More Money for Good (15 page)

Before Rossi could say another word I ushered him out the front door so we could talk. There was no way I was going to let him incriminate himself in front of the front-page reporter who was always looking for another story. He would always be family to me.

I tapped him on the shoulder first to get his full attention. “What the fuck, Rossi? You shot two guys in a parking lot?”

“Yep, two mopes with loud mouths,” he mumbled. “West, I'm getting sleepy, man.”

“Look, Rossi, just tell me what happened and I'll take you back inside and find you someplace to get some rest. This is serious, man—you understand?” I watched him try to get himself together.

“Well, you know Rita has been on my ass about my last couple of losses playing cards,” he said.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well, I had another bad night, West—bad.”

“Rossi, have you been drinking all night?”

“Nah, had a few at the card game and a few more after I shot the guys, that's it.”

“Okay, okay, talk to me about shooting the mopes. What the hell happened?”

“Oh yeah, the mopes. Well, after my card game, I was walking out to my car and saw these fuckin' rough riders beating a guy senseless.”

“Right in the parking lot?”

“Umm . . . hmm, a few feet from my car. I asked them to stop because he looked like he had enough. But I guess they didn't like me in their business and as I was getting in the car, they came over to me.”

“And you shot 'em?”

Rossi stood, affirming with a head shake but looking into space as to remember. “Had to, West. I'm to fuckin' old to try the Ali shuffle.”

“Kill 'em?”

Rossi pointed at himself to explain. “Naah, one in the shoulder here, the other the leg, 'bout here. They ran off after and it was over. Happened in a few seconds, man. They don't know me but I sure do know them,” he said.

“How's that?”

“After I shot them, as I was getting into my car, the poor bastard who took the Mike Tyson beating called out my name.”

“He fuckin' knew who you were?”

“Exactly how I felt. He called out my name and thanked me for saving his ass.”

“Well, who is this guy?”

“Police.”

“Police?”

“Yep, police. He was with the crew who busted up your place. He was outside on lookout. He told me they kept him outside because they don't trust him anymore.”

“Trust him how? What the fuck, Rossi? What are we talking about here?”

“We went for a drink afterward. Someplace where he could get some ice for his face, you know, lick his wounds. He told me he was in this Smoke Dog unit who've been doing some really bad shit around the city.”

“Yeah? I read about those idiots in the paper. So, that's the crew who tore up my place?”

Rossi nodded yes. “They're into it all, West. Drugs, guns, murder. These assholes have no regret.”

“So, what was the beat down about?”

“Internal affairs.”

“Say what?”

“The unit shot up an old man's house. Told everyone it was a dope house when the smoke cleared. They shot him dead and tried to plant weapons in his house when all along they had been storing drugs there for some big-name gang. Internal affairs got involved, started asking questions, and when they asked Ganes—”

“His name is Ganes?”

“Yeah, Samuel Ganes. When he was questioned he was the main reason their story began to turn sour because his explanation of what happened that night was one hundred and eighty degrees different from what the rest of the unit testified.”

“So they beat his ass . . .”

“Yeah, said they had planned to kill him.”

“Bunch of fuckin' crooks, man.”

“That's not it, West,” Rossi said.

“What more could there be?”

“Ganes was tightlipped about this. But he told me, he's pretty sure he knows who has the missing two million dollars, along with who did the murder of our girl Amara.”

Before Rossi could spit out anything else, Tavious rushed outside with Saadia in tow. His mother called to let him know the police were at her house and they wanted to speak with him immediately.

“He should go with me,” Saadia recommended.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” I let her know. I figured they would be coming to pay her a visit as well. I was somewhat sure Joyce didn't show her any love when she was questioned by the police. But Tavious was his own man. I asked him what he thought about it.

“He's right,” he told Saadia.

Saadia looked up at Tavious and wrapped her arm around him then looked at me. “Well, what is he going to do?”

Tavious appeared like he wanted to run. “Fuck this, I gotta get out of here. I'm not going back to prison,” Tavious promised. He looked up and down the street, paranoid.

I tried to put myself in his situation. I couldn't decide if I would go into flight mode if I was wanted for questioning for murder if innocent. His past in prison was something I couldn't even comprehend. The smell, the food, the treatment, the isolation was all too much to process.

“Look, let's just get in a car and get out of here.” They were in agreement. “Sorry, Saadia, this is a boys-only outing,” I had to let her know.

Saadia shrieked, “What about me?”

Tavious had to tell Saadia at least three times to go home. I went inside and let Lauren know we were on the move. She decided to call Rita and give a heads-up on Rossi. We all loaded up in Rossi's car. I made my disdain known for having to drive his BMW while he sat on the passenger side trying to catch some shuteye. Tavious sat in the back and every time I glanced in the rearview mirror he had slid down an inch or two farther into the back seat, even though Rossi had triple black tint.

Tavious hadn't decided where he was going to lay his head for a few days so my first stop was to the apartment above the shop. I gave him three minutes to get everything he thought he would need. He was out in two. There was no sign of the police anywhere around the shop. All I noticed were three early-morning drop-offs sitting in the parking lot for service.

We still had a few hours before the shop would open up for business and I passed at least ten Waffle House establishments before I finally settled on one so we could talk. It was on the interstate going south on the route to Macon. Rossi ordered an entire pot of coffee.

“Okay, Rossi, are you ready to talk about the two million dollars?” I asked.

Tavious glanced puzzled. “two million? What're you talking about?”

“Rossi told me he may have talked to a connection to your missing money. I didn't want to tell you in front of Saadia.”

“How many times do I have to tell you we can trust her?”

“Don't matter, we don't,” Rossi pushed out.

I watched Rossi pour some coffee. He placed a heap of sugar in his cup and put it down, nonstop. Then he refilled and took that one halfway. “Look, like I was telling you earlier, I shot two assholes last night.”

“For what?” Tavious didn't know and he was noticeably on edge knowing the police wanted to speak with him.

Rossi put up his hand and waived his question off. “Don't even matter anymore. I helped a guy out of a jam. He just happened to be one of the officers who busted up West's place.”

Tavious was very interested and took the pot of coffee and poured some into his cup: black no sugar.

“Come to find out this guy is police in a special major crimes unit. The major of his unit—a hard-charging female, no-nonsense, fresh out of bubblegum type—all of a sudden put in papers for retirement.”

“Shit, so what? People making moves every day,” Tavious said.

“That's the point,” Rossi said. “Seems to be, by all accounts, that his boss, this major, has only two years left for a full pension. So, who does that?”

“So someone walking off in the sunset gives us a tip on the two mil?” Tavious tried to understand.

“Yeah, when this major just summons a night shift into Amara's house, stealth-like—and when they get there, she's dead.”

We watch Rossi refill his coffee and load it up again. This time he added cream.

“So they are instructed to go through the house, remove any pictures with Amara and the major. Then this guy Ganes specifically is told where to find a duffle bag in the stairwell of the house. He was given specific instructions to meet the major the same night in the same parking lot where I see these two mopes knocking him around.”

“Wait a minute—if the police found her body, why was it still there when I went to see Amara?”

“They were told to leave the body, so they did. Ganes said he and the others figured their major was setting someone up. Look, man, these guys, this unit, did bogus raids, arrests, and drug rips. They are ruthless and don't give a fuck who they do.”

“They knew you were getting out, Tavious,” I let him know. “You were the only person to know about the money other than Amara. They wanted to silence you and have a reason to lock you back up.”

Tavious thought for a moment and things clicked. “And Ely knew.”

“And he's dead,” I reminded him.

“But how?”

“Who knows?”

“So now we know who has the money?” Tavious questioned.

“Maybe,” Rossi confirmed, as he took in more coffee.

It was clear to us that the major crimes unit and their fearless leader knew all about Tavious. They'd been trying to set him up all along. It felt good that we knew where all of this was coming from now. But it was very frustrating to know we were once again going to battle with some ruthless Atlanta police who were taking orders and carrying them out without any hesitation for a higher-ranking official who couldn't care less about anything except getting paid.

First things were first. Tavious needed to go underground and make himself ghost until we somehow cleared his name. Something inside of me wanted him to go to the police—maybe to someone Mrs. Bullock trusted. He could turn himself in and go face to face with anyone who had questions. But when I mentioned it he didn't want any part of stepping back into any place that had bars attached.

Tavious did agree that we should at least pull his Grand's coattail. I couldn't go another step further without letting Mrs. Bullock know what had transpired. When we got her on the phone it was no surprise that she already had some insight. She had talked with Joyce, who was hysterical and having a bad time coming to grips that Ely was dead. Mrs. Bullock told Tavious that his mother didn't want to think he killed Ely. But she wanted Tavious to tell her so out of his own mouth. He did. Then Joyce told Tavious she stopped answering police questions when she realized that after the police from the APD found out Tavious had been on the property, they were coaxing Henry County police to claim it was Tavious who did the deed. Mrs. Bullock gave all the wisdom she had to Tavious. She let him know maybe the best thing for him to do was to turn himself in before they even got around to issuing a warrant for his arrest. But he wasn't hearing it, even when I put my two cents in one last time to agree with her.

Without any hesitation after agreeing with us that Tavious needed to lay low, Mrs. Bullock gave us a residential address in the city of Decatur. She asked us to take Tavious there because she said he would be safe.

On the way out to Decatur there was not much to say. Almost felt like we were in a losing battle. One thing for sure, we were going up against authorities that required a clear explanation and evidence for freedom. Tavious knew he had to leave this entire situation up to us if he ever was going to get up from underneath the smell of this bad situation. There was nothing he could do about it except stay out of the way and hope for the best.

When we stopped at a red light, I heard the hammer on a pistol lock. I looked back at Tavious; he gazed into my eyes, nodding his head up and down. Then he put the piece back into his backpack. He told me Saadia gave it to him before she left. It was her protection when she went into the hood for a story. Now for the first time he was breaking the law. He had to know if he was caught with the piece it was another mandatory sentence. I wanted to remind him of the fact. But no doubt about it—he knew.

We arrived at the address Mrs. Bullock gave to us. It was in a quiet neighborhood not far from Emory University. Rossi got out the car and knocked on the door of the flat-level, all-brick house. No answer. He put his hand down into the gold vase that sat on the right side of the door just like Mrs. Bullock instructed. The key was inside. He unlocked the door and waved us in. I waited for Tavious to go in; then I followed him a couple of minutes later just to be sure we wouldn't call attention.

I walked in and couldn't help but notice how up to date the house was. It was very clean inside. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom, as it was an older house, but there was no doubt it would serve the purpose of keeping Tavious safe. While we all looked around Tavious took out a CD Saadia gave to him. He turned on the system sitting in the living room and the first song that blared through the speakers was “Strawberry Letter 23” by The Brothers Johnson. We all took just a few seconds and smiled. When Tavious opened the fridge and noticed it was stacked with food for at least two weeks it became obvious that Mrs. Bullock knew he would need someplace to stay. It sealed the deal when Tavious found the case of brews sitting on top of the fridge. All we had to do now was pay our new major friend a visit and get to the bottom of things, because there was one thing we all agreed upon: that soon enough the police would have an All Points Bulletin to bring Tavious in, or worse.