Dead End Street (22 page)

Leaving us sitting around the table like dummies. With a start, Vee started rummaging in her bag. “I've got to call Tyrone,” she said. She didn't bother to move away, but hit a speed dial button. No answer, apparently. She hit another, and again there was no answer. A third button.
No answer. Vee slumped in her chair, her hands shaking. “Oh God. He's not picking up—not his cell, not at home—and nobody's answering at the office. Where is he?”

I didn't think saying that he could be lying dead at home or in an alley somewhere would help the situation.

Hrivnak returned quickly. “Cars are on their way to your place and his office. You reach him, Mrs. Blakeney?”

“No. Do you think he's in trouble?”

“Could be. Or maybe he stopped for a quart of milk. Or a drink in a bar.”

“He doesn't drink,” Vee said absently. “You sure about this . . . affair?”

“Of course I'm not. But you seem to think it's possible. He's the only one who's sure, and he may not want to admit it. How's his mood been lately?”

“No different . . . that I noticed. I mean, he didn't complain about how his work was going, not that there have been any major successes or anything lately. He was excited about talking with Nell here. He thought that adding the history piece could make the project more appealing.” Vee turned to me. “I know you didn't spend
much time together, Nell, but did you notice anything between them?”

I recalled that one poignant touch to Cherisse's cheek, when it was clear she was dead. I decided not to share it; I could have misunderstood it. “No, but as you say, we weren't together for long, and we talked business. Nothing personal.” Their conduct with me had been unquestionably professional, so that wasn't a lie.

“Now that you've seen Raheem, Nell,” the detective interrupted, “you think he was in the car?”

I shook my head. “I told you before, I was in the backseat and didn't have a clear view. I wasn't paying any attention to a passing car, at least not until Cherisse pointed out that she'd seen it go by before.” Obviously she had more street smarts than I did. “Both driver's-side windows were open, but all I really saw was the gun in the hand of the guy in back, and I ducked fast. I could tell the guys were black, and they didn't have pink hair or colorful clothes on, but that was about it. I wish I could help more. Did you find the car?”

“Still looking. Shooter didn't have it when we picked him up, said he ditched it somewhere. Nothing registered in his name, although that doesn't mean squat around there.”

“May we go?” Vee asked.

Detective Hrivnak studied her for a moment. “Go where?”

“Home, I suppose. To wait for Tyrone, or . . . to hear from you. Will there be police waiting outside, if Raheem does decide to come by?”

The detective looked uncertain. “I've got good reason
to ask them to check to see if Tyrone is there, but if he isn't, or if Tyrone is but he chooses not to open the door, there's not much more I can do. I can't commit a police vehicle to keep watch based on a vague suspicion, since the department thinks this case is pretty much closed, at least until this Raheem guy popped up today. Sorry, but you're on your own. Keep your cell phone handy and call if you see anything suspicious.”

“And Tyrone?”

“Lady, he's a big boy. Either he comes home on his own, or he calls you, or we find him . . .” She realized what she had been about to say and bit off her words. “Again, we can't go searching for him—we don't have the resources. He's not even missing, officially. If you hear from him, call us.”

“Call you, or nine-one-one?” I asked suddenly.

Hrivnak sighed. “Nine-one-one would be faster. Damn, I'd really like to sit down and actually eat dinner once in a while. But don't do anything stupid, you all. This guy Raheem is nothing but trouble.” She stood up. “I'm out of here.”

We trailed after her to the front door, and I let her out, then stood there, uncertain. Vee spoke first. “I should go home, wait for Tyrone.”

James and I exchanged glances, and I gave him a small nod. Telepathy? Not exactly, but I was pretty sure I knew what he was thinking. “We'll go with you, Vee,” James said. “You shouldn't be home alone. I'll give you a ride, and if Tyrone is there, we'll be on our way.”

“You don't have to do that,” Vee protested.

“Vee, a short drive out of our way is vastly preferable to hearing that Raheem found you,” I said. “Or Tyrone. Let's go.”

Vee did not argue any further.

I locked up after arming the alarm, and we crossed the street to the parking lot, without seeing any large angry black men. James retrieved the car, and we set off for Vee's home, with me providing directions. It might have been faster to walk, but we arrived there in under half an hour, and actually found a parking space on the same block. After James had turned off the engine, we sat in silence for a long moment, scanning the scene. Everything looked normal. There were a few people coming and going, but they looked like they belonged there, and Vee didn't seem alarmed.

“Thank you for the ride. I'll be fine from here,” she said, gathering up her coat and bag.

“We'll come in and make sure everything is all right,” James said in a level voice that didn't allow for any argument. I wasn't about to protest.

I expected Vee to argue, but she gave in quickly. “Fine.”

We straggled out of the car and walked to her front door. She had her keys at the ready and opened it quickly. James lingered behind for a moment, in serious-agent mode, checking the street again. I didn't interfere.

“Tyrone?” Vee called out. No answer. Since it was now full dark and there were no lights on, it seemed unlikely that anyone was home. The house had that peculiar stillness that signaled emptiness. Unless, of course, Raheem had gotten here before us.
No, Nell, don't go there.

Vee strode ahead of us toward the back, turning on lights as she went, her slender heels clicking on the polished wood floors. James followed more slowly, watching, listening. It would have been a treat to observe him operating in professional mode, but right now I was as nervous as a cat, expecting to see an armed thug or two or three jump out from behind the furniture. Or maybe I wouldn't see it, if it was a bullet that came first.

Vee came back from what must be the kitchen and shook her head, answering the unasked question. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Wine?”

“No, thanks,” James answered for us. “You want me to check upstairs?”

“We'll go together,” Vee said, and led the way.

I was left alone downstairs. Part of me wanted to tag along with Vee and James, but that would be childish. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, made sure it was on, and slipped it into my pocket. Just in case. Then I walked into the living room, which ran the depth of the house, with a dining area at the rear, opening onto the kitchen. Having met Vee, I studied the furnishings and artworks on the walls. All very nice: not too showy, but good quality. Somehow Vee had achieved a room that proved how far she had come and how well she was doing now. It was a pleasant home.

There were framed photographs lined up along a mantelpiece, and I moved closer to study them. No childhood photos. A couple of inexpensive studio pictures of older people—parents, no doubt. A wedding picture for Vee and Tyrone, with Vee looking uncomfortable and Tyrone beaming. Ten years ago, had Vee said?

James and Vee were still upstairs when I heard a noise at the front door. At least I didn't shriek out loud, but I backed carefully down the hall so I could conceal myself in the kitchen, out of sight. Was it cowardly of me to leave Vee and James exposed to whatever lay on the other side? No way to warn them quickly without alerting whoever was outside, and James was the one with the gun, not me.

I heard a key in the lock. The door swung inward, and a voice called out, “Vee? You home?”

I slumped against the kitchen wall: Tyrone. I quickly returned to the hall, at the same time that Vee and James came down the stairs. Poor Tyrone looked baffled by the crowd: his wife, me, and a stranger in a suit. “What's going on?” he said.

Vee advanced on him and gave him a solid kiss and a hug. “That's for not being dead. Now you've got to convince me I shouldn't kill you.”

“Vee, what the hell is happening here? Nell, nice to see you again, but damned if I know what you're doing in my living room right now. And who's this guy?” He looked at James, still a step or two higher on the stairs.

James came down quickly. “Special Agent James Morrison, with the FBI. I'm with Nell.” As if that explained anything.

“Why are you here?” Tyrone demanded.

“Why the hell haven't you been answering your phone, Ty?” Vee demanded.

“Battery ran down. What's it matter?”

James spoke first. “The police have been trying to reach you. Raheem Hill accosted your wife on Market Street after she left her office today, and Nell was with her.”

Tyrone looked at Vee. “Raheem?”

“Do you know him?” James asked.

“Mostly by reputation. Not the kind of guy you mess with. What the hell did he want?”

“He didn't bother to explain,” Vee said. “You haven't talked to him, have you?”

“Why would I be talking to that lowlife?”

“Because when he approached me this afternoon, he said he'd done me a favor. And then a police detective told me that he was wanted in association with that shooting last week, when Cherisse Chapman was killed.”

I wished I had a better view of Tyrone's face, because from where I stood it looked like he had an inkling of an idea about what was going on. He looked around at each of us, ending with his wife. “We really need to talk about this in front of these people?” he asked her.

“These people were nice enough to drive me back and make sure the house was safe. Raheem is still out there, and the police are looking for him. He seems to believe we have unfinished business.”

“He wouldn't come here,” Tyrone protested, if weakly.

“He came to my building, didn't he?” Vee retorted. “He thinks nobody can touch him. And since Nell ended up in the line of fire, I think she deserves a chance to hear what you have to say.”

Tyrone wilted, just a bit. “And him?” he said, nodding at James, who had resumed his stone-faced mode.

“You ready to take on Raheem and his boys, if they show up at the door? Because he is,” Vee told him, before James could speak.

I almost felt sorry for Tyrone. Sure, maybe he'd gotten involved with a young, pretty, smart woman who shared his passion for the city and his enthusiasm for his community project. Maybe he and Vee had grown apart, and now she was moving in a different world. But he couldn't have predicted that it would end up with an angry drug dealer trying to kill him, or having to explain his wayward love life to not only his wife but to me and an FBI agent in his own living room.
O, what a tangled web
and all that.

“Maybe we could all sit down?” I suggested.

Vee stalked past us into the living room, and Tyrone followed meekly. They took what appeared to be their usual chairs, leaving James and me the settee. We all sat.

“Let's make this short,” Vee said. “Were you having an affair with Cherisse?”

Tyrone looked at her for a long moment, as if trying on different answers. In the end he said simply, “Yes.”

“How long?”

“Maybe a year? We've been working together a lot, and . . .”

Vee held up a hand. “I don't want to hear explanations and excuses, and I'm pretty sure these people don't, either. That's between the two of us. Do you think Raheem or any of his boys could have seen the two of you together?”

Tyrone thought for a moment. “Maybe.”

“In the neighborhood?”

“Yes.”

“You ever talked with Raheem?”

“I told you, no! The guy scares me. I know people who
know him, so he's got to know who I am, but we've never met face-to-face.”

“Did Cherisse use drugs? Have you, ever?”

“No, and no. How can you think that? You've lived with me for ten years! I don't do that. We've both seen what kind of damage drugs can do, to people and to a community. Vee, what's this all about?”

She weighed her answer, then spoke carefully. “We're thinking that maybe Raheem saw you two going on behind my back, and he thought it was an insult to him and figured he should make it right. He hired some small-timer to shoot at you, maybe just to scare you, or maybe more. Now he thinks he's done me a favor by getting rid of Cherisse. And he might be wanting to finish the job and take you down.”

Tyrone shut his eyes. “I never thought . . .”

“I bet you didn't!” Vee spat at him.

James interrupted, “I'd pull the blinds and keep away from any windows, if I were you,” Oh, right, somebody might decide to shoot at us—again.

“Yeah, sure,” Tyrone said, and stood up and crossed to the front window. Which shattered just as he reached it. A bullet whizzed by, embedding itself in the back wall. At least it had missed Tyrone, who'd plastered himself against the wall beside the window, then slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

“Looks like Raheem has found you,” James said.

Then James shifted quickly into agent mode. “Down, now!” We didn't argue. His next order was, “Nell, call the police.” I pulled out my phone, hit 911, and explained quickly. I debated about calling Hrivnak next, but the 911 operator said to stay on the line, so I did. No doubt Hrivnak would hear soon enough.

Oh, goody,
now
I'd get to watch James in action. But at this moment I really did
not
want to watch James in action. I wanted to be home in my nice kitchen with a glass of wine in my hand, eating dinner. People didn't shoot at me there. Why was it I liked Philadelphia?

What was supposed to happen next? I reviewed the situation, while plastering myself as flat as possible against the floor. Someone—Raheem?—was after Tyrone? Or maybe now that same someone had added Vee to the list, since she'd dissed Raheem on the street. Neither one of
them was giving him the respect he thought he deserved. The next most important question was, did they know James and I were here? I was no threat to anybody, but James was an FBI agent and was armed and dangerous. With the element of surprise, he was our secret weapon—unless they knew he was in the building and brought in reinforcements with more guns.

James darted a quick look at us. “Stay down,” he hissed.

“Are we waiting for the cops?” I hissed back.

“I'd rather not engage in gunfire with one or more unknown assailants. Other people could get hurt.”

“Raheem must really be taking this seriously, to come into this part of town and start shooting. You think he's alone, or did he bring friends?”

“I'm guessing he figured he could handle things.”

We waited silently. Nothing happened for about two years. Well, more like two minutes, but it seemed a lot longer than that. Tyrone didn't look like he was about to leap to his feet and protect his castle. Vee did not appear to be prepared to take charge and start issuing orders. Terror kind of leveled the playing field. I was content to lie there with my head down, although now and then I peered up to look at James, to see if he sensed anything.

I was not prepared when he did. Maybe he had bat hearing, because I hadn't heard anything. Suddenly he focused his attention on the back of the house, and moments later the kitchen door crashed open and slammed against the wall, and then a very large man with a very large gun came charging through it and thundered down the hall toward
where we all lay cowering on the floor. Yup, Raheem, no surprise. How had such a large man managed to sneak around to the back without being noticed?

James had retreated into the corner of the living room nearest the kitchen, out of Raheem's sight line, as he barreled toward us, then stopped. I didn't dare look at James, for fear of giving away his presence and position. Both Tyrone and Vee had their eyes fixed on Raheem. Raheem looked pissed off when he noticed me. “What the hell you doin' here?” he said, waving the gun at me.

“I gave Vee a ride home.” I didn't volunteer that it had been after a meeting with a city homicide detective. Where the hell were the cops? How long since I'd called them?

“Too bad for you.” Raheem took a step nearer, looking down at Tyrone and Vee. “You gonna talk to me now. You know what this scumbag done?” he asked Vee, pointing his weapon at Tyrone.

“I do now,” she told him. “What's it to you?” She got up onto her knees and looked at him squarely.

“I don't let no one mess with my family. You still family, like it or not.”

“Your mama still go to church?” Vee demanded, climbing to her feet.

“Every Sunday. Bet you don't. Or this piece of crap you married.”

“You hear about forgiveness in church? Tyrone is a good man. He's trying to help the neighborhood,” Vee told him. Did she believe that? I wondered.

“Yeah, I seen how he helps. He in bed with the City woman. Bet that helps a lot.”

I was beginning to think that Vee was stalling, trying to buy time for the police to arrive. She was certainly putting on a good show. I realized with a start that my phone was still on, and lying under me. Another good reason not to move—I didn't want Raheem to see it. This way the 911 people should be able to hear every word. I hoped.

Raheem took another step closer and kicked Tyrone, who gasped in pain. “You. What you got to say for yourself? Can't keep it in your pants? When you married to this fine woman here?”

“I'm sorry. It was stupid,” Tyrone said, sounding unconvincing even to me.

“Raheem, he's my problem, not yours,” Vee said. “You in enough trouble without killing him. I'll deal with him.” Funny how easily she slipped back into a North Philly accent.

“You can have him. He won't be messing with that girl no more, now she dead.”

I felt a moment of panic. Gee, it would be nice to have a confession, with the police recording every word on the 911 line. But if Vee prodded too hard, Raheem might get angry and shoot everybody, to prove a point only he understood. Still no sound from James, and luckily, Raheem hadn't looked in his direction.

“Raheem, you can't fix dead,” Vee said.

“Dumb-ass kid don't know how to follow instructions,” he grumbled. “Now he in jail. He too stupid to be on the street.”

Okay, close enough to a confession for me. The police
were welcome to bust in any old time now. And maybe Raheem didn't know that dumb-ass kid had ratted on him?

“So, you want to keep this piece of shit, after what he done?” Raheem asked Vee, poking Tyrone with a toe, but less harshly than before.

Vee nodded. “I'll make sure he pays. And you need him to keep working in the neighborhood—he's getting things done. He'll keep out of your way, and you keep out of his.”

“That's fair. He get to live—for now.”

“Thank you, Raheem. Say hi to your mama for me.”

“I'll do that.” He stuffed the gun in his waistband, then turned and walked to the front door, apparently without a care in the world. But when he opened the door, he found himself looking at a pair of large policemen. It would have been funny if they hadn't all had weapons drawn. I stayed where I was, flat on the floor.

James didn't. He came out of his corner and quietly stepped up behind Raheem before he could make a move, and stuck his weapon in Raheem's back. “Don't even think about it.”

Raheem apparently had just enough brains to know when he was beaten. He raised his hands.

The police took his gun away and cuffed Raheem and stuffed him in the back of one of their cars. James followed the group out and spent some time explaining the situation to the cops. I peeled myself off the floor, as did Vee. Tyrone, on the other hand, rolled over onto his back and lay there staring at the ceiling, saying, “Oh, man,” over and over. Not much of a fighter, apparently.

When James came back, he said to Vee and Tyrone, “They want to see you at the station in the morning to give your statements.”

Tyrone lurched off the floor, wincing from the lingering pain of his healing wounds. At least there weren't any new ones, and I wasn't about to feel sorry for him.

“Everybody, I am so, so sorry. I did a stupid thing, and it got somebody killed. Almost got all of us killed. I never meant for anything like that to happen.”

Vee didn't answer him. To me it looked like she was concentrating really hard on pulling herself together, or maybe preparing to launch herself at her husband with claws and teeth bared.

James reached out a hand to me and I grabbed it, pulling myself to my feet. He didn't say anything, but he wrapped his arm around me. I didn't protest; it felt good.

“Vee, Tyrone,” James began, “let the police handle it from there. When you give your statements tomorrow, tell them what you know, and what you think you know. Don't try to sugarcoat what was going on. You'll be a lot more effective working in that neighborhood if Raheem's off the street.”

“I hear you. Thanks for everything, man,” Tyrone said.

“You're lucky I was here. I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about now, so we'll be going. Nell?”

I was so ready to get out of there. “Just let me add that I'm glad we're all safe and sound. Things could have turned out a lot worse.”

James walked me out the front door, then paused, checking the street. Everything looked peaceful, ordinary. But
then, it had looked like that when we arrived. He shepherded me to the passenger side, then walked around and got in the driver's side. But he didn't start the car immediately.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing, or a lot of things. Sometimes I really don't understand what's going on in this world. You were going along, doing your job, and somehow all this happens? Drug lords, shootings, people waving guns around at you? Do you know, for the last few months your job has been more dangerous than mine?”

I stifled a giggle. “True. Not the job description I signed up for, exactly. What would you have me do?”

“You did everything right; that's the problem. You didn't go snooping, you didn't pressure anyone—it all came to you. You're a catalyst, or maybe I mean a magnet. I might argue that you shouldn't have gotten into a car with two people you'd only just met and let them take you someplace unfamiliar, which turned out to be about as bad as could be.”

“How was I supposed to know they were in the middle of a hot and heavy affair? And that it would put us in the middle of some of the nastiest street gangs in the city?” I didn't know if I was supposed to be mad, or mad at who. Whom? “I think I did know there was something going on between them,” I said in a softer tone.

James turned to look at me. “Oh?”

“After they were both shot, and sitting there in the front seat bleeding, Tyrone reached out and touched Cherisse's cheek. Just once. But there was so damned much tenderness in the way he did it, it broke my heart.
I think he really did care for her—it wasn't just a thing between them. But I couldn't say that to Vee, because under her shiny facade I think she still cares for Tyrone.”

“Come here.” He pulled me close, and I leaned against him. “When I saw that man with a gun, all I could think about was protecting you. I would happily have shot him if that was what it took to stop him. He could have mowed down Tyrone and Vee, and I wouldn't have cared, as long as you were safe. But I'm not supposed to think like that.”

“As far as I'm concerned, you go right ahead. Still, I know what you mean. Love's a bitch, isn't it?”

We sat in the car in silence for a few minutes, with James's arms around me. It was clear that love clouded a person's judgment, even made them do stupid things. It could certainly get in the way of rational thought and action. But what was the alternative? Make a point of staying alone through life? That didn't sound very satisfying. Oh, right, I'd tried that. This was better.

I didn't want to screw up James's career, but I wasn't about to give him up for the sake of the FBI. I didn't expect him to tell me to quit my job at the Society and stay home and knit. There were no guarantees that I'd be any safer sitting in a comfy chair armed only with knitting needles. And the irony was, as he had said, that his job was inherently more dangerous than mine, yet I was the one who kept getting into trouble, and I'd even managed to drag him into it. Were we cursed?

I fell asleep on the way home—all of these confrontations were taking a toll. James nudged me when he'd parked in our driveway. “We're back.”

“Are you going to check the environs for drug-dealing gunmen?” I said without opening my eyes.

“Are you actually worried?” he asked.

I struggled to sit up, and unlatched my seat belt. “No, not really. After all, I have an armed FBI agent to protect me. You're doing a great job, by the way, if I haven't said it already.”

“I'm trying. Come on, let's go in.”

I followed him as he unlocked the door and stepped into our home. “I'm hungry. Or maybe not meal hungry, but comfort-food hungry. What time is it?”

“About ten.”

“No wonder! Could we handle cocoa and toast?”

“Probably.” He produced both in record time as I sat in the kitchen and watched.

I could have gone upstairs and changed into something comfortable, but it seemed like far too much effort to climb the stairs. “What a truly odd day.”

“I won't argue with that,” James said, as he slid a plate with buttered toast sprinkled with cinnamon sugar in front of me, then went back to the microwave to retrieve a mug filled with hot cocoa. “There you go.” He sat down across from me.

“I have never seen such a tangled mess,” I said, blowing on my cocoa to cool it. “Drug wars, illicit affairs, wounded feelings all around, high finance, city government. And poor little us in the crosshairs. I'm beginning to understand why my predecessors stuck with handling places like the Oliver mansion. At least people don't shoot at you, even if you botch a renovation or paint the place
pink. They just take you to court. Is this what your life is like, all the time?”

“Sometimes. It's not the norm. As I've said before, there's a lot of paperwork involved, so that means lots of desk time, coupled with court time. You going in to work tomorrow?”

“I have to—there's the board meeting. I hope we're ready for it, because I don't have enough brain cells left to redo anything. We've got a couple of surprises for the board that have come up since we sent out the information packets, but I don't know how much I can say about them yet. But then, I'm not sure how much of the so-called impact banking stuff will survive if Vee gets discredited. Attracting charming people like Raheem is not good for business.”

“She strikes me as a very focused woman who knows what she wants and goes for it. I wouldn't count her out just yet.”

“Believe me, I won't.” I drained my cocoa. “Can we go to bed now?”