Murder in Germantown (10 page)

"I know morning is not a good time for you, which amazes me how you manage to be in an office at seven some mornings and deal with Brandon."

"I lock myself in my office and sleep until I can cope with people. If I have court, I feel sorry for the DA. Brandon inherited my sense of time."

She laughed lightly and then quickly changed her tone. "I'm sorry, but this is an emergency. Wydell, Odella James' boy was arrested for a triple murder."

"When?" I asked and furrowed my brow and scratched my balls.

Wydell was just at the hospital yesterday with his mother to visit his brother who was shot when he called me to thank me for visiting his brother on Friday after the Mark Artis acquittal. Now he was arrested, and I was willing to bet money that this involved revenge.

"They kicked Odella's door in about four a.m. I was up praying and then I heard the police radios outside. Guns everywhere, and they drug him naked out of the bed with some gal. They found a gun."

"Sounds like more than an emergency."

"They need your help."

"Constance, you told them I'd help didn't you?"

"Well..."

"Granny, my firm will never go for a
pro
bono
case right now."

"How 'bout
gratis
then," she said and chuckled. I was not laughing, though. "Just go and talk to them. Please."

"Okay, but no promises. You better pray for them. After the Mark Artis mess, a murder is not exactly on my menu right now."

"Thank you."

"Love ya."

"I love you, too."

Dajuan had eyeballed me as I talked. Ms. Pearl jumped on his side of the bed. I tried to pick her up and she wiggled out of my arms, licked her leg and wiped her face to cleanse herself of my touch, and yawned. She was obviously still perturbed that I ignored her on Friday. Nerve, right? I'd make it up to her at Jacque Cuisine. The 4-star restaurant had a posh patio where leashed pets could feast on delights from the pet menu. I bet she'd circle my feet like Jack the Ripper outside of the home of a co-ed if I pulled out her leash.

"Get up," I mumbled to Dajuan and nudged him.

Outside it was raining fiercely and I was absolutely over that. For one, Granny wanted me to go to the James' on my rest day. More importantly, the Eagles would play the Giants in the playoffs. I had intended to watch the game with my two homeboys: Brandon and Dajuan. I knew that once I made an appearance at the James', I'd find myself at a precinct obtaining Wydell's story, and later at a bail hearing at the bare minimum. Then I'll be conferencing with my contacts at the Public Defenders Association to see that he gets special care.

Dajuan found his boxers on the floor and went into our private bathroom for his perfunctory wake-up piss. He gargled some mouthwash, brushed his teeth and returned with a mint mask on his face. I turned to the doorway and there was Brandon also in a mint mask and boxers, which were as big as a sheet of paper.

"So, this is what it's like not to have jobs?" I joked.

"It's Sunday," Dajuan told me. "We do this weekly, but you're usually sleeping."

"Yeah!" Brandon said, hopping on the bed. "It's the Eagles color green."

"How sweet?" I said and slipped on my boxers under the covers before going into the bathroom. I did a quick bathroom tour and met them in the kitchen.

"Listen, I have to take care of something for my grand mom, so I need you to TIVO the game."

"Aiight," Brandon replied.

"No one was talking to you, brainiac," I said and tickled him. "Tickle monster...tickle monster," I said tickling him more.

"That was her talking to you?" Dajuan asked. "I knew it had to be because you did not go postal," he told me.

He turned and asked Brandon, "What kind of cereal, King B?"

"My favorite."

"Honey Combs coming right up."

"Not no more," Brandon said, playing with a Leap Frog electronic spelling game. He mimicked the computerized voice, "Spell house. H-O-U-S-E."

"What kind, Brandon?"

"Cap'n Crunch."

"Hey, that's my favorite," Dajuan said, playfully.

"I know," Brandon confirmed, kicking his feet into the air.

I poured my breakfast into a glass: a protein shake. Then I watched the scene with these two unfold. Sometimes I wished Dajuan had a biological kid. I still hadn't brought up the Ariel visit. I wanted to get to that later. I knew that her return would scare Dajuan. He would believe that she could win me back for the sake of Brandon. Not! There was nothing in the world that would make me make that backwards step.

I stumbled into the bathroom, tossed my boxers in a wicker hamper, and turned on the shower. I let it run while I slapped Noxzema on my face. I stepped into the marble, double head shower stall, which doubled as a steam room. The water was freezing. Don't tell me that the pipes are frozen, I said under my breath. I jumped beneath the water and dithered as the ice-cold water rivulets ran down my body. I washed quickly, rinsed, and was drying myself with the blow dryer when Dajuan waltzed into the bathroom.

"What kinda kinky shit are you doing? And without me?" he asked with a sinister grin on his face.

"No hot water. I'm heating myself up."

"I don't get it, but I can heat you up."

"Pipes are frozen. I paid the water bill, if that's what you thought, fool."

He shut the bathroom door and wrapped his arms around me. "What I tell you about calling me names? he asked and kissed my neck.

"What are you going to do about that?"

"Put you on bird punishment," he said, exiting the bathroom. I followed. We had dubbed the penis, bird for Brandon’s sake. "And booty punishment, too."

"Please! You do that and you'll punish yourself," I said and tapped his bubble butt.

I threw on a baby-blue button down shirt, jeans, and Timberland boots. No tie. Then I picked up my trench coat and briefcase and headed for the door. Gave both of my boys a hug and told Dajuan,"I need your keys."

"They're on the counter."

"Gotta be incognito. I do not feel like getting caught up in Germantown all damn day."

"Incognito in a Range Rover?"

"It's not mine, so they won't know that it's me."

"You're nothing but a corner boy. I know all your colleagues see you as a thug with a degree."

"Probably, but have you seen me in a courtroom? They know that I am the Kobe Bryant of legal eagles."

"Whatever. Get out."

"Bye dad, Brandon said."

CHAPTER 23

Wydell James and his mother--no father--lived in a broken down duplex up the street from where his younger brother had been shot earlier in the week. Now his mother's oldest boy was in jail on a triple homicide rap. Her life had to be in shambles.

I pushed the Range Rover through the rain along I-76, which meandered along the Schuykill River and exited at the Germantown Avenue exit. At the first light, I made a left onto Wayne Avenue, and then at Seymour Street, I made a right. I parked in the Fitler School yard, hopped out of the truck and snatched my briefcase off the seat. I then said a silent prayer. I walked up the block and was mobbed by a few childhood friends. I know that they were glad to see me there. They had been unable to escape the ghetto. Or, didn't have the parental encouragement to do so. It was a sad thing. They had correctly assumed that I was there to see Wydell's mom. I shook their hands, as they gave me the ghetto gospel, but I was uninterested. I wanted facts. Not rumors and speculation.

I approached Odella's crib, and blankets were up to the living room window posing as curtains. I knocked on the door and it swung open. What a shame, I thought as I looked at the living room. I was almost scared to enter and a stench eddied through my nostrils. I nearly choked. I did not recall it being that bad. There wasn't a sofa. Just a few folding chairs and a host of dingy pillows thrown about. From the upstairs came Odella James.

"Who the fuck? Oh! Little Ray-Ray," she said. "Come in. You're still handsome."

"Thanks, Ms. James," I said.

Had she forgot that she had seen me two days earlier?

Odella was tall and perhaps younger than my mom's 48-years. She wore jeans and a tattered sweater with a cigarette in her hand. Her wrists were bony. She watched me staring at her home with disgust and I caught myself, but my nose was on fire.

"It's a mess in here, I know. But shit has been hard."

"Don't trip. I've been here. Remember I used to spend the night here."

"But now you're a fancy lawyer. Saw you on TV, too," she said and took a long drag of her fag.

"Let's go have breakfast." I suggested.

"Really?" she asked. "You wanna take me to breakfast."

"Yes, let's go up to John's on Chelten Avenue and have some panny cakes."

She cracked up. "You haven't learned that it's pancakes, yet?"

"Nope."

CHAPTER 24

Where had I been? John's had an entirely new staff. I guessed the Korean owners rotated the slaves. Johns? It should have been called, Wong's. We sat at the counter and I let Odella fill her tummy before I began to drill her with the preliminaries.

Without preamble, I asked, "Did Wydell say anything to the police?"

"He had some story about basketball at some school gym and then going to a campus party."

"Did he mention anything about a gun being found?"

She thought a moment and looked perplexed. "Well..."

"Ms. James?"

She corrected me. "Della."

What the hell was with people correcting me about their names?

"Della, you have to be honest with me, if I am to have any chance to help Wydell. Besides, my grandmother already told me."

"We have no money to pay you, so why should I tell you squat?"

What the fuck? That was so left field, but this was about Wydell and not her, so I pressed on.

"Della, I am trying to help and I need you to cooperate in order to do that effectively," I said. "Now, what's with the gun?"

"I'm not going to rat out my boy. He's a good boy. Sell a little dope, but Wydell ain't a killer."

She's not going to rat out her son, but she confessed that he sells drugs. Interesting. I did not feel like this obstinate crap.

"Okay, there was a gun."

"I never said that," she yelled, drawing attention like an Etch-a-Sketch.

"Conjecture."

"Don't sass talk me."

I chuckled. "That means to guess."

"Big words either." She warned me, and then ordered another coffee.

There she was giving me the business and running up my tab. Had we been in her home, she may have kicked me out. I knew there was a gun. The question was whether the Philadelphia Police Department (PPD) had a warrant to search and seize the gun. And, if so, did the warrant arise with probable cause? Somehow, I didn't think Ms. James, pardon me, Della, could tell me the answer to that, so I switched gears.

"Has Wydell been arrested before today?" I asked as her coffee arrived.

She slurped her coffee
without manners and said, "Kid shit. Nothing major."

I'll be the judge of that, Missy! "Like vandelism? Boosting?" I threw out a few minor infractions.

"A little more."

"Was a gun involved?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Della."

I was getting bored with her dumbness.

"Stuck up the pizza delivery man," she said. "But no conviction from that."

"With a gun?"
Here we go
, I thought.