Two Tears in a Bucket (13 page)

Isolated in a room with Sergeant Young, Kevin’s eyes darted back and forth between both two-way mirrors, watching Felicia’s and Tuffy’s interrogations.

An hour into the questioning, Sergeant Young and his detectives called the local greasy spoon and placed an order for carryout. Kevin was starving; his mouth watered as he watched Sergeant Young chop away at a steak-and-cheese sandwich loaded with everything. He tried to make a meal from the aromas floating in the air, but it wasn’t working. The smell of onions surged into his nostrils, but all Kevin could taste was the remnants of the alcohol he’d poured into his system at the club.

“
Hey!” Kevin squirmed restlessly in his chair. “Ain’t I entitled to a phone call or something?” he asked, just as an officer dressed in a crisp white shirt decorated with what seemed like a gazillion ribbons strolled into the room.

“
Hey, Lieutenant Goldstein,” Sergeant Young said, chewing on the plastic straw from his fountain soda. “You’re just in time. Mr. Kennard here is asking for a phone call.” He pulled the straw from his mouth and let out a loud, foul-smelling belch.

This stinky-ass muthafucka,
Kevin thought.

Lieutenant Goldstein plunked his chubby butt on the table, causing it to squeak from his heaviness. “Did Mr. Kennard write his statement?”

“
He says he doesn’t have anything to write because he doesn’t know anything. He went to the club last night, and now the poor baby has a hangover.”

Lieutenant Goldstein looked at Kevin. “Did you have fun at the club last night, Mr. Kennard?”

Slumped in the metal folding chair, Kevin dropped his head in his hands.

“
Where’d you go after the club?” he continued to question.

“
Look,” Kevin sprang up, “y’all have had me in here for hours. I’m starving, I’m tired, and my head is banging. All I wanna do is use the phone.”

“
Mr. Kennard, you can do whatever you want,” the lieutenant informed. “You aren’t under arrest yet.” He glanced toward the two-way mirrors. “Sergeant Young, turn the mic on so I can hear what’s going on. Looks like Mr. Kennard’s girlfriend is getting a little antsy.”

Through the two-way mirror, Kevin heard Felicia cry, “Fuck dis shit! Where’s Kevin?”

Lieutenant Goldstein turned to Kevin with a raised brow and said, “Seems like you might want to write a statement before she breaks.”

“
How I’ma write a statement if I don’t know nothing?” Kevin stood from his chair and headed toward the door. “And since you just said I wasn’t under arrest, I guess that means I can go.”

Sergeant Young tossed his straw to the floor, leaped from his chair, and hurried to block Kevin’s exit.

“
Lieutenant, we can’t let him go!” he said. “Have you seen this clown’s criminal record? And he was in the apartment where the shit started!”

“
Then charge him with something,” Lieutenant Goldstein demanded.

Sergeant Young sighed. He didn’t have enough evidence to charge Kevin with anything.

“
We can’t hold him on your suspicions,” Lieutenant Goldstein added.

Kevin stood face-to-face with Sergeant Young, unable to conceal his victory smirk. “Excuse me, sir.”

“
Shit! I’m telling you, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Young said as he stepped out of Kevin’s way. “He had something to do with it.”

● ● ●

Damn, where the fuck is a payphone?
Kevin thought, rushing out of the precinct. He had to call his mother.
Shit, where the fuck is a phone?

Kevin was ready to break as he turned the corner of the old brick building. He needed to put some distance between him and the police station as soon as possible. As he released a sigh of relief, a convoy of police cars approached, their sirens screaming as they screeched to a halt.

“
Freeze, muthafucka!” The policemen jumped from their cruisers with their guns drawn. “Put your hands above your head.”

Kevin obeyed and inched his hands in the air. Two officers rushed up and threw him against the building.

“
Damn, man,” Kevin said. His lips scraped the bricks as they nearly pulled his arms from their sockets to smack on the cuffs. “What the fuck y’all doing?” he yelled as they ushered him back inside the station. “Man, I’m telling you. The lieutenant just told me I could go.”

“
Only place you’re going is jail.”

The officer opened the door to a smaller interrogation room and shoved Kevin inside.

“
Take a seat,” he ordered.

Kevin squirmed nervously in the folding chair, trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong in a matter of minutes. He’d just been released.

Felicia’s ass musta fuckin’ broke,
he thought as he glanced in the two-way mirror, but his assumption was wrong.

“
Get the fuck outta here,” Kevin gasped.

James sat on the other side of the mirror, handcuffed to the table. Blood oozed from his busted lip, and the swollen knot above his brow weighed down his eyelid. Positioned in the middle of the table like a freshly bloomed bouquet was the diaper bag where Felicia had hidden Tuffy’s gun.

“
Mr. Kennard,” the lieutenant beamed, greeting Kevin as if they were long-lost friends. “No sooner than I let you go, my guys walked in with Mr. Harris,” he said, patting Kevin lightly on the shoulder.

Sergeant Young strutted in behind the lieutenant, grinning the way Kevin had when he’d left.

“
So? What does you finding him have to do with me?” Kevin asked.

“
Nothing yet.” Lieutenant Goldstein straddled a chair and turned to face the mirror. “But we’re running prints on the gun that somebody shoved in the diaper bag. We believe that may be the murder weapon.” Turning his attention back to Kevin, he said, “And you were in the apartment where the potential murder weapon was found.”

Lieutenant Goldstein’s pager started chirping. He snatched the pager from his belt and dismounted the chair. “Great. It’s the fucking captain. This shit is all over the got damn news,” he said, storming from the room.

Sergeant Young sat at the table with his face buried inside a file, studying documents. A few moments later, Lieutenant Goldstein reentered the room, slamming the door.

“
This is fucking nonsense. The captain’s screaming down my ass. Sergeant Young, you or one of your detectives better beat a confession out of that piece of shit,” he screamed, pointing at James through the two-way mirror. “Hell, come up with some trumped-up charges if you have to. I don’t care how you do it, but I want a confession!”

“
Hold up,” Kevin protested. “Y’all can’t do that shit. That’s against his constitutional rights.”

“
Constitutional rights?” Lieutenant Goldstein frowned, as if Kevin’s words gave him heartburn. “What about the victim’s rights? I have a grieving family to deal with, thanks to your little game of Cowboys and Indians.”

“
Sergeant Young,” Lieutenant Goldstein yelled, shifting his attention from Kevin. “Go in there and get a confession outta that son of a bitch, or your entire detective team will be writing parking tickets tomorrow.”

“
Hold up, Lieutenant. I may have something.” Sergeant Young closed the file. “I pulled up some information on our men, Mr. Kennard and Mr. James Harris, our guest of honor in the other room. Seems like we should refer to James as Jesse James. According to his file, he gets a kick outta robbing people at gunpoint. The bastard damn sure didn’t finish school.” Sergeant Young chuckled. “You should read some of the statements his dumb ass tried to write. My German Shepherd can spell better than him.”

“
Hey.” A plainclothes detective walked into the room and handed the lieutenant a piece of paper. “I think you guys can use this.”

“
What’s this?”

“
It’s Toby Lucille’s written statement. I just left the hospital. He admits that he was looking for Mr. Harris. He claims Harris robbed him last night for five thousand dollars.”

“
Excellent work, Detective. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Lieutenant Goldstein passed the statement to Sergeant Young.

Toby?
Kevin thought.
I thought Toby was dead.

“
Seems like Jesse James was up to his favorite pastime,” Sergeant Young said, scanning the statement. “But how are you involved in all this?” he said, eyeing Kevin.

“
I’m not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“
Oh, no,” Sergeant Young chuckled wickedly, “you’re involved.”

“
Well, why don’t you figure out how so we can arrest one of these bastards for killing the old man!” Lieutenant Goldstein said.

“
Old man?” Kevin questioned with a dumbfounded look. “What old man?”

Lieutenant Goldstein pulled a small tablet from his back pocket. “As if you care,” he said more so to himself as he flipped through the pages in the tablet. “Curtis Johnson.”

Kevin gasped as if God himself had sucked the wind out of him.

“
The old man was visiting his sister for the weekend. He heard a ruckus in the hallway, opened the door, and one of you fools shot him.”

Oh my God,
Kevin trembled, horrified.
Oh my God
, he repeated in his head, ready to fall to pieces.

“
Hold on, Lieutenant. Mr. Kennard just gave me an idea.” Sergeant Young shoved Toby’s statement inside James’s file and walked to the door. “Jesse James probably thinks Mr. Lucille died, too. This case is as good as solved.”
Sergeant Young winked at Kevin as he headed out the door.

“
Bases are loaded, Sergeant Young. The victim’s family and I are counting on you to bring ’em all home.”

“
Lieutenant,” Kevin uttered softly, “what was the victim’s name again?”

“
Kennard, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that you actually gave a shit,” the lieutenant said, shaking his head as he glared down at his pad. “Mr. Curtis Johnson. Poor old man didn’t even live there. He was visiting from a nursing home.”

● ● ●

Sergeant Young entered the interrogation room where James sat bloodied and bruised. “Okay, guys. That’s enough. What you trying to do, kill the man? Shit,” he said, looking at James with phony compassion.

Digging deep inside his pants pockets, Sergeant Young passed one of the detectives a dollar bill.

“
Leave us alone and get the man a soda and something to clean his face with,” he said as he made himself comfortable in one of the metal folding chairs.

Sergeant Young pulled a pack of cigarettes from inside his suit jacket as his detectives left the room. Tapping the pack against his fingers, he offered one to James.

“
Naw, man,” James said, declining the smoke.

“
You don’t mind if I indulge, do you?”

James offered Sergeant Young an empty-headed gaze.

“
Umm…you don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” he rephrased.

“
That’s all you had to say,” James mumbled. “Smoke your fuckin’ smokes, man. You don’t need my permission.”

“
You’re right. I don’t.” Sergeant Young flicked his lighter and brought the tobacco stick to life. Taking a long drag, he filled the small room with smoke and tossed the pack on the table.

“
Hey, I’m sorry ’bout your face. I woulda rescued you sooner, but I was over there listening to your boy. He’s singing like Luther Vandross. I was getting ready to offer him a recording contract.”

James sucked his teeth. “Who the hell you talkin’ ’bout?”

“
Kevin Kennard. Ain’t that your boy?”

“
Ah, here we go with this shit.” James threw his head back in frustration.

One of the detectives entered the room, placed a soda and a wet paper towel on the table, and left.

“
Look, I know you guys have some kinda gangster code of conduct that you’re supposed to abide by, but your boy, Kennard, ain’t following the rules today. He’s singing like a bird.”

“
Yeah, man, whatever. Pop that soda for me.”

Sergeant Young opened the can and passed the soda to James’s free hand.

“
Listen, Kennard knows that first-degree murder carries a life sentence, so he wrote his statement. He’s been to the big house once, and believe me, he’s not trying to go again.” Sergeant Young opened the file and pulled out Toby’s statement.

“
And it actually makes perfect sense,” he said, pretending to read the statement. “Let’s see. Kennard went to the club; while he was gone, you robbed the deceased for five thousand dollars.”

James coughed, choking on the soda.

“
Mmm,” Sergeant Young sighed for effect. “Mr. Lucille came to your apartment to retaliate, shots were fired, and wah-lah! We have a murder.”

“
Man,” James struggled, trying to clear his throat, “that’s some bullshit.”

“
Here, read the statement for yourself.” Sergeant Young extended the statement out to James, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be able to decipher a single word.

“
Naw, I ain’t gotta read that shit.”

Sergeant Young placed Toby’s statement back in the file. “I don’t believe this snitchin’ass muthafucka,” James mumbled. “I’m sittin’ in this bitch getting fucked up, and he squealing like a pig.”

“
Yep. We believe we already have the murder weapon, too. We found it in the diaper bag.”