by Jason Trevor
“William Athens, please. This is Detective Cody Sims with the Houston Police Department,”
“I’m sorry. Mr. Athens is in court today. Can I take a message for you?”
“It’s imperative that I speak with Joe Danton as soon as possible, and we can’t locate him. Please have Mr. Athens call me as soon as he can,”
“Is Joe Danton a client of ours?”
“Yes. I cannot stress the importance of our speaking to him enough,”
“I can send him a message on his phone, but he won’t get it until court adjourns or goes to a recess,”
“Do that, and I don’t care about the time. He needs to call me as soon as he can,”
“I’ll send him the message,”
◆◆◆
Joe’s cell phone rang as he stood in line at Lowe’s, cradling three ¾” NPT nipples and caps in his hands. He gathered it all into one hand and then pulled out his phone. William’s name was on the screen.
“Go for Joe,” he smiled.
“Surprise, surprise, Detective Sims is looking for you.
“I’m outdoors. Little fire at my house. Hadn’t you heard?”
“Do you want to meet with him tonight? I’m in court until about five. I can have my secretary set it up,”
“Is that a good idea?”
“As long as you let me do the talking. They haven’t issued a warrant for you, so they probably just have questions. It’s better if you come off as cooperative,”
“Neutral location?”
“They won’t go for that. It will have to be in one of their little rooms at 1200 Travis,”
“How’s 6:00?”
“Works for me. I’ll only be a few blocks away. Meet me at the public entrance, on the plaza right outside the building by the police museum,”
“Perfect. I have a date not far from there tonight anyway,”
◆◆◆
“Joseph Freeman, your time’s up!” Shouted a guard into the cage at the Harris County Jail. Joey strolled to the door as the crowd parted for him. “Everyone else, back. Get away from the door,”
“ ’Bout time. Seen enough of the po-po lately,” muttered Joey.
Once no one was near the door but Joey, the guard keyed the microphone on his shoulder. “Open eleven,” The door buzzed, the guard swung it open, and Joey strolled through.
After sixty days, Joey didn’t care about anything but his bed. He’d catch a shower and meet up with the crew after a night’s sleep. He could walk to his house on Tierwester in less than an hour. No sense paying for a cab or an Uber. The lights were probably out at the house, so he could get it all turned back on before Kanya came home. She had another 20 days to serve.
◆◆◆
“Thank you for coming in today,” Cody shook Joe’s hand and then William’s before turning on a voice recorder and setting it on the table in the same little room where he had interviewed Oscar only a few weeks earlier. “The Miranda rights that I explained to you over the phone on the twenty-seventh of last month still apply. Do you remember and understand them?”
Joe nodded to William.
“Yes, he does,” answered William for him. “I am his counsel and you will direct all of your questions to me. So, why are we here?”
“Why do you feel the need for a lawyer?” Cody asked Joe directly, pointedly defying William’s request.
Joe locked his gaze with Cody as William answered. “Because you have indicated in previous conversations that you believe Joe is guilty of a crime. You’ve done it several times. I’m here to ensure that his rights are protected,”
“Are you guilty of a crime?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” William answered without hesitating. This was not his first rodeo when it came to police fishing.
“Sure,” piped up Joe, surprising both of them. William started to protest, but Joe went on, “I double-parked behind your car the day we met, at Foster’s and Ellie’s house,” he smiled like the cat that ate the canary.
“It’s funny that you mention Foster Shayne,” pushed the detective. “Have you been interfering with my investigation into his death, and have you been seeking retribution against anyone that you believe may be responsible?” This time Joe stayed quiet and let William answer.
“I believe that question was already asked by you on the twenty-seventh and answered at that time by Mr. Danton. You can review your notes or your recording if you have forgotten his answer,”
“So, your answer to the question hasn’t changed?”
“No, it hasn’t,”
“Fine. Moving on. Do you own a black SUV?”
“I think you are aware that he owns a black Cadillac Escalade,”
“What about another one? Older. Uglier. Not as nice as a Caddy,”
“Do TxDOT records indicate any vehicles besides the Escalade, a Charger, and a Ram pickup?”
“A Camaro, actually,”
William turned to Joe and indicated that he should answer.
“My wife and kids were killed in that car by a drunk driver. It was totaled and scrapped after that. I guess the title hasn’t been registered by anyone since, so it still shows up as mine. I have no idea where it is,”
“I don’t care about the Camaro. It’s not a black SUV. Do you own one that isn’t registered? Maybe a recent acquisition?”
“Nope,” Joe could make the statement confidently because the Suburban was owned by the shell corporation in Barbados.
“Do you know how to shoot a machine gun?”
This time William held up his hand to stop Joe from answering, and he answered instead.
“Mr. Danton is an Air Force Special Operations Forces veteran with combat experience. Of course, he knows how to operate an automatic weapon,”
“Do you own one?”
“If he did, the ATF would have records of it, which I am sure you have already checked,”
“We did. How many guns do you own, Mr. Danton?”
“He’s not at liberty to say,”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s none of your business, that’s why. Is there a specific gun that you have questions about?”
“Yes. A turret-mounted gatling gun hidden inside of a black Suburban. Ring any bells?”
“Good God!” William acted surprised, even though he knew Joe had exactly that stashed away somewhere. “What on Earth use would he have for that kind of firepower?”
“He could use it to shoot up a crappy little house in a crime-infested neighborhood in the middle of the night. One that’s full of bloodthirsty gang-bangers, to be specific. He could do that right after he uses the skills of a combat veteran to beat the ever-living shit out of some drug dealers while dressed like Sonny Crockett. Still, no bells ringing?” Joe remained poker-faced and stared Cody down.
William feigned indignance. “Is that a specific accusation? Be careful where you tread, Detective,”
“It’s as close as I can get to one at this point. You are going to have a hard time convincing me that you aren’t the reason that I have a morgue and a trauma center full of gang bangers right now. I have a credible witness, you know,”
“If that were true, my client would be under arrest. Is he?”
“Not at this time, no,”
“Then it sounds to me like you have a turf war between rival gangs and you are trying to pin the actions of one side on my client. Do you have any idea how far-fetched you sound, trying to blame a boring suburbanite widower for a drive-by and some street dealers getting into a fight? It sounds to me like you should be looking for another dealer who is trying to move in on their turf,”
“Don’t worry, the gang unit is all over that angle,”
“Then I will ask again: Why are we here?”
“Because street thugs don’t know that a light bulb can’t be pulled past someone’s teeth without shattering. Did you know that, Mr. Danton?”
Joe kept his gaze locked on Cody and still didn’t react. It was obvious to h
im that the question was meant to make him flinch.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” retorted William flatly. “Detective, I’m going to need you to stop leveling accusations at Mr. Danton unless you have clear evidence to back them up,”
“Mr. Danton, I am certain that you are waging a one-man war against this group of gang members. They may be pond scum, but what you are doing is very dangerous and very illegal. I’m only inches from having the evidence to arrest you for one or more of many, many felonies. It will go a lot more smoothly for you if you come clean now and stop hiding behind your lawyer,”
“Then what you have is nothing but wild accusations, and this interview is over. You know how to reach my office if you have any actual questions and less crazy conjecture. Come on, Joe. We’re leaving,”
Cody jumped up, growing angry with frustration. “I’m not done with him!” he almost shouted, speaking directly to William for the first time.
“Yes, you are,” Joe was almost to the door and William was directly behind him. “You’ve already stated that my client is not under arrest, and his cooperation has been met with salacious and unfounded accusations. The next time you want to speak with him, you had better have a warrant because his voluntary cooperation expired this evening,”
“Where are you staying, so I know where to find you when we do get that warrant?”
William stopped and turned. “You have already demonstrated that you can’t be trusted with his whereabouts. Call me if you need to reach him,” The two men marched out together.
When they were in the elevator, Cody pulled out his cell phone and called Johnny Le.
“Hey,” answered Johnny on the other end, standing on Joe’s front porch and dusting some soot from a windbreaker with an arson investigator’s patch stitched onto it.
“They just left, but I doubt they are going to his house. They may go to the lawyer’s house next door, so it’s probably a good idea to make yourself scarce pretty quickly. Did you find anything?”
“There’s a gun safe in a closet that we’ll have to get a warrant to drill if he won’t open it. There’s also one of those fingerprint-operated emergency safes in his nightstand drawer, but it’s open and empty. He probably has that gun with him wherever he is staying right now,”
“Is it big enough for a .45 automatic with a silencer?”
“Barely big enough for a .45 and he would have to struggle to get it in and out quickly. There’s no way a suppressor would fit. He most likely had something smaller in there,”
“Anything else?”
“Some pretty fancy computer equipment,”
“Fancy enough to pull footage from a stolen camera recorder?”
“Maybe. That’s not my area. The Charger and pickup are gone. I guess he didn’t want them sitting around a burned-out house,”
“Did you talk to the arson investigator?”
“Yeah. He says the fire was started from the outside at about chest height. Someone probably just walked up and held a cigarette lighter to the siding until it lit,” Johnny slunk into his car and slammed the door.
“We’ve got a lot of felonies piling up here with obvious culprits, but no way to pin any of them on anyone,”
“Yep,”
Both detectives burned with frustration.
Chapter 18
“Just get the shit turned back on. It’s hot in here. Nigga done paid extra for a rush!” Joey hung up his cell phone and threw it on the bed next to the prepaid debit card he’d just given to the power company. The first glimmer of dawn was making its way through the windows of his house. He’d slept for 13 hours and was still tired. He needed to call the water company next, but he was too exhausted. At least the lights were taken care of. He crumpled up onto the bare mattress again and slipped into more hours of dreamless sleep, still with no idea of the events of the preceding weeks.
◆◆◆
The Suburban sat in the grass behind the slab out back of Joe’s warehouse. The lights and windows were masked with kraft paper and painter’s tape, and he emptied his fifth can of Krylon gloss black onto the truck, completing the left front fender. There was absolutely no reason that the truck needed a professional paint job. Spray paint would do just fine. Tossing the can aside, he grabbed another one from the Lowe’s sack and shook it violently until he heard the marble inside rattling.
A quick check of jail records that morning had indicated that Kanya Freeman had almost three weeks left in the clink for the fight she and her husband had started by cutting in line at a night club right at the edge of downtown a few months ago, but Joey had been released last night. He was certainly home by now, but how long before the electricity was restored and the water heater powered up again? Only time would tell. Hopefully, Joey had not wandered into the squalid laundry room and seen that the pipes to his water heater had been tampered with. Laundry was not usually the first thing on someone’s mind when they were released from jail, and the condition of the room had made Joe think that laundry rarely crossed Joey’s or Kanya’s minds.
◆◆◆
“What in the ever-living shit is this?” demanded Lieutenant Lakefield as he slapped the morning paper down in front of Cody Sims. The tall, bold headline read: ‘Justice-Seeking Vigilante Terrorizing Houston Gangland’ with the tagline ‘Bodies piling up as police are baffled trying to capture angry citizen on anti-gang vendetta’
“Aw, hell. I guess it was inevitable,” moaned Sims.
“Did this ‘Butch’ guy call you for comment?”
“Nope. You?”
“No. Check with the media relations department and see if he called them. He sure has a lot of details. He’s talking to someone close to this case,” Sims’ phone rang and he grabbed it.
“Homicide, Sims. Yes, I am. No comment. No, no comment, and you can quote me on that,” he hung up the phone. “That was channel 11. I think we’ll be getting a lot of calls this morning,”
◆◆◆
Joey woke to the sound of his bedroom window unit air conditioner humming. The naked light bulb, dangling by its wires from the center of the ceiling, was lit. The power was on. The room was cool, so it must have been turned on hours before. He picked up his phone and looked at the time. It was almost noon. He hadn’t eaten since lunch was served in the jail the day before and he was hungry. He crawled slowly off of the mattress and stumbled back toward the kitchen.
Roaches scattered when he turned on the kitchen light, hiding in empty beer cans and under moldy dishes that had sat in the sink for months since his arrest. The pizza box from the dinner they ate before going out to the club on the night he’d been arrested was still on the wobbly occasional table in the middle of the room. He could hear scratching inside. He flipped the lid open and two mice scampered off of the furry leftover pizza, across the table, and dove for the floor, running to a gap in the baseboards and disappearing into the wall, one right after the other.
There had to be something to eat in the house. He opened the fridge and found clabbered milk, flat sodas, and rotten food. Revolted, he slammed the refrigerator in disgust and turned to the cabinet that he and Kanya used for a pantry. When he opened it, he was met with an open package of Ritz, crawling with ants. Just behind it was another, unopened package. He grabbed it and sat in the chair by the wall. The water wasn’t on yet, so he couldn’t do much to clean the dishes.
The smell of old laundry was seeping from the washroom on the other side of the wall. No sense going in there. He couldn’t do anything about that until the water was on, either.
He nibbled listlessly on the crackers as he scrolled through the hundreds of text messages backed up on his phone since his arrest. He’d answered the most important ones during his walk home from the jail. Now he could at least sift through and answer the rest. Then he decided that he had better get the water on as soon as possible, instead of answering text messages. Popping another cracker into his mouth, he stood up and headed toward the bedroom to retrieve the debit card so that he co
uld call the public works department.
Passing the laundry room door, he heard a familiar sound. It was the popping and burbling of the electric water heater, heating the water inside. But there was another sound. It was a kind of straining, singing metallic sound. He stood in the doorway and stared into the room, dimly lit by sunlight streaming in the dirty window across from the washer. He reached in and flipped on the light. It flashed on and then immediately back off as the bulb burnt out.
Tapping on the screen of his cell phone, he turned on the flashlight and shined it into the room, sweeping it back and forth as he surveyed for the sound, pausing only for a split-second on the water heater. He frowned and swept it back to the water heater. All of the pipes to it were cut off and crimped closed. New caps were on short, stubby little pipes poking out of the appliance where the plumbing had been connected.
“What the?”
He stepped over a smelly pile of clothes, then up onto a pile that was near it. The pile of clothes squished under his weight. The entire pile of clothes was soaking wet. He shined the light down and saw water in the pan and on the floor around the water heater. He tapped the screen of his phone a few more times and called Tony. It went straight to voicemail.
“Hey man, I’m outta jail and home. You been messing around with my plumbing while I was gone? My grammy had a badass plumber before she died, and the hot water in this house worked great. Call me and let me know what all this-“
He was cut off in mid-sentence by a short, deafening boom, and everything went black.
◆◆◆
Shaniqua stood on the sidewalk in front of the little house that she and her boyfriend rented, smoking a Virginia Slims menthol and watching her toddler play on a faded old big-wheel. Her hair was up in a red kerchief and she tugged at an itchy eyelid with her free hand.
“You look like Aunt Jemima!” laughed the little girl.
“Shut yo’ mouth and play,”
She stared at the house across the street. It had been deserted for a few months. The dirty drug dealer who lived there was in jail again, and this time his girl was, too. The grass was unruly and tall, but lights were on in the house for the first time in a long time today. He must have gotten out. She’d bumped him once to get bail money for her baby’s daddy, and it had been the worst sex she’d ever had. Ever since, she just wanted him to go away so that she could be sure her secret wouldn’t be learned by the neighbors. Why couldn’t the police show up with their “war on drugs” and arrest him for good? She supposed her neighborhood wasn’t white enough for them to come get the drug dealers.
