Black 01 - Black Rain Page 17

  “Motherfucker! You shot me in the foot!” Vernon yells.

  “Shit, I’m sorry Vernon!” I feel terrible that my bullet has hit Vernon and pray it hasn’t caused serious damage. I feel a sense of doom overcome me as I try to keep the vehicle on the road. Our car is bumped again and I lose control as the car steers down the side of the ravine, dodging trees and rocks. Suddenly we crash into a boulder.

  Something wet oozes from my forehead. I’m becoming very dizzy. I look at Vernon. Out cold. His left arm is in the weirdest position. It must be broken.

  Someone’s arm pushes me to the side. The briefcase that we used to hide the guns and badges of Dread’s men is pulled from the backseat of the Corvette. A crashing thud blasts the side of my face.

  “Who has the last laugh now, asshole?” is all the assailant says.

  Vincent Alexandria

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  I lay my head on the steering wheel and don’t even mind that the horn is blaring. I slowly black out.

  I am sitting on the front porch with my father, eating salted, shelled peanuts and listening to the Kansas City Royals game on the radio—two of my dad’s favorite pastimes.

  “What are you about, son?” he asks, with the glint of mystery in his eyes.

  I think about my dad’s question, and know he is trying to have me look inside of myself. He often does this when he wants to teach me about manhood.

  “Can you be more specific, Dad?”

  He picks the two peanuts out of the half shell and pops them into his mouth. He licks the salt off his fingers after dropping the shell into the pile that grows at his feet.

  “What do you stand for, boy? What makes you different from this peanut I hold in my hand?” He cracks open two more peanuts.

  “I have a soul, mind, conscience and free will. I am made in God’s own essence. I exist to make a difference in life, to affect someone other than myself on my road, to try to be the best that I can,” I answer.

  My father’s face lights up as a smile spreads across his face. He picks up his tall glass of Kool-Aid and takes a long drink. “A lot of people know how to start something, but not many know how to finish. Always finish what you start. Have a word, and be a friend that a man would die for. Respect yourself and your family, or life won’t mean shit. Always remember that, son.”

  My father places his hand on my leg and squeezes it.

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  “You know I’ve always been proud of you, son. You’ve been good to me. I could always talk to you. You had your moments where I had to whip that ass a few times, but you came out all right. I love you, boy.

  You always remember that, Joe. You’re my baby boy, a chip off the old block. You do what you got to do to make things right and everything else will work out fine.”

  Tears well in my father’s eyes and I feel proud to be his offspring.

  “Dad, I saw all those times where you only put ten dollars in your wallet after payday and gave Mother the rest to take care of the bills. Things were tight, but y’all made us feel like we were rich. Y’all took us out of town, to baseball games, gave us birthday parties and barbecues in the park. You prayed with us at night and made sure we got our schoolwork done. You made sure we could read, even though you were denied that right. I would not have wanted anyone else for a father. I love you and wish I could be half the man you are, Daddy.

  Thanks for giving yourself unselfishly and showing me what a father should be.”

  My dad looks at me, nods, smiles and winks. There is a silence of respect and admiration shared between us that words will only strengthen. My father stands up and I do, too. He hugs me and smiles and shakes his head with pride and walks into the house. I sit down on the steps and finish a few more peanuts. A few minutes later, I scoop up all the shells from our baseball feast and throw them into the trash can on the porch. I finish my drink, grab Dad’s glass and try to go into the house, Vincent Alexandria

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  but the door is locked. I struggle to open the door, but it won’t open. I want to be with my father!

  “Johnson, you all right, bro? You’ve been out for about four hours. How you feel?” Pretty Kevin asks as I try to adjust to the lights in the room.

  “What?” I question, groggy from the pain.

  “Dude, you got knocked out after you guys crashed into that boulder, man. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been out for about four hours, dawg. You were mumbling some weird shit about your dad, peanuts and baseball. You must’ve been dreaming, dude,” Pretty Kevin explains.

  I look around the pastel-blue room. An IV bottle and rack is placed next to my bed, along with the EKG

  machine that intermittently beeps as it keeps track of my heartbeat. I think of the dream of my father. What’s the lesson?

  Over by the window Agent Jason “Little Tiny” Phillips gives me a nod and a small smile, then looks at the ground in front of him. Agent Epiphany Duvall is holding Mo-Mo, who is in tears. They almost look intimate.

  They make a good couple, but I’ve only been out for four hours. They couldn’t have gotten that close in such a short time.

  Besides, Mo-Mo’s never gotten so close to a woman that he would openly cry in front of her. Something feels strange about this whole thing. Am I dreaming again?

  I check the other side of the room and see Vernon in the other bed. He rolls his eyes at me, but manages to crack me a small smile. Thank God we’re both okay and he still has a sense of humor. His arm is in a cast, and 202

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  his bandaged foot is hanging from the ceiling. He winks at me and I know that all is well with us, even though I mistakenly shot him in the foot.

  But something is not right. A gloom fills the room, like a cloud cast over the sun on a beautiful day, like mud on a white suit. Something has been ruined or destroyed.

  It makes me think of my cousin Mervin, who has been a convict most of his life. He used to get into arguments with people and they would turn violent. He would set two pistols out on the table, put his hands up and dare the other man to shoot him with one of them. If the man didn’t try to take the gun and backed away, he would live.

  But, if a man made the mistake of letting his emotions get the best of him, Mervin would quickly pull a pistol from the small of his back and shoot. This way he could plead self-defense. He always thought this was fair, although he failed to mention to the men that the two guns he set on the table were not loaded.

  He would later explain that a man who can’t control his emotions doesn’t deserve a fair shot at life. He would say that life ain’t fair, so you best do something about it, and you can’t let life lead you, you must lead life.

  Almost killed at the age of forty-five in a gun fight, Mervin is a preacher now, and his mission is saving lives.

  He has a Baptist church on Quindaro Boulevard in Kansas City, Kansas. Life has a way of catching up with you and evening the score.

  I search the room once again, then realize who it is I don’t see. Sweet St. Louis Slim.

  “Joe,” Vernon says in a low voice, his eyes filled with grief, “Sweet St. Louis didn’t make it. He was shot in the head by a stray bullet.”

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  The antiseptic smell of the room is thickened by the death and mourning. Depression dulls the spirit in everyone’s eyes, but with a hard edge of vengefulness.

  More people are gonna die because of this black ring of dirty cops. One thing is understood by my band of childhood friends: No one dies in vain, and no one gets away with killing a friend.

  I feel like my guts have been pulled out, and anger begins to boil in their depths. My friend sacrificed his life to help me. I thought for sure that the helicopter could have taken them out or that we would have been able to overpower them in a meeting. I think of Sierra and can hear her asking me if Chase is worth it. I bite my lower lip as tears of anger and sorrow roll down my face.

  “Mo-Mo, I’m so sorry,
dude.” I reach out my hand to him, and he takes it, and embraces me.

  He says in my ear. “Joe, he was the best friend I had in the whole world, man. He was my family. What am I gonna do now, dawg? What am I gonna do?” he asks, breaking down crying.

  Agent Epiphany Duvall comes to put her thick arms around Mo-Mo. Her hazel eyes are filled with love and devotion, melting even my emotions. I don’t know if Mo-Mo realizes or even knows how lucky he is to have a woman by his side at a time like this.

  One thing I learned from seeing my father and mother is that with a strong woman behind you, there is nothing you can’t get through, or do. A strong woman will lift you up when you are at your lowest point. Her love gives your heart reason to live when you feel like dying. She can make you feel like the most important man in the world, even when the world says you’re insignificant.

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  A woman can make you believe in the Holy Ghost when you question God about how hard life is. She can give you a glimpse of heaven with her lovemaking. She can make a cardboard shack feel like a palace. A strong woman is a powerful thing. I know my friend will be all right, because by the way Agent Duvall touches him, I know she has already breathed life into him, and claimed him for her own.

  “We’re your family now, baby. You won’t be alone,”

  she says to my sorrow-torn friend.

  Vernon raises the head part of his bed with the remote that is hooked on the railing which prevents him from rolling out of bed.

  “Joe, the doctor is transferring me to Kansas City later today. I think you need to come back with me. We need to regroup. We can get with Commissioner Wayne and get some help on this. You can trust him, you know that,” he says.

  I think of what my father would always say, “Never take out your gun unless you plan to use it. And always finish what you start.”

  I knew Vernon should not have come, I feel awful that he is hurt, but it’s best that he go back. Maybe God did this for a reason.

  “Vernon, if the trail leads me back to Kansas City, that’s where I’ll go, but I have to finish this.” I turn to face Little Tiny, Pretty Kevin, Agent Duvall and Mo-Mo.

  “Look, I thank you guys for helping me, but it’s personal now, and I won’t ask any of you to put your life on the line for this case. Mo-Mo, I’ll have the rest of your money for you by the end of the day. It’s at the hotel. Pretty Kevin, I have money for you, as well. I ap-Vincent Alexandria

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  preciate what y’all have done. I can take it from here.”

  I feel responsible for one of my friends getting killed. I can’t have it on my conscience to have any more make that kind of sacrifice.

  Vernon rolls his eyes at me, and slaps down his good hand in disgust. “Joe, God damn it, boy. You just don’t get it, do you? You done shot me in the foot, now you gonna put me and your friends down like yesterday’s potatoes.” Vernon snarls with bitter disappointment on his face and his lower lip quivers with anger.

  Pretty Kevin goes over to Vernon and puts his hands on his shoulder to calm him down. “I got this, Vernon.”

  Kevin walks over to my bed and sits at the foot. “Joe, everybody here in this room is here for a reason and it has nothing to do with money. You have put your life on the line for us at one point or another. You always talking this God and Jesus stuff, and I’m starting to wonder if you think that you are an exception to God’s plan. Fate brought us all here for a purpose, to save all our souls. They got some bad things going on here, and if we can help make it right, maybe we’ll all get some goody points with the Man Upstairs. We’re friends. You been there for me, and I’m damn sure gonna be there for you.” Pretty Kevin thumps me on the big toe.

  Little Tiny stands eating the crackers that came with the tomato soup and sipping the apple juice the orderly had brought for our lunch. Mo-Mo is sitting on the heat-ing unit in front of the window. Behind him white clouds roll past in the blue sky. Agent Duvall sits in the ugly orange visitor’s chair with her big legs crossed, her gaze occasionally checking on Mo-Mo.

  “Joe, we’re your friends, brother. And you don’t have 206

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  to do this alone. We got into this with you and we’re gonna see you out of it. So, Vernon will go back to Kansas City and see what he can find out with your Police Commissioner, and we’ll try and get your friend Agent Chase out. Sweet St. Louis Slim would want it that way, and I got some payback to give,” Little Tiny interjects.

  Agent Duvall says, “I already have new vehicles.

  The guns that were in the Corvette trunk compartment have been transferred to a yellow Range Rover. It’s in the parking lot. The Corvette is in the FBI impound.

  This’s more than an assignment, it’s personal now. I’ve arranged for Vernon to be flown to Kansas City. His wife, Gertrude, will be meeting him at the airport.”

  Vernon adds, “Joe, I know I have always had my particulars about these here fellas, but, I would want them if I was in it thick, because they loyal. You find that Dread, bring his ass down and get Chase out.”

  I never thought I’d hear those words come out of Vernon’s mouth. He finally sees what I’ve seen in my friends for years. We are as thick as thieves. Little Tiny walks up to the bed and addresses us. “Man, I don’t have that many black friends, you know, me being white and all, shoot I don’t have that many friends at all, for that matter, but you guys have accepted me as I am, and Joe, you kept me from getting slapped around too much by Dread’s men. I’d go through hell for you and your friends. I’m in, dude.”

  I inhale deeply. “It’s settled then. We’ll finish the case together. I appreciate all of you guys. Mo-Mo, we’ll get Sweet St. Louis’s body flown to St. Louis, and we’ll get in contact with his parents.”

  “Thanks, Joe, you can fly his body, but I think his Vincent Alexandria

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  parents would rather hear about this from me. I’ll handle that part.” Mo-Mo leaves the room to make the call, Agent Duvall right behind him.

  The room phone rings and we look at each other. Is Dread calling to fuck with me? I answer the phone on the second ring.

  “Detective Johnson, please.”

  “Agent James, how did you know I was here?”

  “I talked with Agent Chase and she told me about the accident. I had my secretary call around to the hospitals there to find where you’d been admitted. Are you and Vernon all right? I didn’t know he’d be with you.”

  “We got bruised up a little bit, but we’ll be okay.”

  “Joe, Chase says they’re on their way to Kansas City.

  She has photos of the address book with the list of all the corrupt cops. Dread is working with someone… If you can go to his house and rifle through his things, you might be able to see who he is working with.”

  “Naw, I think I have a faster way of finding who he is working with. If you talk with Chase again, have her get that book to the Kansas City Homicide unit. I’ll have Vernon go through it. I have a hunch.”

  “Will do. She’s been calling in almost daily. They’ll be staying at the Hyatt Regency Hotel, off McGee Avenue, down by Crown Center Plaza. She said they were motorcycling down on Harleys.”

  “Dread’s bike of choice. Good to know. Who do you think he’s reporting to?”

  “I’m really not sure, but it has to be someone who has power, can influence the federal and state police force, plus has enough savvy and connections to keep a man like Dread in check.”

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  What Agent James said makes sense, but what he left out is this person would have a hell of a lot to lose if exposed. They’re killing cops, so the penalty would be severe. I don’t care how much money and power you have, that’s something you can’t walk away from or buy yourself out of.

  “Agent James, I’ll call you when I get to Kansas City,” I say, and hang up.

  Vernon looks at me and raises his bushy eyebrows.

 
“You think Agent James is pulling our strings and covering his ass? He would be in an excellent position to get rich, have us kill his man Dread, destroy the evidence and life would be sweeter than a crackhead who won the lottery.”

  “Yeah, but a crackhead who won the lottery would be dead in a week from an overdose. It doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head. “Agent James can be strange sometimes, but he’s no cop killer.”

  Pretty Kevin adds, “Yeah, but if Dread is doing all the killing, then all Agent James has to do is collect the money and sit back like a fat cat.”

  I shake my head again. “Naw, I just don’t see it.”

  “Joe, you don’t think blind men step in shit? Just because you can’t see it, don’t mean it ain’t so.” Vernon stares hard at me. “Let’s get them doctors in here, so we can sign out of this place.”

  “I’ll go look for one,” Little Tiny says as he heads for the hallway.

  I place a call to my friend Peter Shelvin, who works for the FBI Surveillance Team in Chicago, to get Dread’s phone records, and then place another call to Jefferson City, Missouri, to see if my hunch is correct.

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  When I finish my conversation, I slowly take the IV

  needle from my arm and grab a Band-Aid that is lying on my nightstand to place over the puncture wound. I make my way to the closet and get my clothes out, go into the bathroom and get dressed. I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My face looks haggard and in need of a shave. I close my eyes and say a quick prayer that I can wrap this case up and get everyone home safely without further loss of life.

  Chapter 14

  Dread and his crew have taken to the highway. They ride on black-and-red classic Harley-Davidsons for the trip from Nebraska to Kansas City. The men seem to enjoy the open road and under different circumstances it would be both exciting and fun for Chase. Dread has a sinister smile as he rides on his 1957 XL Sportster, Brutus on his 1948 Panhead, Chase has the 1966 Shov-elhead, Weasel and Ronnell drive by on their 1986