Roy Glenn - The cost of vengeance

“They was Black and so was the van, and that’s all I could see from here. Now y’all got to go,” he said and opened the door. Once we were out in the hall he stuck his head out. “Like I told you outside, officer, I ain’t see nothing,” he said loudly and slammed the door.

Sanchez and I walked away from apartment 213 in silence, and went down the steps. There were still the three guys from the crowd that I picked out, to talk to. I chose the three of them because, unlike most of the crowd who looked like they had just grabbed something to wear to run out and see the show, these three were dressed like they had been out all night doing business. They looked like dope boyz-pure and simple. Some call it profiling; I call it my job.

When I got outside, they had the three of them in separate cars. Sanchez and I got in the car on either side, with the first one. “You wanna tell me what happened out here tonight?”

“No.”

“Look, we can do this anyway you want; but you are going to tell me what happened.”

“No I ain’t. I got the right to remain silent,” he said with a smug look on his face like he had the world by the tail.

“That’s only if you were under arrest, which you’re not. Right now, I have all the rights. And I got the right to kick your fuckin’ ass, and then I’ll arrest you for resisting arrest,” I said.

“Yeah, but you ain’t gonna do that, ’cause I’ll sue your ass for police brutally.”

“You were injured while resisting arrest; wasn’t he lieutenant?”

“That’s how my report will read,” Sanchez said.

“Or maybe I’ll just shoot you in the back and say you were trying to escape.”

“You just tryin’ ta’ scare me.”

“Look, I know you were with them when the shooting started.”

“Who told you that?”

“I did,” Sanchez said. “We had you, asshole, under surveillance for months. We know all about Kenyatta Damson and the whole crew of you. You take a good picture.”

“What I get if I tell you what you wanna know?”

“I already told you: you get to get out of this car alive and with no broken bones,” I said.

“All right. I don’t know who them niggas was, but they rolled up on us and just started shooting. Blade was out front; he got cut down ’fore he got his gun out. Kenyatta and Fraz shot back but they were outgunned. Them niggas was bustin’ with AKs or some heavy shit like that.”

“And the rest of you ran for cover,” Sanchez said and got out of the car.

“I took-yeah, we just ran,” he said and dropped his head before he admitted that he was involved in the shooting.

“Thanks,” I said and got out of the car. We ran the same game on the other two and they told us the same story. I had the officers take them in, book them for loitering, and then let them go. At least we would have their prints and mug shots.

After Sanchez and I left the crime scene, he rode with me while I grabbed something to eat and some coffee, and then we headed back to the precinct. I wanted to get a look at the file he had on Kenyatta Damson and he not only wanted, but needed, to find out how this woman was running an operation like she was, and nobody in his unit knew anything about it. He didn’t say it, but I knew he had to be thinking that someone in his unit might be dirty.

While Sanchez wandered around the unit chewin’ ass, I dug into her file. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t expecting to find much. When Sanchez got done with his tirade, he came back in his office, sat down in front of me, and took a deep breath. “Was it good for you?”

“It was better for me than it was for them,” Sanchez said and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “What about you; you find anything?”

“Nothing current. You got any idea who was supplying this woman?” When Sanchez didn’t answer, I figured he didn’t. “What about Lorenzo Copeland; says he’s a known associate. Got anything current on him?”

Sanchez looked at me and then he looked out in the unit. He stood up. “Come on, Kirk, let’s go get some coffee.”

“Got some,” I said and held up my cup.

“Coffee’s better across the street. Come on,” Sanchez said and walked out of the office.

Now I’m a little slow sometimes, but it was obvious that he wanted to talk, and not in there. So I tossed my coffee in trash and followed him.

Sanchez walked across the street to the deli and went in. Since he wasn’t talking, I saw no point in going in with him. “I take mine black.” I leaned against a car and waited for him to come out.

“So, what are we talking about?” I asked when he handed me the cup.

“Lorenzo Copeland.”

“What about him?”

“Lorenzo Copeland is serving a life sentence for murder.”

“Okay,” I said and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“He murdered Officer Mike McDill,” Sanchez said and leaned on the car next to me.

“He was one of your guys, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Gene, spill it.”

“What I’m about to tell you goes no further.”

“It’s just me, you, and the car.”

“About six months before it happened, McDill and his partner, Brown, busted a dealer named Bryce Tyler, one of Copeland’s people, for possession. He gives up everybody and we start building a case against Copeland. We get a warrant to search his apartment on Tyler’s word that Copeland is holding big weight. The dope was right where he said it would be, and they go to arrest Copeland and another character, whose name escapes me for the moment. The way I get it is that McDill hit Copeland in the face, and Copeland swung back. Brown pulls out his club and hits Copeland in the shin and he drops to his knees. Then both of them start hittin’ Copeland with their clubs and kickin’ him. Copeland grabbed McDill’s gun and shot him. Then Brown pulls his gun and shoots Copeland. The bullet hit him in the arm and he dropped the gun. When I got in there it was a free for all, my guys were kickin’ and hittin’ him with them clubs until I yelled, ‘That’s enough!’ after that, Copeland blacked out.”

“What happened, Gene?”

“We closed ranks.”

“The Blue wall.”

“McDill had a wife and three kids. So everybody’s statement left out the part about McDill hitting Copeland; and him and Brown beating him before he shot McDill,” Sanchez said and dropped his head.

“What about the other guy?”

“He was one of the star witnesses for the prosecution. He didn’t want any part of the murder charge, so he rolled on Lorenzo and did it quick. When he got on the stand he told the same story: Copeland grabbed McDill’s gun and killed him.”

“What’s happened to him and Tyler?”

“Tyler had a deal; so he testified in the murder trial against Copeland, and now he’s in witness protection. The other guy, I think his name was Chris Beck, he copped to possession and got five years.”

“DA must have wanted Copeland bad for them to give Tyler witness protection.”

“Copeland comes from a long line of drug dealers. His uncles, cousins-all dealers. DA thought if he could flip Copeland that he could get his suppliers.”

“Fuckin’ DA.”

“What can I say; it was an election year.”

“Anything else you wanna tell me?”

“On my sainted mother, that’s the whole story,” Sanchez said and crossed himself.

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you guys don’t have anything on this woman?”

“No, Kirk, it doesn’t. But I got some ideas about that.”

“Like what?” I had to ask.

“Give me a couple of days and ask me that again,” Sanchez said and sipped his coffee.

Just then I got a text from Reyes saying that he had ID’s on this morning’s victims. “That was Reyes,” I said and started walking back across the street toward the building.

“Mind if I tag along?” Sanchez said and I stopped.

“I hate to ask this, Gene, we go back a long way, but I gotta. What’s your interest here?”

“Let’s get out of the street,” Sanchez said and I had to agree. When we were back on the sidewalk, Sanchez stopped and faced me. “I know you’re thinking, just like I am, that the only way for this to be going on is for somebody blue to be taking green. This is my house, my guys; I need to get on top of it.”

“This is the part I don’t like. You’re not here to cover this up, are you?”

“I know you gotta ask, but a cop’s family getting his pension is one thing, covering for dirty cops is something else.”

“Good enough for me. Let’s go,” I said and went into the building.

“Right behind-partner.”

When we talked to Reyes and he gave us the names and rap sheets of the other three bodies. Robert King and Bernard “Blade” Bradshaw both had long records for possession and firearms violations, but the one that bothered me was the woman that was found in the vacant apartment. Her name was Shantia Lewis. All we had on her was a shoplifting charge and that was eight years old. We got her last known address from the DMV and headed over there.

What we found when we got there was police tape. “See if you can find out what happened here,” I said to Sanchez and got out of the car. I went under the tape and walked toward the house. As I got closer, I could see the chalk outline and the bloodstain on the pavement.

When I got back in the car, Sanchez had the rundown. “Her name was LeSean Wooden. Her and Lewis were roommates. Witnesses say that after they heard the shots, they saw three people lead Lewis away at gunpoint, and drive off in an old Chevy Nova.”

“She got a record?”

“Bad checks,” Sanchez said.

“So what do we have? We got two women: one gets dropped here and the other is taken by three people to the drug house, and they kill her there. A few hours later, three people, and I’m thinking that we’re talking about the same three people, get dropped at the drug house.”

“They take Lewis there; question her. She does or doesn’t tell them what they want to know and they kill her. Their people come after them, and in retaliation, they kill Damson, King, and Bradshaw.”

“I’m willing to go along with the first part: Damson and her people kill Wooden and kidnap and kill Lewis, but there’s more to it. What was this about? And who are our shooters?”

“We don’t have a lot to go on.”

I started the car and drove off. “Maybe I’m trying to read too much into this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this could be the same as every other day, dope dealers fighting for turf, bullshit.”

“If what the old man says is true, that’s been a good spot for them for years.”

“I need to know who was supplying Damson, and who would want to take over that spot,” I said and headed for the station to dig a little deeper.

What I found was more dead-ends. Chris Beck was murdered on the yard two weeks after he got to prison. Bryce Tyler disappeared from witness protection over a year ago. The only person I found that I could talk to was Nina Thomas, Copeland’s old girlfriend. It was a long shot, but maybe she could give me something to go on; ’cause right now, I had nothing.

Chapter Seven

Rain Robinson

The first place I went was to a little bar up on the avenue, where Jay Easy and his crew used to hang out. The last time I was there, I walked out with that nigga on my arm so I could kill him. He had sent people to rob my dope spots and kill my dealers. “I thought we had something. I was ready to do life for you. I gets out and come lookin’ for my woman, and you play me off for this nigga,” Jay Easy said to me that night.

“So you decide to start robbin’ me?”

“I still got all the dope and the money. After I’d shut you down I was gonna step to you and give it all back.”

“Bullshit! After all this shit, you was just gonna hand it all back to me?”

“Yeah. I wanted to show you that you needed me in your life. Not this nigga! He can’t do the shit for you that I can.” He just didn’t know. Nick had done more for me and to me in a week, than he did the whole time I knew him.

I parked outside the spot and I knew that if his crew was there, they wouldn’t be glad to see me. I checked my weapon and went in, thinkin’ that maybe I should have called Nick and asked him to ride with me on this. But he would be mad ’cause I wasn’t in bed restin’ like he’d told me to, and I didn’t feel like hearin’ his mouth.

I stepped inside and looked around. I saw his boy Fred Mac, and two other niggas I’d never seen before, sittin’ at a table in the back. I walked back there and they stopped talkin’ when they saw me comin’. I opened my coat and made sure they saw my gun when I stopped at the table. “What you doin’ in here, Rain?” Fred Mac asked.

“I’m lookin’ for Jay’s brother, Kevin. You seen him?”

“It’s been a minute since I seen Kevin. Let’s see, oh yeah, it was at Jay’s funeral, after you shot him.”

“I ain’t got no beef wit’ you, Mac. Me and you always been cool. So unless you sayin’ you was in that shit wit’ him, I want to keep it that way. You know what Jay was doin’ to me and why it went the way it did.”

“Yeah, okay, right-we cool and all that, and the shit Jay did was foul, but did you have to shoot him in the face?” Fred Mac asked and the guys with him laughed a little. “That’s what’s blowin’ Kevin and them. That closed casket funeral shit.”

“Whatever. You tell Kevin I got one for him, too, when I find his ass. You tell him that if he got a problem with me, he needs to grow some balls and bring that shit to my face. Not go after my brother,” I said and walked off.

I hung around for a while and talked to some more people before I left. Nobody had seen Kevin Easely or would tell me where he lived. I left the spot and was headed for the car, when I felt somebody walkin’ up behind me.

“Rain.”

I turned around quickly and pointed my gun. That shit hurt like hell. “Step out in the light where I can see you.”

When they stepped up I saw it was Dee. A crackhead that hung around the bar doin’ whatever he had to do to get money for another bump. “Don’t shoot me, Rain,” he said and walked toward me with his hands up. Even though I didn’t think I had anything to worry about, I kept my gun pointed at him, just in case he was desperate and wanted to try something foolish.

“What you want, Dee?”

“I didn’t mean to get in your business, but I heard what you was askin’ about in there.”

“And.”

“And I know somebody that might know what happened to your brother.”

“Who?”

“He’s name is Whitlow. He just got out of Rikers and he was down with Kevin before he went in.”

“I already know what happened.”

“Yeah, but he might know who did it,” Dee said.

“Where is he?” I asked and put my gun to his head.