I sigh and then glance over to the side window and see that we have gathered an audience. Nosy asses. I stand and move to the window and close the blinds. A few of them give me the what the fuck look, but I ignore them.
Momma Peaches’s letter burns a hole in my inner jacket pocket. I could hand it to him and let him read it. I reach into my pocket and pull it out, but instead of handing it over, I stare at it.
“Is there something else?” Mason asks after a long silence.
Give him the letter.
Mason’s gaze falls onto the letter while his expression collapses into confusion. “What’s that?”
I pull another deep breath. “A letter.”
“Okay.”
“I found it last night . . . before I was called out to Ruby Cove. I found it in Momma Peaches’s Bible.”
Mason stiffens.
“She was expecting to see you that day, wasn’t she?”
“I’m through talking now,” he informs me. “I’d like to go back to the holding cell, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m going to take that answer as a yes.” I return to my seat.When I do, his eyes follow the letter. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it says?”
“I don’t give a fuck what it says,” he lies.
“Should I read it to you? Or would you like to read it?”
Knock! Knock! I look up as the door springs open and Fowler juts his head inside. “Chief Brown wants to see us.”
I sigh. I’d hoped to avoid an ass-chewing on a Sunday. “All right. I’ll be right there.”
“She said now.”
I sharpen my narrow gaze. “I said I’d be right there.”
Instead of nodding and walking out, Fowler lingers.
My patience snaps. “Are you fucking hard of hearing or something?”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but common sense kicks in. He nods, glances at Mason, and then backs out before closing the door.
What the fuck? I glance back at Mason, who’s now avoiding my gaze. Do these two know each other? I climb to my feet and stuff the letter back into my jacket, but then think better of it. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you give this a read while I’m gone and then we can discuss it when I return?”
I place the letter with his name scrawled across the top of the envelope in front of him. “It really is an interesting read.” I turn and leave.
Fowler is two feet away from the door, leaning against a desk with his arms crossed, talking to Officer Hendrix. The strange thing is that Officer Hendrix looks like a hot mess. Something is up with these two.
Fowler looks up and pushes way from the desk. “Are you ready, Captain?”
“I didn’t realize that I needed an escort,” I bitch. “I know my way around.”
Fowler allows my sarcasm to roll off of his back as we march together in angry silence to the chief’s office.
23
Yvette
Shit has hit every fan in Memphis. The Commercial Appeal openly questions whether it’s time for the mayor to replace me as the chief of police with this morning’s headline: “What Has Brown Done for Us Lately?”
I’ve been a cop for a long time and I have thick skin, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sweating under the bright spotlight of the national media. Even CNN is asking every hour on the hour whether Memphis has become another South Chicago or Detroit. I watch James pace in my office. He too, is feeling the heat. The next set of poll numbers are set to come out in two days.
“I know I’ve said this before,” James starts. “But I miss that dirty bastard Captain Johnson.”
“You and me both,” I tell him, rummaging around in the top drawer of my desk for my blood-pressure medicine. I have a sinking feeling that I might have forgotten to refill the prescription again.
“First a massacre out at that biker club, then the one at that cemetery, and now this. We have nearly a hundred bodies from those three incidents alone. How the hell are my team and I going to spin that shit into something positive?”
“I don’t know, James,” I parrot, like I’ve been doing for the past half hour.
He stops pacing and looks up. “How in the fuck can you be this calm?”
“I don’t know—practice.”
Even my joke is taken as a personal affront. “You trying to be funny?”
“No, James.” I slam my desk drawer. “I’m not.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to have to remind you that it’s not just my job on the line here. If I lose—you lose.”
My anger simmers. “You think that I don’t know that? You and the whole city keep reminding me of that every damn time I turn around,” I shout, grabbing the newspaper from my desk and hurling it at him. The picture printed beneath the headline isn’t of me but of him, looking grim faced, and of his wife clinging to his arm for moral support.
James and I glare at one another, our eyes saying everything that our lips wouldn’t dare. At last, he bends a knee and swipes the newspaper up from the floor, strolls to my desk, and smacks the paper down. “Pull yourself together. Side chick behavior is unbecoming for an officer of your rank.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss. As our heated glares set off sparks, I’m aware that my ass is actually turned on.
A rap on my door crashes us back down to earth and James and I step back to give each other much-needed breathing room before I bark, “Enter.”
Deputy Chief Richard Collins breezes into the office. My blood pressure ticks upwards.
“If you came in here to deliver bad news, I swear I’ll shoot you myself,” I warn him.
Richard, who is long used to my sarcasm, responds with a dry chuckle. “Then I hope that you take no news as good news. All is calm on the streets for the moment, but I can’t say the same for the media. They are raking us over the coals. We’ve got to get a handle on this shit and fast.”
“No shit,” I mumble. “If you come up with any ideas on how we do that, feel free to fill out a card for the suggestion box.”
“Is it too late to state for the record that I miss that son-ofa-bitch Johnson?”
I cut a look over to James, who smiles at having his words echoed back at him.
“We all miss Captain Johnson,” I say, casting my own vote. “But we have to deal with the here and now.”
Knock! Knock!
“Enter!” I brace myself as Lieutenant Fowler pokes his head into the office.
“You wanted to see us, Chief?”
Despite him hogging the doorframe, I spot the other pair of legs standing behind him.
“Yes. C’mon in.” I give James a here we go look.
Fowler relinquishes the doorknob and enters the office with his chin up. After Hawkins clears the threshold, I instruct her to close the door.
She follows the order and then both officers move to stand in the center of the room. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know that she’s still salty about my placing her on administrative leave. It’s written all over her face. Apparently my having to call her back to duty isn’t enough crow for me to eat. She can forget it.
“Take a seat,” I tell them.
Fowler rushes toward one of the chairs, but Hawkins doesn’t move.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stand.”
“But I do mind,” I tell her. “Take. A. Seat.”
Hawkins’s jawline hardens. I assume that a long stream of obscenities is rushing through her head, but she forces one leg in front of the other until she plants her ass in the chair next to Fowler. Why does everything have to be a battle with this bitch?
There is a lot to admire about Captain Hawkins. Her work ethic and dedication to the job is something much appreciated by the powers that be, but her stubbornness and tenaciousness are a constant pain in my ass. From time to time, she can be petulant and moody. It’s a surprising trait for someone who served time in the military, where one learns the importance of working as a team.
“Do we still have a problem, Captain Ha
wkins?”
A few strained beats of silence pass before she answers. “No, Chief.”
“So we don’t have a problem?” I press.
Another beat. “No, Chief.”
It may be my imagination, but my office is a sauna. I can’t afford to have this trouble escalate any further than it has. Hawkins has hit the ground running since I called her back to duty. My faith in her second hand, Lieutenant Fowler, was misplaced. Regretfully, I’m the first one to break eye contact. I open up my bottom desk drawer and pull out her badge and service weapon.
“In any case, I believe that you’ll be needing these,” I tell her.
Her stern face softens when her gaze lowers to her badge. Hydeya stands and moves toward the desk. “Thank you, Chief.” She holsters her weapon and slides her badge into her jacket.
“You’re welcome.” I watch her as she creeps back to her seat. “Now that’s been taken care of,” I say, switching my attention to Fowler.
He launches into his excuses for last night. “Chief, before you start, I want to apologize for my screwup last night.”
“Okay.” I lean back in my chair. “Go ahead.”
Fowler blinks as if surprised that his opening statement wasn’t a sufficient apology. “I’m sorry. I—I’m not sure what happened. My cell must’ve slipped out somewhere. I’m not sure where. But I promise you that something like that will never, ever happen again.”
“You can promise that without knowing what happened?” I ask, dubious.
“Y-yes, ma’am.” He swallows hard.
“Uh-huh.” I cast a look over at James, who’s unimpressed.
“I have to admit that I was expecting something a little more colorful, but I guess that sorry excuse is going to have to do for now, isn’t it?”
Fowler squirms in his seat while his jaw hardens. Two for two. “Regardless, you will be written up for your lost phone incident. I look forward to further discussions between you and your union representative. Meanwhile, you’ll go back to answering to Captain Hawkins. I’d prefer it if she’d keep you on the Ruby Cove case.” I look back to Hawkins to receive yet another slow head nod. “Good. A press conference will be arranged for ten tomorrow morning. Be prepared for another ass-chewing from the media and our concerned constituents. I’m hoping that you and your team will give us something before we have to stand before the national media.”
Hawkins sighs. Her hatred for all things media has been made clear on more than one occasion.
“So what do we know so far?” I ask. “Is either of the two women at the hospital talking?”
Hawkins shakes her head. “Ta’Shara Murphy has given a statement to one of our officers, but I haven’t visited her myself yet. I will. It’s definitely on my to-do list. As for Ms. Washington, after she delivered her baby, she suffered a brain aneurysm and is, as far as I know, still in a medically induced coma.”
I nod, not surprised by more roadblocks placed before this department. “Ms. Murphy wasn’t exactly talkative last night.”
“And judging by the report I read this morning, she’s not saying too much now either.”
“Another fuck the police card-carrying member, huh?” I shake my head. “I swear that these people will cut off their noses to spite their faces.”
Hawkins nods. “However, the word on the street is that this was a Gangster Disciple hit job. We all know that the GD and VL in this city are the largest and deadliest gangs spilling all of this blood lately.”
“Did anyone see a face? Know a name? Something? The cold case files are not an option. I need a perp-walk for those cameras. If not by tomorrow, no later than Tuesday. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, that big ape you have in holding will do just fine.”
“But it was his place that was attacked last night. He and Willow Washington live together.”
“And where was he at the time of the attack?”
Fowler shifts in his seat.
“I don’t know,” Hawkins says. “When he returned home, he got into a scuffle with the police securing the area for not letting him into his own house. That’s the only reason he and the others were booked. Our slapping cuffs on the victims probably won’t play well.”
“What? Are you his fucking lawyer now?”
“I’m just pointing out the facts, Chief.”
“Then get me somebody. Get me the chief of the Gangster Disciples. I’m sure that we have whoever it is on record.”
“We’ve been trying to get ahold of him. It’s Terrell Carver.”
“Terrell Carver? Isn’t he deceased?”
“According to the news, yes. But I saw him with my own eyes in that police chase a month back.”
“Then maybe you were mistaken?”
Hawkins shakes her head like she’s above making mistakes. “I know what I saw. Terrell Carver is very much alive.”
It’s my turn to harden my jaw and glare back. “Then get him or bring in whoever is second in command, his flunky—I don’t give a damn.”
“I’m not sure that we know who’s been in charge since Terrell was driven underground.”
“Actually”—Fowler speaks up—“King Isaac was recently released from prison. Two of the three massacres have happened since his release.”
Captain Hawkins’s head snaps in his direction, her anger laser-focused on the side of Fowler’s head.
He shrugs. “I mean. It can’t be a coincidence, right? It was his wife’s funeral where the last massacre occurred.” Fowler turns to Hawkins and gives her a flat smile. “I know it’s a touchy subject with you. I mean, you losing your husband and all.”
“You don’t have any proof that Isaac Goodson is behind the Ruby Cove situation,” Hawkins snaps.
“Ruby Cove is more than just a situation,” I tell her.
“We still don’t have any proof.”
“Tell me, Captain.Are you running a gangster defense fund that I don’t know about? Get their asses in here and let the courts work out who did what.”
“I’m just saying—”
Fowler cuts her off. “And I’m saying that it’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“Coincidence does not make a case.”
“You let the district attorney worry about that. I need perp-walks and a lot of them. Do you have a problem with that?” I have a hard time reading the emotions splayed across Hawkins’s face, especially when she looks at Fowler. If I were to guess, I’d say that it resembles betrayal. “Bring King Isaac in—at least for questioning. Surely you don’t have a problem doing your due diligence?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Today.”
“Yes, Chief. Is there anything else?” Hawkins pops up out of her seat.
There’s that petulance again. I lean back in my chair and allow the heated silence to stretch between us. Hawkins has a habit of bouncing her ass out of that chair before I’m finished talking, but I’m going to let the shit go. “Yes. That is all, Captain.”
Hawkins cuts another evil look toward Fowler and marches out of the office. The door slams behind her.
“What the fuck is her damn problem?” I ask, returning my attention to Fowler.
Fowler holds his tongue.
“Well?”
“He’s her father.”
“What? Who?” His words are gibberish.
“King Isaac,” he clarifies. “He’s Captain Hawkins’s father.”
James takes a seat. “Say that shit again.”
“Sorry, Mayor Wharton, but it’s true.”
I explode. “Why the fuck is this the first time I’m hearing about this shit?”
“There’s never been a reason to bring it up. He’s been locked down for the last ten years. Before she became a cop here at this department. Hell, according to her, he’s not even listed on her birth certificate. I guess it’s one of those family secrets.”
“But you knew?”
“She confessed it to me once years ago when we grabbed some drinks together. But hell, she’s hardly the on
ly cop in this place who has a few embarrassing branches on the family tree.”
He’s right about that. “Is there something else I should know?”
Fowler glances over to James, but then finally shakes his head. “No. That’s about it.”
24
Hydeya
That dirty muthafucka! I can’t believe that he just did that shit. All because he needed to save face, he took something I told him in private and used it for his own benefit. More and more I realize how much I really don’t know my ex-partner. What the fuck? How in the hell have I been so wrong about him all this time?
Heat fuses into my body, my hands clench and unclench as I march across the department. I don’t have the luxury of being caught up in my own feelings for long. A huge ruckus catches my attention.
Bam! Boom! Crash!
Now what? My marching strides turn into a quick jog. When I realize that the noise is coming from the interrogation room where I left Mason, my heart jumps so high that it gets caught in my throat. I arrive on the scene and there are at least six police officers crammed into the room with Mason while he demolishes the desk that he’d been handcuffed to.
“FUCK THIS SHIT! GET THE HELL OFF ME, MUTHAFUCKA!”
Mason looks like a black incredible Hulk, tossing cops off of him as if they weigh nothing.
“Get him! Get him!” an officer barks.
Half the officers in the room reach for their holsters.
I panic. “Taser him. Don’t shoot him.”
A few startled looks slice my way.
Officer Hernandez makes the mistake of being distracted for too long and Mason’s huge fist sends him reeling back against the wall. That shit pisses off even more of the officers.
Against my better judgment, I jump into the fray. The moment I latch on to one of Mason’s muscular arms, I’m treated much like a rodeo clown on the back of a bucking bull. The shit is crazy. It gets worse when two of the officers get their hands on their Tasers.
Mason’s muscles tense, and then I’m slung left to right and then up and down. Shit. Is that shit making him stronger?
“Get down on the ground! Now,” the officers shout.
More voltage is shot into Mason and still his ass refuses to go down. More cops jump into the mix. It’s hard to tell what the hell is going on, but we get Mason on the floor.
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