BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  The Avengers’ mission was about redemption.

  While most would say their mission was proof to everyone that no bad deed should go unpunished, that was no more than a secondary goal.

  As long as he was standing above ground, it was his duty to fix the system, at least in his own way. The system, after all, wasn’t an invisible entity, or even a software program. It was people, red-blooded Americans, using the gray matter between their ears to make decisions. Whether it was creating and voting on laws and all the loopholes contained therein, or stepping forward to point out some type of technicality that would allow a felon to roam the streets. And for what? Another stripe on their uniform? A commendation on their record? Some people would never understand. And outside of annihilating the entire population, he had to start with those who had abused the system to its fullest.

  The phone buzzed in his hand.

  Black Widow: Im on cloud nine, guys!!

  Captain America: Productive night?:)

  Black Widow: Productive = destructive; so yes, a night I wont soon forget.

  Ironman: Catchin my breath; sounds like BW got hers

  Captain America: Why r u late?

  Ironman: Chill, dude.

  Captain America: Don’t go there. U know how we roll

  Ironman: Nature called, if u know what i mean

  Black Widow: *snicker*

  Ironman: Whats so funny?

  Black Widow: Im sitting in a stall in the restroom.

  Ironman: You taking a piss in the middle of our discussion. U gross.

  Black Widow: Shut ur pie hole, limp dick

  Captain America: No need to get testy; this should be a day u never forget. We never forget.

  Black Widow: It was hard to control my emotions, so I wanted to take this group chat in a private place. Too many watchdogs around this place so I couldn’t run down to car.

  Captain America: Smart choice.

  Black Widow: Thx Ste…uh, CA.

  Captain America: We must be careful. Cant break protocol:)

  Ironman: Did u hear that BW? U almost blew ur wad right here in our text world.

  Black Widow: Im going to ignore this sonova bitch. For the first time in years the weight of the world has finally been lifted off my shoulders

  Captain America: What have I been tellin u for weeks now?

  Black Widow: That this moment would feel like extacy

  Ironman: Can u even spell?

  Black Widow: Talk to the hand bitch.

  Ironman: I love pulling your chain.

  Black Widow: I’d love to put a chain around your neck and let u drop from the gallows. Oh, did I actually type that? I apologize. NOT!!!! Ha!

  Ironman: Ur fuckin twisted

  Black Widow: If im twisted, ur not even human

  Captain America: Back to ur corners guys

  Ironman: Ok…I’ll admit it. Im interested. Share ur moment of glory.

  Black Widow: Id been thinking about Dad all day long. I even said a prayer and hoped he would be proud.

  Ironman: No offense, but ur dad isn’t god.

  Black Widow: Let me enjoy my moment.

  Ironman: Sure.

  Black Widow: All of the planning paid off. The little shit spic showed up right on time. Signs led him into the room. He thought it was all part of the haunted house tour.

  Ironman: And this guy gets paid to protect and serve? Sounds like he’s not even qualified to serve burgers.

  Black Widow: He ruined my life, that’s all i know.

  Captain America: U sure he didnt survive??

  Black Widow: Thirty-seven times I drove that ice pick into his body. I counted every single one. Each thrust of my arm wedged it deeper and deeper. Shut up IM…dont u go there.

  Ironman: U know me too well.

  Captain America: No wounds on you?

  Black Widow: Not a scratch. Of course, I had to take a shower to rinse all the blood off me.

  Captain America: Evidence?

  Black Widow: Taken care of. Burned my clothes, disposed of weapon. Im clean.

  Captain America: That means we’re clean.

  Black Widow: I owe you…a lot CA. U showed me the light. All I did was follow it.

  Captain America: U owe me nothing. U only did what was required. If we cant change the system, then we gotta change the people in it. They made the first move. We’re only trying to set a new course for this country. Like the forefathers who wrote the constitution.

  Black Widow: But there weren’t any women in that group. Especially no black woman.

  Ironman: Here goes the soapbox. *plugging ears*

  Captain America: Let’s not digress from this great moment. *applause for BW*

  Black Widow: *taking bow*

  A throng of screams came from across the expansive office.

  Ironman: CA, did u hear that?

  Black Widow: I heard something all the way in bathroom. Waz up.

  Two other attorneys walked by the man’s cube. They spoke quietly, then one walked away and the other knocked on his cube’s metal frame.

  “Hey man, I need you to run point on this murder last night. Work with the lead detective on the case. I think they’ve already pulled some DNA that might come back with a hit. If we’re lucky, you might have a suspect to charge in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  “Sorry…not sure what you’re talking about, Henry.”

  The man long considered to be Newsome’s heir apparent, pinched the corner of his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Steven. You haven’t heard. And I think you guys were friends.”

  “Who?”

  “Kim. She was killed last night. Thrown off her balcony at the W.”

  Steven opened the spigot of emotion, but its core source came from a far different place than what Henry thought.

  “Hey, man…I, uh, didn’t know you guys were close.” Henry was trying to relate to him on a personal level. What a joke. He was just a notch below Newsome as an ineffective prosecutor who cared for the law more than putting bad people behind bars, or six feet under.

  Taking in a deep breath, Steven drew his lips tight. “Didn’t know her well. But when it’s someone you know, it’s tough.”

  “Right.” Henry’s head slowly turned downward, then he reconnected with Steven. “If it’s not a good fit, I’ll try to ask one of your colleagues.”

  “No, I’ll take it. It would be my pleasure to prosecute the asshole who took Kim from us.”

  “Thanks, Steven. I got a hundred other things going on. Let’s touch base in the next day on this one. See if we can get a victory here.”

  “Will do,” he said.

  As soon as he flipped his phone around, Steven saw a new text light up the screen.

  Ironman: What’s Henry doing at ur desk?

  Captain America: Sad news. Kim was killed overnight.

  Ironman: We know. U missed our convo while you were talking to Henry. Kim - sexiest woman on planet. Damn shame.

  Black Widow: She was nothing but a ho anyway. Next…:)

  Learning who had killed Kim would bring up far too many questions, and not only risk the group’s mission but also their solvency. Steven attempted to shift the conversation.

  Captain America: Lets remember why we came together.

  Black Widow: I second that.

  Captain America: We all have the list. We know who’s next, right? But who gets the honors?

  Black Widow: Had the ultimate high last night. Im addicted 0)

  Ironman: U had ur turn.

  Black Widow: U did too. We all did. I just got the most of my exp.

  Steven took in a breath. He needed to keep the pair motivated. But he couldn’t ignore his own urges.

  Ironman: CA, can three of us screw in a lightbulb at same time?;)

  Captain America: I have a method.

  Then the trio logically walked through a process to decide who would exact revenge on the next unsuspecting soul.

  And this one
might trump them all.

  15

  As I hopped over the curb and hit my stride, gusts of a brisk northerly wind slapped my face. I slowed to a snail-like pace, closed my eyes, and let the chilled air engulf my senses. Anything to replace the sunken feeling that had gnawed at me since I’d stared at the gutted body of my friend and comrade just twenty-four hours earlier.

  Blood surged through my veins, and I could feel my brain starting to burst through the petrified facade of grief.

  Actually, anger had already grabbed hold of my emotional fulcrum. I struggled to keep it under control.

  If anyone had served as my main supporter over the years, it was Uncle Charlie. I’d just left his apartment, and once again, he’d provided me with at least a degree of clarity in a sea of mental fog. After clearing enough space off two wicker chairs in his kitchen, Uncle Charlie poured himself another cup of coffee.

  “Can’t have enough java in the morning. Know what I’m saying, Booker? You want one?”

  He sipped from the mug that had a picture of the stars from the old Dallas TV show on it, JR, Bobby, the rest of the feuding Ewing clan. He’d owned that mug for twenty years or more. He actually thought the show was a joke, which is why he drank from the mug. He was actually mocking the representation of Dallas. “A bunch of white boys with oil wells in forty-acre backyards, riding around in their Cadillacs wearing tight jeans and cowboy hats. They didn’t know the real Dallas. Perhaps they didn’t want to know it. I’m sure it was those Hollywood types who think stereotyping a city is an act of flattery. It’s all bullshit; at least in our community it was.”

  His mug almost drew a smile on my face. Almost. I cracked a bottled water and chugged about a third of it. “I had my two cups. Got up around five. Couldn’t sleep.”

  My form of communication was brief, if not abrupt. Most people would have asked why in the hell I’d decided to drop by—unannounced as it were. But not Uncle Charlie. He knew me. I didn’t have all the answers. Hell, I didn’t have a single answer for what had taken place in that old church. To Paco.

  The cuckoo clock that hung against the wall just above Uncle Charlie’s salt-and-pepper afro ticked for what seemed like an eternity. The man who wore sweats nearly year-round interrupted the incessant clatter with a loud slurp every couple of minutes, not saying a word. Finally, he shuffled a stack of loose newspapers on his Formica table, then snapped the front page closer to his eyes.

  “Lose your readers?”

  His eyes shifted my direction for a split second. “I don’t need those damn things. Those are for old folks.”

  Glancing around his apartment, stacks of crap piled high and wide, I was reminded of his hesitation to admit when he needed a little help. And this was after Bolt had spent a few hours in here. Ultimately, though, they’d only reshuffled the clutter.

  “More infighting on the Dallas County Commissioners Court,” he said while shaking his head. “Someone’s always got their hand in the cookie jar, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yep.”

  “Kickbacks, awarding contracts to dummy companies, embezzlement, flat-out bribery. It’s a form of life in the local government.”

  I nodded, my vision searching his refrigerator door for any free space not taken up by some type of magnet.

  “This is important stuff, Booker, I’m telling you. Robbing us blind, and most people just sit back and think it doesn’t impact them. It does, dammit.”

  I blew out a breath. “Don’t have to convince me.”

  “Just like that FIFA organization. Corruption been going on for years. All a bunch of criminals, if you ask me.”

  “You know about that?”

  He let out a huff. “You think just because I stay in South Dallas, I don’t know what goes on outside of my zone? You have heard of this thing called the Internet, right?”

  He shot me a serious look, then he leaned over and popped my knee while releasing a quick chuckle.

  “You almost had me, Uncle Charlie,” I said with a hint of a smile.

  “Ah. You mastered the delivery of sarcasm many moons ago, Booker. I think you might have been fourteen.”

  “Yeah, I had a bit of an attitude back then.”

  “It was how you survived. I know those streets. Sometimes you gotta stand up to the challenge, not just walk away from it,” he said, his entire torso nodding.

  I took another swig, then toyed with the cap for a moment. “It’s Paco, Uncle Charlie. He’s gone. And he’s never coming back.”

  “I heard. It sucks, I know,” he said, his voice subdued.

  “That little Mexican jumping bean was my wingman. We could anticipate each other’s next move. Complete each other’s sentences.”

  “Almost like a twin, huh?”

  We couldn’t have looked much different—Paco more of a featherweight, while I towered over him. But he had spunk. He used to blame it on his heritage. “It’s in my blood, Booker. What can I say? We’re just all emotional, hot and cold.”

  “Right,” I would say.

  “You don’t believe me? Those are fighting words.” He’d kiss the cross hanging around his neck, take a couple of steps my direction, then throw a mock punch at my gut, trying to get me to flinch.

  A red and silver magnet on Uncle Charlie’s fridge broke me from my trance.

  “You had a memory,” Uncle Charlie said.

  “One of many in the last day.”

  “It probably feels good to reminisce for a few seconds, then it feels like a kidney punch.”

  “You lost people you cared about, I guess.”

  “By the time you’re my age, if you haven’t lost people you loved, you haven’t lived.”

  “Prophetic.”

  “No. Real life, my man.”

  He was right. A few more seconds ticked away, and I could hear Paco’s laugh somewhere in the apartment. I even turned my head, thinking he’d pop his head out from under the stacks of crap.

  “I can’t stop thinking that I could have stopped it, Uncle Charlie.” I cleared my throat and swallowed another mouthful of water.

  He twisted his head, his forehead looking like fried bacon. “What you talking about, boy? You weren’t at that church, right? And you didn’t have anything to do with referring him to this so-called security job?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “That’s foolishness, blaming yourself for that.”

  “I’m thinking more about my decision a year ago. Quitting the force. I let him down. And he was on his own. When we were partners, we did everything together. We usually didn’t take an off-duty gig unless we worked it together. When our lives were on the line, we knew we could trust each other better than anyone else on the planet.”

  “He was like your brother.”

  “Damn straight. A brother from another mother, as the saying goes.” I chuckled, thinking I sounded more like my uncle.

  Anchoring his arms on his knees, he turned and faced me. “You can play that ‘what if’ game for weeks, months, years. You’ll look up and be forty, then fifty. Then, you’ll be sitting in a rocker at an old folks’ home. Harping on the past don’t do much good. And in this case, there’s nothing you could have done.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what? Those asswipes above you at DPD shoved your ass out the door. You only quit before they fired your ass. For what? Standing up to a drug-dealing cop? Believe me, Paco never once felt like you turned your back on him. He was too good of a guy.”

  “He was a hell of a guy.” I could feel my eyes fill with water.

  “And I think I recall you telling me that you offered him to join your PI firm. Yes?”

  “I did. He turned it down. Said he’d just deal with all the political BS as best he could until he could qualify for his full pension. Then he’d spend a lot of time with his wife and family,” I said. “Now, they’ve got nothing. No dad, no husband, and no pension.”

  “We can talk about all that financial stuff later. But for now, you
need to take that bucket of guilt and flush it down the toilet. You hear me?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And one more thing. I know you’re going to do everything in your power to find who did this.”

  My eyes didn’t blink.

  “Just don’t let your emotions light your path. Keep your cool, and everything will work out.”

  I headed for the door. Turning around, I saw him shuffling my way, waggling a book.

  “This author, Lois McMaster Bujold. Good sci-fi/fantasy author.”

  “Okay. Didn’t know you were into sci-fi or fantasy.”

  “What can I say?”

  “I get it, Uncle Charlie.”

  “I’m reminded of a quote I once read of hers. She said, ‘The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.’”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “I know you’ll do the right thing. For everyone.”

  A honking car took my attention from the cracks in the sidewalk. I looked up and saw the sign for Willie’s Barber. One of the old, iconic pillars of the hood.

  I opened the door and immediately went back in time. Two bald guys with beards snipped the hair of a couple of customers, jabbering away like they were best friends. Maybe they were.

  “My man, Booker. What’s up undercover, brotha?”

  Willie released a contagious chuckle as he circled into the main area from his office, a metal hair pick sticking into his signature silver and black afro, just like I recalled back when I was teenager. His strut hadn’t changed much over the years, maybe a little extra hitch in his stride. Back when I was sixteen or seventeen, I used to try to emulate his cool swagger. That, with his polyester pants and silk shirts, made him look like he was ready to walk onto the dance floor of Soul Train from the 1970s.

  “Hey, Willie, what’s shakin’?”

  “Ah, you don’t want to know that.” He laughed out loud, then stuck out his hand for one of his barbers to give him five. “Ain’t that right, Jerry?”

  “Don’t you know, Willie…’round here, it’s a crapshoot, that’s what it is.” Jerry nodded, and I could see the folds of skin crease around his neck.