Alibi II (2 page)

A
cross from the courthouse in a parking lot sat an old rusty navy blue van with black-tinted windows. Liddles, the owner and driver of the van, sat parked all the way in the back of the lot where no one would pay him any mind. He had a pair of binoculars sitting on the seat next to him, and a McDonald’s bag filled with the leftovers and garbage from lunch. The van was thirteen years old, the heat and air were on the brink, and he didn’t have a radio. However, he was riding around with a tiny boom box the size of a sneaker box in the backseat, minus the batteries. Liddles had been sitting in the back of the lot inconspicuously for the past five hours, from 10:00 a.m. to 3:12 in the afternoon. He was patient and had been ever since the death of his brother, Poncho.
Don’t worry, Poncho, they will all get what they deserve.
Every day he sat parked in the same spot, watching and waiting.

A young woman, dressed casually in a pair of dark brown slacks, lightweight jacket, and a tan button-down blouse, walked across the street and through the parking lot and hopped into the van.

“Damn, my head is itching,” she said, pulling the passenger door closed and taking a brown, curly wig off her head as she began to scratch her scalp. “I don’t know how them girls be wearing these things. This damn wig was tearing my head up in that courtroom.”

“Put that back on, I don’t want you recognized,” he said, not wanting to put her in harm’s way. “What happened today?”

“Oh, boy, it was a mess in there today,” she said, following his instructions and putting the wig back on her head.

“What, what happened?” Liddles asked, as if the two of them were staring at a soap opera.

Karla-Jae, Liddles’s little sister, gave him the 411 and lowdown on all the courtroom drama.

“Well, first of all the flower girl didn’t give Nard the alibi like she was supposed to.”

“What the fuck you mean, she didn’t give him the alibi? He’s going to jail?”

“Yup, it looks bad,” she said, moving the story forward. “No, I swear to God, then some girl jumped up in the back of the courtroom and started screaming at Nard that he killed her brother. It was terrible,” the girl said, eyes wider than Betty Boop’s and just as serious as a heart attack as she patted her head, which was still itching.

“So, you mean to tell me, the girl said Nard wasn’t with her? And some other girl was screaming Nard killed her brother?” asked Liddles, putting two and two together.

“Yup,” said Karla-Jae, thinking back to the look on Nard’s face before all the commotion. “Nard couldn’t believe it. I thought he was going to jump over the table and rip the girl’s heart out or something when she got on the stand. You should have seen the look on his face. Nard is bent right now, believe that, real bent.”

“Wow,” said Liddles, unable to believe a word his sister was saying. He kept trying to fathom the meaning of it all. He just couldn’t believe that Nard’s alibi had turned stale. “And who was the girl again? The one saying Nard killed her brother?” asked Liddles.

“How would I know?” asked Karla-Jae, frowning at Liddles, not understanding why he was making her sit in the courtroom every day anyway. “Oou, look! There she go, with her crazy family, right there,” said Karla-Jae. “Look at him. He was in there, too, right next to her. All of them be in there every day,” she said, giving up more information for Liddles to register.

Karla-Jae looked over at her brother, who watched the family through his binoculars, an older woman accompanied by two guys and three young women walking down the steps of the courthouse.

“You know you is crazy, right?” Karla-Jae asked, patting her head, then ruffling her shoulder-length mane, as she swung her hair from side to side, like the girls in the shampoo commercials.

Liddles paid his sister no mind and watched as the family made their way across the street and walked into the parking lot to where the attendant’s booth was located. He watched through the binoculars as one of the guys pulled a thick wad of cash out of his front pocket and paid for his ticket. Within a few minutes a gray Oldsmobile was brought to them. He looked at the Pennsylvania tag on the vehicle.

“Kay-Jae, write down this number…PDA-31K,” said Liddles as he watched the Oldsmobile turn out of the parking lot. He started the van and followed the car as it turned onto Twelfth Street.

“Where we going?” asked Karla-Jae.

“Write down that tag,” he bossed with authority as she searched the van’s middle armrest console for a pen. She did as he told her, just as his oversized cell phone rang.

Wink and his family had no idea they were being followed home. The thought never hit Wink. His mind was too focused on Nard, who was on trial for killing his brother, Jeremy Tyler. Wink and his mother sat in the front of the car while Leslee, Linda, Joan, and Miles had all piled into the back.

“Did you see his face when that girl got up there?” asked Leslee, laughing at Nard.

“God don’t like ugly,” said Mom Tyler.

“Oh, no, he gonna get his for what he did,” said Wink, certain of that. He already had scoped out Nard’s mother. He planned on giving Nard a dose of reality. He wanted to let Nard know that he could get at him, through his family, never thinking that someone wanted to get at his.

“He can forget it now,” said Mom Tyler. “I don’t think that boy stands much of a chance after what happened today. He’s going to jail and that’s just what he deserves,” the woman said as she wiped a tear from her eye.

“Mom, don’t cry,” said Wink as he slowed the car just a bit, extending his arm and patting his mother’s back.

“I’m all right, I just miss my baby,” she said, thinking of her second-born child, Jeremy. “I sure do miss my son,” she said, wishing her son were still alive and wanting nothing more than to see his killer spend the rest of his life behind bars.

“Look, they turning, fool,” said Karla-Jae, pointing at the Oldsmobile turning the corner.

“Damn, why you ain’t say nothing?” he fussed back at her, missing the turn the Oldsmobile had just made.

“Let me call you back,” said Liddles as he hung up on Cassie, his daughter’s mom. He dropped the phone, quickly banged the next right, and tried to double back to see if he could catch them. He couldn’t, though, because the car was nowhere in sight.

He looked at his sister as if she were at fault. Liddles was so heated that he had lost the Oldsmobile, he banged the side of his fist down on the steering wheel, causing the horn to blow.

“Don’t be mad at me. You the one that can’t follow a car that’s right in front of you,” Karla-Jae said, hoping she could go home now. She had a date with her boyfriend Dalvin and didn’t have time to be on no I Spy mission with her brother.

He snatched the piece of paper that had the tag number written down on it out of his sister’s hands. He looked at the number, memorizing it.

“I don’t know who you snatching from,” she said, rolling her eyes and paying him no mind.

He read the tag number to himself once more. His memory tight, he crumpled the tiny piece of paper and threw it out the window. The tag number was sealed in his mind. There was no chance he would forget it. He looked over at his sister and rolled his eyes at her.

Liddles picked up his oversized cell phone and began dialing a number.

“Yo, Reese, your girl still work at the DMV?” asked Liddles as Karla-Jae listened to his one-sided conversation.

“I need her to run this tag for me on the low,” Liddles said, repeating the tag number.

“No problem, hip hip,” he responded before hanging up the phone.
This is just how simple it is to get at a nigga,
he thought to himself. Before the day was out, he would have an address, and before the night was out, he’d be right on Wink’s ass, with his trusty binoculars.

T
ommy Delgado closed the door to the dark blue Chrysler Fifth Avenue sedan. He and Detective Merva Ross stood and watched the car fade away in the distance.

“You think she’ll be all right?” Merva asked, digging her hands deep into her jacket pockets, the autumn air feeling brisk.

Tommy stood still, thinking of his partner’s question.
Will she?
“I don’t know, Ross. But she’s been through a lot, that’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah, she has,” agreed Merva as they crossed the street from City Hall and walked down Thirteenth Street. “You gave her a fresh start, though,” said Merva as she stopped and looked at Tommy face to face. “You didn’t have to fight for her. I wouldn’t have. But you did.”

Tommy couldn’t help but to interrupt his partner. “Excuse me, Ross, you don’t fight for anybody,” joked Tommy, laughing at his partner, who always played by the book, showing no remorse and very little sympathy for criminals, despite their story, background, or reasons why.

“Yeah, but you did, you fought for Daisy Mae Fothergill, and if it hadn’t been for you, she probably wouldn’t still be here, and she certainly wouldn’t have the opportunity that she has now to start her life all over again. Come on, very few people get a second chance at life. I admire that about you, Delgado, you’re all right with me,” said Ross, patting Tommy on his back as they walked down the street.

“Yeah, you know, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know. I’m just a great guy, an all-around American hero. It’s what I do, I save lives,” said Tommy, thinking of all the people he really had saved.

“Oh, boy, men just can’t take a compliment and say thank you. I should have never said a word.”

“Want to grab a bite before heading back to the station?”

“Always that, you gotta ask?” she joked back.

“Snockey’s?” he asked, one brow arched.

“Oh, boy, oysters and stewed tomatoes, now you’re talking.”

Daisy Mae Fothergill had survived the unthinkable. She didn’t know how she had managed to get on the witness stand, speak clearly, and answer each and every question presented without breaking down for fear. But she had.

She had seen the look in Nard’s eyes.
He was devastated, completely,
she thought to herself.
What could I do? I had no choice.
She reasoned with herself, all the while thinking of the murderer’s fate.
He gets whatever happens to him.
She again reasoned with herself. His face had looked like a confused question mark.
He must have really thought I was going to say we were together. He really thought I would listen to Sticks. Why didn’t Sticks tell him? He looked at me like he wanted to kill me,
Daisy thought to herself.

It was true, Nard had no idea that Daisy wasn’t testifying on his behalf. How could he? He was nothing more than a stranger sitting in the courtroom. But if Nard’s looks could kill, she knew she’d be dead.
Please don’t ever let him get out of jail,
Daisy thought to herself. She had realized a long time ago how drastic and how serious the situation was when faced with the reality of living a life in police protective custody. The entire fiasco was unbelievable.
How did I even let myself end up in this situation?
Being removed, and built over, wasn’t what she had in mind.
At least I got to keep the money from the bank.
Daisy was ready for a “fresh start,” as Tommy Delgado called it. He had spent three days and three nights breaking her down, making her agree to testify, after capturing her in Tennessee and bringing her back to Philadelphia.

“Look, what do you want from me?” he had said, taking the last possible pull from his Newport as he smoked the cigarette all the way to the filter before crushing it with his fingers in the ashtray. “I’m giving you a chance to get out of here and make something of your life.”

“Who said I need you to give me a chance?”

“Well, maybe I should just send you back out there on the streets and let the wolves that are looking for you tear you apart!” he yelled, frustrated with repeating himself. The way he saw it, testifying was the only chance she had.
What the hell is wrong with this girl? They’ll fucking kill her. Is she that stupid that she can’t see I’m trying to save her life?

“Listen, Daisy,” said Tommy, as he tried another approach. He took a seat next to her, running his fingers through his hair. He looked at her, then pulled out his pack of cigarettes, lighting another. “These guys you’ve let yourself get caught up with are very dangerous. Let me tell you, kid, it started with three dead guys sprawled out in an apartment. Then, a young woman and her nine-year-old son were found dead in the same building, believed to be possible witnesses. I got a dead owner of the nightclub where you worked, Daisy, killed for what? Then your landlord is beaten to death. All because of you and this fucking alibi bullshit, and you’re gonna be next,” he said, drawing on his cigarette.

“How do you know I’ll be next?” she retorted, as if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Why do I even do this shit?” he said, looking at her, before he got up, walked away, and slammed the door behind him.

It would take another pack of cigarettes, two beers, and the help of his girlfriend, FBI Agent Vivian Lang. Of course, Viv would cosign Tommy in a heartbeat. And for Daisy all it actually took was a little foul play to get her to cooperate. Tommy didn’t care what he had to do to get her statement and to get her to confess the truth. Besides, it was for Daisy’s own good in the end.

“You’re gonna fucking testify. Shut up, I tell you what to do. You hear me? You want even more problems, see, I know what you’re thinking. I found out about the bank, kiddo. Not good, and guess what, if you don’t cooperate, the bank is going to want restitution on that fifty thousand.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s your ass, Daisy. It’s that fat ass of yours you walk around shaking at the Honey Dipper, and the FBI is going to come for it,” he said, smiling, knowing he had her. Tommy was from the streets, he knew how to speak her language.

“No they won’t; I already cooperated,” she snapped.

“Shut up, you think you know so much, Daisy Mae, what kind of name is Daisy Mae anyway? The fucking FBI is here, Daisy, and guess what, kiddo, you’re going to jail, and not only are you going to prison, you won’t have that money you’re holding on to. And I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking that you got, what, close to fifty thousand dollars and you can keep yourself safe.” He smiled, having her all figured out.

“That’s bullshit, that’s my money.”

“Not if I say so. I’m the law, I am the law! And you are going to cooperate with the state now and sign that affidavit or so help me God, I’m going downstairs and I’m going to let Agent Lang hang you. Don’t believe me? Look here out the window,” said Tommy, pointing to his little covert operation that he orchestrated along with his girlfriend, Vivian.

“You cooperate, not only will you get to keep your money, girlie, but you’ll have the state to protect you from these assholes,” said Tommy, hoping that she’d hurry up and sign the affidavit so he could go home, a job well done.

“I’m scared,” said Daisy as she began to break down and cry at her reality, her life seemingly crashing.

“Don’t be. It’s gonna be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise, Daisy, when I’m done you’re gonna have a good life, trust me, a great, wonderful life, you hear me, kiddo?” he asked.

Little did she know that he would turn out to be one hundred on that. Daisy got off the stand and was escorted into the back of a room outside the courthouse doors where her cousin, Kimmie Sue, and her friend Billy Bob were waiting to say good-bye. It was decreed that she not have any contact with friends or family for her own protection. So she had no choice but to leave them behind, at least for now.

Finally, it was time to say good-bye to Tommy and his partner, Merva. Daisy didn’t really care for her and it was apparent that Merva didn’t care for her, either. But Tommy was Daisy’s knight in shining armor. He was the one who, for some strange reason, did care. He wanted Daisy to make it. He wanted her to be all right. She hugged them both, but Tommy a little tighter.

“Call me when you get to Arizona and get settled. Don’t worry, you have a security detail. You’re better than safe and nothings gonna happen to you. All right?”

Daisy shook her head and kissed Tommy’s cheek good-bye. Tommy and Merva watched her get into the vehicle before being driven away.

Daisy wanted to turn around, but didn’t. There was no more looking back for her. The only thing she wanted to do was look forward.

Beverly Guess walked down Thirteenth Street, crossing the circle, making her way to the subway where she could catch the Broad Street line that would take her to North Philly, her stop Susquehanna and Dauphin. She emerged from the underground staircase and crossed the street to the bus stop. The number 39 would take her up to Twenty-third Street from Broad. She looked around at the busy street corner. Young mothers were walking by pushing their babies in strollers, Georgie Woods was outside, gathered around him a crowd of older men, laughing, joking, and waiting for their line in Don’s Doo Barbershop. Beverly made it a point to stop and pay her respects to Mr. Woods, as did every single living, breathing soul that had the pleasure of his presence. Sitting on stoop after stoop were the older folks, sharing stories, laughter, and here and there a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. A young hustler from the other side of the street approached her, flashing a two-by-three manila envelope filled with marijuana, folded in half and sealed.

“I got that gold, sis. Shit is crazy, I know you been looking for it.”

“No, I haven’t,” she said to the young kid.
How do you know what I’m looking for?

“No problem, I got that, though,” he said, pushing the tiny manila envelope back into his jacket pocket.

Daisy kept making her way down the busy street. She thought of everything that had happened in the courthouse today. Daisy Mae Fothergill, when she told the jury that Nard was not with her on the night in question, had been as emotionless as a statue. Beverly never made eye contact with the girl. And the girl never looked in her direction. She just seemed to sit still, staring off into the distance looking at thin air as she offered her testimony to the prosecutor and the jury.

He ain’t coming home, he ain’t getting off. What was he thinking in the first place to get himself in all this trouble?
It was all Beverly could think of, her son. The entire journey home was spent replaying everything that had transpired in that courtroom, as if there were a VCR in her brain. She couldn’t believe that her baby boy had been charged with murder, and to think that he was actually capable of it was something she couldn’t imagine.

In a way, Beverly blamed herself. She kept telling herself that maybe had she done this different or done that different none of this would have happened. She looked down Susquehanna Avenue.
I might as well walk myself on home.
The neighborhood was beginning to change. The movement of black power and fighting for power had slowly diminished in the seventies, and the eighties had brought with it a new era, and by the mid-eighties there was a new drug, called crack. Everyone agreed it was one of the most powerful drugs to hit the street. The righteous warned that it would wipe out the black man. No one paid the righteous any mind, but the righteous were right.

“It ain’t nothing but cooked-up cocaine,” one guy argued.

“Man, it’s cooked up all right, with everything cooked in it from rat poison to ammonia. That ain’t no real cocaine they selling in those vials, that shit’ll kill you. Didn’t you hear about them people bought some of that crack and was falling out and needing to be resuscitated?” responded another. Beverly had heard a hundred and one stories about this new powerful drug. However, she didn’t really pay the stories any mind. She had heard of people purifying and freebasing cocaine. She even had a few friends that she knew every now and then indulged, but she figured whatever people were doing in the privacy of their own homes was their business. How in the world would it ever affect her and her life when she didn’t do drugs?

The bus went by her just as she reached the corner of her block.
I can walk myself faster than you can carry me, Mr. Bus Man.
The smell of pork fried rice and fried chicken was coming from Wu’s Chinese and American Cuisine and the stench in the air hit her nose as she turned the corner. Beverly looked at several young black men loitering outside Wu’s takeout spot playing craps against the wall as they stayed on the lookout for the police. They had already been warned one hundred and ninety-nine times about shooting dice, gambling, and loitering on the corner.

“How’s Nard, Ms. Beverly?” asked Chuck, one of the youngsters shooting dice on the corner.

“He’s making it,” she said with a smile, walking by as the boys continued shooting craps.

“Hey, Mr. Clarence,” she said as she walked by the Wilsons’ porch. Mr. Clarence was walking up the steps to his front door.

“Well, hello, Beverly, how’s Ray coming along? I heard his foot was acting up. Ms. Doris was telling us he had to go to the hospital last Sunday at church.”

“Yeah, it was his gout flaring up again, but he’s getting around pretty good now. I’ma tell him you asked for him,” said Beverly.

“Yeah, you do that, tell him I said I’m still waiting to settle the score on that checkers match,” said Mr. Clarence, smiling, as he closed his front door.

Beverly made it a few doors down, picked up some loose-leaf trash that was lying on the sidewalk, and then evened out two potted planters at the foot of the steps leading to her porch.

“What’s going on, Beverly?” a familiar voice asked. She turned to see who was calling her name.

“Rev? What you doing on my block?” asked Beverly, extending her arms to hug an old friend.

“Well, you know, a brother gots to do what a brother gots to do,” he said, looking around as if he were waiting for someone.