Dead End Fix

by T. E. Woods

  “You gotta do nothin’ but sit there, you hear me? What’s gonna happen will reveal itself.”

  Kashawn nodded again, hoping his leader knew he understood.

  “Let’s roll, then.”

  D’Loco opened his own door this time. Then J-Fox got out of the car. Kashawn had to force his hands to open his door. Then he had to overcome his legs’ unwillingness to move. He was ashamed of the fear crushing his chest. He counted his steps as he came behind the Escalade to stand beside D’Loco and J-Fox.

  Eighteen times my feet touched this pavement. How many more steps I got left?

  J-Fox led them through the fog to a heavy metal door. He banged four hard raps and a few seconds later the door slid open, spilling light into the alleyway.

  Kashawn didn’t know the man standing there, but the look on his face was pure disgust. He saw the scarf encircling the man’s neck. Pico Red.

  J-Fox walked through the door without a word. D’Loco followed him, nodding to the man. Then it was Kashawn’s turn. He counted twenty-three steps before the group came to a halt. Spice and Three Pop sat at a circular table. Kashawn looked around.

  This place musta been a restaurant once. He saw a long counter with stools in front. Maybe a bar. He looked up. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven lights. He looked to the wall opposite the bar. One, two, three, four, five booths.

  “Three days.” Spice pointed to two empty seats at the table. “Pico keep their word. Now’s time to see if 97 do the same.”

  D’Loco took a seat. J-Fox stepped to the side and stood behind the Pico who had escorted them back. For the first time that evening, D’Loco looked at Kashawn, nodding toward the empty chair beside him. Kashawn counted four steps before he sat down.

  Spice slid a folded newspaper across the table. “Got you a little something.”

  D’Loco opened the paper. A yellow sheet was inside. Kashawn saw writing on it but couldn’t read what it said from where he sat.

  “That’s a list of every corner you got workin’ right now,” Spice said. “Well, maybe not every. Might could you got a few we don’t know about, but I’ma guess this represent most your operation.”

  D’Loco scanned the list before setting it aside.

  “You said you wanted one block.” D’Loco tilted his head toward Kashawn. “Green K’s store.”

  Spice leaned back and smiled. “Maybe that was before I took full inventory of what you holdin’. Maybe we might negotiate more territory.”

  “What make you think I be interested in that?” D’Loco asked.

  Spice’s smile vanished. “Because that list right there? That also represent where we got Pico firepower right now. Not where your men could see ’em, that for sure. But they there. Call it our insurance policy. You don’t give us what we ask for, we gonna call an end to this truce. And there ain’t enough room in all the morgues in Seattle for the 97s gonna need accommodations tonight.”

  Three Pop snapped his head toward his leader. Then he put his eyes on Kashawn.

  Kashawn looked away. If any fear showed on his face, he didn’t want a no-good Pico to see it.

  D’Loco spoke to Three Pop. “You wanted the name of who killed that kid. Your little brother, Banjo.”

  “That’s right.” Spice answered for his man, alternating his glance between J-Fox and Kashawn. “It one of these? Or you ’bout to tell me you don’t have control over your men? Don’t know which 97 took out that boy?”

  Kashawn felt the heat radiating off D’Loco. It was an insult demanding retaliation, but D’Loco sat stone still.

  “I’ma give you the name.”

  Spice’s smile returned. “And you gonna give us this boy’s block.”

  “That what you want?” D’Loco asked.

  Spice looked toward the man standing in front of J-Fox. His smile grew wider, but there was no warmth in it.

  “I’ma take that block for sure. Then we talk about what else I’m ’bout to take.”

  Three Pop glanced again at his leader before returning his gaze to Kashawn.

  Somethin’s not right, Kashawn thought. He turned to see J-Fox. Somethin’s not right.

  “You want more,” D’Loco said. “Maybe that what your firepower be about. You figure you take all what 97 has right tonight.” D’Loco craned his neck to talk to Spice’s man standing by J-Fox. “You go by the name of Tank, right? Up from Cali?”

  The man said nothing.

  “How you like it up here, boy?” D’Loco asked. “I hear it never rains down your way. This gotta be a big change for you. Then again, you had time to adjust, right? You been here near on two months now. Ain’t that right?”

  Kashawn watched Three Pop’s face change. It was just for an instant, but it was there. Something’s not right. He was afraid for D’Loco and J-Fox now too. For all his brothers out working their corners.

  D’Loco brought his attention back to the men seated across from him. His focus landed on Three Pop. “That come as news to you? Tank bein’ here all this time? Maybe you got told he here for reinforcements. Replacement for the Picos that got popped.”

  “You know nothing ’bout Pico business,” Spice said. “Best we keep this discussion to matters at hand.”

  D’Loco ignored him and spoke directly to Three Pop. “You go with Rodisha, that right?”

  This time Kashawn had no problem reading Three Pop. It was anger clouding the man’s face.

  “I know you like to keep that secret,” D’Loco continued. “I get that. Ladies got no understandin’ of what a man’s business is. They take to worryin’. Worry lead to sassin’. Sassin’ lead to arguin’. And that ain’t no good for anybody lookin’ for a good time. I do it myself. Keep my lady far away from my day-to-day.”

  Three Pop said nothing.

  “Ladies got no understandin’ of this business, you say that right,” Spice growled. “So there no need to bring them up.”

  “Fact is,” D’Loco kept speaking to Three Pop. “You never even told Spice here about Rodisha. She liked it that way is what I hear. Rodisha wanted nothin’ to do with the Pico. That right? Wanted you to break free. Hear tell she hoped for you to join your daddy down at Smydon Fish. Two of you settle down. Start yourself a family. Live respectable like your daddy and Banjo.”

  Three Pop shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes on D’Loco.

  “But you not ’bout to leave the Pico, ain’t that right?” D’Loco said. “Pico everything to you. Bond as strong as family. You don’t care ’bout no fortunes or expansions or territories. You like them old-school Pico. All about the brotherhood. Way I hear it is you and Spice had yourself words from time to time ’bout that very topic. But you and Spice always work it out.”

  “What this got to do with why we here tonight?” Spice demanded. “We got one topic to discuss. Endin’ this war.” He turned to his lieutenant. “You want to learn who killed your brother, boy? Or you want to listen to this piece of 97 shit talk about stuff he don’t know.”

  Three Pop said nothing.

  “You know a woman name of Ebonie Jones?” D’Loco asked Three Pop.

  Three Pop didn’t react.

  Spice made a reach for his hip. D’Loco was faster and fired a bullet into the Pico leader’s shoulder before Spice could make his move. At that exact moment J-Fox wrapped his powerful arms around Tank, throwing him to the floor and holding him there with a boot across Tank’s throat and a gun pointed at his head.

  “This here’s a bunch of bullshit is what this is!” Spice roared. “Pull your piece, Three Pop. Put a bullet between this fuckin’ 97’s eyes. Kill all three these motherfuckers. I’ma give one word and our boys gonna jump. We get rid of all these 97s!”

  Kashawn’s breath left him. He was too afraid to wonder what was going on.

  Three Pop and D’Loco held each other’s stare as Kashawn waited to see who would die first.

  It was Three Pop who finally spoke.

  “I ain’t ever heard of no Ebonie Jones.”

 
D’Loco nodded. “That’s cuz Spice here like to keep his lady separate, just like we do. But Ebonie be Spice’s lady. Least she was.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Spice’s demands weren’t as forceful as before. Blood seeped through the Pico’s jacket. “Kill these motherfuckers, Three Pop. That’s an order.”

  Kashawn watched Three Pop and D’Loco talking to each other like what was going on around them wasn’t happening. Spice continued his demands, but as his jacket grew bloodier, his voice weakened. Tank submitted to J-Fox’s power, but Kashawn could feel the Californian’s rage from fifteen feet away.

  “Ebonie and Rodisha know each other lifelong. Their mamas is cousins or some such,” D’Loco explained. “When you start seein’ Rodisha, she start tellin’ Ebonie about her concerns for your way of life. You know how ladies can be. Specially when they thinkin’ they might be in love.”

  Three Pop slipped back into his silent stare.

  “Your Rodisha, she a good girl. She wanted nothin’ but for you to leave the Pico. Get yourself a family man’s job. But Ebonie, that’s a different story. Ebonie got a bit of wild in her. Takes an idea she might get herself hooked up with a gangster too. She gonna climb higher than her friend, though. Rodisha told her you be number two in the Pico. So Miss Ebonie set her eyes on number one.”

  “Ebonie got a mouth on her?” Three Pop asked. “Start lettin’ Spice here know about me and Rodisha?”

  “Yes, sir. Your lady tell Miss Ebonie all about her worries. Let her know ’bout you and Spice havin’ different ideas ’bout the future ways of the Pico. But them girls…That talkin’ goes both ways. Rodisha come to hear that Spice tells Ebonie don’t worry. One of two things gonna happen. Says he got Tank comin’ up from Cali. Maybe Tank takes Three Pop’s place as number two. Or might be Three Pop gonna change his mind and be right on board with takin’ over everything that belong to the 97s. Ebonie tells Rodisha Spice got a plan.”

  Kashawn looked up, desperate for a break in the tension between the two men. He focused on the tiles in the ceiling, counting them one by one. He reached seventy-two before Three Pop spoke again.

  “So they killed Banjo. Made me think it was a 97.”

  “That sound in line with what I was told.”

  “Will somebody please shoot this motherfucker 97?” Spice’s voice no longer held any threat as he gasped for breath. Three Pop reached one hand over, grabbed his wounded leader by the hair, and slammed his head onto the table.

  Spice went silent.

  “Rodisha told Ebonie ’bout our date? Ebonie let Spice know my brother would be alone?”

  “That’s how she told me. Said Ebonie had no idea killing Banjo was part of the plan. She heard Tank here tellin’ Spice the deed was done. Said the two of them shared a laugh when Tank told about Banjo wearing your jacket. Said Banjo was makin’ the job easier, what with folks thinkin’ it was you who was the target and poor Banjo got it by mistake. At the time, Ebonie didn’t know Banjo was just a kid. Didn’t know he was your brother.”

  “How long Rodisha know ’bout this?”

  “She learned about it yesterday. I knew it wasn’t any 97 took out Banjo. Truce was comin’ up on its expiration. I put out fifty large to anyone who give me the name of the shooter. Ebonie been hiding since she hears ’bout things and figured out it was Tank and Spice took out Banjo. Lost her attraction for OGs real fast. Ebonie hears ’bout my offer, goes to Rodisha. Tells her what’s what. Rodisha come to me last night. Scared as a rabbit. Worried ’bout you. Worried ’bout her friend.”

  “Where they at now?”

  “Rodisha, like I say, she a good girl. You know that. She tell me give the fifty large to Ebonie. Let her go start a new life. She gotta stay and care for you.”

  Three Pop’s face softened with concern. “You school her?”

  D’Loco nodded. “Told her word bound to get out she told me what she knew. She be as dead as Ebonie if any Pico found her. Told her to get gone. That night. She cried like a baby at the thought of leavin’ you.”

  Three Pop looked away.

  “I give her fifty large for Ebonie. Then I give her another fifty for herself.”

  Three Pop brought his attention back to D’Loco. “I’ma get that back to you.”

  “No need. You call off your men. We go back to the old territories. Our tab be settled. How that sound?”

  Three Pop thought for several seconds. Then he stood and walked over to where Tank lay under the weight of J-Fox’s boot. Three Pop pulled his gun from his belt. Neither J-Fox nor D’Loco made a move. Kashawn grabbed the arms of his chair and focused on the tension in his fingers.

  Three Pop leaned down, bringing his face within inches of Tank’s.

  “Straight outta Compton. That right?” Three Pop spit in his eye.

  Then he stood and pumped four straight shots into the Californian’s head.

  The smell of gunpowder joined the stench of blood and sweat already clouding the room. Kashawn breathed deep, trying to calm the gag reflex pulling at his throat.

  Three Pop nodded to J-Fox before turning to D’Loco.

  “You got nothin’ to worry ’bout from my men. I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout Spice postin’ them tonight. I’ma call ’em off. This ain’t the Pico way.” He looked at his former leader, faintly roused by the sound of gunshots but still bent over with his head on the table.

  “It’s best you all leave now.” Three Pop stared at the groggy Spice. “What come next gonna take me a while.”

  Chapter 38

  Seattle

  “Been six days without a body.” Jim DeVilla walked into Mort’s office with a smile on his face. Bruiser jogged in behind him, focused on the pink pastry box in his master’s hand. “I was all ready to say the war was over. Now we find two more.”

  Mort poured himself a cup of coffee from the small pot behind his desk. “You want some?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Jim placed the doughnut box on Mort’s desk. “Two jelly, two cinnamon, and two frosted cake. You wanna call Mick up here or should I?”

  “Mick’s with Doc Conner today. We got an ID on one of the bodies found this morning, but we haven’t got a bead on the other. My hunch is she’ll be all day down at the morgue.”

  “Ever the dutiful public servant.” Jim took a bite of his doughnut and sat across from Mort’s desk. “Unless the guy’s in the database, my money says it’ll be two months before we know who’s on the slab. Nobody’s gonna report him missing when he doesn’t show up at Grandma’s for Sunday dinner. Our only hope is he’s been arrested before.”

  Mort looked at his whiteboard. It was shaping up to be the biggest gang war in Seattle history. Eleven murder victims identified only by the locations where their bodies were found. All of them African American males. All found dead within a week of one another. The latest victims had been discovered by a street-cleaning crew just past midnight the night before in a drainage ditch north of Boeing Field. Mort and Lincoln Lane had met at the coroner’s office at three thirty to get a look at the bodies. Preliminary estimates suggested they’d both been dead nearly a week. One body was still unidentified. That man had four bullets in his skull.

  But when Doc Conner pulled back the sheet covering the second, Lincoln Lane let out a low whistle.

  “Well, will you look at this?” Lane said. “It’s the end of an era.”

  They both could ID the corpse as Antwan Nevers, aka Spice. Head of the Pico Underground.

  Mort added Nevers’s name to the whiteboard, making his only the second body with a name attached.

  The other name was Benji Jackson.

  “I’ve sent a squad over to Sixteenth Street Pool House,” Mort said. “With Spice dead, let’s see if Three Pop’s ascended to the throne.”

  “You see that as motive?” Jim asked.

  Mort glanced again at his whiteboard, filled with victims but empty of suspects.

  “I see it as something. And when you got nothing, something sounds pretty good.”
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  —

  Mort walked into the interview room at 9:20. Three Pop was already seated.

  “You see much of Spice these days?” Mort wasted no time on pleasantries.

  Three Pop shook his head. “Haven’t seen him in…must be a week or so now.”

  Mort took a chair across a wooden table from his guest.

  “Officers caught up with you at your dad’s house. I must admit, that came as a surprise.”

  Three Pop shrugged.

  “I got the impression last time we were all in this room that you and your dad had some bad blood between you.”

  Three Pop considered the question. “No tellin’ with family, I guess. Just me and him now. Mama and Banjo gone.”

  Mort felt a softening inside him at the mention of Benji Jackson’s name.

  “Spice is dead,” Mort said. “Been dead about a week now.”

  Three Pop stared straight ahead.

  “I tell you your leader winds up dead in a ditch and you got nothing more than a blink for me?”

  Three Pop said nothing.

  “Spice didn’t go easy,” Mort continued. “Doc Conner said whoever did this took their time. Spice was shot a couple of times, neither in a place that would do much damage. Nineteen broken bones would cause a heap of hurt, though. But even that wouldn’t kill him. Coroner said it was a crushed windpipe that done him in. Said it had the appearance of someone stomping on his throat again and again. Like someone was working out a rage. You got any ideas about that?”

  Three Pop kept his gaze fixed on something Mort couldn’t see.

  “That leaves a vacancy in your organization. You were Spice’s number two. You taking the reins now?”

  Three Pop shook his head. “Ain’t nothin’ like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  Mort waited for the man to answer.

  “You gonna hafta speak to some other somebody if you wanna know ’bout Pico business. I’m headed in a different direction.”

  Mort hadn’t been expecting that.

  “What? You starting your own group now? Take what you learn at Spice’s knee and start your own operation? That your plan?”