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

by Tamicka Higgins

  A concerned vice principal, Ms. Thorpe, came hurrying out of her office. “Is something wrong, detectives?” she asked. “May I ask what the purpose of this visit is?”

  Sloan and Rodgers both showed their badges before saying Quan’s full name and asking if he was at school. Thorpe, who was a very plain, middle-aged white woman, stepped over to her secretary. “Barbara?” she said. “Isn’t that the boy who just got a call from his mother, and he said that she was crying, and he couldn’t understand what she was saying.”

  “Yes, that’s him,” Barbara said, nodding her head. The thin, tall black woman then pointed her fingers at the detectives. “I tell these young mothers all the time that you cannot call your children while they’re in school and give them directions.” She shook her head. “When are they going to understand that we cannot just allow a child to go walking out of these doors without being at least supervised by a parent or guardian. The child’s mother and father are not present, so we cannot let him go.”

  Sloan and Rodgers looked at one another. They both knew what this meant. The vice principal picked up on this and interjected. “What is the matter, detectives?” she asked. “Is there something that the school should be aware of? Is this child’s life in danger or something?”

  “Not if he stays here,” Rodgers said. “We gotta go, Sloan.”

  The two detectives rushed out of the school’s office. “Make sure you keep Quan here!” Sloan yelled back. “Keep Quan in this building and do not let him go until we say so, okay?”

  Leaning out of the office doorway, the vice principal and her secretary nodded their heads. They looked at one another in a total state of confusion.

  When Sloan and Rodgers pushed through the back entrance of the school, they rushed across the parking lot and hopped into their car. Driving as fast as he could down the narrow street, Sloan pulled the car up to the first stop sign.

  “Ryan or whoever he has doing his dirty work for him is already here,” Sloan said. “What are the chances that Precious would call her son and cry over the phone, trying to make the boy want to come back home only minutes after getting to school? Come on, man. They’re there right now.”

  “And with what’s going on with his father,” Rodgers said, pulling his gun out. “I think this could get ugly.”

  Sloan pulled the car into the parking lot of Precious’ apartment building. He slowed down as he rolled by the front of the building, still looking for a spot to pull into. The apartment community was strangely quiet. All either of them could hear was the rustling of the leaves blowing across the grass and the pavement. Sloan then pumped on the brakes, coming to a stop. His eyes had seen something that was a dead giveaway. He tapped Rodgers and pointed at a low-key, nondescript car parked in front of the building.

  “Look at those plates,” Sloan said.

  Rodgers squinted and leaned in. “Nebraska,” he said, looking at Sloan. “Ayana’s phone was found in northern Nebraska, wasn’t it?”

  “Yup,” Sloan said, deciding they’d park right there. He pulled his gun out. “Tramar, Jackson, and Ayana are here.” He looked at the car, seeing that someone was in the backseat. “And it looks like one of them is waiting out in the car.”

  Sloan and Rodgers jumped out of the car and cautiously approached the car with Nebraska plates. Sloan walked up on one side while Rodgers approached the other. Within seconds, both detectives saw Ayana sitting in the backseat. However, Ayana, whose face looked as if she’d seen a ghost, had only been looking in Rodgers’ direction. Upon seeing his face looking down through the glass, Ayana quickly turned to the other side of the car. There, she found herself looking into the eyes of a white detective.

  “Step out of the car,” Sloan instructed. “Put your hands where I can see them, Miss, and step out of the car slowly.”

  Sloan and Rodgers backed away from the car as Ayana slowly climbed out. She looked confused, almost as if she was lost and didn’t know what was going on. Sloan leaned in to get a better look at her face. “Put your hands up,” he said. He then looked at Rodgers. “This is Ayana.”

  “Yeah, I see,” Rodgers said. He stepped forward and patted Ayana down to make sure that she was not carrying any weapons. “Where are Tramar and Jackson?”

  Ayana pressed her lips together. There was no way she was going to give them up.

  “They’re upstairs,” Sloan said, looking at the building. “Rodgers, help me out real quick. We’ve got to put her into the car and hurry inside. I got a bad feeling that something is about to go down.”

  Helping one another, Rodgers and Sloan put Ayana into handcuffs. Ayana almost wanted to break down and cry as she felt the metal pressing against her skin. The handcuffs felt so cold even though they’d been in Detective Rodgers’ pockets.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Rodgers said as he began to read Ayana her rights. From then on, the words were nothing more than a blur to Ayana. She could practically hear the slamming of a judge’s gavel then the closing of a cell door. Questions rushed through her mind like a strong wind. Why didn’t I see them when they pulled up? I shouldn’t have been just sitting in the car. Why did I do that?

  Ayana remained silent as the black detective continued reading her rights to her. The two detectives then pressed her head down and pushed her into the back of their car. Once she was locked inside, they looked at one another and then at the building. They pulled their guns out again and rushed up the walkway to the building’s entrance. Once inside, they rushed by some women and children, who had all ducked out of the way when they saw the professionally dressed men running through the doors with guns drawn.

  ***

  Tramar put his ear to the door before knocking on it. He’d heard talking when he and Jackson had walked up in the hallway. Now, the floor seemed to be quieter than a cemetery in the middle of the night.

  “No answer,” Tramar said softly. He then knocked again. Looking at Jackson, he said, “I know she’s in there. They in there. I heard them talkin’.”

  Jackson and Tramar nodded at one another, knowing that they were going to have to force their way inside of Precious’ apartment. At the same time, the two best friends stepped back from the door. They pointed their guns at the lock then fired, praying to God that none of the bullets came back at them.

  Once Tramar and Jackson opened their eyes again, they were looking into Precious’ apartment. The apartment door had swung open. Tramar and Jackson, one behind the other, stepped inside. Everything had suddenly gotten so quiet. As they stepped into the apartment, pushing the door closed behind them, they realized what was going on. It was as if they could hear breathing coming from multiple sides of the room. Before the door had opened, they must have turned the lights off and closed the curtains and blinds. For it to be roughly 9 o’clock in the morning, Precious’ apartment was quite dark.

  Tramar and Jackson turned toward either side of the apartment and raised their guns, their backs to one another. This was when Juan came out, pointing a gun at Tramar and Knight stepped out of the dining room, pointing a gun at Jackson – guns that Ryan had brought with him in case they needed a little more power than knives could provide. The two men smiled, wanting nothing more than to get their own revenge from the embarrassment they went through with being tied up. Knight was especially mad, as he had been humiliated the most.

  “I knew I’d be seein’ y’all niggas,” a voice said. At that moment, Ryan came walking out of the bedroom hallway. He pushed Precious forward as he held the gun to the side of her head. Tears strolled down her face. Despite their differences, seeing something like that really did break Tramar’s heart. He then thought about Quan.

  “Where’s Quan?” Tramar asked, looking around the apartment while keeping his gun up and pointed at Juan. “Where the fuck is my son at, nigga?”

  Ryan giggled as he pushed Precious forward. “I had this stupid hoe you got pregnant call up there,” he explained. “Try’na get the boy to come home and tend to his sick
mother. But the bitch couldn’t even do that shit right.”

  “Fuck you!” Precious said, full of anger. “Fuck you!”

  Ryan slammed the butt of his gun into the back of Precious’ head. Immediately, she felt woozy and grabbed the back of her head. She wanted to fall to her knees and just cry from the pain.

  “Bitch, what I tell you about talkin’ and shit when you know ain’t nobody ask you to speak?” Ryan said. He then looked back to Tramar and Jackson and smiled, biting his bottom lip. “I wanted the boy here, but it looks like I won’t need him here. I got just the couple niggas I been waitin’ on. Y’all is some brave ass niggas, I will say that.”

  “Nigga, fuck you!” Jackson yelled, focusing on Knight. “Fuck you and your dead brother.”

  “Y’all niggas done really fucked up now,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “Y’all killed my only brother, and then really had the nerve to think that your stupid asses was gon’ get away with it.”

  “We had to,” Tramar said. “He kidnapped my family and shit, and I just couldn’t let him get away with that and think that it was okay. They beat my daddy.”

  “They beat my daddy,” Ryan said, in a mocking voice. He then shook his head. “Nigga, fuck you. Y’all niggas in here with your guns drawn and shit and still can’t figure out that you outnumbered with guns. Why don’t y’all niggas just put the guns down and maybe won’t nobody get hurt?”

  “Jackson, don’t put your shit down,” Tramar said. “Don’t put that shit down.”

  Jackson shook his head. “I ain’t, man,” he said. “I ain’t. These niggas ain’t gon’ just kill me and shit. Fuck this.”

  “Y’all did show right on time, though,” Ryan said.

  Ryan smiled and looked down at Precious. The look in his eyes was enough to cause Tramar’s heart to skip a beat. He couldn’t help but look into Precious’ eyes. She looked back, shaking her head. “Tramar,” she said, under her tears. “What’s going on? Who are these dudes? Why the fuck are they here and shit?”

  Ryan slammed the butt of his gun into Precious’ head again. This time, the force was too much. She yelled out in pain as she grabbed the back of her head and fell to the floor. Ryan snickered then kicked her while she was down. “Bitch, I told you to shut the fuck up!” he yelled, then kicked some more. “I told you. Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

  Tramar turned his gun away from Juan and toward Ryan. He now realized that he had to worry about Knight shooting him. He looked over his shoulder for a split second and told Jackson, “Jackson, man, let’s turn and be side by side.”

  The two men did that, now facing all of their enemies at once.

  “You ain’t have to hit her like that,” Tramar said, looking at Precious. “You ain’t have to do her that way. She ain’t have nothin’ to do with this shit, or your brother. She ain’t have nothin’ to do with it.”

  Ryan smiled and cocked his gun. Just as Ryan was lifting the gun up to point it at the back of Precious’ head, the front door was busted open. Everyone in the room jumped as they watched two professionally dressed men charge into the room. Precious shook and quivered on the floor, praying God that all of this would just end.

  “Chicago Police!” the black man yelled. “Put your guns down and put your hands up where we can see them!”

  “Put them up!” the white man yelled.

  Instantly, Tramar and Jackson went back and forth from pointing their guns at Knight, Ryan, and Juan to pointing at the two detectives. The detectives looked as if they were not going to take no for an answer, each making eye contact as they spoke.

  “Tramar!” Sloan said. “Jackson! This is not the way to go out. You two know that you are already wanted for robbery and murder. Why don’t you just make it easy and put the guns down and come with us.”

  “Fuck that shit!” Tramar said. “I ain’t just gon’ make it easy for y’all and go with y’all and shit. Fuck y’all! I had to do it.”

  “I know you did,” Rodgers said. “I know you did, Tramar. I know you had to rob the banks to get your family back. We talked to your father.”

  “My daddy?” Tramar asked.

  “Yeah, Tramar,” Rodgers said. “We talked to Frank and he told us everything. He told us how Byron kidnapped your family and held them hostage.”

  “Yeah, Tramar,” Sloan said. “Your father told us, and we’d be willing to tell that information to the prosecutor. She might be willing to go easy on you.”

  “Fuck that shit!” Tramar yelled.

  “Yeah, fuck that!” Jackson added. “They not gon’ go easy on us, you lyin’ ass bastards.”

  “Well, we offered,” Sloan said. “Now, everybody just put the guns down before it gets really ugly in here.”

  Ryan shook his head, deciding that he needed to do something to get out of this situation. He’d rather the name in the obituary not be his, and the sooner he could get out of here, the better. “Y’all not takin’ them niggas,” he said to the detectives. “Them niggas killed my brother, and y’all not just gon’ take them and put them in some nice prison or some shit. I want them dead.”

  “Ryan… Ryan,” Sloan said, in a fatherly voice. “You know we can’t just let you walk out of here with them. “You know that, right? Why don’t you just put your gun down since, really, you and Precious over there are facing the least, if any, charges in this room.”

  Ryan shook his head and bit his bottom lip. “Naw,” he said, turning the gun away from Precious and out toward the middle of the living room floor. “Fuck that shit. I’m bout to get the fuck outta here.”

  ***

  Ayana screamed and fidgeted about when she heard gunshots ring into the air from inside of Precious’ apartment building. First, it was just one shot. Then, that first shot was followed by a second. Within seconds, it sounded as if a full-blown gun fight was going down in Precious' apartment. All Ayana could think about was how she hoped Tramar was not in harm’s way; she knew the likelihood of that being the case was very slim.

  “No!!!!” Ayana yelled out, looking up at Precious’ building. She tried to break free of her handcuffs, but that was obviously not going to work. She saw people running out of the apartment building. The gunshots were now more sporadic sounding as if people were aiming at one another rather than just aimlessly shooting. “Oh my God,” Ayana cried. “I cannot believe this.” In her heart, she was more than sure that Tramar and Jackson had been killed.

  Ayana broke into tears as she waited on the gunfire to stop. Over the next several minutes, several police cars swarmed into the parking lot. Then the ambulances, whose workers waited until the police gave the all clear. Ayana looked up toward the entrance to the building, waiting to see who, if anybody, either walked out of the building or was rolled out. Several minutes later, she saw one of the officers who had just pulled up pushing his way through the authorities clustered around the building’s entrance. She smiled for a moment as an officer walked Tramar out. His face said it all. He looked as if he’d been through hell. Once Ayana saw that he was the only one to come out of the building, she knew what had really happened.

  The officers held Tramar by his arms, as his wrists were in handcuffs, and walked him toward the parking lot. Once Ayana could see that he would walk down the right side of the car, she scooted over and looked out the window. “Tramar!” she yelled as he walked by. “Tramar!”

  Hearing Ayana’s voice caused Tramar to resist the officers’ attempts to carry him out to their police car. Instead, he jerked away and leaned toward the window. He looked into Ayana’s eyes, tears rolling down his face. “I love you, Ayana!” he yelled through the glass. “I love you so much, girl!”

  As the officers pulled Tramar away, Ayana put her face to the window and said, “I love you, too.”

  Little did Ayana know that today would be the very last day she’d ever see Tramar. As the crime scene was wrapping up, the two of them looked across the pavement at one another through the windows of their respective police cars. No words were ne
eded. Ayana could look into Tramar’s eyes and see the entire story of what went down in Precious’ apartment. It wasn’t long before paramedics were rolling the bodies out of the building. Ayana felt her heart sink, knowing that one of the several bodies under the white sheets was Jackson. She looked across at Tramar, and all she could do was cry.

  Chapter 10

  No official account of what happened in Precious’ apartment ever surfaced for the media to report. Neighbors were asked by local news channels to describe what they heard on the day in question. Many of those neighbors were left speechless, only able to shake their heads and struggle to describe what it sounded like. In the words of five-year-old Sammy, who lived a couple of doors down from Precious, it sounded like a “mini warzone” happening down the hall. When the officers had come to clear the scene, there was still smoke from the multitude of gunshots. It seeped out into the hallway, almost as if a bomb had been dropped on the living room.

  Jackson was shot and killed by four bullets. Juan was struck by one bullet, in the head, and killed immediately. Knight was shot in the stomach. Based on blood patterns on the floor, he was able to crawl away from the other gunfire. However, he bled to death as the scene unfolded. His blood seeped through the carpet and down into the hardwood floor underneath.

  Precious was the first to die. Ryan shot her, execution-style, causing her body to slump forward. She was found lying on her face. When first responders to the scene had turned her body over, her eyes were still open and tears ran tracks down her cheeks. The two detectives, who had shot Ryan first, were soon shot to death by what looked like gun shots coming in two different directions. Of all the deaths in Precious’ living room that day, Ryan, based on available information, was actually killed last. Forensics determined that he was killed from someone, presumably Tramar, standing over his body and pumping bullets into him. All in all, there were found to be sixteen shell casings from the bullets in the living room.