The Vigilantes boh-10

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Fear of what?”

  Javier sighed loudly, then said, “I don’t know.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Maybe just keep your eyes and ears open when you go over?”

  There was a long silence. Then she said: “Okay. Sure. Anything.”

  “I’d like to stop by, too. I didn’t get a chance to tell her how sorry I was.”

  “Okay. I’m walking over now.”

  “See you shortly.”

  Yvette Iglesia ran to intercept her brother in front of the Bazelon row house. Javier glanced at the crowd of tough guys on the sidewalk and saw that they were following his every step. He recognized Paco Ramirez and thought he’d look like the nice kid next door if not for the wannabe gangsta clothing. Javier nodded at him, and Paco nodded back.

  As Javier reached the sidewalk, Yvette met him. He saw that her eyes were tearing. As she hugged him, she softly said, “You were right, big bro.”

  “About what?”

  She took a step back, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked up at Javier.

  “She’s only told Keesha,” she said, “and Keesha’s only told me.”

  “What?” he asked quietly.

  She turned her back to the boys on the sidewalk, then, keeping her voice low, practically spat out: “That fucking shit Xpress-Xavier Smith?” She paused, and after Javier nodded that he knew him, went on. “He was here last night getting revenge on Sasha’s grandmother for calling the cops on him. She saw him stealing a neighbor’s TV. He hid on the porch last night, and when Sasha got home from Keesha’s, he forced his way inside.”

  She sniffled, then wiped at her nose and cheek.

  Javier said, “What happened then?”

  “You were right about Principal Bazelon being tied up. He used the phone cord. Then he… then he put a gun to Sasha’s head and made her-”

  Javier saw the tears flowing faster.

  She angrily wiped them away and finished: “That fucking shit make her blow him and made her abuela watch! That’s what killed her!”

  “Jesus Christ!” Javier said softly.

  He looked over his baby sister’s head to the porch. Keesha was stroking Sasha’s hair.

  Her abuela died of a real broken heart.

  Dr. Mitchell told me about those, where stress damages the heart muscle, especially an old, weak one, to the point of triggering a deadly cardiac arrest.

  Jesus!

  Yvette added: “And he threatened Sasha, said not to tell nobody, that he could come back anytime, and that he could get her anywhere.”

  Javier shook his head and said, “No wonder she’s terrified. Now she has no family and is constantly worried that Xpress will come back.”

  She nodded. “We’re going to get her away from this. Walk over and see the memorial at the school, you know? Maybe that’ll make her feel a little better.”

  They both glanced back at the porch. Sasha was moving down the steps with Keesha Cook at her side. Everyone along the way stepped back, making a path for her.

  When Sasha and Keesha reached Yvette and Javier, Javier said, “I didn’t get a chance to say earlier how much your grandmother meant to me, Sasha. I am terribly sorry for your loss, I really am.”

  Sasha looked him in the eyes and simply said, “Thanks.”

  Javier looked at Keesha and said, “Good to see you. Glad you can be here for Sasha.”

  Keesha nodded. Then she said, “You going over to the memorial at the school?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  He gestured for them to lead the way. But when they turned to walk to Fifty-fifth Street, Sasha looked toward the intersection and froze, her wide eyes terrified.

  And from deep inside her came a gut-wrenching moan that turned into a wail.

  Coming toward them, having just turned the corner, was a medium-size black male in baggy jeans, his head covered by the hood of his black sweatshirt. When he looked up at the sound of the scream, the hard face of Xavier “Xpress” Smith was clearly visible-and, judging by its shocked expression, clearly caught off guard by the crowd at Sasha Bazelon’s house.

  Javier thought Smith’s eyes-now huge-looked particularly bloodshot.

  He’s hopped up on something…

  “He’s come back!” Sasha then cried out, and she started bawling uncontrollably.

  Keesha, holding her arm, struggled to keep her from collapsing to the ground.

  Yvette, gesturing wildly at Xavier Smith, exploded: “That bastard stuck a fucking gun to Sasha’s head last night! Made her go down on him in front of her grandmother!”

  The eyes of the crowd were all on Yvette. Everyone was either not sure they’d heard what they thought they’d heard, or was processing the incredibly awful news.

  “What?” Paco Ramirez asked.

  “It’s true!” Yvette said. “Almost killed Sasha, too!”

  Then the eyes turned to Xavier Smith. He’d already started walking away from the group. Now, glancing over his shoulder-and looking guilty as hell-Xavier Smith bolted across Ridgewood.

  “And that no-good nigger just tried to get Sasha again!” Keesha screamed.

  Yvette started running. “Don’t let him get way! C’mon!”

  Oh, shit, Javier thought. “Yvette, wait!”

  When she didn’t, Javier took off after her.

  Two male teenagers ran to a small red Ford pickup truck. They got in and, tires squealing, roared up the street.

  Almost everyone else took off to follow Yvette, who was furiously sprinting.

  Everyone but Keesha, who now sat on the sidewalk consoling a sobbing Sasha.

  “See?” Sasha said. “He said he would. Anytime…”

  A crowd at least twenty strong closed in on Smith, who now ran down the middle of Fifty-fifth Street. Barely dodging a Chevy sedan, its horn blaring and tires squealing, he then bolted across Beaumont Avenue, looking as if he were going to take a shortcut through the asphalt parking lot of Shaw Middle School.

  There was a small group by the door to the school, looking at and adding to the makeshift memorial for Principal Joelle Bazelon. They turned and watched Smith approaching, then saw the angry mob that was chasing him-and fled the school grounds.

  Xavier Smith turned to look over his shoulder, and as he glanced back he tripped on the uneven surface of the parking lot. He went down fast and hard, hitting the asphalt face-first. It dazed him.

  The crowd, still led by Yvette Iglesia, caught up in no time.

  They circled Xavier Smith. He remained motionless.

  “Not much of a bad ass now, are you?” Yvette yelled between gasps for breath.

  “We’re sick of your shit, pendejo!” Paco Ramirez said-and suddenly, angrily, began kicking him.

  Others immediately joined in, shoes and boots striking him on his back and legs. Some of the girls were throwing their weight into their kicks, their arms swinging with the exertion.

  Smith recoiled. He pulled into the fetal position, protecting his face with his arms.

  Oh, shit! Street justice! Javier thought.

  The punk’s getting what he deserves. But…

  The rest of the crowd joined in, and Javier could see that the frenzy was building on itself.

  They’re going to kill him!

  And then their lives are really ruined…

  Smith managed to roll over and reach underneath his sweatshirt. He pulled out a chrome-plated, snub-nosed. 32-caliber revolver.

  He waved it up at the crowd. “Back off! Now!”

  The circle of angry teens instinctively took a couple steps backward.

  Two of the older males pulled out knives. And another-Javier recognized him as the driver of the pickup, which he now saw was parked close by-came up to the circle carrying a baseball bat.

  Xavier Smith jumped to his feet, but stayed in a crouch as he cradled his torso with his left hand.

  They must have fractured or broke some ribs, Javier thought.

  Sm
ith waved the pistol at the crowd.

  Then one teenage boy in the crowd laughed. He taunted him: “Woohoo! You crazy, Xpress!”

  Smith aimed the pistol at him as the boy went on: “You got only five, maybe six bullets in that gun. There’s a whole lot more of us than that!”

  “And you ain’t getting no chance to reload,” said another teenage boy.

  Smith jerked the pistol to aim it at him.

  Then a teenage girl added, “Yeah, you can’t shoot us all!”

  He aimed the gun at her.

  Then another laughed and said: “You must be snorting too much of your own shit!”

  Suddenly, someone in the crowd behind Xavier Smith threw a broken red clay brick, one that had once been part of the old school building’s wall. It struck Smith square in the back of the skull, causing him to crumble to the cracked black asphalt. He dropped the pistol as he went down. The gun bounced twice but did not go off.

  As the circle again closed in on Smith, a lone hand reached down and grabbed the gun. The pistol disappeared into the mass of teenagers.

  Now they are going in for the kill! Javier Iglesia thought.

  “That’s enough!” Javier shouted. “Stop, or you’ll kill him!”

  “So?” one teenage male in the crowd shouted in reply.

  “Yeah, after all the things this shit has done to people?” another voice added.

  The beefy Javier started muscling his way into the circle, grabbing elbows and pulling shoulders. He forced open a path to the center. Just as he reached the limp and bloodied body, Javier saw an elbow swinging toward him. He failed to duck in time, and the elbow caught him in the corner of his right eye.

  “Shit!” Javier screamed out in pain, instantly covering his injured eye with his right hand. He swung his left hand over his head. “Goddamn it, everybody just fucking stop! Yvette, get them to stop!”

  Paco Ramirez stepped next to Yvette Iglesia and waved his arms at the crowd. “Hey, everybody stop! Who hit Javier?”

  It took a moment for the momentum to slow-there were a couple last kicks at Xavier Smith-but finally the crowd stood still. And stared down Javier.

  Javier said, “Listen to me! You kill him, you’re going to run from that the rest of your lives-”

  “It’d be worth it!” a male teen in the crowd shouted.

  Javier went on: “It’s not worth it, is what I’m telling you. You need to let him get arrested, get charged with murdering Principal Bazelon.”

  “No cops,” Paco said. “No way.”

  The reward! Javier suddenly remembered.

  Let that rich guy Fuller turn him in…

  He said: “Take Xpress in and get that ten-thousand-dollar reward!”

  Yvette looked at her brother, and her face lit up as she said, “That’s right!”

  Then she looked at the crowd and said, “Javier’s right! This piece of shit actually is worth something. And we can share the reward with Sasha.”

  She looked again at Javier. “Where’s the place?”

  He thought back to the Medical Examiner’s Office unit that had picked up the three bodies the previous night. “In Old City, Arch and Third. Place is called… what the hell was it?… Lex Talionis.”

  Yvette nodded.

  She then turned to the male with the baseball bat and said, “Go get your truck!”

  He ran to the red Ford pickup, got in, and sped back.

  Two teenage males were already waiting with the unconscious Xavier Smith in their hands. Everyone watched as the pair threw his limp body into the back of the truck like some sack of trash, then climbed in after him. Five others followed, filling the small truck until its rear seat sat low with their weight.

  Then the truck roared away.

  Yvette turned to Javier. She reached up and gingerly pulled back his right hand, inspecting the injury.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, wincing. “That’s going to be a nice shiner.” Then she smiled and added, “Big bruise for big bro.”

  “Great. Just what I need,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone, scrolled the list of stored numbers, and called the one he’d entered as SGT PAYNE.

  Wonder what the odds are of Xpress being alive when they get there?

  [TWO]

  Homicide Unit Interview Room II The Roundhouse Eighth and Race Streets, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 1:11 P.M.

  “I want my reward,” Shauna Mays repeated to Sergeant M. M. Payne.

  “Yes, you’ve said that. And I’ve told you we need some questions answered about Kendrik’s death.”

  Payne felt his cell phone vibrating. He carefully pulled it from his pants pocket. He glanced at its screen but did not recognize the caller ID number, so he let the caller get routed into voice mail.

  “And I want these damn handcuffs off,” she said. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  Interview Room II was small, ten by twelve feet, and held only a single bare metal table and two metal chairs, all pushed up against one wall. The chair that Shauna Mays sat in was bolted to the floor. One end of a pair of handcuffs was clipped around a bar on the seatback, the other cuff around her left wrist. On the opposite wall was a four-foot-square one-way mirror.

  The room was harshly lit, and it was cold. Shauna Mays, her arms and legs crossed, shivered in her dirty, loose-hanging T-shirt and torn black jeans. Payne was not sure if the cause was the clothing or her obvious lack of a recent bath, but she gave off a musty odor that reeked of filth. He tried not to come too close to her.

  There was a handheld digital audio recorder on the table between them. But the real recording equipment, audio and video, was behind the one-way mirror, in the small viewing room. Tony Harris, watching the interview with Jason Washington, was running the camera.

  It had taken no time at all to bring in Shauna Mays-Third and Arch was only four blocks from the Roundhouse-particularly after Mayor Jerry Carlucci let loose with his famous temper when he saw her and her dead son on the bank of TV monitors in the Executive Command Center.

  After saying “Oh, shit!” his very next breath had been: “Get that damn uniform to arrest her right damn now on suspicion of murder and bring her here for questioning! I damn well just said that those responsible for any death will be prosecuted to the fullest-and goddamn it, that’s what’s going to happen!”

  Matt Payne now looked down at the gaunt and badly bruised woman, and took pity.

  Someone’s really slapped her around, especially in the face. And her hand, which she must have tried to use for protection.

  She could barely stand on her own two feet while they were rolling her fingers for prints and checking her hands for gunpowder residue.

  The only person she’s a danger to is herself…

  He said, “I’ll remove the cuff, but one thing goes wrong and it goes back on.”

  She nodded.

  Taking out his handcuff key, Payne asked, “Who hit you?”

  “Who you think? Kendrik.”

  He nodded.

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” he asked as he removed the cuff.

  “Maybe a soda?”

  Payne looked to the one-way mirror. He couldn’t see anyone-except, of course, the reflections of himself and Shauna Mays-but he knew that on the other side of the glass they’d see him looking, and that they’d bring the drink from the small refrigerator that was kept stocked in the unit.

  A moment later there was a knock on the door, and when Payne unlocked and opened it a crack, a massive black paw of a hand reached in with a screw-top plastic bottle of grape-flavored soda and a snack-size bag of Tastykake.

  “Thanks, Jason,” he said, taking them, and then closing and locking the door.

  Payne placed both on the table before Shauna Mays. As she reached for them, her bruised hand trembled.

  He said, “Would you like me to open them?”

  She nodded.

  She ate the whole bag of Tastykake in about three mouthfuls, washing it down with half the soda in
two swallows. Then she loudly belched.

  She looked at Payne but said nothing.

  Payne pulled from his pocket a small notepad and pen, then reached over to the recorder and pushed its red button to begin recording.

  He glanced at his wristwatch and said, “Today is Sunday, November first. Time is one-twenty P.M. This interview is being held in the Philadelphia Police Department Homicide Unit, and conducted by me, Sergeant M. M. Payne, badge number 471.”

  He looked at Shauna Mays, who seemed to be mesmerized by what Payne had just said.

  Either that, or all of a sudden the sugar and salt in her system is throwing off her blood sugar balance.

  He said, “Would you please state your name?”

  “Shauna. Shauna Mays.”

  “And where do you live, Ms. Mays?”

  “In Philadelphia.”

  “Okay. And your address is?”

  “Uh, over on Wilder.”

  “That would be 2620 Wilder Street, Philadelphia 19147.”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh. That right.”

  “Have you been read your Miranda rights, Ms. Mays?”

  “My what?”

  “You have the right to remain silent, the right to have an attorney-”

  “Oh, yeah,” she interrupted. “That first cop did that.”

  “And you’re freely willing to now answer any questions?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Just so I gets my reward.”

  “Right. We’ll get to that, Ms. Mays. First, Kendrik Mays is your son, correct?”

  “Yeah. He my boy.”

  “Can you tell me what happened to Kendrik?”

  “He got hisself killed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m aware of that. How did it happen?”

  “He was doing bad. Long time. He had it coming.”

  “Because he beat you? You did say he’s responsible for the bruises on your body.”

  She looked at him oddly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No! I told that first cop that!”

  “Okay, then how did it happen, Ms. Mays?”

  “I guess that bullet killed him.”

  Payne exhaled audibly. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Who had the gun?”

  “A delivery guy. He come in with Kendrik’s paper. That paper I had that the cop took?”