“. . . When we seem to lose love, or if a loved one leaves us, we will indeed miss the moments, experiences and human interaction. But for sure, we have not lost the intangible, everlasting, ever-growing love that we have felt, are feeling, or will feel in the future. We are filled with love from head to toe, whether we admit it or not. Whether we like it or not! This is the mighty force that motivates our movements and our existence . . .
“. . . Give and receive love in its fullest, most imaginable form and you will never be at a loss for love, no matter what. Life’s book is called love . . . and every story in that book . . . just like the Brandi Rose story, is complete to whatever degree, because her story too was LOVE!”
The eulogy served its purpose, evoking a flutter of glory and praise for the deceased. The heaps of flowers, green ribbons, and the blue sky created a calmness about the ceremony. Most in attendance held a dazed expression, neither sad nor happy, just there, experiencing. A musical interlude, with three violins and an organist, caressed the audience as a young male vocalist emerged in an all-black tuxedo. He was hairless, except for sharp eyebrows and a slick, entertaining mustache. There was sincerity in his brown eyes and a brief glimmer of sun reflecting off of his coffee-brown scalp as he stepped up to a platform at the center of the floral arrangement. The music swelled to a familiar melody and carried the singer into a tailor-made version of the Ojay’s song: Brandy. “Tony G” was introduced, and accordingly, above the open grave, the singer delivered his riveting tenor, and heart-wrenching soprano vocals. He pierced all senses with the tasteful vicissitudes of his range, eventually reaching a crescendo that caused Debbie to scream.
“Our best friend’s gone,
and we’re so all alone!
Oh, how could it be,
they took you away from me,
We real-ly miss you,
Brandi,
We’re so all alone . . .
when are you comin’ back home?”
Tony ripped and rolled his emphasis into the air, blending in with the birds that fluttered nearby. It was all poetic. Eventually, Danni could no longer suppress Debbie’s erratic wails and outbursts. He tried to pull her even closer, but she just continued to let herself feed into hellified moments.
Some time later, the worst had passed for Debbie, who was now teaching Detective Wade the Electric Slide to the old school mix of Rock, Skate, Roll Bounce, Must Be The Music and I Want To Thank You. When everyone seemed exhausted, the deejay caused the record to lose speed until it stopped. Then she changed the mood with the mellow rhythm of Luther’s Don’t You Know That? By any means possible, Mrs. Rose’s passing was accepted as a celebration.
By the end of the occasion, Debbie huddled with Wade and Danni to prepare and psych herself for the forthcoming announcement. When the music was cued to stop, Debbie took a deep breath to announce that she’d be leaving Chicago. Probably for good.
“There’s an opportunity for me in New York, and my two friends here will be helping me to get along and build my new life.” Wade snuck a conspirator’s glance at Danni. Debbie was simultaneously sharing the attention with the two. At the same time, Wade was feeling a little guilty, knowing that there was little that he’d do for her new life. He also needed her assistance for some unfinished business, so it was more than convenient to have her back in New York.
Debbie went on to say, “I’ll be donating this house and the equity that my mom had built here to the new Block Watch Organization that Mr. Felton has started in my mother’s name. He’s gonna convert the house into their headquarters. They plan to name the house the Rose Center after they reclaim the community . . . There will be a day-care center for children and resources for the elderly . . .” A tremendous applause erupted after Debbie’s announcement. It fulfilled her beyond words. Her mom’s boss, Mr. Felton, and the block watch director shook hands. Danni and Wade gave each other a buddy hug.
Halfway back to New York, Wade recalled the week and a half of events. It wasn’t difficult for him to focus on his objectives since, for one reason or another, he’d been to many funerals in New York. He realized that everyone would eventually experience that one particular funeral which would tip the boat. For Debbie . . . for sure, this was that funeral. For Wade, that one particular funeral had been many years ago with Renee. He didn’t even get to see the body because it was a closed casket ceremony. Renee was too damaged by the car accident. Sometimes Wade felt a little guilty that his emotions were absent from events like funerals and death. He was callous. The Rose funeral also reminded him of his friend, Detective Baxtor. A casualty of New York violence. And there were so many more.
That thought sent a quick surge through Wade, telling him that there was business at hand. And while the three waited at O’Hare for their midnight flight to New York, Debbie shared the rest of her experiences at the time of Moet’s murder. As it turned out, the assailant that hired the girls to dance privately was the same burly man who attacked Moet when Ken dropped her home; and that was even the same man whom Ken Stevens described to Wade and Sean the police artist. Moet apparently didn’t realize who he was. When she did, it was too late. She was handcuffed to the bedposts, practically naked and definitely helpless. In police terms, Wade could see past the dramatics. The two had been kidnapped. Wade had learned to weave through Debbie’s emotional tangents, just as he had for Ken’s talkative tangents, redirecting him from wavering. According to Debbie, she tried to contact Moet after the engagement. No answer. She eventually felt like she was abandoned, so she returned to Chicago.
If Wade could verify all of Debbie’s story (and he expected to), then the FBI would need to be contacted. They most likely arrested the wrong person, because as Wade had come to find out, there was too much evidence popping up, indicating this white man as the culprit. A culprit that Wade wanted to find bad. Bad enough to solve this case.
As the airplane from Chicago descended into the New York City skyline, Wade looked across the aisle at Debbie. She was sleeping, purring against Danni’s shoulder. Danni caught Wade’s concern and returned an expression which shrugged back about the circumstances. Wade knew that he should inform Debbie about the dangers of returning to New York. Danni also knew that same naked truth. But both agreed that the time and place would have to be right. She’d already been through so much. After a few days of relaxation, Debbie would have to begin work. She’d be looking through mug shots, working with the police sketch artist, and perhaps she’d have to dance again at her former hot spot. In order to fish out the suspect, Debbie was the most appropriate candidate as a decoy at Fool’s Paradise.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Southern Discomfort
Daylight savings time. Fall back. Wade made the best of the extra hour. Lying in bed with eyes open, recounting the events of the short trip. The front door of his apartment was unlocked, and he could feel the slight change in the climate as the door swung open. The echo from the hallway told him that his sister was bringing back his mutts. How inconvenient could she be, just when he was beginning to wiggle his toes against the soft white sheets. The first conscious moments of his deep sleep. Wade could hear his mutts racing through the apartment to greet their master. Bones was no doubt straggling behind, sluggish and lazy. Bells and Whistle pushed through the bedroom door and buried Wade with their slick, slimy homecoming. Nancy peeked in the bedroom after them, satisfied that things were back to normal. She didn’t mind dog-sitting, but not longer than absolutely necessary. And a week and a half was too fucking long. She felt like she deserved a vacation, offering her big brother a shameless smile and then escaping back out of the front door, back across the hall to her own apartment.
After a brief hello, Wade brushed them off of his bed and headed to the bathroom for the usual hygiene. While he attended to other odds and ends, he reached for the cordless phone to affirm his return to duty with Chief Washington. Chief informed Wade that the FBI had returned to the precinct looking for additional details. Washington admitte
d that he assumed them to be pulling at straws. And then Wade commenced to share a few new revelations with his boss. Nothing like teamwork.
“I don’t know what you mean. You’d better check your directory for the right extension, Mrs. Cantalk.” Wade’s receiver went dead midway into his discussion. The Chief heard as much as he could, until the two agents coincidentally stepped into his office. Whew. Quick thinking.
“Chief, how are you today? Listen, we’re awfully sorry to bother you again. But we really would like to see Detective Wade.”
“Well . . . uh . . . last I knew he was away in Chicago. On leave. I don’t have any contact numbers.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Should be soon . . . I’ll make sure to let you know.” There was a pause. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
The chief was a little more condescending, looking out for his detective and also protecting the new information. Agents Walsh and Hammer left the office in quite a huff. Disgrunted by the little they had to work with and perhaps a lack of all the facts. They resorted to making their rounds. A couple hours at Fool’s Paradise. Some hangouts of Tony the Crow. A spin through the FBI’s New Rochelle branch, and then lunch at Subway for a couple of meatball subs.
“Alright, Hammer . . . let’s go over our stuff.”
“We’ve got a message on the answering machine. That’s motive. We’ve got Junior at the scene of the crime. He was inside the club that evening. I know nobody has placed him next to the victim, but many have seen him nonetheless . . .”
“Why the lack of confidence on your face?” Walsh asked.
“What if the defense brings in support to say he never left the club?” Hammer played devil’s advocate.
“They won’t hold up in court. If they do, we’ll drag their wives in . . . subpoena them as character witnesses.” Hammer seemed to accept Walsh’s plan. “Besides that, we can get some dancers into court . . . a few with past criminal records. Then we’ll have them confirm Douglass Gilmore’s dislike for Moet. At least one has seen them argue. Then of course, we have his own criminal history.”
“You mean the copyright infringement?”
“Yeah. He got a year probation for that. But it still shows past criminal history. Now . . . what about fingerprints?”
“Yes! Of course. I forgot about that. Fingerprints at the Butler home. There were a lot of different fingerprints picked up there, but who’s counting?” Hammer smiled again before he buried his teeth into the wedge. “And we can tie in Tony the Crow and the Bianco family—”
Hammer tried to swallow and speak too.
“—by his various visits to the club. We’ve got photos . . . there’s organized crime here for sure.”
“As soon as we get to the courtroom, Junior will flip his plea. I’m sure of it. See . . . if all of the defendants that we’ve arrested throughout the years only knew what little evidence we had on them, the prisons would be almost empty today. Throw words around like ‘life in prison’ and they’re scared shitless. We’ve got ’em by the balls. Remember Johnson, Brown and Robinson, uh . . . and Billings? All those guys copped out. Even Gilmore copped out on the copyright misdemeanor when he was younger. I hear he could have walked away from that scott-free. This is a fearsome machine we’re a part of, partner. One that makes these heartless fools croak time after time.” The two finished their meals and headed out of the entrance. North Avenue was busy with traffic in both directions. Hammer’s head jerked right.
“Hey, Walsh . . . look there.” Hammer pointed to an unmarked squad car, just passing them, and headed east on North Avenue. There were three people in the vehicle, and Hammer was sure that Detective Wade was driving. The vehicle was moving too fast to recognize the others, but still, the agents moved on the hunch, bolting to their Caprice across the street. With the siren and emergency light on, they backed out a few feet and recklessly swung into a wide U-turn. Walsh had no regard for oncoming traffic that was instantly thrown into a jam. Weaving through other cars, at an above-the-law speed, they charged down the median and eastbound on North until they could keep Wade within a 100-foot distance. They trailed by three car lengths and continued on for about four miles.
Team Gilmore
Debbie and Danni were with Wade, in his unmarked squad car, headed straight for the Gilmore home. A meeting had been arranged between various Gilmore supporters, friends, girlfriends and his television production crew. The car moved easily onto the oval driveway and found a place to park amongst 5 other cars already situated. The three stepped into the entrance, through the foyer, and were greeted by all in attendance. Demetrius was the closest, with his pectorals slightly bulging, pressing though a black, silk kimono and its oriental embroidery that marked the breast pocket in red and white. He shook hands with Wade, returned Danni’s shotokan greeting, and then welcomed Debbie back to New York with a quaint peck on the cheek.
The SuperStar home office was busy with familiarity and purpose. Valerie was there, elegant as could be in a mudcloth V-neck sweater and a headwrap of olive, black and orange tribal colors. Mechelle had returned from Georgia after the cremation of her husband. Her multi-colored pullover was oversized, lying gently against her growing belly. Her hair was twisted into large cornrows, pulling back into a wild bush of curls. Everyone could sense that she’d been through a lot. Valerie knew about Mechelle, the baby, and the problems she had with Douglass. But despite the issues, she remained cordial, sincere and loving. With not a care in the world, Valerie played co-host as well, mingling in the semi-circle with Demetrius and Dino. Dino was a good friend of Douglass’s. He was originally a customer, but eventually, he became an employee and a trustworthy bouncer who didn’t feed into antisocial behavior amongst some of the staff. Douglass recognized his genuine efforts and the two soon became best of friends. Dino would escort Douglass to various celebrity functions with that just-in-case attitude.
Naturally, Dino and Demetrius also became close friends. They also knew and associated with just about everyone else at the gathering. There was SuperStar staff, like Darryl, who handled much of the camera-work for the TV show. And Greg, who was that college-educated publicist and writer for the SuperStar magazine. He also served as a commentator for the TV show. And Lou was also present with his stellar personality and shining attitude. He generally hosted celebrity events and he also emceed many of the live events which the Super-Star firm sponsored. Beyond those tasks, Lou also contributed columns, and performed public relations for the magazine.
All 8 supporters (including Detective Wade) occupied themselves in various discussions about Moet’s murder. They paired off in conversations about Douglass’s jail-house situation and the slow court proceedings. Nobody spoke about the bail, as it was beyond the imaginations of all in attendance.
Eavesdropping
“Can I have your attention, everyone?” Demetrius was casual and sincere. Some took seats on the couch. Dino sat in an executive chair behind the only desk in the room, while others stood or perched themselves against a bookcase or the door jam. Everyone was attentive and concerned.
“First I’d like to thank you all for taking time out from your schedules to come here today. You should all know one another by now and why we’re here today . . . our friend, my friend and colleague, Douglass, has been in jail for the past seven months for something he didn’t do. There are a few people here that know more about the case than I do, and they’ll be speaking out momentarily. But, before Detective Wade speaks to you, I wanna say this. Douglass is not only my friend and yours, but he’s also given himself . . . more than what ten people might give. I’ll put myself out there right now by saying that everyone, except for our two guests, has been at the receiving end of Douglass’s generous actions. He’s the most productive person I’ve ever met. In the past ten years he’s been the promoter, the TV producer, night club developer, and an all-around entrepreneur that each of us has looked up to. Let us all reciprocate that love and consider
ation which he’s shown us selflessly . . . Detective Wade? You’d like to say something?”
“Well, I’ve met most of you already, during my investigation of this case. And I have to admit that as of recently, I was misled. However, you should know that it wasn’t ever my intention to arrest Douglass. I didn’t have all the facts; and more than that, the case was taken out of my hands. The FBI’s organized crime task force—from Jersey, mind you—is behind the steering wheel, and they’re driving backwards. I don’t have any say-so in the matter, but I would like to solve this case myself and bring Moet’s killer to justice . . .” Wade grinded his teeth and with sleeves folded up, went on to describe his plan on how the group could compel the New Jersey authorities and certain political powers to release Douglass from jail. They would use the press, television and even picketing to spread the word: “FREE GILMORE!” The theme was a bold and worthy plea. And once the story leaked, the interest and concern from the general public would surely generate a positive reaction.
A parabolic mic is a device that law enforcement agents use to listen in on conversations which occur inside dwellings of up to 100 feet or more away. Walsh and Hammer kept one in the trunk of their vehicle for a rainy day. It even collected a little dust.
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