Free Fall (21 page)

“I will, Miriam. I remember how they work.”

“That fella from NBC is supposed to call.” She didn’t like this at all.

“I can handle it, Miriam. Thank you.”

She
humphed
and bustled out, and then he closed the door, and went behind his desk. He took the phone off the hook.

A couple of hard chairs sat against a wall that was mostly pictures and mementos of Ray Depente’s Marine Corps years. I took one of the chairs, but Pike stayed on his feet, looking at the pictures. Ray in fatigues showing gunnery-sergeant stripes. An older Ray showing master sergeant. An 8×10 of Ray Depente screaming at a platoon of recruits. Another of him smiling and shaking hands with President Reagan. Ray in dress blues with enough ribbons on his chest to make him walk sideways. Pike shook his head at the pictures, and said, “Jarhead.”

Ray Depente’s eyes flashed. “You got a problem with that?”

Pike’s mouth twitched. “I went through Pendleton.”

Depente’s eyes softened and he settled back, maybe looking at Pike with a little more respect.
There are two basic types of individuals: Marines, and everybody else.
He gave a thin, tight smile. “Yeah. You got the look, all right.” He crossed his arms and looked at me. “Okay, we’re here and I’m listening.”

I told him about Eric Dees and the REACT team, and that these guys were now apparently involved with the Eight-Deuce Gangster Boys. I told him about the meeting at Raul’s Taco, and what Cool T had told us. “Cool T said that the REACT cops were in business with the Eight-Deuce. He told us that the Eight-Deuce would hip the REACT cops to the competition, and the cops
would bust the dealers. He knew we were looking for a connection, and that’s what he gave us. He told us that the REACT cops were going to step on a dope dealer in the park. The cops showed up, but so did the Eight-Deuce. They knew that we were there, and they were looking for us.”

Ray shook his head. “I believe what you say, but I know Cool T to be a right brother. If he told you this, it’s because he believed it.”

I spread my hands.

Ray gave me certain. “Bet your life on it.”

Pike said, “James Edward did.”

Ray’s jaw flexed and he shifted in the chair. “Yeah. I guess he did.” He fixed the sharp eyes on me again. “Least, that’s what you say.”

I said, “Cool T said that the Eight-Deuce are working for the REACT cops, but it’s not tracking out like that. These cops are acting like they’re scared of Akeem, and they’re trying to handle him, but they don’t have the horsepower. That puts a woman I know in jeopardy. She’s hiding with one of the officers involved, and if she’s hiding, it’s because the cops don’t think they can control Akeem. I need to find out how this thing fits together. If I find out how it fits, maybe I can find her, or maybe I can stop Akeem.”

“And you think Cool T’s the way.”

“Yes.”

Ray rubbed at the hard ridges above his eyes and looked out at the students on his mat. A couple of men in their forties had come in and were watching the class spar. Two of the women were sparring, and the remaining woman and man were doing the same. They danced forward and back, punching and kicking and blocking, but none of the punches and kicks landed. They weren’t supposed to land. Ray shook his head. “My goddamned Christ, first Charles Lewis, and now James Edward.
How long you figure Akeem D’Muere and these officers been lying down together?”

“Since Charles Lewis.” I told him about the video equipment. I told him how, after Charles Lewis, the REACT team stopped arresting members of the Eight-Deuce Gangster Boys, and that they hadn’t arrested any since.

“You figure those officers wrongfully killed that boy, and Akeem got it on tape, and he’s holding it over them.”

“I’m not sure, but that’s what I think.”

Ray Depente picked up his phone and punched a number. He stared at me while it rang, and kept his eyes on me when he spoke. “This is Ray. Cool T over there?”

I crossed my arms and tilted back the chair and watched Ray Depente watch me.

He made seven calls, and when Ray Depente found what he was looking for, he put down the phone, stood up, and said, “I know where he is. Let’s go find out what the fuck is going on.”

T
he three of us took Pike’s Jeep, and drove south on Hoover to a row of low industrial buildings on the west side of the street. A two-way alley ran from the street between the buildings to a little truck yard in the rear. Ten-wheel trucks like they use for local deliveries moved in and out of the alley, but a couple of eighteen-wheelers were parked at the curb. Guess the big trucks wouldn’t fit through the little alley.

The eighteen-wheelers had their sides open, and men with hand trucks moved between the trucks and one of the warehouses, going into the eighteen-wheelers empty and coming out full like ants raiding a pantry. Ray said, “Park across the street. Cool T got him a temp job unloading those things. If he’s here, we’ll see him.”

Pike drove past, made a U-turn, and parked so that we had a clear view of the action.

Maybe ten minutes later Cool T came out of the warehouse with an empty hand truck. I nodded. “That’s him.”

Cool T still wore the neon orange cap turned backwards, but the sunglasses were gone, and he had a little yellow Sony Walkman clipped to his belt and a set
of headphones in place over the cap. His lips were moving, singing along with something on the Sony. He pushed the hand truck up a long metal ramp and disappeared into the near truck, but a couple of minutes later he reappeared with maybe eight cases of power steering fluid and went back down the ramp and into the warehouse. I said, “Let’s go.”

We trotted across Hoover, then around the side of the warehouse and up a little flight of stairs onto the loading platform. Freestanding metal industrial shelves towered maybe fifteen feet high, jammed with crates of shock absorbers and air filters and transmission fluid. Guys with loaded hand trucks were coming in through a big door on the side and working their way down the long aisles between the shelves. Once they got inside, everybody seemed to be going in different directions, but I guess they knew what they were doing. The crates already stacked on the shelves looked neat and orderly.

A bald guy maybe in his late fifties was sitting at a little desk, digging through receiving forms with a rat-tail file, and shouting at the men with the hand trucks. He looked over when he saw us and said, “I got all the muscle I need. Come back tomorrow.”

Ray said, “Myron Diggs is expecting us.”

Pike said, “Myron.”

Ray looked at Joe. “You think Cool T is his Christian name?”

The guy at the desk said, “Oh. Well, if Myron is expecting guests, who am I to object?” Everybody’s a comedian. Everybody’s got an act they want to sell. “I hire a guy to do a full day’s work. He don’t want to work, he can find himself another goddamn job. That’s all I got to say about it.” A peach, this guy.

Ray said, “It won’t take long.”

The bald guy didn’t look satisfied. “Yeah, right. It never takes long.” He made a gesture toward the back
quarter of the warehouse. “Try over around E-16. He’s doin’ auto parts.”

We moved past the bald guy and into the aisles and back toward E-16. The warehouse covered maybe twelve thousand square feet, and most of it was mazed with shelves and aisles that had little letters and numbers on them just like the sections in a parking garage. When we found the Es, Pike said, “Better if we split up.”

“Okay.”

Ray and Joe Pike turned off at the first intersection, and I continued back to the third. I had gone maybe six aisles when I found Cool T wrestling the eight cases of power steering fluid off of his hand truck. I said, “Hey, Cool T. Let’s take a walk.”

Cool T made a noise when he saw me, and then he looked nervous and pulled off the headset. “What you doin’ here?” He began backing away. “I don’t wanna be seen with you, man. Lot of these guys are gangbangers.”

Joe and Ray came into the aisle behind him, cutting him off. When he saw Ray he frowned. “Ray, what you doin’ here?” He looked back at me. “What the fuck goin’ on?”

Ray said, “We’ve got to talk, Cool.”

Cool T was waving us away. “You tryin’ to get my ass killed? This muthuhfuckuh after the Eight-Deuce. They see I with him, they’ll be treatin’ me to Mr. Drive-By.” He was looking down the other aisles, seeing who was there. “You know better’n this, Ray. James Edward know better than this.” He tried to push past me.

I grabbed his arm. “James Edward died yesterday.”

It stopped him the way a heavy caliber rifle bullet will stop you. It brought him up short and his breath caught and his eyelids fluttered and he sort of blinked at me. “Fuck you sayin’?”

“We went over to the park, like you said. We saw
the ice cream guy selling dope, and then the cops came, but the Eight-Deuce came, too. They knew we were there, Cool. They were gunning for us.”

“Bullshit.”

“They took us to a little place by the railroad tracks. Akeem D’Muere put a Dan Wesson thirty-eight-caliber revolver to James Edward’s temple and blew his brains out.”

Cool T’s mouth opened and closed and his eyes made little jerky moves. “That’s a fuckin’ lie.”

I said, “You fed us a bullshit story to get us there so they could set us up for a phony dope bust. It was a setup.”

“You a muthuhfuckin’ liar.” Cool T lunged at me and threw a straight right hand. I stepped to the outside and hooked a left up and inside under his ribs. He stumbled sideways and when he tried to come back at me Ray Depente tied him up and twisted his arms behind his back. “That’s enough, boy.”

Cool T’s eyes were red and he struggled against Ray, but a Sherman tank could probably struggle against Ray and it wouldn’t do any good. Cool T said, “He fuckin’ lyin’. I didn’t set’m up. I love James Edward like a goddamned brother.” The red eyes began to leak.

Ray Depente looked at me. “He didn’t know. He wasn’t part of it.”

“No. I guess he wasn’t.”

Ray Depente turned Cool T loose, and Cool T wiped at the wet around his eyes and smeared it over his cheeks. He shook his head. “James Edward dead because of me.”

“You didn’t know.”

“This shit ain’t happenin’.”

I said, “It’s happening.”

“They feedin’ me stuff to set you up, that means they know I with you. They know I was askin’ about
them, and that means they’ll be comin’ for me. They’ll kill me just like they killed James Edward.”

There didn’t seem to be a whole lot to say to that.

He shook his head. “I can’t believe the goddamned bitch lied to me. I got all that stuff from a woman I diddle. She run around with some of those niggers in the Eight-Deuce. She get rock from some of those niggers.”

I said, “We need to talk to her, Cool T.”

Cool T looked at Joe. “Who this guy?”

“This is Joe Pike. He’s with me.”

Cool T nodded. “Then he gonna die, too.”

Pike’s mouth twitched.

I said, “Akeem wants to kill a woman named Jennifer Sheridan. I’ve got to find out what Akeem knows and doesn’t know, and if he has a line on the woman. Do you see?”

“Okay.”

“Maybe the girl who set us up, maybe she knows.”

Cool T put his hands together and pressed them against his mouth like he was praying. He looked tall and gaunt, and the sort of loose-jointed energy that he’d had only a few minutes ago seemed gone, as if he had pulled himself inward and, in the pulling, had made himself hard and fierce. He let his hands drop to his sides. “She a sister named Alma Reeves.”

“You know where to find her?”

“I know.” He turned back to the hand truck and wrestled it from under the stack of boxes and rolled it to the side of the aisle and left it neatly against the wall. “I take you over there.”

“What about your job?”

“Fuck the job. This for James Edward.”

A
lma Reeves lived in a small stucco bungalow with a nice flagstone walk and a single car in the drive and a little picket fence that needed painting. We cruised the block once so that we could check out the house and the street. I said, “Does she live alone?”

Cool T was sitting behind me, next to Ray Depente. “She live with her mama and sister. The sister got a pretty good job with State Farm, so she won’t be around, but the mama be there. She old.”

“Okay.”

Across the street and two houses down, three teenaged guys in cutoff baggies and gold chains and backwards baseball caps sat on a low brick wall, laughing about something. Pike said, “What about the three guys on the wall?”

“The one in the middle Eight-Deuce. The other two are wanna-bes.”

Pike didn’t like it. “No good. They see us go in, it’ll be bad for the family.”

Cool T said, “Fuck’m.”

Pike looked at him.

Cool T said, “These niggers used to me. I here all the time.”

Ray said, “Don’t use that word again.”

Cool T gave hands. “What?”

Ray put hard eyes on him. “I’m looking where you’re looking, and I don’t see any. I’m looking in this car, and I don’t see any in here, either.”

The hard eyes got heavy and Cool T looked away.

Ray said, “I just want to get that straight.”

Cool T nodded.

I cleared my throat. “Oh, boys.”

They both looked at me. Pike looked at me, too.

“Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

Pike shook his head and turned away. You can’t take me anywhere. I said, “If Joe and I go in through the front, it won’t take a rocket scientist for those guys to figure out who we are. We can let Cool T out here like we’re dropping him off, then we’ll park on the next street over and come in through the backyard.” I looked at Cool T. “Will she let you in?”

“I get in.”

Pike stopped at the drive and Cool T got out, and then Pike kept going. One of the guys on the low wall pointed at Cool T and Cool T pointed back, and then we turned the corner. Pike turned right, then right again, and we counted houses until we were in front of a tiny saltbox that would butt against the back of Alma Reeves’s place. Joe said, “Here,” and pulled to the curb.