Fleming searched for a gas station as the revitalized downtown core of Detroit slipped away. The glut of abandoned buildings and houses in the outlying neighborhoods surprised him, the Detroit of his youth now looking like a cesspool, just a bunch of turds circling around a just-cleaned, peroxided drain. But he felt no nostalgia. Fleming had long ago blocked out any memories of Michigan and what he left behind. Memories were dangerous, like live grenades if you picked one up. Fleming’s lifelong mantra, which hung just below the surface of his cement shell, was “If you don’t think about the past, it’s like it never happened.”
A tug of anticipation pulled in Fleming’s gut as he eased the Explorer in front of a pump. Fleming pushed his designer shades farther up the bridge of his nose to conceal his bright, piercing blue eyes. He was in his sixties now and knew he no longer looked like his younger self, who once thought he’d own the city of Detroit one day. But with age, he had realized how to better not get his ass handed to him, so Fleming knew he’d have to be extra careful as not to be recognized.
Fleming plunged the nozzle into the tank and watched as a large, white SUV maneuvered a quick three-point turn and then a hurried reverse into the only available gas pump space left, which was right in front of him. The white SUV jerked to a stop, leaving just a few inches of space between its bumper and the Explorer’s grille. Fleming wanted to give the pushy driver a dose of hell for boxing him in, but kept his mouth shut as a woman in a pastel lavender-and-turquoise paisley dress got out. Fleming stared anonymously through his dark glasses at the well-dressed woman’s back. He could see the woman was trim and had long, thick, dark hair, which hung halfway down her back.
The gas pump pinged as the nozzle to the Explorer shut off, the tank now full. Fleming tucked the nozzle back in its cradle, feeling slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t get the chance to see the woman’s face. He grabbed his receipt and felt an annoying trickle of sweat ease down his temple. Without thinking, Fleming quickly removed his dark glasses so he could wipe it away.
As if on cue, the female in the paisley dress turned around. Fleming felt his breath catch as he saw her face, one that he could never forget despite the passage of time. She was a woman now, but Fleming knew the person standing just a few feet away from him was Julia Gooden, with the same high cheekbones, dark hair, and large blue eyes that he remembered from so long ago.
Fleming quickly turned away, pushed his dark glasses back on his face, and reached for the driver-side door.
But it was too late. Julia Gooden had seen him.
Fleming stared at Julia’s reflection from the car door window for a second and watched as an expression of realization and surprise spread across her face. A haunted look seemed to pass over her eyes, but then it was gone as quickly as it came. Julia Gooden stuck her hands on her hips defiantly, and her eyes turned into accusatory slits.
“Hold on!” Julia called out as Fleming hurriedly got back in the Explorer and quickly snapped the locks in place.
He jammed the Explorer in reverse and hightailed it out of the parking lot just as Julia’s car got sandwiched between a newly arrived RV and a small sports car, which had zipped in and had taken Fleming’s place at the pump.
Fleming watched Julia from his rearview mirror as she took a picture of his vehicle with her phone and then scribbled something down in what looked like a skinny reporter’s notebook, likely his license plate number, Fleming realized. He then watched Julia say something that he was pretty sure he could make out as: “You son of a bitch.”
Fleming shook his head as his shitty karma began to hit him. Less than one day back in the city, Detroit was turning into a mother-freaking bad-luck charm. Kirk Fleming knew he’d have to rip off another license plate, but the bigger problem was that he’d just been made.
Despite the deep throb that began pulsating in his left temple from the fresh mess, Fleming found himself smiling. He watched Julia disappear in his mirror and allowed himself just one brief flicker of sentimentality before he went cold again.
“That’s my girl,” Julia’s father said.
CHAPTER 4
Julia sat in her car across the street from the Gilbo Avenue crime scene and realized her hands were shaking after having to face down the one thing that terrified her most, not the criminals on her beat or even the people who had tried to kill her. Julia easily knew her greatest fear was the dark side of her childhood, something she had tried to beat back for good and thought she had succeeded in doing after working as hard as she could to create a stable life for herself and her sons.
The face of the man at the gas station kept coming back to her. Julia was certain the person she had seen was her father, Benjamin “Duke” Gooden Sr., who along with her mother, Marjorie, a drunk, had abandoned Julia and her older sister, Sarah, right after Ben disappeared. She and Sarah, who was fourteen at the time, had lived alone in their sorry excuse for a house without their parents until they couldn’t stand being hungry anymore after all the food in the refrigerator and the pantry was gone. Julia closed her eyes at the sudden memory of their neighbor in Sparrow who had called social services after Julia and Sarah had shown up at her doorstep like frail, forgotten waifs, begging for food. After a week of being shuffled around in the family court system, Julia and Sarah had moved in with their aunt Carol, not a perfect situation, since Julia always felt like an inconvenience, but she had fared better than Sarah. Her sister had started getting into trouble and was eventually sent into the foster care system, the experience leaving Sarah not even close to ever being the same again and on a path that turned her into a shady hustler, just like their dad.
Julia slunk down in the seat, ashamed and disappointed in herself over her unexpected emotional reaction over seeing the man who abandoned her. She silently cursed herself for being so weak. Julia knew she wasn’t that seven-year-old kid anymore who could be hurt or left behind. She looked down at her hands and tried to convince herself that she was a grown woman, a good mother, and a respected reporter. But after all these years, her father could still manipulate her feelings like she was still a powerless, unimportant child.
A cop car slowed as it cruised by Julia’s SUV, but she looked away and instead stared into the field where the body of the now-deceased Angel Perez still likely lay. Right now, Julia couldn’t concentrate on the story she needed to write as memories of her childhood came fast and quick, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
“Where’s Ben?” a seven-year-old Julia asked her parents, who were sitting around a cheap card table covered with a maroon vinyl tablecloth. A nearly empty bottle of gin sat between Marjorie Gooden and a strange man Duke had brought home.
“He’s watching the New York Yankees game downstairs,” Duke responded. Her father gave the stranger one of his big, dazzling smiles, and Julia noticed the familiar light that shone from Duke’s eyes, as if something so special was about to happen, it had ignited a blazing fire inside him. Julia knew this look well. It meant Duke Gooden had a sucker in his crosshairs, and her father was about to pounce.
“Now, Jim,” Duke addressed the stranger. “I don’t think you realize what a genius I have on my hands. Tell me, Julia, what’s the square root of twenty-five?”
Julia knew the answer was five. She had no idea what a square root was, but Duke had made her memorize the answer so she could perform like some sort of clever circus act in front of Duke’s “guests.” Julia’s reward from Duke usually was a pack of bubble gum or a candy bar whenever she got the answer right. When she didn’t, Duke never hit her, not even once, but his sulky silence or, worse, his crushing criticism that she’d let him down again were punishment enough.
“That’s easy. The answer is five, Daddy.”
“Smart girl,” Jim answered. Julia could tell that even though the Jim stranger was sitting down, the man was short and pear-shaped like one of the Humpty Dumpty twins and had a tangle of dark, wiry hair on each knuckle. “She looks just like her mother, but she’s got your eye
s, Duke.”
“Both my girls are stunners, but my youngest, my Julia, she’s smart, too. Now come here, my little delight. Look inside the palm of my right hand. What do you see?”
“A quarter,” Julia responded.
“Yes, a quarter. Now I want you to make a wish.”
Julia closed her eyes and pretended to concentrate as hard as she could, just like her daddy had told her when they rehearsed. It was all part of the act.
“What’s your wish?” her father asked.
“I’d like my quarter back,” Julia recited.
As expected, the man her dad was trying to con—Jim with the hairy knuckles—started laughing.
Duke then handed the quarter over to his wife, Marjorie, and blew hard into his empty, closed fist.
“That’s not much of a trick,” Jim said.
“Tricks not done yet, my friend.” Duke made a dramatic, sweeping motion with his arm, reached behind Julia’s ear, and then extended his hand toward his would-be client. There, in Duke’s open palm, was the original quarter.
Jim clapped his hands together and reached for the gin bottle. “Good trick.”
Before Jim could grasp it, Marjorie quickly grabbed the bottle and poured the last few inches of booze into her glass, giving her houseguest a careless shrug.
Julia had always thought her mother was a beauty. Marjorie was in her thirties and had a figure a man would fight to the death for, Duke liked to say. Marjorie had thick, dark hair and an olive complexion from her Italian heritage, giving her an exotic look. But Julia had noticed her mother’s face had started to change, and now often looked haggard and puffy, and her eyes took on a glazed, vacant expression every time she “overindulged.” That’s what Duke called it when her mother drank too much.
Duke hurried over to a cabinet in the kitchen to refuel his guest, but came up empty.
“Sorry about that, Jim. Tell you what. I’ll run out and get another bottle for you. Never had a taste for liquor myself, but I don’t have a problem with people who do,” Duke said. He grabbed his coat, a suede jacket that Marjorie had scolded him for purchasing, since they couldn’t afford to buy new winter jackets for their own three kids, yet Duke “had the balls” to blow money they could use to feed and clothe their kids on himself, Marjorie had yelled. But that was last year. Something had changed in her mother since, Julia had noticed, like the light had gone out in her eyes and she didn’t even bother to fight for her kids anymore.
“Think a little harder about that real estate investment we talked about, Jim,” Duke said. “All I need is ten thousand dollars down, and I guarantee I’ll be able to turn that into a cool million in less than a year. Detroit is going to be a developer’s paradise one day. Investing now in the future of the city is going to make us all rich. Now, Julia, be a good little delight and don’t cause Jim or your mom any trouble while I’m gone. Not that she would. Julia acts more like an adult than one of those mouthy kids you see disrespecting their parents.”
Julia watched as the front door closed. An uneasiness seemed to slither through her tummy as Marjorie stood up and walked past Julia, slipping her finger across her youngest daughter’s shoulder as she went. Julia tried to grab her mother’s hand and was able to graze her wrist, causing Marjorie to stop for a second and turn around.
“Make me a promise,” Marjorie said to Julia.
“Okay,” Julia said uneasily.
“Don’t ever become a girl like me,” Marjorie answered. Her dark eyes hung on Julia until she turned around and, in uneven steps, continued her way down the hallway toward her and Duke’s bedroom.
“Wait, Mom,” Julia called out.
“Just tell Julia if you need anything,” Marjorie told the guest. “I’m going to lay down for a little while. What was your name again?”
“Jim. Jim Donnenfeld.”
“Right, Mr. Donnenfeld. Duke will be back in two shakes,” Marjorie said; the word “shakes” sounded more like “snakes” as the booze began to kick in.
Julia started to call out for her mother one more time, but the door to Duke and Marjorie’s bedroom had already closed.
Now that she was alone with the stranger, Jim patted the seat next to him for Julia to sit.
The strange feeling in her stomach returned, and Julia instinctively ran away from the man her dad had brought home and downstairs to the basement to search for Ben. She flicked on the light, praying she’d see Ben, and heard the scuttle of cockroaches scurrying across the floor and over the near-empty pizza boxes that were tossed carelessly around the room. The Goodens’ shabby black-and-white TV set, its rabbit ears taped together in Ben’s jerry-rigged attempt to try and get a better signal, was off, which meant Ben wasn’t downstairs anymore because the game was over.
Julia looked at the basement door to the backyard and thought about sneaking outside, but decided Ben was probably upstairs in the room they shared. Julia willed her footsteps to remain silent as not to draw attention to herself. But as soon as she reached the landing, Jim was waiting for her.
“Julia’s your name, right? That’s real pretty,” Jim said.
“I’m looking for my brother,” Julia stuttered.
“Is that your room? Why don’t you show it to me?”
“My mom is going to be out in a second.”
“No, she’s not, honey. Your mom’s out cold. I just checked,” Jim said, leaning in close to Julia. She hunched her shoulders to try and make herself as small as possible, and she could feel Jim’s breath against her cheek, smelling like garlic, cigarettes, and the sour mash of booze.
“Come on. Jim’s not going to hurt you. We have to hurry before your daddy gets back.”
Jim glided his hand to Julia’s waist and then down the smooth line of her child’s thigh, giving it a pat, while he steered Julia toward her bedroom.
“Get your hands off my sister!” Ben yelled as he appeared from the other end of the hallway and ran in Julia’s direction. “You get away from Julia, or I’m calling the cops.”
Jim dropped his stubby hand from Julia’s waist and backed up a few paces.
“No need to be rude, boy. I was just trying to be nice. Your parents left me in charge. Your mom is sleeping and your dad went to the store,” he said.
“I’m in charge. Now get out,” Ben said. “You’re a disgusting creep and don’t think I won’t tell the police that. You come back here again, you’ll regret it,” Ben called out as Jim the disgusting creep slowly backed his way toward the front door. Ben was only nine, but his fist shook in the air, and his cheeks were red and shiny, like he was about to erupt.
“Your mom is a stinking drunk, and your dad is full of shit,” Jim countered. “Tell Duke the deal is off. You’ve got some anger issues, boy.”
The front door slammed shut, and Ben ran to the window. He watched until Jim’s car peeled out from its place on the street and took off down the road.
“Are you okay? Did that guy do anything to you?” Ben asked.
Julia felt a sharp pain move across her body as the adrenaline began to pump through her as she let down her guard, knowing that Ben had saved her.
“I didn’t know where you were!” Julia cried.
“You’re fine, kid,” Ben said. He pulled Julia to his thin chest and stroked the back of his little sister’s hair. “Daddy’s got to stop bringing those losers around.”
The front door swung open and Ben pushed Julia behind him, expecting to see Jim after the man Duke brought home came to the embarrassing realization he’d been intimidated by a fourth grader.
But Duke stepped inside, instead, with a brown paper bag in his left hand. He looked past his two youngest children and offered up his widest smile to the man he thought would still be sitting at the card table.
“Where did my client go?” Duke asked.
“That man was about to do something really bad to Julia, Daddy. I made him leave.”
“You made him what?” Duke answered very slowly. The shark smile had vanish
ed and his lip curled back in disappointment as he looked down at his only son.
“Mom was passed out drunk again. That guy tried to get Julia to go into her bedroom alone with him. We should call the police.”
Duke dropped the bottle in the brown paper bag down hard on the counter and raked his fingers through his sandy blond hair.
“Did Jim touch you, Julia?” Duke asked. He got down on his knees and took Julia’s hand.
“He touched me right here,” Julia said, and patted her thigh with her small hand. “He wanted me to go in my bedroom with him. Then Ben got here and started yelling at him. Ben made him leave.”
“That guy was a loser, Daddy!” Ben fought back. “These people you keep bringing around the house, they’re creeps. I don’t want them around Julia anymore.”
“You don’t get to decide, Ben. This is my house.”
“Until we get evicted or you go to jail again. If you won’t take care of Julia, I will.”
“I’m sorry about what happened, Julia. If I ever see Jim again, he’ll be lucky if he can walk after I get through with him. Your brother did a good job looking out for you.”
“I was just scared is all. Ben saved me. I’m fine now, Daddy,” Julia answered.
“No, she’s not. You hang out with creeps,” Ben said.
“You need to learn about the world, son. There’s good in bad people and bad in good people. You walk a fine line and take what you need from the bad ones and hope the small part of them that’s good will keep you safe. But you don’t count on it and you use your smarts. Jim was a bad one. I know that now. I don’t like most of the people I bring by here. I just play the game so we can all get ahead.”
“Your game stinks,” Ben said. “Come on, Julia. Let’s get out of here.”
Ben led Julia outside, and the two sat on the front porch’s warped step and stared silently at their dad’s newly waxed Chrysler.
“Is Daddy going to call the police?” Julia asked.
“No way.”
Worth Killing For Page 3
