The World in Reverse (9 page)

***

In the middle of Ivy’s meeting, the owner of the Brewery, Mike Hayes, brought up the subject of the Baby Boy murders and how worried it had both he and his wife for their children. She sat at the end of the table flabbe
rgasted. Everyone was talking about this case - in kitchens, classrooms, boardrooms and locker rooms. Her husband’s case was the talk of the city.

She could feel the tightness in her gut when her boss looked down at her and nodded.

“Our Ivy’s husband is the lead detective on the case,” he said proudly. “He’s an excellent detective. You might remember him from a few years back. He was best friends with K.C. Brooks before he passed. The guy was a legend. If anyone can solve this case, he can.”

Mike looked over at Ivy impressed by her affiliation. She hadn’t used that as a selling point yesterday when they had lunch. Most publicists would have.

Ivy smiled and rearranged the papers in front of her like she was suffering from OCD. All eyes were locked right then on her, especially Mike Hayes.

Hayes was a middle aged, caramel-skinned black man who had worked his way from selling beer for a national brewery to forming his own brewery in less than ten years. Ivy was responsible for vetting him and finally getting him to sign the contract that sat in front of him and his lawyers now. He was a bit militant and completely against going with a white/Jewish firm, but Ivy had sealed the deal. He liked her as soon as he met her. She had ambition and passion
- two things he would need to make his campaign work.

Mr. Letewich quietly urged Ivy to jump in on the discussion. She picked up on his cue quickly and sat up in her chair.

“Yes, Nicola has been working day and night on this case,” she said with a smile, even though she wanted to scream at that very moment. “I doubt that there is anyone more dedicated to solving this than my husband.”

“There is a news conference going on right now,” Mike said, looking over at the large flat screen mounted on the wall. “Do you mind, Carl?”

“Not at all. We’ve got time,” Mr. Letewich said, turning in his chair to face the television.

The young assistant was quick. Before the salt and pepper gray man could even ask for the remote, he had it in the palm of his hand.

He turned on the television and switched to a local channel broadcasting the news conference live.

Nicola was in the shot, looking tall and dashing. As soon as Ivy saw him, a smile crept across her face. She turned from her paperwork and watched the story unfold.

“That’s her husband there,” Letewich said to Mike, pointing at the television.

“On the left of Director Amway?” Mike asked, scooting closer to the table.

“No, the man standing directly behind him in the black suit. The…white guy,” Letewich blurted out.

Mike swallowed hard as he kept his eyes planted on the screen, but Ivy could see his disapproval.

The white guy.

She looked down at the paper and took a deep breath. She had been through that before too. Black men who didn’t want to see a su
ccessful sister with a white man. She wanted to stand up right then and give a dissertation on why she was fed up with the “sell-out” response from men of color. Instead, she swallowed down her pride. After all, she had worked too hard to get there. Forget his personal views of her family. Judge her or not, she just had the man sign a $500,000 public relations deal over the next year.

“Interesting,” Mike finally said, twirling the pen in his right hand like a baton.

Just then on the television, Nicola stepped up after Director Amway and spoke into the microphones on the podium with cameras flashing and nearly blinding him.

Ivy could see her husband’s nervousness. He hated being the center of attention, no matter the venue. She stared intently at the television, waiting on his every word and critiquing his every gesture. She was after all in marketing and public relations. And from his first word, she knew that he needed a ton of media trai
ning. Still, she had to admit, he looked amazing in his suit. He stood out like a sore thumb, striking and foreboding.

***

Nicola felt his stomach wrench with nervousness. There were not only reporters and cameras. There were dozens of families, some of them the parents of the victims, with signs demanding justice. They held up pictures of the children and stared at him like his words somehow would help ease their pain or give them comfort. Sadly, he knew that his words would not. In fact, his words might only insight more anger. Promises meant nothing to the grieving. Action was the key. And there could be no action on his part if he was here right now talking into a damned microphone.

“You’re on,” May said, motioning at the p
odium. He stepped up to it and placed his paper among the litter of station microphones around the podium. Sure that every station in Memphis and a few nationwide would pick up even his slightest breath only made him more nervous.

“My name is Lt…,” he paused. “Excuse me, my name is Sargent Nicola Agosto, and I’ve been assigned to the Baby Boys Case. I can assure you…” Nicola nervously cleared his throat and started again, this time with a stron
ger more authoritative voice. “I can assure you that I am dedicated to this case and the families of the victims. We are working tirelessly, using all resources at our disposal to solve this case and racing against the clock to prevent more murders. We are still leaning on the public for any information that you might have. Please call (901) 528-Cash with any information that might help us solve these murders and bring justice to all four of these children.” Raising his head from the paper, he looked out at the crowd.

“Hanna Tomley from the Commercial A
ppeal. One question, Sgt. Agosto,” one of the female reporters from the most popular newspapers,
Commercial Reveal
, in the crowd said. She pointed her recorder towards him, eyes glazed over with a bit of intrigue by the handsome man and his extreme humility considering his high profile position in the biggest case to hit Memphis in decades. The readers would love his face. Her photographer moved in for several good shots of his easy-on-the-eyes face. “How close are you to solving this case? And what can you tell us about the type of person or persons that we should be looking for?”

Nicola looked over at Amway and waited for him to respond. After all, May said that he didn’t have to do
questions
.

“We’ll be taking questions at the end,” May interjected from the side of the platform. “We’ll be happy to address your concerns at the end.”

Nicola nodded and stepped back, straightening his black tailored suit as he did, happy to pass the limelight on to someone who knew how to handle it.

The woman gave a frustrated sigh but kept her eyes locked on Nicola Agosto. The story was definitely the Baby Boys case, but he would be the star, if she could only get to him.

***

Ivy turned back from the television and looked at Mike with a sort of confident glare, like she was looking past him judging her, like his opinion suddenly didn’t matter to her at all.

“My husband is devoted to this community in all aspects. Race is not an issue. He just wants what’s best,” she said as if reading the man’s mind. “We have four of our own
.
”
And one on the way
, she thought to herself as she rubbed her stomach covertly.

“Good to hear,” he said, brushing off her validation of what he considered to be Me
mphis’s attempt at another great white hope. “No offense, Letewich, but few white men in his position are culturally sensitive to our community, yet they continue to put them in our communities to police us - the exact opposite of the community policing concept. These guys bust in like gangbusters and highjack our kids, throw them in prison and then go home and have good ole’ American pie with their snow white house wives.”

Even Letewich was thrown by the statement. He found himself sitting with his mouth gaped wide open. Shutting it and readjusting in his chair, he focused.
Money talked
. “Well, enough of Memphis politics and current affairs. We’re here to make this deal the best thing that your brewery has ever entered into,” Ivy’s boss said, determined to get back on track.

And what community do you live in?
Ivy wanted to ask. She was certain that he didn’t live in the projects and from her research on him, she’d found that he had grown up in a middle-class suburb. His grotesque dismissal of her presence made her want to stab him in the eye with her pen and piss on his contract, literally, but instead, she caught Letewich’s silent plea to not ruin this deal.

Ivy again held her tongue, though this time, she wanted so badly to share her views on
community
and his own help in demonizing his own people through the sale of alcohol.

“Right, gentlemen,” she said, clearing her throat and giving Letewich a stern look that let him know that she had reached her boiling point. “Let’s talk strategy.”

9

As soon as the new conference was over, both Nicola and Johnson bailed, making a b-line for the front doors of the police headquarters and out into the grueling summer sun.

Nicola could not wait to get the hell out of 201 Poplar, away from all those fake politicians and hungry reporters and get on with his day. In just the few short hours that he had spent grab-assing with the brass, he had missed two calls.

He walked with Johnson quietly down the sidewalk past dozens of people who stood waiting for their court time, talking to lawyers, begging for money or just being bonded out of jail by the bail bondsmen who had shops up and down Poplar Avenue.

“Where’d you park,” Nicola asked, phone to his ear.

Johnson scratched his brow. “Damn, it’s hot as hell out here. Got to be at least a hundred degrees.” He pointed directly across the street in front of a lawyer’s office. “I’m right there. You want me to ride with you?”

Nicola held up a hand, halting Johnson from talking or moving. “Wait.”

The voice on the other end of the message was a black female from what he could tell. She sounded flustered, maybe even scared.

“Sgt. Agosto, my name is
Roxie. I was Twist’s…contact. I was supposed to meet him last night but then,” she paused. “Well, you know what happened. It’s a damn shame what they did to him.” Swallowing hard, she smacked her lips. “Look, if you wanna meet, I’ll be at the Peek strip club on Winchester at 4:30 today. Just go in and sit down. I’ll be the girl who offers you the lap dance.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll be the right girl to offer you
a
lap dance. From the look of you, you might get offered a few, but you’ll know me when you see me. Everybody does. Twist said that you could offer me some kind of protection, maybe get me out of town. I hope that’s the case. If you don’t show today, I’m getting in the wind. Things are getting too heavy here.”

Nicola looked to see if there was a number but it was blocked.

“Dammit,” he said, going to his next message.

“Baby, you did great,” Ivy said. “Your po
sture was a little off, but we’ll work on that. Anyway, call me when you get this. Love you. Bye.”

Johnson stood waiting for Nicola to say something. Shrugging, he looked at him. “What? What is it?”

“That Molly dealer that Twist was going to connect me to just called. I barely missed the call because of that fucking news conference.” The mounting frustration was evident on Nicola’s face. “I’ve gotta meet her at 4:30 at Peek.”

“Well, let’s get to the coroner,” he said, pulling out his keys. “Then, let’s hit the strip club.”

“Why don’t you run over and get the jump drive for me. It doesn’t take two of us, right? Meet me back at the office when you’re done. I’m going to see if I can run down anything on her,” Nicola said in a huff. “She says that she’s going to blow town if I don’t show.”

“The dealer’s a woman?” Johnson said su
rprised.

“Yeah,” Nicola said, stuffing his phone back down in his pocket. “Fits now that I think about it. The female bodyguards. Female dealers. What can I say? Twist liked the ladies. Poor bastard.” Nicola never mourned the death of a drug dealer, but everything else aside, he liked Twist. He wasn’t an asshole like most of the dealers he ran into.

“What’s her name?” Johnson asked. “The dealer?”

“
Roxie. She didn’t give a last name.”

“My boy has been trying to get in on this case. Mark Flowers from narc…you know him?”

“Just by name. He’s a little young on the force for my taste,” Nicola said with a raised brow.

“Well, if you want me to give him a call, I can check if he knows any girls named
Roxie in the business.”

Nicola nodded. “Do it. I’m going to head on over to the office. I’ll see you in a few.”

Johnson quickly jetted across the two lanes of traffic and jumped into his car. Before he could even buckle his seatbelt, he was already on the phone.

Nicola headed to his truck, determined to make the meeting with
Roxie at 4:30 and try to put together all of the missing pieces of his puzzle.

As soon as he pulled out into the streets,
his cell rang. It was Johnson. “Yeah.”

“You won’t believe this,” Johnson said, voice fairly excited.

“Believe what?” Nicola asked.

“I called Mark and coincidentally he was trying to get in touch with us. Narc just busted a crack house in South Memphis. Get this. One of the guys in there swears that he has
sensitive information
regarding the case.”

Nicola paused. “Where is he?”

Johnson knew that Nicola would bite. “I had my boy hold him. But you have to be quick about picking him up. They’re getting ready to roll out with the wagon soon.”

“Where is he?”

“Your old stomping ground. 400 Walker Avenue. About two blocks south of the college.”

“I’m on the way.”

Nicola flipped a U-turn in the road and turned on his flashers. Siren erupted as he pushed past the traffic. This was his first possible concrete lead and it had his stomach all knotted up. A crack head with Intel? It was hard to believe, but he had seen some strange things in his time on the force.

Ten minutes later he was in front of an i
mpoverished old, broken down two-story home that used to be something back in the day. He knew because Brooks had owned the property and used it as a half-way house for guys who were trying to get a new start on life after serving time. Now, however, since Brooks’ death, the place had fallen prey to the elements and the environment.

His old unit, Narc, had an impressive line of habitual abusers lined up on the sidewalk, arms behind them, handcuffed and Mirandized. Everyone knew him when he pulled up. Both the perps and the cops looked his way. Eviden
tly, it had not been that long since he had been out here cleaning up the streets, because the drug dealers who were standing by the cops started shaking their heads and curse, like definite trouble was coming their way.

“Agosto!” the lead guy on the Narc unit screamed out. “Come over here.”

Nicola laughed and closed his door. “Another day at the office, huh?”

“Shit. You know how we do it,” Sgt. Cruzan said, taking off his black Rayban shades. “I was told to hold a gift for you.”

“I was told to be grateful,” Nicola answered, shaking Cruzan’s hand.

“The little shit is separated from the others. Started crying like a little bitch when I slap the cuffs on him.”

Nicola looked around. “Where is he?”

“In the unmarked across the street. The motherfucker should be grateful. The rest of us are sweating our balls off out here. We put him in the car with the air running so he wouldn’t pass out before you got here.”

“You know him?” Nicola asked.

“Yeah. He’s low level Gangster’s Cross. He was getting high on meth when we raided the shit hole.”

Nicola chuckled. “He’s on that white-boy drug, huh?”

“Looks like it.” Cruzan waved at the cop standing beside the unmarked down and screamed over. “Hey, let Agosto have the snitch.” Cruzan looked back over at Nicola. “His name is
DeMario Washington. He’s got a sheet two miles long.”

“I’ll remember that,” Nicola said, wiping sweat off his brow.

Cruzan cracked open a water bottle. “So, how did the news conference go today? Are you a superstar now?”

“Shit, I hope not. It’s pretty hard to do my job when everybody knows my face.”

“Maybe they are prepping you for a nice cushiony desk job. No more working the field,” Cruzan said with a raised brow.

“Don’t say that shit, man. I’d die on the desk,” Nicola said with a frown. The thought had never crossed his mind before.

The officer leaning on the hood of the car across the street nodded at Cruzan and went to the back of the car to pull out Nicola’s prize.

DeMario
wasn’t much to look at. Barely six feet tall and skinny, he had long black dreads, jean shorts sagging under his dirty white boxers and a half-torn, filthy wife beater on that showed his less than muscular physique.

Nicola walked over to the perp and grabbed his handcuffs. “Walk with me,” he said, no
dding thank you to the uniformed officer.

“Eh, man, you ain’t gotta snatch me like I’m some kind of bitch,”
DeMario said, pulling away.

“One more yank from you, and it’ll be r
esisting.” Nicola turned him around and looked down into the young man’s dilated eyes. “You want to resist me?” he asked with a growl in his voice, brow furrowed and chest stuck out, showing the broadness of his concrete chest.

Suddenly, the boisterous perp didn’t like the conflict. He immediately changed his tune. “I don’t want no trouble, man. Hey, I called for you.” The stench of unwashed arm pits wafted up. “I’m trying to help you out,” he said, r
evealing a tarnished, gold upper grill.

Nicola stepped back as his smell permeated the corner. “Help me out by not talking or raising your stank ass arms until we get to our destination then.”

“Oh, I see you one of them funny cops,” the man said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll be here all week,” Nicola said, giving him a shove. “To my truck. Let’s go.” Raising his arm, he thanked Cruzan. “Appreciate it,” he screamed across the street. His baritone voice boomed over the officers loading the wagon with offenders.

“Any time,” Cruzan yelled back.

***

The rank smell of the perp handcuffed in the backseat was getting to Nicola, even though he had smelled a hundred dead bodies. Letting the windows down a quarter of the way to filter good air in, he also turned up the AC and drove quietly to his off-site interrogation center. Every once in a while, he would check his rearview mirror to see what the guy was doing behind him, but he doubted much.

“Aye, man, these handcuffs are hurting my hands,” the guy complained.

“If they are hurting your hands, then I wouldn’t be good at my job. They are hurting your wrists,” Nicola corrected.

“Whatever. You know what I mean,”
DeMario said, rolling his eyes. “Where are you taking me anyway?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I know my rights, and I ain’t new to this shit. You’re supposed to take me downtown to 201,” the man said, looking out the window.

“Well, if you know so much, then why are you asking me questions?”

The perp got quiet for a minute and then sat his head back anxiously looking at the roof of the truck. “This your ride?”

“Yep.”

“Why don’t you have to drive an unmarked like the rest of the pigs?”

Nicola didn’t answer his question, but did ask one of his own. “So, why did you ask for me?”

The perp cracked a smile. “Cuz I know shit.” His lip turned up as he cut his devious, red eyes.

“You
know shit
, huh. Let me get you to the location, and you can pour your little heart out,” Nicola said, following protocol. There was no way he was going to mess up good intel by letting him talk before he could get him in a confession hole.

Evidently, Nicola must have hit a nerve with the perp because he looked back out of the window and pursed his chapped lips together. “How far are we away, because I gotta piss?”

“Hold it.”

“So you don’t care if I piss in your truck?”

“You piss in it; you clean it.”

There was a long pause as if the man was thinking hard about something. He watched the streets as they passed by them and took a deep breath.

“Aye. You’re Nicola Agosto.
The Agosto
, right? The motherfucker who popped Caesar?” he asked.

“The one and only. Don’t’ worry, pal. I’ve popped a few more since then.” Nicola checked his mirrors and moved carefully into the right lane.

“Yeah, I know your ass,” the man taunted.

“What do you know OG, triple OG?” Nicola asked, unmoved by the man. He couldn’t wait to hear this.

“I know you live at 4673 Peabody with Ivy Winters,” he said with a grin on his face.

“That information is public and can be found on the internet,” Nicola said with a huff. “Good try though. Clever actually.” He smiled into the rearview mirror at the man.

There was a brief moment of silence where all that could be heard was the sound of cars passing and wind blowing through the windows. Nicola settled back into the drive and thought no more of the man’s taunts.

But the perp wasn’t satisfied just yet.

“Maybe I should rephrase my statement,” he said, when he’d finally built up the courage.

“You live at 4673 Peabody with Ivy Winters and four bad ass kids. Then there is one on the way, right? I know that the dead cop, Brooks, has a baby with Ivy’s best friend. I know that you spend most nights on a fucking case and that yo’ bitch don’t like sleeping alone. And I know that if you don’t stop barking up the wrong tree the same thing that happened to the Naples brats is gone happen to yours. Bound. Gagged and fucked. That’s gone be all you, dude. And yo’ wife is gon’ find out what
number three
feels like. Who knows? It might just be better than what you’re doing? That tripped me out though. Your wife has only been with two men? You really believe that shit? Man, that bitch probably don’ been with a whole set of niggas. Lined up taping that ass like a ho at frat house, you hear me.” He laughed, this time sure that he had gotten Nicola’s attention.