Grind City

by Gary Hardwick

  “Yes. He’s solved the case already.”

  I went into the kitchen and soon I was holding RMC as I ate my dinner. I fed him a little. Boy couldn’t stand to see other people eat without him.

  “So, did you get anything?” asked Vinny.

  “Yes,” I said and I told her everything I knew except that her sister was a freak. No need to go there yet.

  “Damn,” said Vinny. “A married doctor. Ivory was never one to shrink away from controversy or a dick.”

  I laughed a little at her joke and she smiled, realizing that she had made one.

  “So you know what I’m thinking,” I said. “A bad cop or maybe two did this and covered it up because of the baby.”

  “Then all we need are suspects and a DNA match,” said Vinny.

  “Yeah but we gotta get ‘em first. I heard there are going to be maybe ten suspects in all.”

  “What about the doctor?” asked Vinny. “He could be the father.”

  “I’ll get a sample from him,” I said. “But I don’t think he’s the father. I know this sounds crazy, but if he was, he’d own up to it.”

  “Thank God I wasn’t there with you. I might have stomped his ass,” said Vinny.

  “I thought about it,” I said. “But as Mr. El said, you know Ivory.”

  “What did he mean by that?” asked Vinny.

  When you lose someone, I think your brain just wipes out all reason and logic about the dead person. All you remember are the good things and compromises on the bad. But we were trying to find a murderer and there was no reason to soft peddle the victim to another cop.

  “He meant Ivory was hard-headed, mean and arrogant,” I said. “She was playing men and she messed with the wrong guy.”

  This hurt Vinny’s feelings a little but I could see her processing this truth.

  “We were trying to get her to change,” said Vinny. “Me, Easter, Ivanna, all of us. But she was just so full of herself. She put up a picture on Instagram of herself coming out of the shower and it got a hundred thousand likes. That’s like a whole damned city worth of men. We couldn’t compete with that.”

  “Erik used to say, ‘ain’t no cure for young and pretty,’” I said. “Think I know what he meant now.”

  “Another thing,” said Vinny. “We found money at Ivory’s place, a lot of it.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Six thousand and change. Cash,” said Vinny.

  Now my head was filled with thoughts of drug deals and payoffs. No way Ivory earned that kind of jack at her job.

  “That’s not good,” I said. “Anything else there?”

  “No,” said Vinny. “We’re gonna use the money to bury her.”

  The baby began to cry and I resisted the impulse to pass him to his mother. I’d done that a lot and had gotten told off about it.

  Vinny reached for the baby and I passed him over. I guess she was feeling very maternal given recent events.

  “IAD’s gonna have those suspects soon,” I said. “As soon as tomorrow, I’m hoping.”

  “Man, we sure are taking a beating lately,” said Vinny. “Don’t know what’s gotten into folks. Shoot first, kill a man if he doesn’t want to comply. What the fuck?”

  “It’s a lot of things,” I said. I’d been thinking about this for a while. “First, we gotta stop making it so easy to get on the force. It’s not like working in a damned supermarket. You don’t get the job if you can lift the gun. Some of these new cops are weak and angry and that’s a bad combination. If I could, I’d throw out about twenty percent of the guys.”

  “And who do we get to replace them? No one wants the job anymore.”

  “That’s the second thing. We need to get paid more money. This volunteer for nobility shit is over. Just like the Army. Make it a good ass job and the best men will come for it.”

  “Not even,” said Vinny laughing a little. “You got your job because of your father in part. We have to get rid of the nepotism and bias in the hiring and I wouldn’t hold my breath for that.”

  “Hold up,” I said. “You trying to say I would not have been a cop if it wasn't for my dad?”

  “It would have been harder,” said Vinny. “And yes, maybe you might not have made it the first time. Didn’t you have some psych issues?”

  She was right. I did. I didn’t do so good on the test and the psychologist flagged me. My father and some other cops vouched for me and it all went away. Damn, I hated it when she was right about racial shit.

  “You got me,” I said. “But I wouldn’t have given up.”

  “I’m already worried,” said Vinny, as her face suddenly went flat. “When RMC gets to be a teenager, what are cops gonna think when they see him?”

  This was something I did not want to talk about. Because I was white, I was in some real denial about my son being something else. I wanted him to just be a person, but that was not going to happen. He was definitely a black boy and his lighter skin, hair and eyes would not make a damned bit of difference to some asshole. In fact, I knew that he would likely get shit from black and white people and that made me even more upset.

  “They’re gonna treat him like any other black kid,” I said. “Whatever that will be in fifteen years. I just hope I don’t have to kill somebody if something happens to him because I don’t think anyone could stop me— or you.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. Vinny was more even-tempered but she was a lot meaner.

  “You get anything in suit land?” I asked looking to change the subject.

  “Some,” said Vinny. “The city is already dreading a lawsuit and the big shots had a big meeting about the bad publicity now that the city is coming back. Just like I thought, there’s talk about cleaning out the 11th. The Black Lives Matter people are getting permits for a rally and they are still calling us but we are not going in with them.”

  “They could be useful to us down the road,” I said.

  “How?” she asked.

  “They attract a lot of attention and no one will be looking at us, you feel me?”

  “I do,” said Vinny. “Marcus Jr. and Ivanna have friends in the group. I’ll tell them to keep a life-line open with one of them just in case.”

  I finished my dinner and then Vinny got RMC ready for bed. She read to him each night even though he had no idea what she was saying. This was supposed to make him smarter in the long run.

  I took a turn even though I thought it was silly. He did seem to like that book called Go, Dog. Go!

  Vinny and I called the family and let them know some of the things we knew. We held back the nastier elements for now and assured them that Ivory’s body would soon be released.

  I planned out my next steps on my cover case as well as who I would talk to next on Ivory’s murder. So far, I knew a lot of Ivory’s personal business but nothing that could lead me to her killer or killers.

  In my heart, I was so glad that we didn’t have a girl. I don’t think many men want girls because of the world we live in. We treat women like shit and then fear for our own women in the world we’ve made against them.

  Vinny called me to come into the bedroom and I was surprised when she stepped out of the bathroom wearing a full business suit and high heels. Her braids fell over one shoulder and she pushed some of them back over.

  “I have court tomorrow,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “You look good, I mean smart,” I joked.

  “Too sexy?” she asked as she turned letting me see it all.

  Now, I knew this was about DeAngela. See, there are two ways a woman can go if she’s feeling jealous or intimidated by another woman. She can chastise you for being a man or she can reward you and make you remember that you already made the only choice you need to make.

  Vinny’s outfit was too sexy. The skirt was really short and her top plunged down showing as much breast as she could. She looked like a businesswoman in a porno.

  “You might want to pull back some,” I said as I
felt myself getting worked up about it. “I thought you didn’t want me to get into how you dress.“

  “Just asking,” she said and this time, she didn’t even try to hide her intention. “Here, help me get this off.”

  Vinny turned her hip to me and patted it by a zipper. I walked over and kissed her as I pushed her into the bathroom and slowly pulled that zipper down. I had to peel that skirt off her it was so tight, but I got it done.

  Vinny started to take my shirt off but I stopped her. Instead, I continued to undress her until she was fully naked— except for the shoes, of course.

  We kissed some more and she tried to undress me again but I stopped her. I liked her being the one exposed.

  I moved in for the kill, then the baby made a noise and immediately we both stopped and waited. This was a new reality of life as a parent. There was another person in the house.

  I went to check on RMC. He was fine. When I came back, Vinny was on the bed, still naked, shoes on and waiting.

  “Get in here,” she said.

  I pretty much ripped off my clothes as I was now over the game and eager to get it. One of my buttons flew off my shirt as we tugged at it.

  We engaged in the familiarities of each other’s sexual preferences and it was good as always. Vinny is a full-bodied woman with beautiful skin and a beautiful face. Often, I take small moments to just look at her and savor her loveliness, moments that I know turn her on.

  We kissed and licked and grabbed at each other as I kept a steady rhythm and she struggled to keep quiet.

  “I love you, so much,” she said.

  It was unusual for her to be given to this kind of statement during sex but I knew it was the tragedy and the need to feel human in a world that was suddenly filled with inhumanity.

  “I love you too,” I said, not missing a beat.

  It felt good to say this during this connection knowing that the next day, we would both be back to the grim business of finding a killer.

  7

  CHICKEN BOX

  I walked into Regina’s Honey Fried Chicken a little after it opened at ten. It was an unassuming little place that was known for having some of the best fried chicken in the city. Rumor was, Regina Long pressure cooked her chicken after dipping it in a batter made of honey and other secret ingredients.

  There were only two customers eating at a little table, but the place had a long line for carryout. In that line, I saw the usual working folk, a couple of single moms who were on the dole and a kid who should have been in school, who was probably cutting or maybe working in a crew.

  None of them really held my attention as I moved to the head of the line and showed the cashier my badge and asked for the manager, Mr. Long.

  In the back, Regina herself worked with her employees. She did not see me and I wasn’t here to see her, so I said nothing but I did get a good whiff of what she was cooking and it smelled like heaven.

  The chicken joint’s neighborhood was also home to a local drug dealer named Every Wadson who had been killed last week. Every. That was one I had never heard.

  Black people name their kids what seem to be strange and made up names. People unfamiliar with the culture often laugh, even as they name their kids “Scout” and “Apple” and shit like that.

  Well, of course it comes from a place of pain and theft of culture and history. I know this because I’ve been lectured by friends, colleagues and criminals over the years. Every’s mom just wanted her boy to have some uniqueness of his own, something that he could carry with him forever.

  Every Wadson and his unique name terrorized the little neighborhood, selling dope, running off rivals and collecting protection from the local businesses. If you didn’t pay him, he’d send some young kids to your place and vandalize it at night or maybe deface your ride or worse.

  I was sure Regina’s had been paying him. Every had most folks afraid of him and rightly so. He was a violent criminal born to a mother who had been one of the most notorious drug dealers in the early 1980’s.

  Shirley Wadson was called “Ice” on the street because she had the peculiar habit of sucking on ice cubes instead of drinking water. She was killed in a gunfight but not before leaving the world her little bundle of joy.

  Someone had had enough of this nigga and killed him, let him have it with his own gun. They’d blown his head off. Shot him in the neck at close range and his head fell to one side, hanging on by a few muscles and skin. The killer had dropped the gun, wiped his prints and took off.

  And yes, I do say the N-word, but only to myself. All white people do. Let’s just leave it at that.

  This was a major crime because the deceased was connected to two major drug suppliers and the savagery of the killing suggested a turf war. I didn’t think so, but that idea served my purpose.

  Every smoked a lot of weed and had a bad habit of using his own stash and was known to get high and sleep from about noon to three each day, normal down time for drug boys.

  Last week, while he was asleep, someone just walked into his house and shot him. Every just sat there in the chair for days until the smell alerted his neighbors.

  No one had said anything and no one was talking so far. I had to officially start working this case so I figured I should check out Every’s killer and make sure he did not skip town. Yes, I knew who did it. I knew the night I went to the dead drug dealer’s house.

  “Mr. Long?” I said as a man opened the rear door and walked out.

  “Yes,” said the man who was about forty-five, black and as mild mannered looking a guy as I’d ever seen.

  “I’m Detective Cavanaugh. I’d like a moment of your time.”

  “What about?” asked John Long nervously. “Not that drug dealer?”

  He had a look of alarm in his eyes. I would too, if I had killed a man and a detective came to my door.

  “Yes. I’m working the case,” I said calmly.

  “What do you want from me?” asked John.

  “I’m interviewing potential witnesses from the neighborhood. You were there that night when we investigated.”

  “We were all watching, the whole street,” said John looking a little calmer now. “Boy was a menace, in case you didn’t know.”

  “We do know. Can I speak to you in the back office?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, sure.”

  We walked into the office and it was actually a very nice one. It looked like a mini executive suite. I guess John didn’t care that his customers had a shitty place to eat but he would be damned of he didn’t have a nice office to work in.

  “I remember you,” said John. “Not many white boys sound like that. Where’d you grow up?”

  “East side, outside of Hamtramck,” I said.

  “Pączkis,” said John. “Man, I love those. City’s full of them damned Arabs now.”

  “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m trying to close the case and I have a theory.”

  “Okay,” said John. “Make it quick because I have to get back to work soon.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I noticed that Every had some of your chicken at his place when he died. He probably liked to get high and eat it. But he was asleep when he was shot, according to the M.E.”

  “Yeah, he was a regular,” said John. “You can see, a lot of people are. We sell a good product.”

  “But you don’t deliver,” I said. “Someone brought him that chicken. Don’t think he bought it then fell asleep before eating. His meal was untouched. In fact, it was in the garbage. Someone put it in there. They actually picked up some trash to hide the chicken box under it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out whoever brought that chicken, also shot the man.”

  “Maybe one of his crew brought it,” said John, too quickly. “They come in for him all the time.”

  “I thought about that,” I said. “Funny thing is, they all have a good alibi. They got picked up by the police for selling around the time of the murder.”

  John was shak
ing now and I knew he’d lose it in a second. He walked over to his sofa and sat on the arm.

  “I knew it,” said John. “I know that—“

  “Now, I don’t know who did it,” I said, cutting him off. “Really, I’d like to give whoever did it a medal. Every Wadson was suspected in at least three murders, convicted of robbery and assault. Once, he was going to prison for raping a thirteen year old girl, when the victim’s mother mysteriously broke her arm and then the victim refused to testify. Also, he beat a dog to death a year ago, according to your neighbors.”

  “He did,” said John in a low voice. “It was my neighbor’s dog. Roscoe got loose and was barking loudly and… Yes, Every was a bad person, terrible. I didn’t mean—“

  “You should know,” I said, “that I plan to investigate this murder for the next few months. Thing is, I’m just working on a theory here and I’m not sure if this chicken clue will lead anywhere, even though I have what looks to be a good fingerprint on the box that chicken was in.”

  John winced as I said this. He had been careful not to leave fingerprints on the gun, but he rushed to get out and in his haste, had forgotten that he touched the chicken box. I had not taken the box to forensics. It was in a plastic bag in evidence. I was just holding it but John didn’t know that.

  “So, be careful what you say,” I continued. “It could make me have to do something I don’t want to do.”

  John was much calmer now as he had figured out that I had no intention of taking him in for killing a piece of filth like Every Wadson.

  “I uh, okay,” said John. “But what do I— uh what would a person do if that chicken box business was real?”

  “He would call my boss in three weeks and complain that I am harassing him trying to solve this case and he would get a very trusted friend to do the same for him, three weeks later and he would make sure both complaints were in writing, email form, so that it will go in my reports.”

  “Okay,” said John. “Okay, detective. I got it and I’ll mark it on my calendar. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “I will close this case. I just need time to find a way so that no good people get into trouble.”