about T-Bone?” asked a roller named Norman. He was one of Traylor's new, hand-picked lieutenants.

  “He's out of business. It's time for a new day in Detroit. I got a deal with the cops to protect us,” Traylor said. “That's right, I got the cops with me!” He checked the eyes of the audience. Having the police on your side was essential to running the street. “In a year, we'll be pulling down big money and won't nobody be able to do shit about it.”

  Steven Mayo was going to be a big, nasty problem. Mayo had his own crew running. And Traylor realized that he had to get rid of Mayo or face a rival gang. Mayo was not a genius, but he knew the business and would make a formidable enemy.

  “Why you?” asked Norman.

  Traylor wasn't angered by the question. He had told him to ask it. He knew that it would be on everyone's mind. So he brought it out on his terms. He learned his lessons from T-Bone well.

  “Because I got the money; the product, and the police. Can't be done without that combination.” Traylor feigned anger. Anybody else got it, I be happy to step aside, follow you.” The room's silence told Traylor he was in.

  “What about this Handyman?” asked Norman, again on cue.

  “The Handyman was T-Bone's shit all the time,” Traylor said and the faces of the rollers showed shock and disbelief.

  “Yeah, that's right. T-Bone was fuckin' up so” bad, that the boys from South America sent a professional hitman to ice our people to teach him a lesson. He kept it from us, but now that he's gone, I know the truth.”

  The real truth was that Traylor didn't believe what the cops had told him, but it served his purposes here. He half expected T-Bone to return any minute. To that end, he'd sent several rollers looking for signs of his former boss. They were to kill T-Bone on Sight.

  Traylor vowed that he would not make the same mistakes as his predecessor. He would not be greedy, poisoning the masses for his own gain like T-Bone did. And he was going to get out of the business alive.

  The meeting was adjourned and the rollers broke into conversations about killing renegade rollers and the Detroit Pistons chances for another basketball championship. Traylor prompted the rollers to leave while he and Norman made preliminary plans to raid Magilla's drug houses.

  After the plan was set, Traylor got into his car with Norman at his side. Traylor could only afford one bodyguard and Norman was strapped with a nine millimeter.

  Traylor was grabbing for his gun when Steve Mayo appeared in the driver's window, holding a gun in each hand, pumping shots into the car.

  16

  Mother's Grief

  Tony's ass stuck to the thick plastic covering on the flowered sofa in the living room.

  Marabell Thellis was a thin woman who looked like every substitute teacher he ever had in school, and she had a tendency to ramble on about nothing.

  Marabell took her religion seriously. The living room, crammed with symbols, crucifixes, Bibles, nativity scenes, and velvet paintings of Jesus, crowded Tony as he sat on the sticky couch.

  “... you see, that's God's plan. He's testing us right now, but he's coming soon. Are you saved yet, officer?”

  “Yes, ma'am. I hate to cut you off, but I need to ask you some questions. I'm investigating the Handyman killings.”

  “Oh Lord.”

  “Your son, Randall, is connected somehow.”

  ''I'm not surprised. He was filth, just like his brothers. Not surprised that they were killed, too.”

  “Randall had brothers?” Tony set his cup down. “Ma'am can you tell me their names?”

  “Rolan and Derek.”

  “Nelson?” Tony asked.

  “Yes, how did you know? They had different fathers than Randall. I don't like to talk about that.”

  “Holy shi--” Tony caught himself. Derek and Rolan Nelson were killed instead of their brother, Randall Thellis, who was already dead.

  I’m sorry, ma’am.

  “No bother. They was filth, all of them.” Marabell took a gulp of coffee. “I wouldn't even let them in my house. Both of 'em left me you know. Nate Thellis, then Robert Nelson. I was married to Nate. Robert I sinned with. This is my punishment. All my sons dead. Well, hopefully they're in a better place, though I doubt it.”

  “Help me, Ms. Thellis. I need to know if your son Randy was in a gang a long time ago.”

  “The Devil seems to be everywhere these days,” she said. “I hear people testify in church about what their kids are doing and I die a little. You know, there was a time when I would have pulled out my heart for my children, you know, like Jesus did for his disciples, but I had to let Satan take them.”

  For a moment she was silent. Tony could see that she had suppressed a great deal of pain related to her sons and husbands. He had seen the look before. There was nothing more heartbreaking than the loss in a mother's face. Her eyes misted and she removed her glasses.

  “Ma'am please concentrate. Was there a gang?”

  “Yeah. There was always a gang. Randall's was called the Bad Boys.”

  “Please tell me, do you see all the Bad Boys on this list?” Tony held out the list of all the Handyman's victims.

  “There's one missing,” Marabell said.

  “Just one? Are you sure it's not two?”

  “No, just one.”

  “Who is he?” Tony asked.

  “He's still here in Detroit, the snake. The moment I saw him again, I knew. Calls himself a preacher. Got a so-called church over on Eight Mile next to a Burger King! Right where a church like that be-longs. “

  Marabell got a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Leon Palmer,” she said. “Everybody called him Butchie. But he changed his name to Reverend Joe B. Henderson when he came back.”

  “I know this was hard for you.” Tony t
ook her hand. “But I promise that whoever killed Derek and Rolan in that house will pay for it somehow.”

  “What do you mean by somehow?”

  “Well, he might go to jailor, I might have to kill him if the situation calls for it.”

  Marabell put her glasses back on and straightened her back. She sniffed, fixing her hair and composing herself. “If it's God's will,” she said, looking Tony straight in the eyes, “blast his butt good!”

  17

  God's Magnificent House of Miracles

  The church is an integral part of society in the black community in Detroit. It is not only a religious institution, but a powerful political force. Despite the growth of black business and academia, ministers are still the undeniable leaders of the race.

  God's Magnificent House of Miracles was a small church on Eight Mile Road. Small by Detroit standards. In comparison to some of the money-rich churches, its congregation was tiny.

  Tony went through the heavy, gold-colored doors. The service room was ornate. It was dressed with hand-carved wood, thick carpet woven with religious symbols, and stained glass that glowed in vivid color. Behind the pulpit was a stained-glass Jesus, whose face had been tin ted black.

  The Reverend Joe B. Henderson preached for the Thursday night service. Henderson was a large man with a full head of thick hair and a jowly face. He preached in the unmistakable cadence of the Southern Baptist preacher: lumbering, sonorous digressions easing into singing elevations of voice.