Removing his arms from behind his head, Justice gave her a demonic half-cocked grin before leaping off the bed, with his dick still standing at full attention and his pants down to his knees. He was every bit of Kamal’s grandson. This proved it. His actions over the past twenty-four hours, not to mention a lifetime, were better than any blood test. Still spinning off the ecstasy pills, he made no excuses for his despicable actions. “Bitch, I wish the fuck you would try to cut me! You’d be wasting your time! You can’t hurt me, slut! Nobody can!”
“What? You got me twisted!” Greedy pushed Eboni behind her, stepping up to do battle.
Delusional in his thoughts, the murderer now turned child molester gripped up on his dick, asking Greedy if she wanted to come finish what her young daughter had started. “Don’t worry, baby doll.” Justice jerked his hands, stroking the shaft. “There’s plenty left for you. Oh, li’l mama good as a motherfucker, don’t get me wrong.” He motioned toward Eboni. “But you know like I know all this thick nut I got would’ve been too much for her little throat to handle. Maybe in a year or two from now she’ll be ready! What you think?” He winked at the shivering little girl.
“I’ma kill your black ass! And where is Cuzzo? Huh? Huh? How could you, nigga? I hate you!” Raising the knife once again, determined to kill the grown man who’d violated her child and without a doubt murdered her cousin, Greedy suddenly doubled over in pain. Clutching her stomach, reality set back in as she quickly realized that the monster she wanted dead so badly was also the father of her unborn child. Dropping the knife to the carpet, Greedy hugged her frantic daughter. “It’s all right, baby, don’t cry! Don’t cry. I’m sorry I left you. It’s okay.”
Still standing like he’d done no wrong, the brazen Justice, dick in hand, yelled out, “I knew you couldn’t hurt me! I told you nobody can! And fuck that faggot Cuzzo! That was an easy kill!”
Coming out of the shadows, Jazmine emerged with her gun pointed directly at Justice’s head. “You’s a sick-ass motherfucker, nigga! Straight up!” she argued, easily persuading Greedy to take her child out of the bedroom and make sure she was okay.
“You stanking bitch!” Justice belted out to Greedy after instantly noticing Jazmine’s badge. “You called the damn police on me!”
Slamming the door shut almost as hard as Greedy had kicked it open, Jazmine bit down on her lower lip, something she always did when she was about to fire off a few rounds. “Get over near the wall and shut your fucking damn mouth!” she ordered, wanting to hurl getting a good look at his bare scar-mutilated chest. “And if you think a bitch playing, try me, you fucking animal!”
Slightly hesitant, Justice wisely did as he was told. “Can a nigga at least put his dick up, or do you want some of daddy’s big lollipop too?”
Jazmine wanted nothing more than to immediately put the muzzle of her pistol to the back of Justice’s head and empty the clip, but she wanted him to first know why he was about to die. “Go ahead. Put your little thing away. Damn molester! You lucky I didn’t let her cut the son of a bitch off!”
“Then what would you have to suck on?” He deliberately mocked Jazmine, knowing an officer of the law wasn’t going to just shoot him in cold blood. “Matter of fact, come on over here. You is kinda cute!”
“On everything I love, my nigga!” Jazmine got ghetto with it. “Your ass is about to feel some hot ones! You think you can just kill a brother and it’s all good! Shit don’t work like that, homeboy! Not at all. You should know better.”
Leaning back against the dresser, shaking off the effects of the pills he’d taken, Justice’s lazy eye started to twitch. “What kinda police is you?” He looked her up and down, staring at the barrel. “Why ain’t you calling for backup?”
“Come on, Justice.” Jazmine called him out by name, flashing a hand gesture that made him quickly change his facial expression. “Why I need to do that? You know how the game go, don’t you, fam? Cree knew, and my big homie Moe Mack knew.”
“What you say?”
“Boy, you heard me!” Jazmine ridiculed with contempt, sucking her teeth. “You should’ve known better than to bite the hand that feeds you! That’s the first rule of the game! And you violated it!”
“Wait a minute, I know you.” Justice kinda recognized Jazmine from a crew cookout at Rouge Park one summer. Realizing that his psychotic reign of terror was coming to an end, he tried to take a cop anyhow, zipping up his pants. “Listen, let me explain!”
With a strong grip on her nine aimed at Justice, who was no more than a savage dog needing to be put down, Jazmine raised the sleeve of her T-shirt, revealing a tattoo that read the unmistakable words NFL 4 LIFE. “Negro, please, you already know!” Once again she bit down on her bottom lip, firing a shot off directly toward his repulsive face.
Chapter Thirty-five
Bringing the SUV’s tires to a screeching halt, Keith stopped right on the money, coming close to causing Angie, who was not wearing her seat belt, to fly in the front and almost go crashing through the truck’s windshield. “There she go! Right over there!” Spotting Greedy on her front porch coming in and out the house angrily tossing clothes and other items into the front yard, Keith knew for certain he was in the right place. Swinging the door open, before he could place his Kenneth Cole loafer on the running board and search for Jazmine himself, the police squad car sped up, blocking his exit.
Knowing he was also following the two females, with guns drawn, the cops dashed over to Keith, demanding to know if he had any knowledge of which direction their fellow officer had gone.
“Damn, lower y’all guns!” Being a black man in Detroit, or America for that matter, Keith instinctively threw up his hands, proving to the police that he was unarmed. “Jazmine Coleman is with us. This is her truck!” he quickly announced, with Bama Bob inconspicuously watching from down the block.
Satisfied the driver and his pregnant companion Angie meant them no immediate harm, the uniformed patrolmen called for additional backup to their location. Cautiously they ran up the walkway scattered with toys and clothes, approaching an overly distraught Greedy and four bawling kids. “Where is Officer Coleman?” the burly white cop insisted to know as his rookie partner kept his gun pointed at the open door. “Which way did she go?”
Surrounded by her petrified children, Greedy stopped throwing Justice’s belongings and shut her eyes, shaking her head for bringing that monster into their lives. “She’s in the back room, down the hall, second door to the left.”
Knowing time was ticking and her safety was on the line, the two patrolmen made the split-second decision to not wait for backup and search for Officer Coleman themselves. Upon entering Greedy’s house and turning off the loud television, they secured their immediate perimeter. Step by step, kicking a few items out of their path, the duo headed down the long, dark hallway.
The closer the white cop got to the closed bedroom door, he heard voices. Not being able to make out what the people behind the door were saying, he knew for sure one voice was that of a female and one was that of a man. Not wanting to waste any more time or risk the life of Officer Coleman, the veteran cop shoved the door off the loosened frame just as a shot was being fired.
“Argg, son of a bitch!” At the very second the booming blast of the gunshot rang out that was fired at Justice, Jazmine was pushed on the right side of her body and knocked into the low-sitting TV stand. Trying to regain her balance as soon as possible, the tactical field-trained officer broke her fall, grabbing a hold of a bookshelf. Never once dropping her nine, ready to fire once again, Jazmine defensively aimed at the person coming through the door until the white policeman loudly announced himself.
“Freeze! Detroit Police!” He scrambled to make sure the guy across the room, whose picture was posted on every newspaper and television set in Detroit, wasn’t armed and his comrade was all right.
With Jazmine back on her feet, she and the white cop both approached a moaning Justice.
Crying li
ke a true bitch, the once-boisterous self-proclaimed “Hood Warrior” had broken glass from the window he’d fallen into, covering his bloody face. “I’m hit, I’m hit!” he groaned, holding his head.
Not giving two shits about what the murder suspect was saying, the oversized policeman flung him over on his stomach, snapping the cuffs on as tight as he could possibly get them. “Shut the fuck up!” Grinding his knee into Justice’s spine, the father of six thought about his own kids, two of whom were the same age as the boys Justice was accused of poisoning. “Nigger, you lucky I don’t kill you myself!”
Normally Jazmine would be offended if the white man said the N word or manhandled a black suspect a little bit too roughly for her taste, but no amount of brutal over-the-top behavior was uncalled for under these circumstances. In the case of dealing with Justice Richards, it was one of those anything goes moments.
Dragging him out in the hallway, then turning on the lights, all three officers flipped the Kid Killer over, discovering that, unfortunately for the good taxpaying citizens of Wayne County who’d have to foot the bill for a trial, Justice wasn’t dying from a gunshot wound to the head, but had only been grazed. The majority of blood on his face had to have come from the cuts he suffered from the broken window.
Shit! Jazmine thought as a disoriented Justice mumbled about her trying to kill him. I never miss. If it weren’t for the door hitting my arm, this buster would have been dead for sure!
After hearing shots fired, a huge number of police cars swarmed the block. They were joined by a slew of reporters who were just covering Cuzzo’s murder, followed by a lynch mob of hostile neighbors calling for Justice Richards’s head delivered on a silver platter. Keeping Greedy and her children segregated from the judgmental crowds, who blamed her for harboring the fugitive, was a task in itself. With the family of five all huddled together in an unmarked sedan with dark tinted windows, one part of Greedy hoped Justice was now dead while the other prayed he could change for the sake of their unborn seed. However, after being given a Sunday paper and reading the long, detailed article of the crimes the soon-to-be father of her child had been accused of, she knew that wasn’t possible.
Jazmine, knowing she’d missed the only chance she would get to avenge Moe Mack’s death, walked out to her truck, breaking the bad news to Keith, Bama Bob, and Angie, that regretfully Justice was still very much alive. “That jackass got nine lives. Another inch over and he’d be coming out in a body bag instead of handcuffs!” she hissed, staring back at Greedy’s house.
Rubbing his hands together, Keith smiled. “It’s all good, fam. We got dudes on the payroll in every county jail, detention center, and fucking penitentiary from here to Ohio to Indiana and back. Trust he gonna get got! That’s a given!”
With the cameras rolling, the chief of police was planted front and center on Greedy’s front grass, talking to reporters as if he himself singlehandedly captured Justice. The irate crowd erupted in insults, death threats, and boos as the infamous Kid Killer was dragged out shirtless in handcuffs with a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head.
Uncharacteristically, not muttering a word as numerous microphones were shoved in his face, the newly apprehended Justice Richards was roughly paraded through the street then tossed in the back seat of a squad car headfirst before being whisked off. There was no “Fuck you!” No “Nigga, do you know who I am?” No “Suck my dick,” or mean mugging. No “I’ll kill ya ass!” And not even a “Bitch, get that shit out my face!” Detroit’s public enemy number one remained silent, leaving all of the city’s residents standing there in person and watching on channels two, four, and seven breaking news to only speculate what could be going on in that sinister mind of his.
Chapter Thirty-six
“Good Tuesday morning, Detroit. I’m downtown standing in front of the Thirty-sixth District Courthouse. And with this past weekend being one of the deadliest forty-eight hours recorded in Michigan history, the court clerks have been working overtime crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s, trying to ensure no clerical mishaps in the over nine high-profile arraignments that have already taken place over a twenty-four-hour span. Now depending on who you ask, today might be the worst. It’s been a rollercoaster ride in gathering evidence, witness statements, and deciding what specific charges will be filed today against Justice Richards, who has been nicknamed by the media, residents, and authorities as the Kid Killer.
“The prosecutor’s office reportedly has been overrun with citizens willing to step up and help bring a much-needed end to the one-man murderous wide-scale rampage that claimed the lives of eight people, including those of two small boys. Sources say Mr. Richards, apprehended Sunday on the far east side, is apparently lodging a hunger strike, refusing to eat, and is also refraining from making any statements thus far. So we can only wait today and see what unfolds. We’ll also have reactions from the families of the victims on our broadcast at noon, as many of them are just arriving to the proceedings. This is Jayden James live reporting for Channel 7 Action News.”
* * *
As Judge Curtis sat back in the leather chair in her private chambers, the same social worker who’d been present in the courtroom the day Justice was taken away for good from his belligerent, defiant mother entered, taking a seat.
“It’s been a long time, Judge,” the now-retired woman spoke. “I never thought I would be back inside of another courthouse after I left the job.”
“Yeah, almost twenty years to be exact,” Judge Curtis reminisced, looking at her various degrees, certificates, and framed newspaper articles nailed to the wall. “It was the first week I started out over in family court.”
Showing a faint smile, considering the reason for their reunion, the elderly woman took a deep breath. “I never thought in a million years this sort of thing could happen, but it has. God help me for being selfish and not completely honest from the beginning.”
Judge Curtis removed her eyeglasses, setting them on the desk. The once-innocent baby that she and the woman in front of her had saved from his mother’s ungodly influences was now the talk of the town and the perpetrator of violent acts that were deemed unspeakable even in the most awful of households. “I’ve read this file over and over and wanted to try some way to avoid doing what we have to do, but I can’t. When I got your call, I was in total shock.”
“I know,” the retired social worker agreed. “I can’t help but wonder if somehow this was my fault and I could’ve stopped it. For the past forty-eight hours my conscience has been killing me. I’ve been trying to find a way to deal with it, but I can’t.” She openly wept. “After today, everything in my life will change for good. I only pray God will forgive me for holding back on the truth. It’s been far too long.”
“Listen, you can’t blame yourself. You did what you thought was best all these years. The only thing we can do now is make it right.” Judge Curtis reached for the phone, lifting the receiver to her ear. “Now I just got off the phone with the psychologist before you came in, and we need to consult with the prosecutor and the defense attorney and bring them up to speed with the urgent business we need to take care of after Mr. Richards’s arraignment.”
Entering the courtroom, inquisitive spectators along with distraught, infuriated family members were seated, packed like sardines shoulder to shoulder, waiting to get their first glimpse at the calculating creature who’d robbed them of their beloved father, mother, daughter, sister, cousin, son, and friend. Taking into consideration that emotions would be running at an all-time high, extra security precautions were taken. Not only were Wayne County sheriffs standing on post throughout the courtroom and building, but also heavily armed Detroit police officers stood guard on the streets.
With news cameras ready to capture every moment of the proceedings, not only were residents of the Motor City anticipating Justice’s defense of his heartless actions, but also the world that’d stood up taking notice of how the crime-ridden town would deal with a savage ind
ividual such as the notorious Mr. Richards.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“All rise. The Thirty-sixth District Court of the State of Michigan is now in session.” With an expression of seriousness, the court bailiff made his normal speech as the chamber doors cracked open. “The Honorable Judge G. Curtis residing.”
“Thank you.” She sternly nodded, knowing all eyes were on her. “You can all please take your seats.”
Shuffling through what seemed like tons of paperwork, the judge shared a few private words with her clerk, then summoned her to begin with the most anticipated arraignment of the morning. “Case number 217-66883-A72: the State of Michigan versus Justice Richards.”
The specially assembled team of prosecuting attorneys waited behind their wooden table, ready to wage battle as Justice’s lone court-appointed defense council fixed his tie, optimistic that this case and its infamous client would gain him worldwide recognition and possibly a shot at making partner in his law firm. Finally, dressed in an old, mildewed jailhouse-issued jumpsuit, Justice, who had several minor bruises he magically somehow obtained while being fingerprinted and booked courtesy of Detroit Police, was led out in shackles. Instantly he was met by jeers, threats, and insults, causing Judge Curtis to bang her gavel repeatedly, demanding that order be restored in her packed courtroom.
“I hope to God you die in your damn sleep, motherfucker!” NayNay’s sister and mother to the two small boys he’d poisoned shouted out to him. “You ain’t about shit! What about NFL 4 LIFE, nigga?” she screamed in tears, having lost three family members in Justice’s crime spree.
“You’re an animal! How could you take our son from us?” Moe Mack’s parents sat astonished that their only child was dead, leaving them to raise his baby.
Barely able to stand, the cab driver’s mournful wife shouted out in her native tongue what was no doubt a curse of torture and a slow death toward the young man who’d made her an early widow.
The System Has Failed Page 22
