Color of Justice (14 page)

Night was falling as Danny stepped out of his car on Mack Avenue near Van Dyke. Mr. Baker lived in Indian Village, so his hooker friend was probably from this area. Chances were that he wouldn't have wanted to venture far away from home when looking for his piece of ass.

Danny was wearing a big army jacket, jeans, and boots. He didn't want to look like a cop. It wouldn't help what was going to be an already risky situation.

Danny went to a couple of street guys he knew, trying to get the info he wanted. They were two brothers who worked the southeast side of the city, selling a little weed, nothing serious. He struck out. They didn't know anything.

Danny was disappointed partly because he didn't get the information, and partly because he'd hoped he wouldn't have to go to the place he was now headed.

Danny parked his car, then walked up Van Dyke
and turned down a side street. He had a ways to go because he didn't want the people he was going to see to know for sure that he was alone.

Soon, he could see the house he wanted. It was nestled on a nice-looking street on a block with only one vacant lot, which had been turned into a garden. All around was blight, but this street could have been in any suburb in the metro area.

It was protected.

Danny walked up to the two-story house that was painted white with blue trim. Flower boxes had been freshly dug and planted and there was an old-fashioned bench swing on the left side of the porch. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought some nice old church mama lived there.

Danny was carrying both his weapons. Since this was not official, he went back to his old ways, feeling more comfortable with the revolver and the Glock.

He walked up the cracked sidewalk and was met by a kid about seventeen or so before he got to the house. The kid moved quickly toward Danny. He didn't appear to be armed, but Danny was not taking that for granted. Behind him were one man in front of the house and two others on the porch. The other men were all in their twenties. These men, Danny knew, were armed.

“Whatcha want, white man?” asked the boy.

Without missing a beat, Danny said, “I want you to respect who the fuck you talkin' to. Now take your narrow ass back and talk to King over there and ask him who I am.”

Danny pointed to one of the men on the porch, a gangly kid who knew Danny and had helped him when he needed to recover an antique watch that had been boosted from a retired judge. Danny was told that no one knew anything about the watch, then it magically turned up on his desk the next day.

The little kid looked up at Danny, searching his face for some sign that he was not to be taken seriously. Danny just stared at him with that look he'd learned so long ago, that glare that said he didn't want trouble but he would start some if he had to.

“Hold up,” said the kid, then ran back to King, who waved Danny up to the house. Danny walked past the first guard to King and another man, who was shorter, with a bald head. The kid ran off after cutting Danny a nasty look.

“Man's busy tonight,” said King.

“If I'm here,” said Danny, “you know I don't care about that. I got to see him right now.”

“Is this muthafucka fo' real?” asked the bald man. King cut him off with a look.

“You can see him, but I gotta ask you to give them yo shit,” said King.

“Not happenin',” said Danny.

“Then you gotta bounce,” said King. “Man's nervous about white men with guns.” The bald man moved one hand behind him, ready to pull a weapon.

“He ain't never been like that before,” said Danny. “Why now?”

“I don't ask him why,” said King. “He pays, I do. That's how it be and you know that.”

“You know I ain't giving up my piece,” said Danny. “So we got us a situation here.”

“Then raise the fuck up outta here,” said the bald man as he produced a gun from behind him.

“No!” yelled King.

Danny leaned quickly toward King, so that the bald man would have to aim in his direction. He hesitated long enough for Danny to shoot out an arm and knock away his gun hand. A shot fired, rocking the still night. Danny twisted the bald man's wrist. His hand opened up, and Danny easily took the weapon from him. Two other men walked up with their weapons drawn.

Danny held the gun a moment as all three men looked at one another. Danny turned the bald man's gun around, then he handed it to King.

“Only responsible people should have these,” said Danny.

“Roe, what the fuck is your problem?” said King to the bald man. “He's a damned cop!”

King motioned the other men to lower their guns. They did. “Proody, go see if that shot hit anythang.” The kid ran off. King turned back to Danny, who was smiling.

“See? I'm harmless,” said Danny.

“Come on, man,” said King. He walked toward the front door and Danny followed.

“What about my gun?” asked Roe.

“Shut your ass up,” said King.

King took Danny inside and pointed to the den.
Danny walked into the room and saw the Locke's massive back as he fed some tropical fish in a large tank against one wall.

The Locke talked to them like a parent does a toddler, in baby talk. He made kissing noises and smiled at the fish dumbly as if they knew he was happy with them.

Danny didn't like him, but he respected his position. Since the Locke was out of violent crime, he was no longer a concern of the police. The Locke flirted with both sides of the law, and a man like that could occasionally be an asset.

“Well, well,” said the Locke. “The white man who ain't white, and the black man who ain't black. I heard the shot. I guess that would be your calling card.”

“Your man tripped,” said Danny. “I reacted.”

“Roe,” said the Locke knowingly. “He's a hothead. He'll be dead or in jail in the next year.” He made the last statement in a matter-of-fact tone. “Sad, but that's the way the shit goes, you know.”

The Locke walked over to a table with a chess set on it. The board was in midgame as if someone was playing. He studied it then made a move. Suddenly, he laughed.

“I'll have these fools beat in another three moves,” he said. “I play against five of my guys. It takes all of them to even come close to being qualified,” he said proudly. “You play, Detective?”

“I need some information,” said Danny, not wanting to get engaged in small talk.

“Where was you when them muthafuckas
ripped off my store?” asked the Locke. “I pay a lot of taxes and I got cops askin' me for shit.” He took a deep breath then, “What is it?”

“I'm looking for a hooker who's using the name Xena.”

The Locke popped some candy into his mouth and let his head roll upward. Danny saw his eyes flash for a second, the way they do when you recall a long-lost memory.

“Lotta hos use made-up names,” he said finally.

“But you know who I'm talkin' about, right?”

The Locke walked back over to the fish tank, turning his back on Danny. He sprinkled in some more food, then tapped the side of the tank, making more baby talk. He turned back, grabbed a Squirrel Nut Chew, and ate it noisily.

“I know her, but I need something from you.”

Danny had feared it would come to this. The Locke was an operator, and would not give up information without getting something in return. “What do you want?”

“I need you to smoke somebody,” he said casually.

“Fuck you,” said Danny.

“Just seeing where the limits are,” said the Locke, laughing. “Let's say you owe me one, a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“And fuck you again,” said Danny.

“Hard man. Then I guess I got nothing to say.”

Danny moved closer to the Locke. “I'm not leaving without the information.” Danny pulled his gun and pointed it at the fish tank. “You decide how I'm gonna get it.”

The Locke's face expressed fear. He moved over to the fish tank. “Ain't no need for that shit.”

“I mean it,” said Danny. “I'll pop their fishy asses.”

The Locke searched Danny's eyes the same way the kid outside had. He saw the same thing.

“Hard-ass white boy, huh?” He laughed. “I heard you almost got kicked off the police force for some shit you did.”

“Ancient history,” said Danny, putting his weapon away. “But old habits can be hard to break, if you know what I mean.”

“The bitch stays over by Gratiot and Seven Mile,” the Locke said. He blurted it out, like it was pent up inside. “She's a shooter, heroin, so she's got a lot of hard work to do to support that kinda habit. She probably been fucking her way all over the east side.”

“Her real name?” asked Danny.

“Bellva, or at least that's what she said.”

“She work for you?”

“For a minute, then she went indy a year ago. I don't hold on to them when they make that choice. They either come back, or they end up dead. You'd better move on her fast, because she's in the last category.”

Danny left, not wanting to stay any longer than he had to. He walked off the porch past King and his men, who hustled back to their posts.

Danny went to his car, thinking of the Locke's comment about the hooker. When he said a person would probably end up dead, not only did he mean
it, he was probably right. Danny moved a little faster and hoped that he wasn't already too late.

 

Danny drove over to the area that the Locke had told him about, a nasty little stretch near Seven Mile and Van Dyke. He nosed around, but he didn't ask about Xena or Bellva. He asked where a person might go if he wanted to get high. This led him to an abandoned house on the near east side. It was one of those old pre–World War II houses with an attic and a deep basement.

Danny went inside. The walls were covered with graffiti and stains, which could have been composed of anything. The floor was littered with trash and semiconscious addicts. Danny could smell the pungent odor of human waste with each breath.

It wasn't a drug house. Most of the dealers had long stopped people from using in their places. They'd sell you the shit, then send your ass packing. Too many of them had been popped by the police when heads gave their places up.

Suddenly he stopped. On the floor propped up against a wall was something that made his heart leap. A hand cut off at the wrist and covered in grime lay there.

“Jesus,” said Danny.

He knelt down to take a closer look. He took out a pen and poked the hand a few times. It fell over, making a hollow sound.

“Shit,” Danny said, picking it up. “Fuckin' plastic.” He threw it back down in the floor and moved on.

Danny heard a noise and walked toward a room in the back of the first floor. He was stopped by a skinny man who was obviously a crackhead. He wobbled a little in front of Danny, doing that crackhead dance, which was really just their equilibrium being all fucked up.

“Yo, my man, whassup?” said the crackhead. “You don't wanna go in there, brutha,” he said in a voice suddenly different from his crackhead one. It had a familiar tone to it. He was scared.

Danny waited. He'd learned never to ignore that tone when he heard it. “What going on back there?”

“You know, some brothers caught this bitch who was dealin' some bad shit, and you know, they takin' care of her.”

Danny heard the distinct sound of someone being hit, the cold smack of flesh against flesh and he ran into the room which was a kitchen. There he saw three men, two black, one white. One of the black guys held a young black woman by both arms. The salt-and-pepper pair stood in front of her. Mr. Pepper had his fists clenched, and Danny assumed this was the one who had administered the blow. They heard Danny and all four people looked toward the doorway.

A quick glance told Danny they were all drug users of some type. They were thin and sick-looking, and had that gaze of not quite being in this world.

“Get the fuck out of here, white boy,” said the hitter.

“Who's the girl?” Danny asked calmly.

“None of yo' muthafuckin' bid'ness,” said the hitter.

“It is if it's the woman I'm lookin' for,” said Danny, coming all the way into the kitchen.

The hitter and the white guy next to him turned toward Danny. The white guy was already shaking a little, like he was sick, and Danny could tell he wanted no part of a fight. Not knowing what any of them was packing, Danny decided to put a quick end to this.

Danny grabbed the hitter and slammed him into the wall. He crumpled, letting out an ill-sounding grunt, then passed out.

The man holding the girl released her without asking, then he and the white guy ran out of the kitchen.

Danny went to the girl and took her by the arm. He could see that she'd been pretty before she got into drugs. Her body was thin, ravaged by drug use. Her face was covered with fresh bruises, and one of her fingers was bent inward, having been broken but not attended to medically. Worse than all this was that she looked to be no more than seventeen or so.

“Bellva?” asked Danny.

“Huh?” she said in a thin, needy voice. She was still getting her bearings and she held on to his arm, which looked massive in her grasp.

“Are you Bellva, or Xena?”

“No, I'm Lilly…” She took a moment, for what reason he didn't know. “Them muthafuckas…They said I gave them some bad shit. I got it from
this guy I fucked. I didn't know what that shit was, man.”

“They're gone now. Do you know Bellva?” Danny had to get her back on the subject.

“Oh…Bellie? She's in the basement. You her man?”

“Yeah, I'm lookin' for her. She ran out on me, and I need to get her back home. Get her well.”

“Oh, she'll be glad for that,” said the girl. “She been real scared lately. I had to help that girl find a vein.”

“Well, all that's over now. Show me where she is.”