When It All Falls Down 4 - It Just Ain't Over Yet: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady)

by Tamicka Higgins

  “Yes,” Ryan said, nodding his head. “Of course. Nobody has house phones anymore, and we never learned to write a letter.”

  Sloan chuckled at the young man’s sarcasm. “Well, I saw in the notes for your brother’s murder scene that no cell phone was recovered,” he said. “Would you say you find that odd? What are the chances that a young man would not have a cell phone when he was found? I thought something like that was so odd.”

  “I’d agree,” Ryan said. “I looked around for his cell phone too when I was waiting on the police to show up. But, like you, I didn’t find one either. I just wanted his phone so I could call all of his friends and let them know what had unfortunately happened.”

  “So, and I have to ask, so excuse me,” Sloan said, “what will you do now to get in touch with Byron’s friends that you don’t know?”

  Ryan now felt as if his back was against a hypothetical wall. He hated that the detective had thrown a question at him for which he hadn’t prepared himself. Ryan took a moment to think before he responded. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to use social media, like everybody else.”

  Sloan nodded and walked out into the hallway with Rodgers. “Thank you so much, man,” he said. “Sorry to bother you.”

  Ryan smiled and nodded, closing the door. Once he was alone in his apartment, he stopped and looked around. “It’s gettin’ a little too hot in Chicago for me,” he said to himself. “I need to find these niggas before they do. They not gon’ get the luxury of a prison cell fuckin’ around with my family.”

  ***

  Down at the police station, Detectives Rodgers and Sloan sat across from one another. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk to one another on the way back because Sloan had been on the phone, and then Rodgers received a call. “You think what I think about that guy?” Rodgers asked. “I think he knows something.”

  “I think he does too,” Sloan said. “And you know what, I think social media just might help us put some of these clues together. There are just too many coincidences, like they would just so happen to have left Jackson's car on a wooded property down the road from a murdered man. I want to know their connection to one another, and I think that social media just might be able to help us out.”

  “You know how people are,” Rodgers said, standing up. “This generation puts everything on social media these days. And that’s how they’re getting caught. I can go talk to Judge Hawkins. I know that he will sign a warrant to get access to Byron’s social media accounts based on what we have already.”

  “Yeah, do that,” Sloan said, nodding. “Do that, would you? Call me as soon as you get the warrant so we can contact the social media companies and get our techs into some of Byron’s accounts. His brother isn’t going to talk, so we’ll see what Byron said himself.”

  A couple of hours passed before Rodgers came rushing back through the door at the end of the day. He held up a folded paper. “Got it!” he said. “I had the D.A. type it up and go forward with it. Hawkins signed it within minutes.”

  “Good deal,” Sloan said. The two of them took a quick trip down to the evidence room where they retrieved Byron’s laptop, which the crime lab had taken. They took the laptop and the warrant to the technician and stood by as he essentially broke into Byron’s social media networks after contacting the providers. Once inside, all they had to do was scroll down a couple of inches, and there was the telltale photo that Byron liked and commented on, in various, vulgar ways. It was the most graphic picture anyone on his timeline had posted in recent months.

  “What is that?” Rodgers asked, pointing at a picture a Juan had posted last week, with Byron liking the photo soon after and making some comments about people messing with him. Then Juan said something about teaching n-words a lesson like we need to. We? Who is we?” He shook his head, wishing that parts of his race didn’t conduct themselves in this manner, especially on a public domain such as Facebook. The three of them then looked in closer to the screen as they processed the terrified face of a woman in a house they didn’t recognize. “Hold up, that’s…”

  “Tramar’s stepmother,” Sloan said, ending Rodger’s sentence. “And Byron, Ryan’s brother, from what I can see, liked the photo and commented, like you said. I think he had something to do with this.”

  “For sure,” Rodgers said. “I think this Byron guy is behind it. I mean, look at the Juan guy.” The two of them then looked closer. “He doesn’t even look smart enough to go through all of this on his own.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Sloan said, pausing. “And the funny thing is that they didn’t mention anything about this when we went to speak with them, did they? About a photo being taken?”

  Rodgers shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “They didn’t mention much of anything at all.”

  Chapter 7

  The drive back to Chicago seemed to be taking less time than it took for them to get out of the city. As the afternoon sky faded to evening then dark, Ayana drifted in and out of sleep. The rural Iowa land was so desolate that she actually found herself nearly excited upon coming up on Des Moines. Tramar looked back into the back seat when he saw that Ayana was coming out of her sleep.

  “You all right back there?” Tramar asked. “I was gettin’ worried about you.” He looked over at his boy Jackson. “This nigga is knocked out too.”

  “I need to stop and use the bathroom,” Ayana said. “And I could use somethin’ to eat too.”

  “I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” Tramar said. “Let’s see what is out here.”

  Ayana leaned up and looked out of the window. “It doesn’t look like there’s gon’ be much of nothin’ out here to me, Tramar,” she said.

  They then passed a sign that read Des Moines was coming up in twenty miles. That was a relief. Des Moines was a sizeable city where they knew they could get off at a major road and have plenty of options to choose from. As of right now, if Tramar was going to stay awake and drive through the night, then he was perfectly fine with that. All he could think about was how Byron’s brother had called and basically threatened his family. He wanted to get back to Chicago as soon as possible to make sure that his son and father and stepmother were okay. If anything was to happen to them because of him, Tramar just didn’t know if he’d be able to live with himself.

  Thirty minutes or so passed, and they were rolling into Des Moines. There, Tramar got off at an exit that had plenty of food options. When he pulled the car into the parking lot of a White Castle, Ayana hurried inside to use the bathroom. Inside of the cold, metallic bathroom she was alone with her thoughts since she was the only person in there, but thinking was a struggle because of just how paranoid she felt.

  When Ayana finished up in the bathroom, she came out and found that Tramar was standing in the lobby alone. “Where’s Jackson?” she asked.

  Tramar pointed toward the car. “He ain’t wanna get up and come inside,” he answered. “He just told me what he wants, and that he’d eat it when he wake up later.”

  Tramar and Ayana ordered their food, and then sat in a booth in the corner. Tramar looked around the restaurant before relaxing, realizing that the odds of them being recognized were slim. He looked across at Ayana, picking up on her silence.

  “You been actin’ so quiet ever since we left that chick’s house with the car out there,” Tramar said. “Wassup with you, Ayana? What’s goin’ on in your head?”

  “Tramar,” Ayana said. “What are we gonna do when we get back to Chicago? We ain’t even got in touch with nobody there or nothin’ to see what they can tell us about what the streets is sayin’ or whatever.”

  “So, what you sayin’ now?” Tramar asked. “Is you scared or somethin’? Is that what you sayin’?”

  “Naw, I’m just try’na be practical,” Ayana said, sounding a little irritated. “I think, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I think that the reason you and Jackson have been caught up is ‘cause you robbed them second two banks over in Indiana wi
thout really plannin’ the stuff out like you should have.”

  “So, you sayin’ that because I fucked up, we in this position?” Tramar asked, putting his hamburger down. “What the fuck is up with you, Ayana?”

  “Tramar, shit, I feel like…I got a bad feeling about us going to Chicago,” Ayana said, struggling to get the words out. “I just got a real bad feelin’ that somethin’ in Chicago ain’t gon’ happen right for us.”

  “But what would we do in place of that?” Tramar asked, shrugging his shoulders. “You was standin’ right there in Durrell’s basement when we answered the phone and heard what Byron’s brother said. He puttin’ threats on my family and stuff. I don’t even get what the fuck you talkin’ about. I mean, you can’t be thinkin’ that we just call the police, and they gon’ go watch after my family and stuff.”

  “But what are you going to do?” Ayana asked. “I mean, have you even thought why we’re rushing back to Chicago in the middle of the night?”

  Tramar looked around before leaning in and speaking softly. “Ayana, why you try’na act brand new?” he asked. “You already know what the fuck we gotta do. But no, I can’t really make no plan until I’m there, but I’mma get this Ryan nigga before he gets one of us. Shit, maybe I can go talk to Precious or something and give her some money so she can move, and this Ryan guy won’t be able to find her and my son.”

  “You don’t really think that he’s gonna go that far, do you Tramar?” Ayana asked. “You don’t think that he’s gonna go after your son, do you?”

  “Look at what the fuck his brother did to my daddy and Vivica, Ayana,” Tramar insisted. “Look at that shit, won’t you? How can you look me dead in the eye and ask me if I really think that his brother can do some stuff like that? Hell fuckin’ yeah I think he will. The nigga’s brother was going to kill my fuckin’ family if we ain’t give him the money, Ayana. He was gonna kill my fuckin’ family and shit. I don’t know what is goin’ through your head right now. A nigga is startin’ to wonder and shit.”

  “Startin’ to wonder what?” Ayana asked, halting the conversation. “Tell me ‘cause I need to know what a nigga is startin’ to wonder, so I can maybe change whatever it is that he is startin’ to wonder.”

  Tramar leaned in and said, clearly seeing that Ayana was getting a little too deep into her feelings at the moment, “I’m startin’ to wonder why you really came along if you scared.” He could see Ayana’s face and how she was about to say something. He cut her off, saying, “You know you can still get dropped off somewhere and say that you had nothin’ to do with this shit if you want, Ayana. It ain’t like we need you like that. I know how chicks be nowadays with they loyalty, and I think it’s fucked up.”

  “What’s fucked up?” Ayana asked, trying to make some sense out of what she was hearing. “What the fuck is fucked up, Tramar?”

  “Ayana,” Tramar said. “You know that if this was you and your family at risk, I would do whatever it took to get them back.”

  Ayana looked away, knowing that Tramar was right. “I know,” she said, “but I just feel like we’re not really thinking about this, Tramar. I mean, we gotta have a plan and stuff, especially if we gotta be watchin’ our backs and makin’ sure that the authorities ain’t pullin’ us over and shit.”

  Tramar pointed out toward the parking lot. “Look what we done did already,” he said. “We fuckin’ got another car that we got a few months to use before the plates and shit expire. I know we had to basically drive a long way to get it, but it certainly do help that Byron’s fuckin’ Bugatti is off the street. I’m tellin’ you, Ayana. All I wanna do is go back to Chicago and maybe get Precious to take Quan and stay somewhere else or something. I wanna make sure that Daddy and Vivica got home alright, and that this nigga Ryan, or whatever the dude’s name is, ain’t gone back and fucked with them. You saw the picture on Facebook and shit, the look on they face when you saw them after we picked them up with you and Quan. I don’t even have no fuckin’ phone to call them and neither do you.”

  “I just hate bein’ so blind to all of this,” Ayana said, avoiding eye contact with Tramar. “At least before we could turn on the television and see a little somethin’. We could talk to people and see what they’d heard. People could call us and say that fuckin’ detectives were comin’ to their door. Now, for all we know, they probably know that you and Jackson are connected with Byron being shot to death in his basement.”

  “They probably do,” Tramar said. “I know the nigga ain’t just find his brother body and leave him there. That’s why I got rid of the car. Baby, trust me, okay. Look at the car we ridin’ in now. We gon’ roll up in that city practically like ghosts. Ain’t nobody gon’ even know where we are.”

  “And how are you gonna find that Ryan dude, Tramar?” Ayana asked. “Huh? How you gon’ find him? At least with Byron, there were a few other connections that we had going. With this Ryan dude, we don’t even know nothin’ about him or where he live or nothin’ like that. What you gon’ do, go door to door lookin’ for him?”

  Tramar was silent. He didn’t have an answer to Ayana’s questions. He too had wondered how he would find this Ryan guy. The only thing they had thus far was the guy’s phone number, and at least his attention, if nothing else.

  Tramar and Ayana finished eating their food before Tramar went up and ordered Jackson’s meal. When they returned to the car in the parking lot, the two of them quietly got into the car then pulled out of the parking lot. For the next several minutes, the ride back to the highway then east, toward the Illinois state line was quiet. Tramar racked his brain as he tried to think of different ways of going about getting to Byron’s brother, Ryan. First and foremost on his mind, however, was getting to Precious’ apartment. He wanted to talk to her and try to get her to go stay somewhere until everything calmed down. In fact, this very thought led Tramar to thinking of other scenarios that could work in his favor. But for the moment, he would focus on getting back to Chicago as quickly as possible, and not being pulled over in the process.

  ***

  The next morning, Detectives Sloan and Rodgers walked into the station at 8 am sharp. They sat down at their desks and went over their notes again.

  “Where are we gonna go with this?” Rodgers asked. “Let’s see what the tip lines produced.” He pulled the information up on his computer and shook his head. “Doesn’t look like that press conference yesterday is going to be much use to us.”

  “Are you surprised?” Sloan asked. “Those kinds of people aren’t going to snitch. I am convinced that Tramar and Jackson had something to do with Byron’s murder.”

  “Most definitely, I agree,” Rodgers said. “You and I both saw the pictures that the lab tech pulled up on Byron’s social media account yesterday afternoon before we called it quits. From the looks of it, Byron had maybe held Tramar’s family hostage, but I don’t get the feeling he was doing it alone.”

  “And that was the motivation for Tramar, maybe, killing Byron,” Sloan concluded. “I told you, there was definitely a connection, and all we needed was for social media to help us prove that. But that still doesn’t explain why Tramar and Jackson were suddenly going around and robbing banks.”

  “Ransom,” Rodgers said. “That’s probably what is was, Sloan. Ransom.”

  “But, and don’t take this the wrong way,” Sloan said, “do inner city blacks and people in these types of environments typically go the ransom route? You don’t really see a lot of that sort of thing on the local street level. In fact, ransom notes and things of that nature seem to be more with upper class white families who have the means. At best, anyone in this situation comes from the middle class, and that would be Tramar. His father’s house was nice but not that nice.”

  “Yeah, they do that,” Rodgers assured his partner. “You probably just don’t hear about it because maybe they’re not going to the police or whatever. But stuff like that does happen.”

  “So, now we’ve got to figure out where Trama
r, Jackson, and Ayana are,” Sloan said. “That is what’s making this case so difficult. It’s as if we have every other piece except for the culprits. It’s almost as if they’ve just disappeared.”

  “And Ayana’s phone somehow winding up in northern Nebraska, of all places,” Rodgers said.

  “Exactly,” Sloan said. “And everybody we talk to seems to be in the dark. Byron’s brother, Ryan…”

  “Who I think knows something and is just not talking,” Rodgers said.

  “Right,” Sloan said, nodding his head. “Then the mother of his son, Precious, says she knew nothing. She was so scared for her son’s life until the grandparents dropped him off at her house, you know, when we called and did a follow up.”

  “Right, but the grandparents,” Rodgers said, “who don’t know anything about anything either, simply saying that they haven’t heard from Tramar. I wonder what would happen if we went and showed them the photo rather than asking them about it.”

  Sloan’s eyebrows rose up as he said, “You know what? That might be a good idea. Let’s see what they have to say then, when their back is against a wall with a photo that they failed to mention. And I wanna know where it was taken too.”

  The two detectives stood up and headed for the door. When they climbed into their car, Sloan, who was behind the wheel, looked across at Rodgers. “Let’s tread lightly with this,” he said. “Let’s see what they talk about a couple of days after the fact and catch them in a lie. If that’s the case, then we could probably have enough to bring them in for an interrogation.”

  ***

  Juan and Knight pulled up outside of Precious’ apartment building around 8 a.m. They’d driven by her apartment building the night before and had sat outside, just to get a feel of the place. After the middle and high school kids had gotten up and gotten to school, Juan and Knight were able to sit in the parked van, down the block from Precious’ apartment building, and see the elementary school kids walking up and down the street. There were two elementary schools within walking distance of this neighborhood – a logistics factor that would soon work in their favor.