by S. W. Frank
The questioning assisted in compiling background information on the victims. Loved ones became impatient at this point. He’d worked in Homicide for ten years and never knew any of the victims, until now. Selange was inconsolable, which was understandable. She refused to go to the hospital and insisted on remaining out there until they took her mother away. She looked a mess. It hurt to see her that way…it killed him seeing Darlene even more. Whoever killed her was a brutal sonovabitch and he was going to do everything to catch the monster before he destroyed another family. Detective Johnson cleared his throat, stretched his spine and repeated the question, “Your uncle’s date of birth?”
“August second,” a muscle protruded from Alfonzo’s jaw, “lo siento…I can‘t do this man…I can’t stand here talking with you…I need to see.” He dug his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers to conceal a sudden onset of nervous tremors.
“Alright,” Detective Johnson said then closed the pad. I.D taken from the victim matched. Detective Johnson walked over to the bodies and motioned for Alfonzo as he knelt then peeled back the covering.
“Oh Jesus!” Alfonzo muttered then balled his hands into fists. Al’s forehead was torn apart. The upper portion of his skull resembled a gory horror movie, brain matter, hair and blood were grotesquely matted together, and evidence that whoever did this stood very close or packed an extremely high-powered weapon. His eyes faltered then settled on the woman. She also experienced a traumatic head wound; one bullet straight through her forehead. He turned away unable to stomach any more. It was apparent this was an execution, not some punk with a beef to grind. It was a hit, but why? The cold-blooded bastards were going to pay!
The detective covered the bodies then stood. From the expression on the young man’s face it’s apparent he’d seen death in a similar fashion. Despite the cold glint of his blue eyes and the obstinate jaw, the youth was hurting. He was hurting bad.
“Have you got anything, caught anybody?”
“We don’t have a suspect yet, we’re still trying to piece together what happened, so far, it doesn’t look like forced entry. The positions of the body lead us to believe the woman must’ve let the killer in. Your uncle may have heard a commotion surprised the intruder and a fierce struggle ensued.” He wanted to give the kid something, “Your uncle put up a helluva fight.”
This mattered little to Alfonzo, “My uncle would put up a fight, that’s just how he was.”
“Well whoever did this must be hurting. Your uncle’s got a major bruise on his knuckles. We’re going to see if there are any traces of someone’s DNA on it.”
Alfonzo’s mind was clicking. “Who’s the girl on the stretcher, did she see anything?”
“That’s the victim’s daughter. She found the bodies.” Detective Johnson’s voice was compassionate, “Look, we’re still investigating and we’ll contact the family when we apprehend a suspect,” he coughed, “we’re about to send the bodies to the morgue but once the autopsy is complete you’re free to make arrangements.”
Alfonzo nodded then turned to leave.
“By the way,” Detective Johnson said to his back, “what’s your name and you never gave me a contact number.”
Alfonzo recited his name and cell number then reached for the door. Another question arose from the detective.
“Alfonzo, did your uncle have any enemies?”
Alfonzo ran his fingers through his straight black hair. The trembles subsided as he quickly assessed the possibilities. Sometimes enemies were disguised as friends. You might piss off somebody and wouldn’t know it. Uncle Al certainly made enemies over the years, but he’d begun a new life with Darlene. “Everybody has enemies.”
The detective stood beside the tall youth, “Why’d you attack my daughter’s friend. It sounds like you think he might know something about this, does he?”
“Jay’s an asshole but he didn’t do this.” He responded.
“Why’d you accuse him of hurting your uncle?”
Detective Johnson’s expression turned contemplative. Was Jay a killer? Were these murders over lottery winnings or a personal vendetta?
“I didn’t accuse him of anything, you heard wrong.” Alfonzo responded with a defiant lift of his chin, “we had a little beef but we’re cool.”
The detective moved aside as Alfonzo shouldered by. These tough street guys never rat on anybody, did they? He watched him walk down the hall toward Jay and the others. His officers watched, making sure the muscled Latino didn’t do anything stupid. If he did, they were given orders to haul his ass straight to jail.
Detective Johnson motioned to his daughter and her friend as he stepped into the corridor and they came. “I want you to go straight home and you,” he said to Jay, “do not leave town I have some questions for you.” When his daughter nodded, he slipped back inside the apartment to refocus on the crime scene. The stench of death began to emanate from the bodies and permeate the air. “Come on guys let’s try to hurry up and get these bodies to the morgue!”
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
Selange wiped at her face to stop the tears. Blurry eyes followed the approach of the guy who attacked Jay. He looked angry, no, sad and angry. The nephew-sobrino…it must be him…the voice.
He walked calmly over and glanced at the paramedics in annoyance as they asked the girl to sign the RMA. Selange scribbled her signature on the refusal of medical aid form then slumped against the wall as they packed up their equipment, placed it atop the stretcher then rolled the gurney to the elevator.
The nephew stared at her with intense blue eyes. He inhaled then spoke, “Are you the girl from the phone?”
She nodded trying to maintain her composure, “Yes.”
Baby blue’s settled on her bloodstained clothes then traveled to her face once more, “What happened…do you have any idea?”
She sniffled, “I don’t know…I don’t know.”
He stepped closer. Neck muscles protruded as he extended both arms against the wall trapping her there. Muscular biceps bulged beneath the cotton shirt and the warmth of his Mentos breath fanned across her forehead, “Think…anything that might help make sense of this.”
She turned her head to avoid the scrutiny of his eyes. Intimately close he realized beneath the dried blood in her hair and smeared over her face and clothing she was strikingly beautiful. The feline eyes were bloodshot from crying. Her posture was proud, yet slouched under the load from the gruesome discovery. He noticed her forlorn expression; a young woman without direction.
She frowned, “Maybe the money from the lottery. We were moving because my mom hit the lottery…maybe someone thought we had money in the apartment…I don’t know.”
His voice softened, “Did she?”
“I can’t right now.” She lowered her head exhausted from thought. It was simply too much. The questions were overwhelming. She grasped her head.
Alfonzo’s voice deepened, “I need answers that can’t wait, and whoever did this is running or hiding. I want to find the sonovabitch, don’t you?”
Her eyes darted to Shanda wrapped in Jay’s arms. Presently, she felt alone and scared. Meanwhile, this guy seemed intent upon an interrogation when all she wanted was someone to comfort her. Someone to tell her the nightmare would soon end. She glanced toward the door of her apartment and knew this day will always be the worst day of her life. Lips tightened in anger, “I need space…I can’t do this…please…it hurts too much…please.”
She began to cry hysterically and bent over in such agony it inspired an act of chivalry from Jay. “Won’t you back the fuck-up man, can’t you see she’s not able to answer your fucking questions. Look at her!” Jay interjected.
“Shut the fuck-up or I’ll do you right here, maricon!” Alfonzo countered.
An officer interceded, “Knock it off!”
Alfonzo silently mouthed, “I’ll see you outside bitch!”
Jay looked away still hugging his girl. The threat lingered in the
air. Alfonzo’s countenance softened, a conscious attempt at sensitivity. Tonight, he suffered a loss, too. He looked around uncomfortably as the sobs continued, his face frozen in solemnity. Dammit, please stop crying.
Alfonzo grieved, except his tears were hidden beneath the anger reserved for a solitary release. Tonight he had to be strong and get through the hours without losing it. Currently, this girl needed a shoulder to cry on. Earlier, on the phone she pleaded for his help. It was inexplicable the proximity of her friends, yet here she was grieving alone. He relaxed his stance to help her upright, guided her head to his chest in consolation. He gently caressed her spine as she cried and screamed in such heartbreaking agony he stiffened at her display of raw pain.
He heard the wheels passing and turned with her in his arms and understood the depth of her sorrow. Going by were the bodies being wheeled atop a gurney in those ominous body bags. It’s hard seeing something like this, especially when you know the people in them.
“Oh God…oh…God…mommy…mommy!” She went berserk, clutching at his shirt, squeezing his wrists and wailing so damn hard, Alfonzo almost broke down, too. But he stayed composed, chin raised in defiance. He couldn’t crack again, he had to stay solid, he told himself. The girl flailing in his arms needed strength and he’d give it to her, so he did. He held her tight, preventing her from falling or pursuing the technicians and when the elevator opened then clang shut and the bodies were gone, she suddenly slumped against him in eerie silence.
“It’s okay…it’ll be okay…I got you chica.” He whispered into her fruity hair.
“This isn’t real…I’m in a nightmare,” She whimpered over and over again.
Her friend came over and spoke her name, “Selange…please come home with me. I can’t stay here…I can’t.”
The girl Selange didn’t answer, instead she clung tightly to the solid mass until her friend exclaimed, “I have to go…when you’re ready I’ll be at my house waiting.”
Alfonzo’s lip curled in distaste when the so-called ‘girlfriend’ and the scumbag Jay departed. They exchanged lethal stares until the elevator closed. Some goddamn friends! His boys would never have stepped off. Even the chicas, they’d stay right here, holding him down, providing the comfort of their presence. Yeah, that’s goddamn friends; they roll with you to the end!
He wrapped his arms around the girl then guided her to the elevator. He couldn’t let her stay here in this condition. Apparently, she was still in shock. Holding her protectively he spoke her name, “Selange…my name’s Alfonzo. Your mother and my uncle were married and it makes us family, eschuchar?”
She slowly nodded.
An innate natural feeling occurred as he held her. He was confused by what this young woman triggered. Whatever it was stirred an arousal somewhere in his gut at this deadly hour. He forced it away, thinking only of the task of telling his mom the tragic news of her brother’s death. Absently, he stroked the long wavy hair as the elevator descended to the lobby. He thought of life without uncle and what it entailed. No late night conversations or uncle’s wise advice. He tried to envision it, and could not. The image of Uncle Al and his wife were too real. They were dark pictures preventing him from thinking about tomorrow. He didn’t want to remember uncle Al in such a macabre way and clicked the channel in his brain as if he were watching a show he disliked. Instead he chose one he did. A happy image appeared on the screen. A vision of Uncle getting married, smiling ecstatically after kissing his new bride. Yes, this he liked and used it as a replacement for the hideous death scene. He bound it to memory in an effort to get through each minute and the infinite ones to follow.
They stepped into the lobby. Through the grimy windows of the vestibule he caught sight of a crowd assembled. Police, ambulance, curious onlookers and a news crew waited. A normal sight in the inner city on any given day or night. Detective Johnson said there were no signs of forced entry which led him to believe the murderer might even be standing out there. A faceless entity. An evil cruel bastard who stole a piece of him and this girl…his Uncle’s stepdaughter Selange with the violent act. Suddenly, Selange shivered despite the warmth of the summer night and he drew her closer, wanting desperately to console the piteous thing. He couldn’t imagine how awful it was finding someone murdered. All he had to offer was a shoulder to lean on and an oath of protection. His cell rang and his arm slackened as he reached in his pocket to retrieve the thin titanium device, “Que paso?”
“Cuz, the cops won’t let me in unless I live there, man.” Domingo said.
He’d called Domingo on his way over and requested they meet at this location in case this was a set-up. When Domingo asked what was going on he told him what the girl on the phone said and thus, Domingo’s anxiety as he waited for confirmation.
“I’m coming out now.” He turned to the girl, “How you doing Selange?”
Her eyes were on his chest, “I’m cold.”
She’s in shock. “Alright, I’ll get you somewhere warm, for now,” both arms embraced her, “take my heat.”
Her forehead pressed against his collar bone and he maneuvered forward awkwardly with her. Once they emerged from the building everyone’s attention focused on the couple. The girl with bloodstained clothing and the Latin man cradling her, were undoubtedly connected to the victims in the rumored homicide in apartment 4C. Talking ensued as they passed the young uniformed cops mingling with an ambulance crew; the same medics who packed up and left a patient in obvious shock. His lip curled in disgust, civil servants, they did minimum work and expected premium pay.
“Excuse me…excuse me…did you know the victims?” A female reporter from a local station asked.
Alfonzo ignored her and hastened his pace.
“Can you tell us what happened?” The reporter persisted.
Selange clutched his shirt as he maneuvered past the flashing bulbs and cameras. His anger grew as the pestilent reporter pushed the microphone to his chin and his temper flared. His voice held fiery ice and the blue eyes flashed an unspoken threat, “Get…the…camera…out…of…my…goddamn…face…lady!”
She withdrew under the unspoken threat and motioned to the camera man, “Come on…let’s go.”
Domingo rushed forward trailed by his boys, “What the hell’s going on, what happened, was it Tio?”
“Alfonzo’s somber expression confirmed the bad news, “Si.”
“Ah…no…no…no…no.” Domingo exclaimed simultaneously punching at air and drawing the attention from the reporter once more.
Raul lowered his head and Fernando turned and walked to a solitary place near the curb. Uncle Al was the patriarch of the family, well respected and madly loved.
Domingo’s reaction was expected. Uncle’s loss was a tremendous blow to them all. The cavernous void in his absence was immeasurable.
“Alfonzo?”
Had she said his name? He blinked, “Yeah?”
“I need to get my car. I cannot leave it here. I’m never coming here again.” She started crying, not hysterically like before but heart wrenching nonetheless.
Domingo composed himself and looked questionably at the stunning female as if seeing her for the first time. He spied her blood-stained face and clothes, then he addressed Alfonzo, “Who’s she?”
“Selange…Uncle’s stepdaughter.”
“What?”
“Yeah man, he got married at the J.O.P.”
“What…so what the fuck happened did some motherfucker get pissed…what…what happened?”
Alfonzo swiveled his head looking in the eyes of those nearby to search for any sign of guilt or satisfaction on their faces. He examined in the dark for a killer. He spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “They were shot execution style.”
Domingo became stone. The Diaz gene on display, “We’re going to find the motherfucker, primo. On tio’s blood we gotta’ find the motherfuckers who did this!”
The reporter inched closer to eavesdrop; Alfonzo spotted her and said, “Let’s get ou
t of here. We’ll talk later.”
Selange shivered again, “I’m cold.”
“We’re leaving. Where’s your car?”
She pointed to the parking lot adjacent to the building blanketed in darkness then opened her clenched fist to reveal a purse keychain.
“Raul, you up to driving?”
The stocky dark hair youth nodded. “Yeah.”
“Follow in my car it’s right across the street. I’ll flash you.” He tossed Raul the key to his prized SL600, with a stern warning, “Don’t fuck-up my car, comprende?”
“No sweat,” Raul replied quietly. Under different circumstances he’d exhibit jubilation to drive Alfonzo’s car, but tonight all he felt was emptiness. He walked slowly away, tapping Fernando as he passed his taller companion. Fernando trailed after Raul and they jogged across the street, dodging cars to Alfonzo’s ride.
“I’ll pull around, I’m parked at the end of the block,” Domingo added.
“All right.”
He hurried the shivering girl to the parking lot and scanned the dozen or so cars wondering what type of car she drove. His head twisted left when he caught sight of a shiny black Mercedes parked in a far corner.
She pointed at it, “That’s my car.”
What? No fucking way she owned a Mercedes SLR McLaren Roadster!
It boggled his mind the car sat undisturbed, not one tire or rim missing. This was a top of the line automobile worth half a mil. She spoke about a lottery winning and he assumed she meant a couple of grand. To have a car like the McLaren a person must have substantial cash. The parts for this car were expensive and the insurance equally obscene. If the idiot who murdered his uncle and wife were after cash, he’d gotten plenty if he stole and sold this car piece by piece. Damn fool!
The car beeped open at the push of a button and he held ajar the passenger door, waited for her to settle in then circled around to the driver’s seat. He slid inside. The silver SLR insignia on the ebony console gleamed beneath a moonless sky. The plush custom red leather seat with the initials SB stitched in silver across the middle of the headrest and modification to the gas pedal were undoubtedly Uncle Al’s handiwork. A mechanic by trade, he owned and operated a custom detail shop in Canarsie with an impressive clientele. Alfonzo adjusted the seat and mirror before starting the engine and listened to the 5.5 liter, 617 horsepower AMG V-8 engine hum to life.
