Night Court

by Ashley Fontainne

  Knowing she would eventually leave the daily lives of her brother and best friend, she decided to spark a flame of interest. One which would hopefully ignite when she was no longer around. “Speaking of Deb, if you don’t hurry up and ask her out, she’s going to explode. In more ways than one. She’s been unhitched for almost a year now.”

  Derek threw his head back and laughed. “Too bad for her because it’s not going to happen. Ever.”

  Intrigued, and since talking about Deb’s infatuation with him wasn’t a normal topic of discussion, Merry asked, “Why? I mean, what is it about her you don’t like? Her curly, naturally blonde hair? Vivacious personality? Curves that rival Beyonce’s? The fact she drools over you and practically worships—no, wait, she does worship—the ground you walk on? Though I certainly don’t know why. You’re an ass, which is why you’ve never married. No one could put up with your crap.”

  Derek shook his head and walked back to the grill. In a few swift moves, the sizzling steaks were on a plate, followed by a mound of steaming vegetables. “She’s not my type, and I’ve remained unshackled because the thought of having to answer for my every move makes me want to throw up.”

  “Since when is someone like Deb not every man’s type? Oh, wait, I know what you mean. She has a brain! I forget you prefer your women to be dumber than a box of rocks. The collective IQs of the last five you’ve dated would be hard-pressed to equal their combined cup sizes.”

  “Nice, Sis. Real nice.”

  Merry took another sip of tea and watched Derek flip a steak onto her plate. “Truth hurts, huh?”

  “If it were the truth, then yes, it would. But it’s not. There’s no way I’m ever going to ask Debbie Rutherford on a date. Not only is she like another sister, but she’s your best friend. Believe me, I’ve weighed the pros and cons of asking her out before she got married. Even a bit after her divorce. She’s a perfect combination of gorgeous, funny, and smart. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. But the thought of you two discussing our relationship—ugh, no way. The creepy factor is way too high.”

  “Fair enough.” Merry doused her plate with steak sauce and dug in, surprised by her ravenous hunger. The meat was superb. “Glad to know your taste in women isn’t as shallow as I’ve always assumed.”

  “Will you please stop stalling and talking about meaningless drivel? You’re sidestepping real issues that need discussing.”

  Now there is the cop I know and love. Bam! Right to the point—just like Dad.

  “You bitch about my weight, yet while I’m eating, want to talk about things that will make my appetite vanish? Smart move, Detective.”

  Derek waved his fork in her direction. “Hush. Eat. When we finish, we’ll talk. For real with no bullshit.”

  Rather than argue with him, Merry focused on the delicious dinner.

  Yes, we’ll talk and all the while, I’ll be pumping you for information.

  ***

  “No. You sit and relax. I’ll clean up. That’s one of the perks of eating dinner at someone else’s.” Derek pointed to the living room then loaded the sink with piles of dishes. Without arguing, Merry found a comfortable spot on the cracked leather couch, Stonewall right beside her. Her stomach was packed and she’d finally cooled down. Lack of sleep, a full belly, and a furry companion snuggled against her leg made her a tad drowsy. If left alone for more than five minutes, she’d be out and probably sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

  Closing her eyes, she pinched her fingers at the bridge of her nose, hoping to release some of the pent-up pressure in her head. Merry took a long, cleansing breath. Faint wisps of familiar odors tickled her nose.

  Mom’s hand lotion. Dad’s Old Spice. Leather shoe polish. Cinnamon and apples.

  She knew it was physically impossible, since it had been twelve years since their father passed and over thirty since Mom died. In her heart, Merry knew it was just wishful thinking that the scents from childhood still remained. The aromas made a small lump in her throat form. Opening her eyes, she downed a large swig of tea to wash it away.

  Just like at my house. The only difference is Joshua and Harold’s scents are fresher. Yet another reason I put the house on the market.

  “I saw that.”

  “Saw what?” Merry watched Derek cross the living room floor and make his way to the other end of the couch.

  “The pain you’ve kept bottled up so long.”

  Derek’s gaze bored a hole into her soul. Merry knew she would really have to dig deep to extract the information she needed from him without letting her real emotions out. “Better in than out, right?”

  “You have that backward. Now, talk to me, Merry. I mean really talk. No bullshit. Let it out, whatever’s on your mind. You’ve been inside your grief shell far too long.”

  Keeping herself in check, Merry responded. “First, tell me about Peppy. I want to know everything about how the piece of shit who introduced Joshua to the life, died. It will…take some of the sadness away, I believe. I hope. Make me less prone to kicking the shit out of a punching bag.”

  For a full thirty seconds, Derek didn’t respond. His gaze swept over every inch of Merry’s face. What he was looking for, she had no clue. “Fair enough. I believe you’ve more than earned the right to hear the gory—and confidential—details. Guess having an insider’s perspective and insight is a good thing, huh?”

  Merry nodded.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to reiterate the need for…”

  “Of course not. I’m well aware you’re risking a lot by telling me. It’s more than appreciated and my lips are sealed. Spill.”

  Derek took in a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and then released it in a giant whoosh. “A little after three a.m., Peppy received a call from one of his regulars. A pro named Sugar Pie. They agreed to meet in the alleyway off 4th Street. According to Sugar Pie, she planned on working off the price of the smack. Seems Peppy decided to be rolling high when she arrived, but in the dark, must have misjudged the amount he injected. Made him an easy target for anyone lurking about. He was so out of it, he didn’t have any defensive wounds. He was too fucked up when someone jumped him from behind. The attack was vicious and quick. However, I think it’s doubtful this was just some random robbery that ended in murder.”

  Yes, it was quick and so not random.

  Merry forced herself not to laugh. “Why do you say that?”

  Derek took a sip of water before responding. “No drugs were found at the scene, only paraphernalia, which leads to the assumption of a robbery. Of course, it could also be that Sugar Pie helped herself to Peppy’s stash before she called us. I really don’t believe that’s it, either. I watched her interview tape. She was too upset and had a bad case of the shakes, and not just from finding her dealer face-down in a pile of blood. Plus, he wasn’t just knocked unconscious and rolled. Someone whipped his ass, up close and personal. His face was a mess. It took an individual with a lot of anger to inflict that much damage.”

  “Oh, yikes,” Merry whispered. To help calm her nerves, she ran her hand over Stonewall’s soft fur.

  “There’s no telling who the fool pissed off over the years. You know, some thug still holding a grudge against the little twerp. When he was my C.I., he was always complaining about someone; there was always a beef between him and at least one other person. Then again, it could be a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another sad sack flying high happens upon him, takes the opportunity to score some fast drugs and quick cash. Again, that scenario is doubtful. I was leaning toward a rival gang, just like the lead on the case. Peppy wasn’t exactly the quiet and shy type. He liked to run his mouth, especially in front of other dealers. You know, standard gang posturing and shit. The consensus at the station is another banger got him since they found the symbol for the Street Urchins scrawled in blood next to his body.”

  Merry honed in on one particular sentence. “You said was leaning toward. If his death wasn’t gang related,
what do you think happened?”

  “Mind you, I haven’t been to the scene. Captain won’t let me or Mitch because, well, of our past connection. What I’m telling you came from John Hudson, the lead on the case. He showed me the pictures, told me the scoop. Said forensics found jack squat at the scene. They found several footprints, but matching them, or even trying to distinguish which one belonged to the killer would be impossible. It’s an alleyway, for God’s sake. No telling how many people tromp through it each day. But that’s all they’ve got—a huge assortment of shoe treads. Not one hair, fiber, blood spatter, or droplet of sweat. Of course, there are no surveillance cameras in that area, so no video footage to review. You know, it’s just ridiculous. God knows our department has been begging the city to install some. It’s the most crime-ridden part of town!”

  Derek was veering off into his preferred topic for a soapbox rant, so Merry steered him back. “Derek—focus, please?”

  “Oh, sorry. Pet peeve.”

  “Yes, I know. You’ve discussed it many times before. So, it sounds like Hudson and his team will be hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack on this one. Hard to believe no trace evidence at all remained.”

  “Right? Nope, nothing. Which again, leads me to the conclusion I mentioned before—this was a hit. Sugar Pie swore she didn’t hear or see a thing. All that leads me to believe Peppy’s death was targeted and performed by a pro who wanted to make it look like the death was gang-related. Throw us off track. Hell, who knows? Maybe it’s someone who wants to spark a gang war, hoping maybe they’ll all turn on each other and kill each other off.”

  Oh, what a compliment! First kill and already considered a pro!

  Derek paused, waiting for a reaction. Her legs were curled underneath her, so she let her left hand rest near her calf, away from Derek’s line of vision. She rubbed her face with her other hand, biting the inside of her cheek hard. Tears appeared. She blinked letting a few flow down her face.

  Merry wiped her cheek. “As I said before, I’m not sure how this news makes me feel. Right now, the best description would be a weird mixture of satisfaction and shock. I mean, it’s sort of like ripping a scab off a wound, you know?”

  “Believe me, I know. For me, it’s relief.”

  Confused, Merry queried, “Relief?”

  The grin on Derek’s face was eerie. When he let his guard down, he was the spitting image of Joshua. He leaned closer, and Merry saw a shimmer of tears behind his eyes.

  “Relief I wasn’t the one who killed Peppy. It’s been a daily struggle for months now, fighting the temptation to wring his scrawny neck. If I just would have arrived sooner that night…”

  Stunned by his raw emotion, Merry had to swallow a few times before her tongue unlocked. “Derek…don’t. You can’t think like that. None of what happened is your fault.”

  In a huff, Derek stood and began pacing. “Really? Peppy was my C.I. Our meeting that night was going to score the department some great intel about a huge shipment of heroin from Memphis.”

  Merry pushed Stonewall off her lap and stood. She hated seeing Derek so worked up over something out of his control. They’d talked about this before, right after Joshua’s death, but back then, both she and Derek had been numbed by the events. Time had given them both a chance to soak things up. Remembering. Recalling. All the things each could have done differently if given the opportunity to turn back the clock.

  His back was to her and Merry sensed Derek fought back tears. “Wrong. The intel led to a bust stopping hundreds of pounds of that white poison from hitting the streets. You did your job, Derek. How were you supposed to know Joshua slipped and starting using again? Or that Peppy was supplying him again? I mean, you beat the boy up pretty bad when you found out he was Joshua’s dealer. Scared the shit out of him, if I recall. And you didn’t know it was Joshua who dipped out and ran away when you showed up to your meeting with Peppy. Not until later. So please, stop this.”

  The anguish on Derek’s face made Merry’s chest clench with sadness for her brother. She decided to try and inject a bit of humor to change the mood in the air. “Hey? I thought tonight was supposed to be about letting me fall apart, not the other way around. Remember?” Merry’s pathetic attempt at humor flopped. When she put her hand on Derek’s shoulder, he shrugged it off.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. But this news—it brought so many things back to the surface. Made me remember. When I found Joshua…I just, oh, God. I hated myself…because I knew I had to be the one to tell you. Had to break your heart. Look you in the eye and admit I couldn’t keep my own nephew safe. Once I saw your face, it was all too real. God, Merry. I’m so sorry.”

  When Merry reached out to him again, Derek didn’t pull away. They clung to each other in their childhood home, weeping as though the world just ended.

  For them, it had.

  Don’t worry, brother. I’m doing what you can’t. What your sense of duty and honor forbids you from attempting. What the system won’t. I’m making things right. Dad would be so proud of you. He raised a good cop and a wonderful son.

  The price for that was he also raised a lethal killer.

  5

  1:00 p.m. Saturday afternoon

  She woke up to the sound of whining. When Merry opened her bleary eyes, Stonewall was inches away from her nose. His furry black tail thumped on the couch. She was grateful to be awake, for the recurring dream of the last time she bailed Joshua out of jail, and the wicked fight that ensued, had made her stomach sour.

  Noticing the living room was awash in bright, afternoon sun, she pushed up from the couch. Fumbling around for her purse and trying not to step on Stonewall as he ran around in circles.

  “Derek?”

  Silence.

  Yanking open the bag, she pulled out her cell, noticing as she scrolled through messages and a missed call from Derek it was almost one o’clock. “Why did you let me sleep so…?”

  Her question drifted away as she listened to the voicemail from Derek.

  “Hey, sleepyhead! Sorry, I had to head into work. I’ll be out of pocket the next few days on assignment. There’s coffee in the kitchen and a pack of chocolate donuts on the counter. Ha ha, just like Dad used to leave us for, remember? Drop some extra food into Stonewall’s auto-feeder before you leave, will you? And, uh, hey, I’m sorry about losing it last night. So much for you leaning on my shoulders. Anyway, enjoy your vacation! I think you should go somewhere sunny, like Florida. You need to tan those toned arms! Bye, Sis. Love you. I’ll call when I can.”

  Scrambling to her feet, Merry wasted no time. She flew to the kitchen. In seconds, she’d fired up the coffeemaker, flung some food into Stonewall’s feeder, patted the little darling on the head, and then jetted out the door, coffee sloshing as she went.

  She’d already wasted almost half of day one of the free sixty, which miffed her to no end. Right now, at least according to her brother, her actions had gone undetected. Merry knew that could change at any moment.

  Firing up her car, she backed out of Derek’s driveway and gunned the engine. She had to get home and get started.

  There were things to do, items to plan, and people to hunt.

  And kill.

  While she drove, she couldn’t stop the internal replay of the song that was now her mantra. Her first kill gave her the taste—the addiction—for more.

  ***

  Merry wiped her brow then stretched, grinning at her work. She was beyond meticulous when it came to strategizing. She had to be, or she would never make it up the ladder, never reach the top dog. Because that was her goal: taking out all the lower-level thugs first until she made her way to the source.

  The last five hours had been spent, hunched over her dining room table, scouring every inch of the map of Little Rock. Bright, pink stickers marked the cameras placed by the City, none of which were anywhere near Mookie’s place. She’d placed blue markers at each police substation, and a big, dark red one where her target lived. T
he gem of a map was from the Little Rock Planning Commission, where Judge Tompkins was a board member. Lifting a copy had been a breeze, for three had been delivered to their office.

  And Merry signed for them.

  So, as far as Judge Tompkins was concerned, he’d only received two. Merry simply never corrected the assumption.

  Mookie lived only a few blocks from where Peppy’s life ended. According to the map, the closest street camera was five streets over, starting near Markham. Parking wouldn’t be a problem either. She would stash her car where she did last time. Harold’s CPA firm didn’t have cameras in the back parking lot, and if her car was ever spotted there, it would be easy enough to explain. The lonely widow needed to be close to familiar places. Parked her vehicle and went for a walk, reminiscing about the past while taking a leisurely night jog.

  No one would bat an eye, and the one mile run was a breeze to handle.

  Adrenaline made her skin prickle. The rush made her antsy, so she stood and paced around the kitchen as she re-read her notes on Mookie. Unlike Peppy, who’d bounced from one dump to the next, afraid if he stayed too long somewhere he’d get caught, Mookie had his own place. Actually, it was his mother’s house. Mookie had taken it over after dear old Mom was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for—shock of all shocks—drug trafficking.

  Awww, a family business.

  How quaint.

  Mookie was an only child and his arrest report listed him as single, but that didn’t mean he lived alone. Before she continued her plans, Merry needed to know for sure, and there was only one way to find out.

  Drive-by and dangle some bait!

  It only took thirty minutes for her to transform her look. Her long, red hair was plastered to her skull, hidden under a spiky black wig. She tugged on it, pleased when it didn’t budge. It would take a really hard yank to remove it.