Hustle & Heartache

by D. Gamblez

  “Sure sounds like it,” JJ mumbled in a sing-song voice.

  Miracle threw him a narrow-eyed glare before continuing her complaint. “...but I’m just saying I thought I’d be the obvious choice.”

  “Miracle, the reason I didn’t pick you was because you are the obvious choice,” I said.

  “Huh? Come again?” she asked confusedly.

  “I didn’t pick you, Miracle, because you don’t have anything to prove, but Royce and Shonda do. You’re a detective. You, Vida, JJ, and Oliver are this city’s finest detectives and Royce and Hawkins are trying to get where you guys already are. But in order for them to do that, they have to prove themselves to the powers that be that they can be what you guys have already established yourselves to be.”

  “Sounds like a commercial promoting Army recruitment,” Miracle chuckled.

  Now it was my turn to shoot her a narrow-eyed glare.

  “Sorry, boss,” she said, her hands up but a small smile still playing at the corner of her lips.

  “Oh. Yeah, I didn’t think of it like that,” JJ responded.

  “So we’re good now?” I asked.

  “Hell yeah, we good, boss,” she said with a small smile.

  “Good.”

  “Yeah, even I knew that much,” JJ chimed.

  “‘Yeah, even I knew that much,’” Miracle retorted in a childlike voice, mocking JJ.

  “Anyway,” JJ sighed as we entered the nightclub. “Now that we’ve given little Miracle back her ego, how many we got, Sarge?”

  “Six total. Two dead, four wounded. One’s in critical condition. From witnesses’ statements, I know at least eight people were involved in the shooting. Two of the shooters are the two dead guys I mentioned. Not sure if any of the survivors were involved, but I’m not ruling it out until I know for sure.”

  It was total chaos inside the club. Shattered glass from the mirrored walls littered the floor. The wall of bottles behind the bar was nearly devoid of any type of choice-liquor or beer as most of it had been shattered from bullets and were now in sharp, jagged pieces all over the countertop and floor. Bullet holes riddled the ceiling, walls, furniture, and even the floor. It was as if the shooters were having target practice instead of trying to kill each other. But that was definitely not the case.

  Three bodies were lying spread-eagled on the floor, each covered with a white sheet out of respect for the dead, but mostly because the forensics team had a hard time doing their jobs because of creepy superstitions about eyes of the dead following them as they walked around the room.

  “Sarge?”I heard someone call out beside me. I looked over at Miracle and realized she had been talking. I had been too distracted by the gruesome scene. “You good, boss?” she said, placing a steady hand on my arm.

  “Y-Yeah, I...I’m fine,” I struggled to say. But I was not fine. I was getting very dizzy and my vision began to blur.

  “You don’t look so good, Sarge,” I faintly heard JJ say. Then everything went dark.

  “When’s the last time you’ve had anything to eat or drink?” the old Lebanese man in a white lab coat asked me. He had dark skin that looked leathery, and his gray hair was combed in a way that it almost revealed the bald spot on top of his head. I took a glance at his nametag and tried to sound out the words.

  “Doctor Moo-Mousse... Must...”

  “Mustapha. Moo-Stah-Fah,” he sounded out for me.”Don’t worry, everybody gets it wrong the first time. Now, again, when’s the last time you’ve had anything to eat or drink?”

  Miracle had rushed me to the hospital while a reluctant JJ had stayed behind to oversee the crime scene. Once the doctor had determined that I was in no immediate danger, I had sent Miracle back to the crime scene to assist JJ. I was now in with the resident MD, getting a full check-up.

  “Well, let’s see...” I said, alternating raising both my legs over the side of the examination table like a little kid. “Besides the chicken pot-pie I had a couple nights ago, then the orange juice I had this morning at work...” I answered. “Um, I don’t know, ten hours ago, maybe. Oh! I had a stick of gum about an hour ago. Does that count?”

  “Sergeant Mills, this is not something I consider to be humorous,” Doctor Mustapha stated. He stared at me like I was a kid who had been sent to the principal’s office for acting out in class. “Starvation from lack of food and drink due to a poor diet is no laughing matter. In some countries, malnutrition is the number one cause of death. But it’s not because the people suffering from it don’t want to eat−it’s because they don’t have anything to eat.”

  “I’m sorry, Doc,” I sighed. “I wasn’t trying to poke fun. It’s just that I’ve been way busy as of late, so I barely have the time to grab a bite. But I promise to start eating better. I mean, especially after this.”

  “Of course you will,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Because it is exactly what I am prescribing you. I understand you work long hours, that you have to be out solving or preventing crime at all hours of the day so, for now, I’m giving you a prescription for the vending machines out in the lobby. You can grab a snack from there until you get home and put something more filling and nutritious in your stomach. And those are the doctor’s orders, young lady.”

  “Thanks, Doctor Mustapha. Can I go now?” I was anxious to get back to the nightclub case.

  “Sure,” he said, but not before giving me a look that said ‘Eat...or else’. “Just remember: you can’t protect people if you’re not alive to do it. And get some rest. Those bags under your eyes make you look like one of those damn raccoons I keep finding rummaging through my garbage cans every morning.”

  “Got it, Doc,” I said, hopping down off the examination table. “Thanks again. For the advice on healthcare and for the tip on where to find the vending machines. I’ll get right on it,” I said as I headed quickly out of his office and nearly collided with Oliver and Vida.

  “You good, Sarge?” Vida asked. “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing a good meal can’t cure,” I said. I needed my team focused on the case, not worrying about whether or not I was eating.”Where are we at with the partygoers? They have anything to contribute?”

  “Nothing pertinent to the shooting,” Oliver answered.

  “Yeah, that sounds like the usual. And no witnesses, right?”

  “None willing to come forward,” Oliver sighed. “Looks like gang war to me, Sarge. But I’m not so sure about that theory either. Sergeant Foster and the rest of the Gang Unit left before we even got there, so I’m thinking it was something else.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” I nodded. “That sonofabitch Foster wouldn’t have even let us anywhere near the crime scene until he and his guys were done if it’d been gang related. No, I think this was some kind of personal beef gone a little too far.”

  “There is one victim that I think might be able to tell us what happened at that club,” Oliver said. “That is if she pulls through.”

  That got my attention. “What do you mean, ‘if she pulls through’? How bad are we talking, Oliver?”

  He flipped open his notepad. “Vanessa Johnson. Gender is female. Age 19. African American. She was shot twice, one bullet in her upper-torso, inches from her heart, and one bullet in her abdomen. Direct results of a Mac-10 from what I was able to gather from ballistics. She’s in surgery now, but chances of recovery are looking bleaker by the second. That’s what the doctor says, anyway.”

  “Sounds like a pretty fucked up way to spend your night,” Vida said, shaking her head.

  “What makes you think she’ll be able to tell us what happened?” I asked.

  “All of the other partygoers who sustained gunshot wounds only had been shot once or was grazed by a bullet, but this girl had two bullets put into her at what looks to have been at close range. Seems to me she was either the intended target or at least one of the targets. That’d be my guess.”

  I nodded slowly, taking it all in, considering the information I had just been handed.<
br />
  “All right, you guys get back to the crime scene and assist Miracle and JJ. Gather as much information as you can, and remember, nothing’s too small to be considered as evidence. Keep me posted on any new developments. I’m gonna hang around here for a bit to see if the girl pulls through. If she was involved in the shooting, I wanna be the first one she sees when and if she wakes up. Don’t want her friends or family coming in and helping her with some sort of cover story.”

  “Good thinking, Sarge,” Oliver nodded.

  “Sure you don’t want one of us to hang back with you for a bit?” Vida asked. I could hear the concern in her voice.

  “Trust me, babe,” I assured her. “I’m good. Besides, if I pass out again, at least I’ll already be in a hospital.”

  They both looked at me with winkled brow.

  “I’m just kidding, guys,” I smiled, trying to put their minds at ease. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

  “All right, boss,” Vida lightened. “We’ll keep you posted.”

  “You do know I’m driving, right?” I heard Oliver inform Vida as they headed towards the exit.

  “Fine, but you’re buying me coffee in the morning, Speed Racer,” Vida countered.

  “That’s cool. What are you drinking?”

  I did not hear Vida’s response because they had already exited through the automatic double-doors. But it did not matter; I knew what she would say. “Dunk N’ Donuts dark roasted coffee; two sugars, vanilla cream, and an apple fritter for good luck.” I knew that is what she would say because it is what she always said whenever someone offered to buy her coffee.

  “Great, now I want coffee,” I muttered to myself as I massaged my temples. “Guess I’ll just have to settle for a Pepsi−no, a Mountain Dew. Yeah, I’m in a Mountain Dew kind of mood right now. Probably get some corn chips, too, while I’m at it. Now...where did the Doc say those vending machines were at again?”

  It took me about five minutes to locate the vending machines. All the hustle and bustle going on about the hospital, plus the fact that no one would help me on my quest for food−not even willing to point me in the right direction−had me going in circles. Until I spotted a woman handing her little boy a five dollar bill and instructing him to bring her a box of Crunch N’ Munch from the vending machines.

  “You’re not getting away from me that easy,” I said as I quickly followed the boy. After he led me to the machines, which were in the lobby as the doctor had informed me, I waited impatiently until the kid figured out how to work the damn buttons on the machine. I nearly did it for him myself, but he figured it out at the last second.

  “Okay, let’s see what we got here,” I said to myself as I reached in my pocket for some money. To my dismay, my pockets were completely bare. “What the shit? Oh, come on! You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said aloud, causing a few stares in my direction. I had been in such a rush to get to the crime scene that I had forgotten my money clip. I did not even have change on me.”This night just gets better and better,” I said, defeated, leaning my head up on the glass of the machine as I stared in at the elusive junk food.

  Sorry, Doc. Guess eating’s gonna have to wait a little while longer.

  Audi

  I packed a small suitcase, which was really my pink Body & Fitness gym bag. Damn, this thing’s too small, but it’ll suffice for what I’m using it for at the moment. After the tall black guy who introduced himself as Lieutenant Hensley had no choice but to release us due to lack of evidence linking us to the shooting at club Déjà Vu, he had instructed the officers to remove our cuffs and allowed us to leave, but not before warning us that he would be keeping a close eye on us.

  Afterwards, Dre had instructed the limo driver to drop everyone off so that we could all travel in our own vehicles to the hospital to be with Lyrical. Dre had asked me if I would spend the night with him, and I had not hesitated to say yes. I wanted to be by my man’s side in this time of emotional trauma. In case Lyrical did not make it, I did not want him being alone.

  I took off my dress and threw on my Apple Bottom shorts and a pink crop top, but then I felt guilty for trying to look cute for Dre while Lyrical was probably clinging to life this very moment. So I changed into a pair of baggy jeans and a white tank top instead. Then I put my hair into a ponytail, grabbed my gym bag and headed out the door, being extra quiet so as not to wake my mother or Roy-Boy.

  I knew if I took even a moment to think I would break down and cry, probably vomit as well. We had just murdered people. It did not matter to me that it was in self-defense; we had murdered people.

  I know I should be freaking out right now, but I need to keep it together for Dre. He acts tough, and I know he is to some extent, but I also know this is something none of us do on a daily basis. This isn’t our life, so I know he’s probably freaking out on the inside, even if on the outside he’s just trying to look tough.

  Locking the door behind me, I put my set of house keys in my pocket and headed towards Dre’s Chevy Caprice, which was parked in the driveway right behind Roy-Boy’s white pickup truck. I threw my bag in the backseat and as soon as I hopped in the car, my mother came running out of the house. She was wearing nothing but a see-through negligee. She had not even bothered to put shoes on. And her usually well-groomed hair was wild and unkempt. She looked like a banshee.

  “Here we go with this bullshit,” Dre muttered.

  “Where the fuck you been at, Audriana?”my mother asked, her tone demanding. “It’s after midnight. I’ve been worrying my ass off all goddamn day. Not knowing if you’ve been killed or shot or raped or any fucking thing. You hear me talking to you, young lady? And what the fuck are you doing with this little punk? Huh? And why you got that look on your face? Did he do something to you?”

  I did not respond as I was not exactly sure how to.

  “Oh, God, Audriana! Didn’t I tell you this was gonna happen to you? Huh? This boy’s nothing but a punk and a drug dealer, and if you stay with him, he’s gonna take you to prison right next to him. You hear me, young lady?”

  “I ain’t got time for this shit right now, Mom,” I said irritably. I tried closing the car door, but she grabbed hold of it and held it open.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?” she asked. “I know you didn’t just disrespect me in front of my own goddamn house. You ‘bout to get slapped, is what your ass ‘bout to get! Keep running your motherfucking smart-ass mouth and see if I don’t show you I ain’t playin’ with you. Now get your ass up out this car and get in this fucking house. Right fucking now, Audriana!”

  “You know what, Mom? Fuck you!” After years of verbal abuse from my mother, plus after the night I was having−being shot at, being grazed by a bullet, and seeing Lyrical all shot up like that, not knowing if she was going to live or die, I had finally had enough of my mother’s bullshit. “I’m tired of putting up with your shit. I’m a grown-ass woman, and I ain’t gonna let you or no other bitch talk to me like that. Not anymore, not after tonight, and not ever again. Or I’ma be the one slapping the shit outta somebody. Now step your ass away from my man’s ride, and you get your ass up in the fucking house!”

  My mother stared at me like she had just found out that I was Satan himself and that I had her soul. Then her face twisted up in anger.”That’s how you talk to me now? That’s how you talk to the woman who brought your little punk ass into this world? Huh?”

  More than irritated with her, I tried reasoning with my mother before things got worse. “Look, Mom, I don’t have time for this shit right now, okay? Please, Mom, just go back in the house. Regardless of how you feel about it, I’m leaving with Dre, so there ain’t shit you can say that can get me to—”

  “Fuck you, you disrespectful, ungrateful little bitch!” My mother said to me.

  Then she pulled her arm back and clocked me right in the mouth…

  That was the last straw, I thought to myself after tasting blood in my mouth.

  My mother must have caught a glim
pse of my anger because hers quickly subsided. “Now, Audriana, you better remember who’s the adult and who’s the—”

  “You fucking bitch!” I spat, hopping out of the car and grabbing both her wrists. Standing this close to her, I had not realized how short she was in comparison to me. I was looking down at her.

  “Get the fuck off me, you little bitch!” she shouted, struggling to get free of my grip. But I was stronger than she was, much stronger, stronger than I ever thought I could be.

  “Calm down, Mom, and I’ll let you go,” I said all mother-like, as if she was the child and I was the adult.

  “Let me go!” she shouted.”

  “Okay,” I said softly. I waited until she tried to yank away from me again, and when she did, I let go of her wrists and she fell back onto thewet grass. When she hit the ground, her negligee ripped open somehow and I noticed that she did not have any underwear on.

  “Hey!” I heard the sound of Roy-Boy’s voice bellowing before I saw him storming towards me with a shotgun in his hands. “Get the fuck away from her. Right now! Before I shoot you and this little faggot.”

  “Fuck you both!” I shot back, backing away and stumbling into Dre while doing so. I had not realized that he was now out of the car.

  “You think you tough with that gun, ma’fucka?”Dre said, stepping in front of me and walking slowly up to Roy-Boy until the barrel of the shotgun was pressed into his chest.

  “Come on, Dre,” I said. I did not know if Roy-Boy would shoot him or not, but I was definitely not keen on finding out if he would. “Please, Dre, Lyrical needs us at the hospital, remember?”

  “Pull the trigger,” I heard Dre whisper, challenging Roy-Boy. “You upped strap, didn’t you, ma’fucka? So pull the trigger.”

  But Roy-Boy did not pull the trigger. Instead, he lowered the gun and took a few steps back. “Get the fuck outta here before I call the cops!” he spat, trying to save face, but the four of us knew that he had just been punked while holding a gun by a man who did not even have so much as a pellet to defend himself with.