Grind City

by Gary Hardwick

  “Okay,” said Erik. “Go get to your murder case and make sure you cover your ass.”

  I said goodbye and walked out looking upset and disappointed to cover my ass. I sat at my desk for an hour and then I set out for IAD.

  The Internal Affairs Division is at 65 Cadillac Square, not far from The Sewer. No one wanted them in the precinct for fear of surveillance. At least, that’s what we said. We just didn’t like them much.

  Ivory’s murder was like Christmas for IAD. It was proof that corruption was real and justified everything they thought of themselves, the guardians of the guardians and all that shit. I know they are necessary but I don’t have to like it. Also, I know they got a big ass file on me but I ain’t sweatin’ it.

  I found DeAngela Gomez waiting for me and when I say that, I mean she was looking forward to this, knowing that I’d be in sooner or later.

  DeAngela had been a uniformed cop for only two years before going into IAD. It was no secret that she had political ambitions and was currently in a night public policy program at Wayne State. She had future congresswoman written all over her.

  She was great looking and had a mane of lustrous dark hair, which she was fond of telling people was one hundred percent real. She also had eyes the same color as mine, rare for a black Latino to have green eyes.

  I thought our offices were shitty. The IAD offices where small, cramped and the furniture looked like it was made from matchsticks. But on her desk was a state of the art computer system, a gift from the state probably.

  DeAngela was wearing a navy pencil skirt that was as tight as it could be and a top which opened wide to let you have a nice look.

  Her hair was down and it cascaded over her shoulders and onto her breasts which were on full display.

  “Danny, I am so sorry for your loss,” she said and came to me and gave me a hug.

  “Thanks,” I said knowing she didn’t mean it. “You know why I am here, DeAngela.”

  “And you know I can’t share an investigation with an active duty cop, especially one with a dog in the fight. Too risky.” She walked to her desk and sat on the edge, a move which made the already tight dress even tighter.

  “How bad is it?” I asked. “You can tell me that, at least.”

  “As bad as you can imagine. Something’s rotten in that precinct and everyone has gone brain dead or has amnesia. That girl didn’t beam herself into a cell and do herself in. A cop or cops brought her in and they murdered her. And the surveillance tape has gaps in it. Computer malfunction they are saying.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “FBI wants to arrest every cop in the precinct or at least the main ones on duty but none of them have any connection to the victim— yet. We have surveillance on all of them, but I don’t think any of them will run.”

  “How many suspects are we talking?” I asked.

  “Eight to ten,” said DeAngela.

  “What about Ivory’s friends?” I asked. “She didn’t have her phone. But we know who they are from her social media.”

  “We’ve gotten to all of them but one, and so far, all we know is she was going to meet some of them downtown but never made it.”

  “Which one can’t we find?” I asked.

  “A guy named Raymond Ranier,” said DeAngela. “He was the one who invited her. They call him RaRa.”

  “Is he running?” I asked.

  “We don’t know.”

  “Then you need my help,” I said.

  “Sorry Danny, I want to but—“

  “DeAngela, we can play this game if you want but you know you’re going to help me. You just need a way that covers your ass. You know the cops are going to go cold on you but I can get info that you can’t. Help me and I promise you’ll get credit for whatever I find.”

  She got up from the desk and looked off, assessing. She was probably thinking about what it would mean to her career to close a national case like this. Newspapers, television, talk shows, and all of that sleazy “crime analyst” shit they did these days. It was all good and there was money in it, too.

  Then DeAngela walked over to me and she had that look on her face, the one a woman gets when she is about to move outside of the game men and women play around their attraction.

  “What if I want more than credit,” she said and I could see the seriousness in her eyes.

  “What’s so special about my dick that you always have to go there?” I asked with as little emotion as I could muster. Always best to go right at it with aggressive women.

  “I like that you have integrity and breaking it is part of the thrill. I give it to you and you’re mine. Also, I just want it.”

  “Ain’t it dangerous for a politician to be a freak like this?” I asked with just a little smile.

  “Only if I fuck a loudmouth. I can’t see you being that kind of guy,” she said.

  “A girl is dead, you know,” I said. “That make a difference to you?”

  “I am very sorry but you and I know she probably had it coming, Danny. So far, my take on this girl was she was what my mama called a fast girl. Pretty, angry and into manipulating men. Girls like that always get into trouble and you know it.”

  This really pissed me off but I was close to getting what I wanted and I wasn’t going to let my Irish defeat me. And sadly, she was right about Ivory.

  “I’m sorry that your heart is so cold but all I’m putting on the table is closing a case that will make your career.”

  “You really like that girl, huh?”

  “If you mean Vinny, the mother of my son, yes.”

  “I remember you beat some guy all to hell for shooting her,” said DeAngela. “I want a man who will do that for me.”

  “You gotta be a woman that deserves it,” I said not missing a beat.

  “If you were a real black man, you wouldn’t be able to resist this,” said DeAngela taking a step back. “The brothers love me.”

  “I know. I hear them talking all the time but I’m not intrigued by how little blackness a woman has in her. The opposite is what gets to me.”

  “Wait,” said DeAngela smiling. “Are you saying I’m not dark enough?”

  “Not black enough,” I said. “Two different things.”

  She laughed fully now. “Well, it’s nice to know that you just don’t like me. I guess I can live with that.”

  “I never said that,” I said. “I like you just fine but you can’t have everything you want, no matter how good it looks. A man ain’t no good to nobody if he’s easily tempted by all the ass life has to offer.”

  “This is really turning me on,” said DeAngela.

  “I know,” I said with a little triumph in my voice.

  She moved away and sat down behind her cheap desk. I fully expected to hear that dress rip as she did but it didn’t.

  “I’m gonna need a report every couple of days or so and needless to say, you cannot tell anyone. Also, if you make an arrest, I want to be there.”

  “That could be dangerous,” I said. “I can’t guarantee that.”

  “No deal then,” said DeAngela. “I’m going to be wherever the action is on this one.”

  “Okay,” I relented, “but if you get shot, I’m gonna have to beat up somebody again.”

  That got me a big, pretty smile from her. “I’ll send you what I have discreetly and it is not to be shared,” said DeAngela.

  “The first thing I need is a big one,” I said. “I need access to the M.E.”

  **********

  Dr. Fiona Walker was in very good spirits for a woman who saw death almost every day of her life. Fiona was an albino and had recently gotten contact lenses that gave her normal looking eyes but with her pallid skin, she still disappeared into her white lab coat as she worked.

  I stood with her in the cold room over Ivory’s body and for once, I was unsettled. It was hard looking at the corpse of someone you knew, especially when she’s naked.

  I’d called Vinny and told her that I was in.
She was elated and did not ask about DeAngela, thankfully.

  Vinny sent a list of Ivory’s friends back to me. Her cell phone wasn’t going to be found and I’d might need to track them down after Fiona gave me the medical info.

  “You sure you can handle this, Danny?” asked Fiona.

  “Don’t have a choice,” I said.

  “Not surprised to see you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to let this go. I’d advise against it but who listens to me.”

  “I do,” I said honestly. “Just not in this case.”

  “It’s not good news,” said Fiona. “She was beaten and strangled. See the marks on her face above the ligature. He was probably right handed and… she may have been assaulted sexually before.”

  “Jesus,” I said. And immediately imagined having to tell this to Vinny and the rest of her family.

  “I got trauma in the vaginal and anal regions. Whoever did it sanitized the area. I checked for hair and skin. Nothing.”

  “Or she took a shower,” I said. “Could this have just been rough sex?” I asked remembering what Bakersfield had told me.

  “Maybe,” said Fiona. “The assault happened before the strangulation and get this, I am not certain any of this happened in the precinct. The time of death is very close. So, she could have been killed, then brought in this way.”

  What happened next is something I cannot fully explain. From somewhere in my knowledge of crime and of Ivory, I began to put things together. The sexual nature of the act had set my mind off. Who would rape a girl and then kill her in a police station or worse do it and then place her there? Ivory was indeed a fast girl and very sexually provocative and violent criminals sometimes punished their victim in a way connected to the perceived offense against them.

  “Was she pregnant?” I asked.

  “How the fuck do you do that?” asked Fiona. “That’s goddamned scary, man. Yes, she was just about six weeks, I think.”

  “Can we determine who the father was if we get a suspect?”

  “Yes,” said Fiona still looking at me funny. “Anyway, we got nothing from her apartment, just her prints. We might get lucky when we find the car.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath on that,” I said. “A cop would know just how to get rid of the ride.”

  I fell silent as Fiona got back into it. I was working out how it could have gone down. Ivory gets stopped and has sex with a rogue cop. They fight, he kills her but why take her to the precinct? No. The cop that got her pregnant, takes her in to talk or to scare her because she won’t get rid of the baby and things go left. Maybe. And who cut the surveillance and how did they get her in and into a cell that’s probably controlled by an electric lock? That would be least three men involved…

  “I got a boyfriend,” said Fiona.

  “What?” I asked returning from my thoughts.

  “Man, you’re a dummy. You can pull that pregnancy shit out of thin air but can’t see right before your eyes. Look at me.”

  I did. Fiona had styled her hair which was almost never done and she was wearing a very nice dress under her boxy lab coat.

  “I uh, congratulations. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I know you got a lot to think about. This is the first man who’s been interested in me since I started getting treated for my albinism. I’m never gonna be nice and pink like the other girls, but I’m not suffering any of the other symptoms anymore.”

  “That’s great, Fiona,” I said a little hesitantly. Fiona was a friend and one of the best ME’s in the nation. She was always there to help me and yet I had never thought of her as an actual person. She struggled with her affliction and was working hard to become whole again and I had not even noticed. “I’m sorry, I’ve been distracted with stuff.”

  “I know, a baby, promotion, new house, a free one.”

  “Well, it was. They reneged on that and so now we do have to pay for it, but we got a good price.”

  “I’m not mad,” said Fiona. “I’m happy for you. God knows you need some happiness. If it wasn’t for Vinny, I’m pretty sure you’d be dead by now… or a lot of bad guys would be. Anyway, I hate to do this to you but I want you to meet my guy. You got a good sense of people and before I go too far with him, I want you to give him the once over.”

  “Sure, I will Fiona,” I said. “I guess we’re all kinda broken in this business.”

  “How’s the baby?”

  “Great,” I said.

  “Must be,” she said. “You look like you want to smile but can’t. That’s real progress.”

  She looked at me for a moment, and her eyes fluttered over the contacts she wore which hid the ice gray of her real eyes and I noticed for the first time that despite her very pale skin, that she was a nice looking woman. Suddenly, I felt guilty, like I’d been neglecting her all these years.

  “Be careful telling your family about this,” said Fiona. “It won’t make things better.”

  “I don't want to tell them,” I said. “Not until we get a suspect in custody.”

  Fiona wrapped it up for me and it was clear that Ivory had died a very nasty and violent death. A man had killed a woman and her unborn baby, a baby that was his.

  I thought briefly about my son and what it would take for me to harm a child. Whoever my killer was, he had no heart, which made him a much more dangerous man than me.

  5

  RENARDO

  For so long, he had been something else, a criminal they said, a lowlife scum and the like. But that was only because drugs were still a dirty business to most folks. Silly, but that’s how it was.

  What were people going to hate when drugs became legal, he wondered? It was just a matter of time. Look at Colorado and Oregon. They almost got it in Ohio, but they got greedy. Funny how white men were going to make money off something they used to lock up black men, by making it a business.

  Well, now he was a businessman, shady maybe but he wore a suit and tie and did not have to look over his shoulder each day.

  Renardo Peoples had done his time in the crews, selling whatever shit ass package the big boys dropped on the street. He saw all his friends die or go to jail and watched as the so-called legends went down one by one: T-Bone, The Union, Gregory Cane and last year, iDT.

  But he had survived because he was smart. He followed the rules. He never used drugs. He only hooked up with good girls and did not get them pregnant. He bought off the violent cops but never told them anything. He saved his money and most of all, he never killed unless he absolutely had to. Now, he would fuck your ass up, but killing? People still got all bent out of shape about that, as if they really cared about any of these people in the ‘hood.

  Dope was a good business no matter what people said but it was going out of style. Getting high was slowly being accepted by America. We had at least three Presidents who admitted getting high. So, it was just a matter of time before everybody understood that getting high was a fact of life. And then what? They’d be selling crack in the grocery store right next to the broccoli.

  Renardo saw a better business in Detroit now and he had seen it way before the city went down in that damned bankruptcy.

  Real estate.

  Soon, the white folks would come back into the city to take what was theirs and they would push all the blacks out to the suburbs and into pockets of shitty neighborhoods. And he was ready for it. He knew which neighborhoods white folks would covet and so for the last three years, he had been forcing these old ass bible thumping grannies out.

  He’d wait until they got into trouble or one of their worthless ass kids, then he’d move in with cold, hard cash for the house. They went for it and then he’d low-ball them. From there he and his partner would sell high or hold on to it depending on where it was.

  He sat across from one such granny now, a woman who had agreed to sell to him and then changed her mind, after taking the advance, of course. She had the money on the table and was giving it back to him.

  Renardo was an odd-l
ooking man. He was lanky with a long face and a beard that he kept groomed along with his afro. He had long arms and long fingers on which he wore rings of different colors, like his man The Mandarin. He favored dark sun glasses even indoors because he felt it made him look menacing. Once, he was mistaken for the rap artist, André 3000.

  Renardo had tried every manner of reason with this granny but she had it in her head that her minister was right and that she should get out of the deal she made with no contract. Contracts were messy and so Renardo stayed away from them until the end.

  “Miss Temple,” said Renardo. “We had a deal and I kept it off the books so you could use the advance to get your grandson out of trouble. He’s out now, right?”

  The grandson in question, a fat, simple-faced boy named Bramah sat next to his granny and looked as guilty and upset as you might imagine. He kept his eyes averted, knowing that all of this was his fault.

  “Yes,” said Miss Temple. “And I thank you for that, it was a blessing, but my pastor, the Reverend Paymer says my house is worth a lot more than you’re giving me.”

  She was a nice looking lady of about sixty-five. She had long black and gray hair that she pressed and tied back. She looked considerably younger which most black women did. And Miss Temple had a beautiful set of false teeth, which had been a present from her daughter on her last birthday.

  “It might be worth more but it might not be,” said Renardo. “I’m taking that risk. None of that is relevant because you made a promise to me and now you’re taking it back.”

  “And I feel bad about that,” said Miss Temple. “I know what I said but I was desperate and now I see things clearly.”

  “Where’d you get this money on the table?” asked Renardo.

  “My pastor gave it to me,” said Miss Temple.

  “I see,” said Renardo. He took the money from the table and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

  “Thank you for being so understanding,” said Miss Temple. “I didn’t want any trouble. You see, Bramah,” she said to her grandson. “I told you he’d understand. People are all reasonable in the Lord’s House.”