Double Dead

by Gary Hardwick

  DOUBLE

  DEAD

  GARY HARDWICK

  HARDBOOKS

  Double Dead

  By Gary Hardwick

  Copyright © Gary Hardwick, 1997 All rights reserved

  Published by HardBooks at Smashwords

  ISBN 978-0-9724804-5-1

  Cover Design by Gary Hardwick

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Also by Gary Hardwick

  Cold Medina

  Supreme Justice

  Color of Justice

  Executioner’s Game

  SexLife

  Dark Town Redemption

  For Mary Louise Hardwick

  who loved her children too much

  The lawyer's truth is not Truth.

  -henry david thoreau, “Civil Disobedience” (1849)

  In cities, men are more callous to the

  happiness and misery of others... because they

  are constantly in the habit of seeing both extremes.

  -charles caleb colton, Lacon (1825)

  Families are created in flesh, bound by

  blood, and destroyed in humanity.

  -joe black

  CONTENTS

  PART 1: GLASS HOUSE

  1. The Colonial

  2. Jackin’ The Box

  3. The Nasty Girls

  4. Jesse

  5. D”Estenne

  6. Cane

  7. Ramona

  8. Into The Wind

  9. Visitor

  10. Women In Need

  11. Fast Friends

  12. Compelling Evidence

  13. Face Of Fear

  14. Arraignment

  15. Florence

  16. MAC’s And Manoogian

  17. Old Days.

  18. Riverfront

  19. Custody

  20. The Hidden Truth

  21. First Chair

  22. Island Games

  23. The Lexington

  24. Things That Cities Do

  25. Wetwork

  26. Last Words

  27. Encroachment

  28. Messages

  29. Heart Of The City

  PART 2: FUGITIVE

  1. On The Run

  2. Bait

  3. Fame

  4. Blue Feet

  5. The Chair

  6. Roxanne, Roxanne

  7. The Princess of White Castle

  8. Maintenance

  9. Gas N’ Food

  10. Minnesota

  11. The Missing Flower

  12. Trapper’s Alley

  13. Packers

  PART 3: DOUBLE DEAD

  1. O, Canada

  2. Me And The Boys

  3. The Tunnel

  4. All Hallow’s Eve

  5. Healing

  6. Jesse Rollin’

  7. King

  8. Takedown

  9. Money House

  10. Tune-Up

  11. Girlfriend

  12. Cathedral

  13. Late Calls

  14. Pandora

  15. Odd Jobs

  16. New City

  17. Light Of Ages

  18. Promises To Keep

  PART 1

  GLASS HOUSE

  1

  The Colonial

  Harris Yancy, mayor of Detroit, watched the young woman with joy. The girl's body shimmered with sweat as she writhed on top of him. She had a curious habit of singing when she made love. Strange, but he liked it. She moved with urgency, and he struggled to keep up with her.

  The young woman moved Yancy's hands to her breasts. He squeezed them hard; then she moved her hands away, leaving him to the task alone.

  She arched her back, and her body stiffened. She let out a moan that escalated into a little yell. She breathed heavily, mumbled something, then let out a large breath, patting him on the chest.

  “Lord,” she whispered. “I was quick today. Been missin' you.” Then she laughed. “Your turn.”

  She rolled over, and Yancy pushed himself up on his arms. He had to make it quick. This was a young man's position, and he'd just turned sixty-two.

  He moved inside her, savoring her beauty. She whispered to him, giving added passion. Soon his desire built into a surge of pleasure, and he climaxed. Yancy let out a deep breath, then lowered himself on the woman.

  He lay on top of her, feeling younger for a moment, like he was twenty again, like in a few minutes he'd be hard and ready for more. Then the feeling slipped away, and he was sixty-two, tired and already thinking about the business he had to conduct.

  “I can feel your heart,” she whispered.

  “The whole state can hear that bum ticker going,” said Yancy. “I don't wanna hear none of that talk tonight. You're gonna live forever, and you know it.”

  Yancy rolled over on his back. The young woman got up and walked to the bathroom. She was exquisite. Beautiful brown skin, long black hair that was done in braids, and a lean, trim body that was full in all the right places. Men dreamed of women like her, he thought. He was lucky to have enough money and power to possess one.

  Yancy checked the clock. Almost time. Mr. Nicks was always punctual.

  “You taking a shower, Ramona?” he called.

  “Yes. Wanna join me?”

  “No, just lock the door for a while. I'll let you know when you can come back out.”

  “Okay, Yanny.” He hated that name, but it was better than Daddy or Poppy or the other names young mistresses called him.

  Ramona was very obedient. Some of her predecessors had been too nosy. That was not good for him. Not only was he cheating on his wife, but he was the mayor of a city. And even though everyone knew that all men like him had a piece on the side, the political rule of the day was “Just don't let us catch you.”

  He heard the shower turn on. He went to the bed, reached behind the headboard, and fidgeted with something. After a moment he was done and started looking for his shorts.

  Just then he heard a muffled, distant sound like something falling to the floor. Yancy looked around. Where had that come from? The colonial was old, built in 1925. It had been his home before he moved into the mayor's mansion. Now he and his wife, Louise, used it to host parties and hold private meetings and for a little recreation, he thought gleefully.

  Yancy checked the clock again. He grew excited. This was a moment that would change many lives. He'd made many decisions in the past that affected the masses, but this one was different. This was a political and social volcano that would consume everything in its path. He recalled a verse he'd learned as a boy: “Great men move life with their passion.” He was certainly about to do that.

  Yancy heard the doorbell downstairs. He went to the bathroom door and listened. The shower was still going. He buttoned his shirt and walked out of the room.

  

  “Time,” whispered one of the killers. “Remember, no shooting. And they both have to go down. Double dead. That's our contract.”

  The other man said nothing. He just nodded.

  Quietly they began to move, slow, deliberate actions, like two bears awakening from hibernation. They were near the door to their hideaway. One of the killers reached over and pulled on it, opening the way to the co
lonial.

  

  “Everthing's cool tonight,” said Walter Nicks. His voice was deep and scratchy.

  “It had better be,” said Yancy. “The last thing I need is my wife coming around here.”

  The two men stood in the foyer of the house. Walter Nicks, Yancy's personal bodyguard, was well over six feet and towered over his boss. Nicks took off his black fedora, exposing his balding head. He quickly put the hat back on, as if embarrassed.

  “What's this all about?” Nicks asked. He handed a black metallic briefcase to Yancy.

  Yancy took the case without a word and walked back upstairs.

  “I'll contact you in a few days. Be ready when I do.”

  Nicks watched Yancy move up the long staircase. Then he turned, adjusted his hat, and let himself out.

  Yancy reached the top of the stairs and went to the master bedroom. He opened the door, and his eyes widened as he saw a large man wearing a red mask about to force open the bathroom door.

  Yancy gripped the black briefcase tighter and ran toward the nightstand, where he kept a loaded .45. He'd taken only one step when he was hit hard on the back of the head. He stumbled, then fell to the floor. He slid face first, and the carpet burned his cheek.

  A man wearing a green mask came toward Yancy. He had a knife with thick plastic wrapped around the handle. Yancy saw the man coming at him and got to his feet. He heard the other intruder ramming into the bathroom door.

  “Ramonnaaa!” Yancy yelled.

  The man by the bathroom door broke it open. The room was empty. The window was partially open. He looked around and saw that the shower curtain was pulled shut. He took out a knife and walked over to the shower. He was pumped up and ready to deal with the woman.

  He pulled the curtain back and immediately heard something move behind him. He spun around and saw a woman swinging her hand at his face.

  “Aaaahhh!” he yelled as a razor blade slashed him in the right cheek. The little blade cut easily through the red mask, and blood poured from the wound. The injured man dropped his knife and fell to his knees, grabbing at the wound on his face.

  Ramona, dressed in her underwear, stepped out of the big bathroom closet. Her heart raced, and she could hear herself breathing. She quickly dropped the bloody razor, picked up the killer's knife, and moved to the door.

  Through the door she saw a man in a green mask coming at Yancy. Yancy fended off the killer with a black metal case.

  The man in the green mask moved defensively, as if he didn't want to hurt Yancy. He measured the mayor, looking for an opportunity.

  Yancy swung the case, and the intruder grabbed Yancy's arm and pushed him to the floor, face first.

  Ramona ran into the other room, yelling and drawing back her arm to throw the big knife at the killer. She was suddenly grabbed from behind. The knife flew from her hand and fell on the floor.

  The red-masked man grabbed Ramona, grunting and cursing in pain. Ramona struggled with the man behind her, trying to shake him off.

  In the bedroom the green-masked killer forced the metal case from Yancy's hand and turned the mayor over on his back. Then he raised the big knife and brought it down into Yancy's chest.

  Ramona screamed as the killer struck Yancy again and again. She kicked her foot backward and struck her assailant in the knee. He loosened his grip, and she wrestled herself free.

  Ramona looked up and saw the green-masked face of Yancy's killer coming at her. She tried to dodge him, but he landed on her.

  Ramona fell backward, knocking down the killer behind her and landing on top of him. She screamed, sandwiched between the assassins.

  The man on top of Ramona pulled a small knife and flicked it open. Then he brought it down toward Ramona. She caught his arm, holding the weapon at bay, but slowly the knife came down at her face.

  Without warning the man below grabbed Ramona around the waist. She grunted as air was forced from her by the grip of the killer below.

  “Good-bye ... bitch,” said the killer on top of her.

  This was it, Ramona thought. She would die here between these two men like an animal.

  The man in the green mask shifted and brought the knife down with all his weight. Ramona's arm weakened and began to bend. She twisted her body to one side, pushing off the man above her. She turned like a bottle spinning on its side. The knife came down into the shoulder of the assassin below her.

  The man in the red mask screamed, a long, screeching sound that hurt Ramona's ears. The man on top was now off-balance, and Ramona shoved with all her might, pushing him free. He fell awkwardly to one side.

  Ramona scrambled to her feet and ran out of the bathroom, looking at the bedroom door, which now seemed miles away.

  From behind her she heard a man getting to his feet. She saw the metallic briefcase sitting on the floor. Without thinking, she grabbed it with both hands. She lifted it, spinning and swinging the case upward.

  The corner caught the advancing killer in the temple, making a dull thud. He fell to one knee. Ramona stepped toward him and swung again with all her might. She hit him in the head with the side of the case, dropping him on his back. The big man in the green mask grunted hard and tried to get up but fell again. Ramona hit him in the head once more for good measure.

  She stood motionless for a moment. She was spotted with blood, sweating and scared. She saw Yancy on the floor in a pool of blood. His eyes were open, and one hand was sticking up as if reaching for something.

  “Oh, no. No, nooo...” she said. She took a half step to Yancy's corpse.

  Someone groaned, and Ramona jumped. The men were not dead, she thought suddenly.

  “Gotta get outta here,” she muttered to herself.

  She grabbed her clothes and her purse. In a flash she remembered that she had no money and grabbed Yancy's wallet from the nightstand. She ran out of the room, taking her weapon, the black briefcase, with her.

  Ramona fumbled as she put on her dress and tried to walk down the stairs at the same time. Yancy always had guards parked outside watching the place. She had to get to them, tell them what had happened. She ran down the stairs and out the front door. She looked around in horror.

  There was no one there. The guards were gone.

  Ramona searched for her car keys. She found them. They played a strange song as her hand shook uncontrollably. She ran to her car and drove away as fast as she could.

  2

  Jackin’ The Box

  The Frank Murphy Hail of Justice sits on a block of St. Antoine Street in downtown Detroit. It is just minutes away from its big brother, police headquarters at 1300 Beaubien. Frank Murphy houses Recorder's Court, a special segment of the Wayne County Circuit Court that handles only criminal cases.

  Recorder's Court is one of the busiest courts of its kind in the country. Its judges and court staff are part of a complex machinery, handling thousands of cases a year. It is also a court in which seventy-five percent of the judges are black, and its jury pools draw heavily from a city that is ninety percent black.

  On the seventh floor of Frank Murphy, Assistant Prosecutor Jesse King was about to put another one away. He stood in front of the witness stand in the crowded courtroom.

  A defendant was on the stand, and that made him happy. It was always a mistake for a defendant to testify. But this guy was arrogant. He thought he could face the conscience of the community and fake it. The prisons were filled with men who'd made the same mistake.

  The witness, Michael White, had date-raped a woman named Gilda Reese. He said the sex had been consensual. The bruises on her body and trauma to her vaginal area said differently.

  White had a history of sexual assault, but all that had been excluded from evidence thanks to the prohibition of evidence on a defendant's prior bad acts. Jesse had tried to get around the rule, but the judge did not buy it.

  Michael White was a huge black man, six feet six, two-fifty or so. He was a construction worker who drank too much and
was a big man with his friends. But White was not smart enough to plead the Fifth and had taken the stand over his attorney's fervent objections.

  “... so, Mr. White,” said Jesse. “It's your testimony that after Ms. Reese took off her clothes, she danced for you?”

  “Yeah, that's right,” said White.

  “Did Ms. Reese put on music?” asked Jesse.

  “Uh, naw, she just danced, you know, moving sexy like she wanted it.”

  “It?” asked Jesse. “What 'it' did she want?”

  The defense counsel, a skinny, balding little man named Dennis Kendricks, stood up.

  “Objection, Your Honor. We all know what this case is about.”

  “Your Honor,” said Jesse, “the witness made a vague reference to an 'it.' I'm just trying to clarify what he meant.”

  “Overruled,” said the judge. She was a fiftyish black woman named Barbara Radford. A thorough and no-nonsense judge.

  “So, Mr. White,” said Jesse, “what 'it' did my client, Ms. Reese, want?”

  “You know, the dick,” said White.

  The gallery in the courtroom laughed. There were about thirty people or so. Jesse waited patiently until they quieted down, then:

  “The dick?” he asked. “You mean, your penis?”

  “That's right,” said White. “She wanted it.”

  “And so you gave it to her?”

  “Yes, I did. All of it,” said White arrogantly.

  “Really?” said Jesse. Then he homed in on his real point. “Isn't it true that you're sensitive about that part of your anatomy?”