Untitled (14 page)

  "But we can't match it," said Ryder.

  "We live in the age of technology," said Marshall. "We're going to put the slugs back together and see if we can match them to that rifle."

  "Jesus, can that be done?" asked Walter almost to himself.

  "We're going to try," said Marshall. "And if we get any kind of match to that weapon Mbutu had, we'll hang him."

M
oses rubbed his bruised ribs and tried to breathe steadily. The wound to his shoulder was bad enough, but each breath stretched the bruised muscle around his rib cage and brought even more pain. The cops had worked him over pretty good. He'd been apprehended inside the house and arrested. He had screamed abuse, but the judge was buying the resistance theory promoted by the police. Moses had fired shots at the cops, so it was all justified in the mind of the court.

  He'd been arraigned and entered a not-guilty plea. The judge had set a high bail, a half million dollars cash, based on his prior record and the shots fired at the officers. He could raise the money, but it would take time. Dake and Nita had not been taken down with him, but they were nowhere to be found. Only those two could get to the money. Moses wondered if the cops had killed them and disposed of the bodies. But that didn't make any sense. Why would the cops have spared him?

  He heard a guard coming. He listened to the catcalls and professions of innocence of the other prisoners. Then the guard, a man named Dean, stopped at his cell.

  "Your lawyer's here," said Dean. "You got a half hour."

  Moses was taken to the meeting area. His lawyer, Ted Walker, stood with a grim look on his face. The guard left them, and they sat at a wooden table.

  "How are you?" asked Walker.

  "Fuck the small talk," said Moses. "What you got?"

  "The reason why you're in here," said Walker. "I've talked with the prosecutor, and he says that the cops were called and that's why you got caught."

  "I know that, muthafucka," said Moses. "I fucked up the alarm, and the signal went on when we opened the door."

  "No," said Walker. "They were called from a phone. A cell phone."

  Moses was shocked into silence. He remembered hearing the distant electronic beep while robbing the house. The kind a cell phone would make.

  "Dake and Nita," he said in a whisper.

  "Yes," said Walker. "I don't have the cell phone number, but I'd bet it was a number stolen by your people."

  Moses was silent. He understood the gravity of his situation. Dake and Nita had set him up on the Grosse Pointe job. They had called the cops and then left him to be apprehended. They knew the response time in the affluent neighborhood was less than ten minutes. He'd told them that fact himself.

  Dake was Nita's lover, and the fact that Moses had been her boyfriend first had not mattered to Dake. But apparently, they both had reasons to want him out of the way. If they had killed him, the crew would rebel and take them down. This way, he was dead cleanly. He knew that he had to watch his back in prison now. County was a place where a hit could be purchased cheaply. Even now, dressed in the orange jumpsuit and chains, he could not believe it. His two right-hand men had betrayed him.

  "Get me out of here," said Moses.

  "That's going to be hard," said Walker. "I'll need money."

  "Get the bail reduced," said Moses.

  "I can't," said Walker. "Didn't you recognize that judge? She's the one from your last case. The court has a system now that keeps putting you back with the same judge. She is not about to reduce your bail after convicting you before. You got a weapons charge, burglary, assault on an officer, and attempted murder."

  "You just do what you can," said Moses. "I'll work on my end."

"Look, you have a retainer, but it will run out soon."

  "Don't you talk to me about money, nigga!" said Moses. "I paid for your damned house and your bitch's condo. Don't fuck with me. Just do what I tell you. I'll get the money."

  Walker was silent. He stood up and collected his briefcase. "I'll do what I can," he said.

  Walker left the area, and Moses felt there was a good chance that he'd never see the lawyer again.

  Dake and Nita were smart. They had planned this thing good, and he had never seen it coming. Moses was in jail, and under the crew's rules, he couldn't deal his way out by turning on anyone, even the people who had betrayed him. Moses would bet anything that Dake and Nita had found his stash of money and taken that too.

  But if they thought he would die here in county jail, or go quietly to prison, they were mistaken. They were hustlers of the highest order, but he was a hustler's hustler. And he had more tricks up his sleeve than even they knew.

  Moses got up and went back to the door leading to the cells. Dean, the guard, came to him and pointed him toward the back. Moses smiled as the guard approached him.

  "Something funny?" asked Dean.

  "Yeah, something's funny as hell," said Moses. "I need to make a phone call."

  "Why? You just saw your lawyer."

  "I need to call another lawyer. I want to place a call to the U.S. attorney. He's my brother."

"F
uck you, you punk-ass cop!" yelled the black man to Danny Cavanaugh. "That's right, white boy, I'm talkin' to you!"

  "Sir, please, step back and let me do my job," said Danny calmly. His fist was clenched, and his jaw tight as he faced off with the black man.

  "Your job? Suck my dick! Fuck you and your bitch-ass job! You ain't nothing but an overpaid rent-a-cop, come in here tryin' to push a nigga around. Kiss all of my natural black ass!"

  The man raised a hand as if to hit Danny. Danny stepped back and raised his nightstick.

  "Sir, if you don't cease from the aggressive behavior and abusive language, I'll have to take action," said Danny.

  "Action? Go on muthafucka, take action on me! I'm ready. See, I know the law, you can't do shit to me as long as I don't do nothing. I'll sue this city's ass right off and I'll have your job, you badge-wearin' faggot!"

  Danny took a step toward the man to show that he meant business. "Sir, this is the last time. Move out of the area and let the officers do their job. You are impeding an investigation, and I'll have to lawfully remove you, if you don't stop the—"

  The man lunged at Danny. Danny easily evaded him and caught him in a headlock with one arm. With his free hand, he brought the nightstick down toward his head and pulled it back just before it hit.

  "Great," said a thin white man in a police officer's uniform. "You can let him go now."

  Danny released the black man, who smiled at him and shook his hand.

  "You move fast for a big guy," said the black man.

  "Thanks," said Danny. "You cuss good for a cop."

  "Shit, I heard worse than that," said the black cop.

  Danny's antiaggression training was in its second day. The course was taught out of Wayne State University in conjunction with the city and the police department. Danny hated doing the course, but if he hoped to get a detective's shield he had to erase the numerous cases of abuse on his record.

  "How'd I do, Felton?" asked Danny.

  "Fine," said Felton Mills, a thin white cop who ran the program. "Sit back down over there."

  Danny went to sit with the other five men and two women in the class. He knew most of them, hotheads all. One, a black cop named Leary, had even been accused of murder, but it was never proven. That incident had cost him three months' salary, his wife, and any hope of ever being a highranking officer. All of the attendees looked sad and angry. In the age of political correctness, a cop who used force was always opening himself up for possible suspension, or worse, jail.

  Danny knew how they felt. In the field, when things got hot, he saw red, and the next thing he knew, he'd be beating some guy over the head. It was such a cliché, Irish hothead, but he'd inherited it from his father, who had worked back in the day when you'd get suspended if you didn't kick some ass every day.

  "Of course if that had been a real confrontation, you wouldn't have gotten to me that easily," said the black cop who'd just done the demonstration with Danny.

  Danny turned back to the man. "If that had been a real situation, no one could call me off you, Larry."

  "Shoot, I woulda tossed your ass a country mile," said Larry. He laughed with derision.

  "I don't think so," said Danny, continuing to his seat. "Your skinny little legs would have broken under the weight."

  The others in the class laughed loudly. Danny took his seat and was surprised to see Larry coming at him.

  "You tryin' to embarrass me?" said Larry.

  Suddenly, the officers stopped laughing. The room was quiet.

  "What?" said Danny.

  "This class is serious," said Larry. "You're here because it's easy beating up on niggas from behind a badge, but try one who ain't afraid of your ass."

  "You need to shut up," said Danny.

  "No, I don't," said Larry. "Tryin' to embarrass me up in here. I know all about you, Danny Two Gun," he said the name with contempt. "Grew up in the 'hood, and so you think you black, but you ain't. You a damned fool."

  Danny shot up out of the chair, knocking it over. He took a step toward Larry, only to be stopped by Felton.

  "Anger, Officer Cavanaugh, is more than what you face in the field. It's what's in you each day of the year. If you don't learn to control and channel your anger in all phases of life, you'll never be an effective police officer." Then, to Larry, he said: "Good work, Officer Saunders."

  It took Danny a second to realize what had just happened. Larry had provoked him as part of a test. Felton wanted to see if he could control his temper if the insults seemed to come from a real situation. He had failed. Danny went back to his seat, feeling embarrassed. Larry smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "Don't feel bad, man," he said. "Everybody fails that test. I did."

  The rest of the class moved quickly for Danny. He left the building at nine, and walked back to his car. From there he drove home to his house on Forrer on Detroit's northwest side. It was a nice little neighborhood that was home to many police officers. He pulled his old Mustang into the driveway and went inside.

  The house was modest and clean. The furniture was cheap, but tasteful. Pictures of his father and family hung on the walls. A patrolman's hat sat on a small lamp on an end table. Danny never thought that he'd ever actually own a house. It wasn't his style, and after his divorce, he was tapped out. Property values in the city were rising, thanks to the mayor's new economic plan and the prospect of casino gambling. Thank God for the credit union, he thought.

  " 'Bout time," said a woman's voice from another room.

  Danny walked into the kitchen, where his partner, Vinny, was warming up a plate of food in the microwave.

  "I almost went to sleep on your ass," she said.

  "I just would have woke you up," said Danny. He went to her and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  Venice hit a button on the microwave, and the machine hummed to life.

  Venice Shaw was what people used to call a "handsome" woman. She was not a classic beauty but possessed enough good looks to turn a head or two. She was tall, about five nine, and had dark hair done in tiny dreadlocks. She was a bit of a tomboy, and carried herself without much grace. But she had a fabulous body. A workout fanatic, she lifted weights and ran three miles a day. Even in a uniform, you could see her attributes, and now, dressed in a big shirt and nothing else, Danny could see it. She was beautiful. More important, he had finally found a woman who understood the job, because she was part of it.

  The department frowned upon partners dating. It wasn't a secret that they were lovers, but they didn't publicize it. Aside from being a good lover and a friend, Venice was a hell of a cop. On the job, she was all business, and he'd go through any door, knowing she had his back.

  "That my dinner, Vinny?" asked Danny.

  "Yeah," said Vinny.

  "Did you eat without me?"

  "I skipped dinner. I'm not feeling too well," she said.

  "You sick? Maybe we should see a doctor about that."

  "No, I'm okay. Just been running too hard, that's all. So, how was it, the class?"

  "Painful, but I'm gonna stick it out. I gotta make it work this time."

  Vinny reached across the table and took his hand. "I don't want you to put your whole life on some stupid-ass class," she said. "You're a good cop. You just need to learn when to pull back."

  "You're just saying that 'cause you want me to have sex with you," said Danny.

  "I don't need to be nice to get into your pants," she said. "You're easy." Vinny stood and opened her shirt a little. Her breasts were small, but perfect. Danny could feel his pants tighten. He reached out and pulled her to him. Vinny straddled him. Kissed his neck. Danny was always amazed by her. At work, Vinny was a hard-ass cop who cursed, drank, and would shoot a perp before he could sneeze. At home she was a soft, loving woman who just wanted peace and calmness. He envied her strength and control. He dragged the street home with him every night. Somehow, Vinny commanded the dirt to stay out of her private life.

  Vinny took off Danny's shirt as the microwave bell sounded. She got up and took out the plate, bringing it back to Danny. She took off her shirt, standing before him naked.

  "What are you doing?" asked Danny.

  Vinny didn't say anything. She put the food down on the table, and then pulled down Danny's pants. Soon, he was inside her, and they were making love. The chair creaked as their rhythm moved it. Vinny then took the plate and began to spoon food into Danny's mouth.