Girls from da Hood 11 (11 page)

“You got everything?” Lenore directed her question to Denise as she zipped the duffle bag of money shut.

“Yeah, I think so. Let me check to be on the safe side.” Denise began to backtrack her steps.

“All right, I'ma be in the car, don't take too long you know we got to make another stop and take care of that before we hit the airport,” reminded Lenore.

“I know,” replied Denise somewhat sadly, at the thought of remembering what it was they actually had to take care of. She had wished that Lenore had forgotten, though it was apparent that she hadn't and Denise knew that what she had agreed to, had to be done or else they would not be able to get away with their twisted scheme scot-free.

Reading the change in Denise's facial expression caused Lenore's alarm to go off inside of her head. Without having to ask, she knew what the new look was for because it was that same look she had given when Lenore first mentioned the initial plans that needed to be carried out in order for it to be successfully executed. Lenore had to spend hours convincing Denise of the importance of that particular part of their plan. Now here it was, months of planning, and Denise's old feelings about the situation decided to resurface. She couldn't believe that out of all the times in the world, Denise waited until the end of their plan to get on some self-righteous shit. The last thing either one of them needed right now was for one of them to become weak. Lenore knew that she stood strong in her spot. She had continuously showed that the only things she cared for was Denise and the money. Now she needed to know if Denise felt the same way.

“Why you lookin' like that?” Lenore started out asking. “I know you not getting soft on me now?”

Denise was caught by surprise by Lenore's questions. She had tried her best to conceal her personal feelings about their final plans, but it was obvious that she hadn't done a good job. Ever since Lenore had informed her of what she felt needed to be done, Denise played the plan over and over inside of her head in hopes of finding a flaw in it, but she never could. Still, she rather they quit while they were ahead and catch the flight to Florida where they intended to enjoy the rest of their lives together.

“No it ain't even like that, but—”

“There is no but,” spit Lenore. “We've been plannin' this shit for the past nine months and now we're gonna see it all the way thru. You need to let me know how you carryin' it now before we leave this spot so I'll know how to carry it from here on out,” stated Lenore with conviction. “You're either with me or you not!” she ended dryly.

This was not what Denise wanted. Her intentions were not to get Lenore upset with her and have to second guess her loyalty. Although it was not direct, Denise caught the threat that Lenore made toward her, and understood. If the shoe were on the other foot and she stood in Lenore's position, she too would have said the same because there was a lot at stake to be wanting to fold now when she had been in the game playing along all this time. The fact of the matter was that Denise loved Lenore and there was nothing that she wouldn't do for her or with her. This was one of those times where she knew she had to step up to the plate and prove that.

“You right, boo. My bad, I'm trippin'. You know I love you, and I'm wit' you,” said Denise walking up on Lenore.

“I know ma,” replied Lenore with a smile running her fingers through Denise's honey blonde hair.

The two of them shared a passionate kiss. “Come on, handle your business, we don't have time for this,” said Lenore, breaking their tongue tie.

“Okay,” Denise replied giving Lenore one last peck on the lips.

“I'll be in the car.”

Mike B sat in the interrogation room handcuffed to the chair. He was no stranger to the little Plainfield Police Station office they used to question arrestees. He knew that the particular room they had him in was for those who were being questioned or charged for shootings or murders. On numerous occasions when he was on his grind and had to do what it took to come up in the game, he had frequented this same room, more so when he and Jeff got down together, but only to spend no more than a few hours of being badgered by the local authorities before he was released and free to leave due to lack of proof to form a solid case against him. Now here it was once again, and he was faced with a situation he knew would result in the same outcome, or so he thought.

He directed his attention to the entrance of the room as the door flung open. A grin formed across his face as the white, grey haired officer walked in. Just as he thought, they sent their number one top detective to interrogate him, or rather he volunteered for the job once he heard who they had in custody. Mike B was familiar with Detective Frank Wilson, head of the Plainfield's Homicide Division, and the best in his field.

Just as Mike B was familiar with Detective Wilson, Wilson was also equally familiar with him. The two of them had been playing cat and mouse for quite some time, since Detective Wilson was on the narcotics force and Mike B was a mere block hustler. The ending result always being Detective Wilson winding up an unsatisfied cat. Today, Detective Wilson was determined to catch a mouse. The two of them exchanged stares, having admiration for the other, each for their own reasons.

“Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!” Detective Wilson started out with.

Mike B was not only familiar with Wilson, he was also familiar with his tactics. Wilson always started his line of questing out with the irritating sounds of sucking his teeth for as long as Mike B could remember, since the first time nearly ten years ago. Mike B anticipated Detective Wilson's next move as if they were playing a game of chess.

“Money Mike B Carter,” said Wilson adding Mike B's street name to his full name. “Today is not your lucky day,” he said as he always did when he began his interrogation.

This time, his words were slightly different from the previous times he had opened up with in the past. Today he seemed more confident with his words, as if he was sure of what he had just said. Still, Mike B continued to sit there in silence. He anticipated Wilson's next words, as he knew what was to follow.

“Before I tell you what I got on you, is there anything you want to tell me that will help you in the long run, because right now it doesn't look good for you, kiddo. I mean, it really doesn't look good for you,” said Detective Wilson putting emphasis on the word really.

Same ole Wilson
, thought Mike B, but this was the first time he had ever heard him emphasize his ending words. Mike B smiled on the inside. He chalked Detective Wilson's last commitment up as being a new scare tactic incorporated into his stale curriculum to add a little spice to it. Detective Wilson's track record and his reputation of arrests and convictions on shootings and murders preceded him and spoke for itself, so Mike B was fully aware that he was no slouch. What worked on others could not budge him. Mike B felt that if Detective Wilson was going to come at him, he'd better come correct or don't come at all. The last thing he would do would be get all scared and nervous, causing him to tell on himself or another. Let Mike B tell it, he was as strong as they come. Pressure didn't bust pipes when it came to him. He was a diamond.

“Nah, I don't have nothing to say to you, Wilson,” spoke Mike B. Cool, calm, and collected.

Now it was Wilson's turn to smile. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard Mike B say that to him over the years, he'd probably be a wealthy man. However, something in his gut told him that before he left that room, Mike B would in fact have something to say to him.

“So I guess you want to talk to your attorney now, huh?” asked Wilson, beating Mike B to the punch, knowing that those would be the next words he spoke.

“Do I need one?” Mike B asked nonchalantly.

That was the cue that Detective Wilson had been waiting for. “This time I think you do, kiddo,” replied Detective Wilson, slapping the manila folder he held in his hand on the table.

This was also nothing new to Mike B either. He had gone through these procedures a thousand times, but this time, without even looking in that folder, he had a bad feeling about the contents. He began to reflect back on what Detective Wilson said about today, ‘not being his lucky day.' As Detective Wilson's words circled in his head, Mike B slid the folder close to his person and opened its cover. As he looked at the black and white copied photos, he wondered no more because there, just as plain as day, laid Gee-Live's lifeless body in the blood stained snow where he and Jeff had left him.

Detective Wilson observed Mike B's reaction to the photos. He was a highly trained expert in reading body language, facial expressions, and the reading of the eyes, but as usual, when he presented Mike B with portfolios of what he believed to be his handy work, Mike B maintained his composure and remained motionless. But had he been an expert in internal body language, he would have known that Mike B felt like he had just been slapped in the face with a bag of bricks at the sight of the photos. Mike B knew that Detective Wilson was watching him closely with this hawk eyes, which made him extra careful not to break a sweat. He closed the folder and slid it back toward Wilson, then looked up at the detective who was already staring at him.

For a moment, there was a brief silence, with the exception of the wall clock hands ticking away at each second. “Why you showin' me this?” asked Mike B, breaking the silence, knowing that he had to ask that question like he always did or else Detective Wilson would suspect something.

Little did he know, no matter how much he tried to play the role, he could not convince Detective Wilson otherwise this time.

“You don't know why?” asked Detective Wilson, impressed by Mike B's coolness.

“Nah,” replied Mike B plainly.

“So that's your story and you're sticking to it, huh?”

“You ain't got nothing on me man. This is some bullshit right here,” answered Mike B, showing a little sign of emotions.

“Is that so,” Detective Wilson shot back dryly, picking up on Mike B's mood change.

“Yeah, I know so, 'cause I got an alibi.”

“An alibi? You don't say,” Detective Wilson replied sarcastically. “Who is this alibi?”

“Jeffrey Smith. I was at his crib all night and this morning until I got arrested,” said Mike B confidently, not aware of the fact that he had just made a fatal mistake with his choice of words. Instantly, Detective Wilson picked up on Mike B's error and intended to capitalize off of the situation.

“Why would you tell me of your specific whereabouts for yesterday evening and this morning Money? I never made mention of the time of Gee's death. You do know who Gee is, don't you?” asked Detective Wilson, ending his statement with an obvious question.

The fact that Mike B was so quick to give his specific whereabouts during the time of the victim's death convinced Wilson that he was on to something.

By now, little beads of sweat started to formulate and trickle down from underneath Mike B's arms onto his sides as the palms of his hands began to perspire as well. At the time, he hadn't realize what he said, or rather how it came out. He cursed himself for his carelessness, but it was too late, he couldn't take what he had said back, the damage had already been done. Now his only hope was to salvage what was left.

“Yo, Wilson, man, come on with the games, yo. You know I know who that cat is or was in them flicks, and you know I ain't have nothing to do with that dude's death either,” stated Mike B boldly in an attempt to convince Detective Wilson that he had no involvement in what he was being accused of. Judging by the smirk on the detective's face, he was not doing a good job of it.

“How do I know that?” asked Detective Wilson, changing his smirk into a puzzling expression.

“'Cause you know.”

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice came from behind Detective Wilson causing Mike B's words to be interrupted.

Both Mike B and Detective Wilson turned their attention to the direction of the door, each recognizing the feminine voice that intervened in the cat and mouse game the two men were just playing. It was Detective Lisa Robinson, Detective Wilson's partner, and someone who Mike B was infatuated with. Despite the fact that she was an officer of the law, he knew that his infatuation for her was like playing with fire. Sooner or later, the ending result would be him getting burned being in the line of work that he was in and she was in.

“What is it, Lisa?” asked Wilson, already having an idea why she had come to the interrogation room.

Mike B too wanted to know what would cause Detective Robinson to interrupt the interrogation knowing that Wilson didn't like to be disturbed when he was working on a suspect. Normally when Mike B paid visits to the police station, which was not often, or whenever he saw Detective Robinson out on the streets, he would flirt with her or ask her out when he caught her by herself. After all, she was by far one of the prettiest light-skinned sisters he had ever come across, not only on the police force, but in the entire population. She had qualities that Mike B appreciated in a woman: Independence, intelligence, and class which only heightened his attraction to her. But today was not any normal day for him and he was not in the mood to be doing any flirting or anything for that matter with the female detective. His only concern as far as her was why was she there.

“Sir, we just received the results of the DNA back on that,” was all she said.

“All right, I'll be right there,” replied Detective Wilson.

“Okay,” she replied back.

Just as she was about to close the door, she shot Mike B a blank stare and rolled her eyes at him, and then she was gone as the door closed. Mike B paid the look no mind.
Just like a chick,
he thought. His mind was more focused on her words. He had watched enough crime stories and cop shows to know what the letters, DNA, meant. The question was, DNA to what? Picking up on Mike B's curiosity, Detective Wilson decided to fish a little more before he concluded his questioning, by allowing Mike B one last courtesy chance to speak his mind, if he had something to say.

“So, Money, you say you have an alibi? You don't know nothing, and you don't have anything to say, right? Correct me if I'm wrong,” stated the detective, requiting Mike B's words back to him.

“That's right, I don't know nothin' about nothin' so I can't have nothin' to say. I told you I was wit' my man all last night and this mornin', check it out. His number is two two—.”

“Oh, we know his number and we're, ‘checking it out,' as you say,” said Wilson, mocking Mike B.

Detective Wilson had had enough of Mike B's theatrics. He had given him more than enough chances to make the situation light on himself, but Mike B chose to play the tough role, so because of that, he had blown his opportunity. In a way, he felt a little sorry for Mike B because he honestly believed that he, like so many other young African American males, was bred to be the way that he was. A mere product of his environment, but the fact of the matter was, he broke the law and there were penalties behind that. Detective Wilson reflected back on the many times he felt strongly that Mike B was guilty of a shooting or other killings but just couldn't prove it. Now here it was, and major pieces of a puzzle had been dropped into his lap. He intended to put them all together so that justice could be served.

Against his better judgment, he decided to give Mike B an idea of what it was he was exactly up against before he left the room. “Listen kiddo. I respect the way you're choosing to handle this situation. I gotta tell you that the average guy in your shoes would be shitting bricks and sweating bullets, so I give you credit for that. But based on what we have on you, when you go before a judge, he's not going to respect you invoking your rights to remain silent or you trying to be this standup guy. Now I gave you several chances to come clean and give your side of the story because I know how these street situations can be. You stuck to your guns for whatever reason, so now I want you to hear something before I walk up out of here,” said Detective Wilson, pulling a miniature hand recorder out of his pocket.

“Yes, I just saw two men running in Greenbrook Park with big dark colored coats on coming from by the pond. I noticed them get into a green Audi SUV and pull off. I went back by the pond and from a distance, it looked like someone was laying back there in the snow.”

Detective Wilson stopped the tape. He figured he had let Mike B hear more than what he was privileged to, but nevertheless, he wanted him to know that his reign of terror was officially coming to an end. He didn't even bother to look at Mike B. Instead he put the recorder back into his pocket, picked up the folder that contained the deceased victim's photos, and began walking toward the door.

Mike B continued to maintain his external facade, but on the inside he was totally distraught. He could not believe what his ears had just heard, but he had to believe it. Like the tape recorder it played in, it was real. It was impossible for him to make out who the muffled voice belonged to, whether male or female, but there was no mistaking the words which the anonymous caller spoke. Many different thoughts raced through his mind, but the one that he pondered on the most was the thought of being seen. He was almost positive that the area in which the crime scene was committed was secure, but it was apparent that the, almost part of him being positive had become a detrimental one. He watched Detective Wilson walk toward the door, as mind-boggling thoughts spin cycled inside his head.