Philadelphia (6 page)

After a while, she was able to compose herself and stop crying. She pulled her pants back up but had to leave them unfastened. The button and zipper had been ripped off so she was unable to fasten them. The young man's body lay motionless beside her.

Billie stood over the bloody body and stared down at her would-be rapist. She thought back to her very first kill, and how the episode changed her. Now this kill transformed her even more. She could feel it. She felt stronger both physically and mentally.

Before getting back into her car, Billie walked to the edge of the Delaware River and threw the rock as far as she could. She then kneeled at the shoreline and washed the blood from her hands and face.

What she couldn't wash away was the memory of what just happened. She replayed the attack over and over during the drive back to her home.

Billie pulled up to a red light. Across the street she saw a bright neon sign that said
NINA'S BAR.
With memories of her father's murder and her recent attack dancing in her head, she decided to drown them out with a couple of drinks at the bar. She crossed the intersection and pulled into a parking space in front of Nina's bar.

Billie walked into the dark bar, which stank of stale beer that smelled about a hundred years old. A lone pool table sat in the far corner, and music played on a busted radio behind the bar. This was hardly Billie's style, but all she wanted was what the rest of the handful of patrons seemed to want: a hard drink, and fast.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as Billie took a stool directly in front of him.

“Grey Goose on the rocks,” she said.

The bartender paused before starting to make the drink. The order surprised him. Normally his customers asked for the cheapest beer or liquor.

While he was pouring the vodka, Billie looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. What she saw staring back at her shocked her. Her lip was already swollen, and there was dried blood all around the wound. She had scrapes on her forehead and her hair was a bird's nest. Obviously the water at the river only spread the blood and didn't do a decent job of cleaning it off.

“Where's the bathroom?” she asked the bartender.

He pointed toward the back of the bar, unfazed by how she looked. This was the type of bar where he saw all sorts of messed-up shit walking through the doors.

Billie locked the bathroom door behind her and stood in front of the sink. She pumped the decrepit soap dispenser until she got a few bubbles of pink goo, and began cleaning her face. Her head was throbbing from the impact of her attacker's punches. The warm water was so soothing that she wanted to jump in the sink and soak for hours, and she hardly cared how rusty it looked. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was run a nice hot bath.

She started to reconsider her decision to stop for a drink. The bath sounded much better all of a sudden. She dried her face with a few paper towels from the roll, fixed her hair, and went back to the bar. She would have this one drink then hit the road.

“You want some ice cubes to put on that lip?” The bartender held out a plastic bag filled with ice.

“Sure.” She pressed the bag against her mouth. The coldness on her lip felt just as soothing as the warm water had.

Billie finally took a good look at the bar she was in. It was dark and it was depressing. She fit right in with the rest of the customers drowning their emotions. This wasn't the type of bar where people came to party. They came to forget their problems, to escape their troubles. Billie was definitely done after one drink. She would rather be at home in a hot bubble bath drinking a nice glass of red wine.

There was nothing Billie wanted to look at in this bar, so she decided it best to just stare into her glass. The ice cubes were more interesting to her than the sad patrons in their alcoholic haze.

“What's up, Stone?” The bartender slid a bottle of Heineken toward the man who sat next to Billie.

Billie slightly turned her head and looked out the corner of her eyes to see the man. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw his face. She couldn't believe her luck. It was Phareed's right-hand man, sitting next to her at the worst dive bar in all of Philadelphia. She knew him from mug shots for various petty crimes, all of which he was able to get out of.

Billie felt her pulse speed up and her palms get sweaty. She took a sip of her vodka to calm her nerves. She placed the bag of ice next to her on the bar, took one more sip, and then turned toward Stone.

“Hi.” She smiled as warmly as she could for a woman with a busted lip.

“Hi.” He sipped his beer. “You should keep the ice on that lip.”

“I'm good. It looks worse than it is. I'm Sheila.” She put her hand out.

“Stone.” He took her hand. “What happened?”

“Oh, I got jumped by some kids. No big deal. They got like fifty bucks.”

“What the fuck is wrong with kids these days? Hearing that shit makes me angry.”

“It's fine, really.” She smiled. “What happened to you?”

“What you mean?”

“Well, I'm here to forget I got jumped, but why would a fine man like you be in a depressing bar like this?”

“I like to come in here when I'm stressed and I need to get away. No one bothers me in here.” He sipped his beer. “And I own the place.” He smiled.

“Oh, a businessman,” she said in a flirty way.

“Something like that.”

“What's that mean?”

“Well, I work for someone else. This place is my own thing. Make a few extra dollars on the side.”

“I like that. A man who isn't afraid to get his.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

Stone took a real look at Billie. Despite the busted lip, this woman was fine. She had a class about her that he found intriguing. “What's your story, ma?”

“You know . . . just moved here from Pittsburgh, looking for work.”

“I know some niggas from out that way. They in Braddock.”

“Yeah, I know Braddock. I'm from the Hill.”

He shook his head. “What work you do?”

“Whatever I can right now.”

“What's your dream job? I know a lot of people. I might be able to help.” If it helped him get in her pants, he would get her any job she wanted.

“I'm good at public relations. I'm also thinking I might want to go to law school.”

Two things I'm always in need of
.
This is a classy bitch,
he thought.

“Big ambitions. I like that,” he said.

Billie was feeling at ease now. She was ready to play this nigga like a fiddle. Men were so easy. All you had to do was give them the hope of sex and they were putty in your hand.

“So? If you help me, what can I do to repay you?” She seductively rubbed his inner thigh.

His dick sprang to attention. “You wanna get outta here, ma? Head back to my place?”

She removed her hand from his thigh. “I'm a good girl. I don't sleep with a guy on the first date.”

“You call this a date?” he asked.

“What else is it?”

“I'll show you a first date. Come out with me right now.”

“Not tonight. I just got jumped. I'm a little raw. I should head home.” She put her hand back on his thigh. “Give me your number. I'll call you.”

He grabbed a napkin, wrote his number down, and handed it to her. “You better be calling me.”

“Don't you worry about that, Stone. You'll be seeing me again, for sure.” She put the napkin in her purse, kissed him on his cheek, and walked out of the bar.

“Damn.” Stone watched her walk away.

All the aches and pains Billie had been feeling when she entered the bar disappeared. The bath she was about to take was now a celebratory bath and not one to soak her wounds. Billie was feeling like fate was shining down on her from the heavens. She looked up to the heavens and knew that her daddy was looking back at her. He was definitely watching over her and had a hand in her chance encounter with Stone.

“What happened to you?” Walter asked with concern. He had just entered the restaurant where he was meeting Billie. It had been a few days since her attack, and there were still signs from the beating she took. She had been calling out sick to work and wouldn't go back until she had healed, but she figured she couldn't keep avoiding Walter.

Billie remained sitting at the booth she was in. “It's nothing.”

“Bullshit it's nothing.” He sat across from Billie. “You're bruised and your lip was busted. Tell me what happened.”

“I got jumped by some kids. I'm fine.” She placed her hand over his as a sign of reassurance.

“What did they look like?”

“I don't really know. I wasn't too concerned with their appearance.”

“Do you remember anything? Their clothes?”

“I don't know . . . the same thing they all wear. Oversized white T-shirts and baggy jeans.” Billie was going to be as vague as possible. She didn't want Walter to start investigating.

“Where did it happen?”

“Um, over on Cushing Hill and South Street.”

“Little motherfuckers,” he mumbled.

“It's okay. Let's just enjoy our meal.” She placed her menu in front of him, hoping to distract him from the conversation.

“Fine.” He started to look through the menu, but quickly put it down. He wasn't finished asking questions. “Did you file a report?”

“Baby, can we drop it? I don't want to think about it.”

“Billie, you gotta be kidding me. You didn't file a report ?”

“No. I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over. I'm fine. Drop it.” There was anger in her voice.

Walter got the hint. He was disappointed that she didn't report the attack, but he was going to try not to push her any further. He told himself to drop it for now while they were eating, but someone was going to pay for hurting his Billie.

But when the waiter came over, and Billie ordered the grilled chicken breast, Walter couldn't help himself from snorting.

“Excuse me,” said Billie. “Do you have something to say about my order?”

“No. I mean, if you want to go ahead and order the chicken, then you're going to order the chicken. Nothing's gonna stop you, even though everyone knows you come here for the burgers.”

“Well, I don't want a burger. I have been ordering my food for some time now, Walter, and I think I know how to handle myself.”

“By all means, don't let me interrupt.”

“Fine,” said Billie through gritted teeth. “I won't.”

Walter grinned at the waiter. “
I,
of course, will have a burger.
I
know the proper protocol for things, and
I
know that when you come here, you order a burger.”

Billie gave him a cool stare. “Real men eat chicken.”

“Excuse me?”

The waiter just stood there, utterly confused. When the two patrons in front of him stopped bickering, and just stared daggers at each other, he rushed off to put their orders in, afraid to stick around any longer.

Most of the meal was silent after that, but for the clinking of silverware. When they were almost finished eating, Billie decided to try conversation again.

“How's your new partner?” she asked.

“Huh?” Walter wasn't listening. His mind had wandered from the attack Billie had just dealt him to the attack Billie had endured. He was fuming inside and couldn't shake it. “Oh, yeah, um, he's good.”

“So? When do I meet him?”

“Look, Billie, I gotta go. Really busy at work right now.” Walter was so heated about her attack he couldn't sit there any longer. He was going crazy on the inside thinking about Billie getting jumped. He put cash on the table for their meal, gave her a kiss, and bolted out the door.

Walter got into his car and headed directly to the corner of Cushing Hill and South Street. The corner was a notorious spot for young hoodlums and gang-bangers. The Cushing Hill Gang had been running that corner since the seventies. In recent years they had begun working with Phareed, and their drug operation had multiplied.

Walter drove down Cushing Hill ready to take out his aggressions on the young corner boys. When he was in sight of South Street he stepped on the gas and sped right up onto the curb. Everyone on the corner started scattering in all directions.

Walter jumped out of the car and began chasing the nearest kid around the corner onto South Street. The chubby little boy was already struggling to run, holding his baggy jeans up with one hand and shooting panicked looks over his shoulder, and he hadn't even made it half a block when Walter easily caught up with him. Walter grabbed his shoulders and tossed him up against the wall. Before the boy knew what was happening, he was handcuffed with his face smashed against a brick wall.

“You like to beat up women?” Walter smashed the boy's face even harder into the wall.

“The fuck you talkin' about? Get the fuck off me!” He spoke out of the side of his mouth that was not getting flattened by the wall.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, you little fucker.” Walter began patting him down.

“Nigga, leave me alone. I didn't do shit.”

“Oh, no? Well, I know that someone on this corner jumped a woman, so now you gonna pay unless you tell me who did it.”

“I don't know what the fuck you talking about, pig.”

Walter again aggressively pushed the boy's face into the wall. “No? Well, we're going down to the station.” Walter held up a dime bag that he had found in the boy's pocket. “Maybe then you'll know what I'm talkin' about.”

“Whatever. You can't scare me. I'm underage, nigga. I won't do shit for time for that scrap of weed.”

Walter grabbed the boy and dragged him back to his car. He shoved the chubby little shit into the back seat then drove to the station house.

“Nigga, this shit is pointless. Phareed gonna make sure I'm out before you can dot your I's and cross them T's.”

“You need to watch your mouth!” Hearing this boy use Phareed's name angered Walter even more.

Walter pulled the boy into the station house and shoved him onto the nearest bench. “Put this fat little fuck into holding,” Walter instructed one of the rookie officers at the desk. He then proceeded back to the detectives' area to find D'Angelo sitting at his desk on the phone.

“Let's go,” Walter said to D'Angelo.

D'Angelo motioned to the phone to let Walter know he couldn't get up and go at that exact moment.

“Tell them you'll call them back. Let's go,” Walter repeated.

D'Angelo shook his head in frustration. “Can I call you back later? I have a situation over here.” D'Angelo listened to the caller's answer. “Okay. I'll call you back. Bye.” He hung up the phone. “Damn, what?”

“We're going to talk to Phareed.”

“Did we get a warrant?”

“No. We're going to happen to bump into him. I'm sick of this motherfucker thinking he runs this city.”

“I don't know . . .” D'Angelo said uncertainly.

Walter planted his hands on his hips. “What the fuck don't you know? We're going to keep coming down on him until he makes a mistake. Now, come on.” Walter headed out of the stationhouse. D'Angelo shook his head and followed his partner.

 

 

Walter and D'Angelo sat in their Crown Victoria in front of the Honey Trap. This was the boring part of the job—waiting. Walter wanted to kick down the door to the club and start busting heads, but he knew better. Yeah, he could walk into the club, act like a patron, and start asking questions, but no one would talk, or somehow some sleazy lawyer would say he needed a warrant to enter the premises.
Fuck that,
Walter thought. He would just wait Phareed out.

“What exactly do we expect to get out of this?” D'Angelo asked.

“To piss Phareed off and let him know I'm coming.”

“You think that's the best way to take him down? Let him know who you are and what you plan to do?”

“The old way ain't working. It's time to change the game. This shit has become personal.” Walter didn't take his eyes off the entrance to the Honey Trap.

“It never turns out good when you let your personal emotions take over,” D'Angelo warned

“There he is.” Walter hopped out of the car and made a beeline for Phareed. D'Angelo reluctantly followed his partner.

“Yo, my man.” Walter came up behind Phareed.

Phareed and Jumbo quickly turned when they heard the footsteps behind them. Jumbo reached into his coat pocket for his pistol.

“Whoa.” Walter held up his hands as he continued approaching.

Phareed and Jumbo stood their ground waiting for the stranger to approach. “The fuck you want?” Phareed said.

“I just want to ask a few questions.” Walter was trying to be as calm as possible.

“Fuck you. I don't speak to no cop.” Phareed could smell a cop a mile away. This nigga had cop all over him.

“What you know about the murders of your people recently?” Walter stood face to face with Phareed. D'Angelo stood off to the side.

“Don't know what you talkin' about,” Phareed said calmly.

“No? The three men all murdered days after their release? All associates of yours?”

“Nigga, I don't know nothin'. I'm a legit businessman. If anyone has been murdered, that's too bad for them, but I ain't had nothin' to do with it.”

“Really? So it's just a coincidence that they all have connections to you?” Walter was letting his anger seep through.

“That's what I'm sayin'.” Phareed grinned.

The two men stared each other down, each one waiting for the other to make a move. The tension was extreme.

“What's up with your bitch over there? He don't like to talk?” Phareed motioned to D'Angelo with a nod.

“I'm asking the questions. I just want you to know I'm coming for you, motherfucker, so get used to this face. You're going to be seeing a lot of me.”

“Bring it on. Like I said, I'm a legit businessman. I don't get down with the murder game. In fact, we in front of my business now. Why don't you and your bitch take these and go in and have yourself some fun. Seems like y'all need to relax.” He pulled out some VIP passes and some Honey Trap dollars and held them out for Walter to take.

“I'm coming for you.” Walter turned back to his car.

“Bye, ladies,” Phareed called out to Walter and D'Angelo. He and Jumbo laughed as they watched the two detectives walk back to their car.

Walter slammed his car door. “I'm gonna get that motherfucker.”