Ride or Die (21 page)

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Authors: Solomon Jones

BOOK: Ride or Die
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“Right after that, the police officer in that car came and chased them,” he said, turning his head to look at the wrecked police car. “And you see what happened after that.”
“Were you able to see where they went?”
Mrs. Williams looked up at her husband, then at the reporter, and shook her head regretfully.
“I wish we did,” she said. “But everything happened so fast after that, with the police car crashing and everybody running, that it was really hard to see anything.
The husband wrapped his arm around his wife. “Right now, we're just glad to be alive.”
A police officer approached the couple and pulled them away from the camera just as four more news vans arrived on the scene. He put them into a nearby police car before the other reporters could stick microphones in their faces.
As the police car drove away with the witnesses, the reporter turned toward the camera and read from his notepad.
“Again, if you're just joining us,” he said, “there are witnesses who now allege that Keisha Anderson, who was originally believed to have been kidnapped, is actually Jamal Nichols's accomplice in what is turning into one of the biggest crime sprees this city has ever seen.
“Stay with Channel Ten as we follow all the developments in this rapidly changing story. I'm Frank Wilson, reporting live from Frankford for Channel Ten News.”
As the reporter spoke those last few words, a black Mercury arrived at the scene, and Acting Commissioner Dick Dilsheimer got out of the car to survey the damage. He was quickly mobbed by reporters.
As a jumbled mass of voices shouted questions he could barely understand, the acting commissioner raised his hands to
quiet the reporters, and spoke with authority as his comments were broadcast live throughout the region.
“The officer who was injured in this pursuit is fine. As you know, we can't say the same for Commissioner Freeman and Officer Hickey, two public servants who were slain in the line of duty while trying to protect the citizens of this city. I can assure you that this department is doing everything possible to find those people responsible for these crimes.”
He began to walk away amid more shouted inquiries, but one question stood out above the others.
“What are your comments regarding the newest allegation, that Keisha Anderson is working with Jamal Nichols?” shouted the reporter from Channel 10, speaking so loudly and clearly that Dilsheimer was forced to turn around and respond.
“Anyone involved in these crimes against the citizens of Philadelphia will be brought to justice,” he said firmly. “We will investigate vigorously to find out who they are and what role they played. We will arrest them, charge them, and allow our criminal justice system to run its course.”
The commissioner turned and walked away, speaking with his commanders as the reporters rushed to file their reports.
But even as the latest chapter in Keisha and Jamal's odyssey was broadcast across the Delaware Valley, the people closest to the investigation were still trying to figure out how it began.
 
 
Kevin Lynch reached up and turned off the television in his office, having just watched the commissioner address the media about the latest turn of events.
“Well, I guess the old lady was right,” he said, turning to the assistant DA as the two of them prepared to go in to question Nola Langston. “Keisha's in love with Jamal Nichols.”
“I don't think that changes what we need from Nola,” Robert Harris said, adjusting his tie.
Lynch sat down in his chair. “You're right. It just narrows things down a bit.”
Lynch's eyes took on a faraway look. He looked like he was someplace else.
“What is it?” Harris said, studying his face.
“I don't know how her mother didn't see it,” Lynch said. “She had no idea.”
“Maybe it was an on-again-off-again type of thing,” the prosecutor said.
“Or maybe they just kept it so well hidden that by the time everyone figured it out, it was too late,” Lynch said while rubbing his chin.
“Well, I wouldn't worry about it,” the prosecutor said. “Because the key question now isn't even the extent of their relationship. It's how much of a role the girl played in everything Jamal's done to this point.”
“I think it's pretty clear that she's helped him,” Lynch said. “She flagged down the cars, she helped him hide out, she held the gun. I mean, all that stuff makes her an accomplice, but I still can't see her doing much more than that.”
“Why not?” the prosecutor asked.
“You didn't see her this morning at the protest,” Lynch said. “She had this innocence about her—this sweetness that you don't see much in kids these days.”
“She knows how to play innocent, Kevin. She's a PK.”
“A what?”
“A PK—preacher's kid. When I was coming up, we all knew to stay away from the preacher's kid, because they would be the ones doing all the crazy stuff, and getting you in trouble for it.
“Preacher's kids are the Eddie Haskells of the world, Kevin.
They can be real polite and sweet when they need to be, but behind the scenes, when nobody's looking, they're the main ones raising hell.”
“I really wasn't trying to think of it that way,” Lynch said. “Thanks for bursting my bubble.”
Robert Harris smiled. “You're a homicide detective, Kevin,” he said. “You're supposed to look for the worst in people. But instead, you're always trying to find the best.”
Kevin leaned back in his chair. “That's what makes me good at what I do. I see people for who they can be, not necessarily for who they are.”
“So, do you think Keisha Anderson can be worse than what you thought she was?”
“I think the key to that question is that shooting up in the Twenty-fifth District. When we get the results back from Ballistics, we'll know a little bit more about how far Keisha Anderson went. Until then, we'll just have to get all we can from the witnesses we have.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Lynch said.
A detective stuck his head in the door. “Ms. Langston's attorney has gone over the plea agreement,” he said. “He says his client is ready to talk.”
“Good,” Lynch said, taking his jacket from the back of the chair.
“It'll be interesting to see how her story matches up with what we know,” the prosecutor said.
“Or if it matches up at all,” Lynch said.
The two of them walked down the hall to the interrogation room, and walked inside to hear Nola's side of the story.
 
 
It was hot in Joe's apartment. The single oscillating fan that circulated the summer air throughout the living room made it seem even hotter.
But as Keisha and Jamal looked around at their spartan accommodations, they were thankful for the simplicity. It allowed them, for the first time in years, to focus all their senses on one another.
It was almost like the playground on a Friday night at dusk. There was no television, no stereo, no CD player. The only electronic items in the apartment were a dust-covered radio and an ancient-looking laptop computer that looked as if it hadn't been used in ages.
The only visible source of entertainment was a pile of books in one corner of the room that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.
A small mirror hung on a nail above an end table. And a couch and chair were pushed against opposite walls in the room. The hum of the old refrigerator was the only sound, other than their breathing. But their breathing was all they wanted to hear.
“Keisha, I need you to know somethin',” Jamal said, placing his hand against her face.
“What is it?” she said, moving close to him and looking in his eyes.
“Remember in the car, when I said you can't always have everything you want?”
“Yes,” she said, walking up to him until she was inches from his face.
He looked down at the floor.
“I lied.”
Keisha touched his face, and swept her hands through his freshly cropped hair.
He looked into her eyes and saw a mixture of fear and desire.
She knew that it was time to test the fantasies they'd spun, to see if they could possibly come true.
Jamal reached down and gingerly guided her lips to his own. He kissed her tenderly, his eyes watching hers to see what she was feeling. He didn't want to miss a second of the moment he'd waited for all his life. He'd known sex before. But neither of them had ever known love.
Keisha reached up and took off the jacket he was wearing. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him against her.
He pulled away and looked into her eyes, and slowly began to unbutton the cotton dress she was wearing. When he undid the last button, they both watched it fall to the floor.
They peeled the remaining clothing from their sweat-soaked bodies as they explored each other's mouths with probing tongues. Then, as they stood naked before one another, with every fiber of their beings longing to be touched, they realized that they weren't standing alone.
Every dream they'd had about each other, every thought they'd had about this moment, every forbidden pleasure they'd secretly entertained, was there, standing between them, daring them to take them for themselves.
Jamal ran his hands through her hair and along her cheek, over her breasts, and down to her secret places. He took her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. Then he placed her in the shower, turned on the water, and watched it cascade over her body's every curve.
Stepping over the rim of the tub, he stood behind her and took the soap between his fingers, and with his bare hands, he washed every inch of her body. He rinsed her with the water, and then he rinsed her with his mouth.
Keisha felt his fingers everywhere, probing her, caressing her,
loving her. She felt her body growing softer, more yielding, as he pressed himself against her. His lips were on her neck, and on her back, and down her spine, causing every part of her body to tingle at his touch.
She reached back and pulled him closer, closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm of his movements, opened her mouth and allowed herself to give voice to what she felt.
She placed her hands against the slick, tiled wall and pushed herself against him until her body pulled him in, and they were one.
They moved to the beat of their hearts, slowly at first, and then faster, until they lost control. She squealed with delight at the sensation of his love, and his voice joined hers in a shouted harmony of passion.
They clawed and gripped one another, holding on for dear life, until their love burst forth from their bodies in streams of ecstasy. They were both left breathless at the end, trembling as the water poured over them and hoping that their love would never end.
Lynch Sat
at the far end of the table with the assistant DA on his right. Nola and her lawyer were at the other end. Both of them looked anxious. That was good, Lynch thought. It meant that Nola's lawyer believed that it was best for her to cooperate.
“This is Assistant District Attorney Robert Harris,” Lynch said by way of introduction. “Mr. Harris, this is Nola Langston and her attorney, Ryan Gold.”
“Charmed,” Harris said, staring at Nola. “I'm sure.”
He took out his copy of the plea agreement. “Mr. Gold,” Harris said, “the state is willing to abstain from filing any serious charges against your client—that is, felony charges—in exchange for full cooperation, with the stipulation that her testimony leads to a conviction in the murder of Commissioner Darrell Freeman. Of course, we have no say concerning any federal charges, but
we're willing to recommend leniency with respect to any federal charges that may be filed.”
Gold looked at Nola. “I'm not sure we can take that agreement,” he said.
“I'm offering your client the moon and stars,” Harris said, grinning seductively at Nola. “She can't possibly want any more than that.”
Gold looked at Nola, then back at the flirting assistant DA, and shook his head.
“My client maintains that she doesn't know anything about the circumstances of Commissioner Freeman's murder, simply because she was not in Philadelphia at the time. What she can give in exchange for that agreement—the moon and stars, as you call it—is testimony about the events leading up to the shootings that have taken place over the past few days.”
“Will it give us Nichols?” Lynch asked.
“It'll give you the truth,” Nola said, speaking up for the first time.
Lynch looked at Nola and saw that the flirtatious grin was gone, and her legs were no longer crossed. Her flawless hair was beginning to contract in the humidity of the closed-in room, and she had a haggard look in her eyes. She was tired, from what Lynch could see. And she just wanted to get it over with.
“Okay,” Lynch said. “Tell us the truth.”
“In exchange for what?” her lawyer interjected.
Harris leaned over and whispered something to Lynch.
“We can give her the same deal if her testimony leads to a conviction in at least one of the three murders connected with this thing, and a racketeering conviction against Nichols,” Lynch said.
Nola looked at her lawyer. He nodded.
She leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath.
“First of all, you're on the wrong track,” she said. “If you think this thing is about Frank and Jamal Nichols, you're wrong.”
“Well, who is it about, then?” Lynch asked.
“It's about Reverend Anderson. It's about money. And it's about me.”
Nola smiled at the assistant district attorney, who was once again enthralled with her, because he could see in her eyes that she was ruthless.
“I used to date mobsters,” she said, returning the prosecutor's hungry gaze. “Something about bad boys and their big guns has always turned me on.”
She paused as the men in the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats, no doubt picturing the double entendre.
“They can afford to feed my expensive tastes. But they always seem to die. A few years ago, I decided that if I kept dating those kinds of men, it was only a matter of time before I got caught in the crossfire. So I figured I needed a different type of man—a
good
man.
“A friend suggested I try church, and told me about this growing congregation down in North Philly. So I decided to give it a whirl.
“I got there and I was pleasantly surprised. There was a lot to choose from—businessmen and lawyers, even a doctor or two. But they all seemed to have these problems.”
She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs again as she thought back on the power that her body had given her, even in the church.
“After a few Sundays,” she said, fixing her eyes on each man at the table, “I decided that the only man I wanted there was the
pastor. He seemed so big and strong standing up there in that pulpit.
“So I went to him after the service one Sunday and asked if he could come and pray with me. I told him I needed a special kind of healing. Then I stuck my business card in his Bible, and right before my eyes, he went from man of God to just man. And that's when I knew I had him.”
“That's all very interesting, Ms. Langston,” Lynch said impatiently. “But we need to know how all this plays into the commissioner's murder. And if it doesn't have anything to do with it, we need to know what does.”
Nola smiled. “The commissioner was murdered because I slept with Reverend Anderson. I slept with him, and he did what men do because he was weak, just like every man I've ever known.”
She spoke directly to Lynch, daring him to refute what she was saying.
“You see, Lieutenant, men want what they want, and they do whatever they have to do to get it,” she said with a wicked grin. “But they never think of consequences, only pleasure. They think that just because a woman sleeps with them, she's their friend. And so they talk. They tell us all of their problems—the things their wives don't want to hear.
“And then they expect us to spread our legs and solve each and every one of them.”
She paused to revel in the shocked expressions on their faces.
“Reverend Anderson was no different,” she continued. “He was a nice man, a spiritual man, but a man nonetheless. So after we'd been seeing each other for a while, sneaking away to places where his congregation and his wife couldn't see, he started to open up to me.
“He told me about this man, Frank Nichols, who'd killed his father and stolen everything he had. He told me how Nichols had become one of the biggest drug dealers in the city. He told me that he was going to bring Nichols down one day.
“The good reverend also told me about his own past in the drug business,” Nola said, speaking with some degree of satisfaction, as if the pastor's sins justified her own.
“He talked about hurting people, even killing people, back in the sixties.”
“People like who?” Harris interjected.
“He didn't say,” Nola answered. “He just said that he'd made some mistakes as a young man, and that the only thing that could make him kill again was his daughter, Keisha. He said that if anyone ever laid a hand on her, he would kill them, just as sure as he was sitting there talking to me.”
“So it seems you had your bad boy and your good boy, all rolled up into one,” Lynch said. “Why'd you leave him? Because he was married?”
“Don't be silly,” Nola said with a smile. “I really didn't want to leave him, because sleeping with him was … spiritual. But he couldn't support my lifestyle on what he made. I need money, Lieutenant. I can get sex from anybody.”
“So you found Frank Nichols,” Lynch said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, I did. And oh, what a find he was. See, there's something about small-time gangsters like Frank. They're always looking for a woman with class—someone to lend them social standing. So that was the first thing I offered.
“I walked into his bar one day with a business proposition. I told him that I'd heard a lot about him, and that I wanted him to invest in a company I was starting. Of course, the only thing he could see was how I looked. So he flirted, and I let him. And for
six months, I strung him along while I learned everything I could about his business.
“By the time we finally laid down, I had my finger on the pulse of everything he was doing. The drugs, the prostitution, everything.
“Soon after that, he started giving me little assignments, telling me to make phone calls and deliver messages.”
“What kind of messages?” Lynch asked.
Nola shrugged. “The same kind of message you saw. Words on a strip of paper that could have been about anything. He'd just leave them in my purse and tell me to make a phone call at a certain time, and that was it. I never knew what it was about. And to be honest with you, I didn't care. The only thing I cared about was what was in it for me. I brought up my business proposition to him again, and he acted like he didn't want to hear it. So I did what I had to do to make him listen. I played with his manhood.”
Harris and Lynch exchanged glances as Nola's lawyer turned his head, embarrassed and at the same time intrigued by her choice of words.
“I bought him a tailor-made Armani tuxedo,” she said with a self-satisfied grin. “And I took him to see the Philadelphia Orchestra at the Kimmel Center. He'd never been there before, but I could tell, by the way he was sitting there, looking around at the people with
real
money—people with fortunes he could never dream of having—that he felt inferior, just like I wanted him to.
“Then I took him home that night and made him feel like a man again. I told him he needed some legitimate money to fall back on. Something that could take him to the next level, and make him like the people we'd seen that night. I started Alon Enterprises for him, made myself the second signer on his account,
and watched him filter the drug money through the business. Then something crazy happened.”
“What do you mean?” Lynch asked.
“Reverend Anderson got wind of my relationship with Frank, and he started calling me five times a day,” she said. “Sometimes he'd hang up. Sometimes he'd leave these long, pitiful messages, asking why I'd betrayed him with Frank. I never returned the calls, and eventually I changed my number. When he couldn't take his anger out on me anymore, he did what any man would do. He turned his anger on Frank.
“John was determined to get him for stealing me. That's why he started trying to drive crack out of the neighborhood. It had nothing to do with healing people and saving lives, like he claimed it did. It had everything to do with hurting Frank Nichols.
“Frank knew that, and it pissed him off. When I saw how it was affecting him, I saw it as an opportunity.”
“What kind of opportunity?” Lynch asked.
“It was a chance to take control of the situation,” she said. “I got in Frank's ear, and told him that the only way to get back at John was through Keisha. I convinced him to get Jamal to follow her, and he did it. They started talking about kidnapping her and holding her for ransom, but I didn't think they were really gonna do it, and I didn't feel like sitting around waiting.
“So I hired two guys to scare the girl last night,” she said. “I didn't tell them to hit her, but I knew she would go back to her father and tell him what happened. I figured he would blame Frank.”
“So what did you expect to happen?” Lynch said.
“I expected that John would go after them, and Frank would do something stupid and get himself in trouble. I figured, no matter what, that I would end up with the money.”
Lynch shot a troubled look in the prosecutor's direction. Then both men looked at Nola's lawyer. They were all thinking the same thing: Nola was diabolical, and dangerous. But she still needed to give them more, if she was going to walk for her part in it.
Lynch stood up, reached back, and massaged his neck. It had been a long day.
“Ms. Langston,” Lynch said with a frustrated sigh. “There's really only one thing I need to know. Did Frank Nichols ever give the order for Jamal to kill John Anderson?”
“Frank gave a few orders in the last few days,” Nola said, looking around the table and connecting with each face. “Orders he told me he was going to give, to put the whole feud with John to rest.”
“Did you hear him give these orders?” Lynch asked.
“No, but right before I left for New York, he told me that he was planning to have Jamal murder John Anderson.”
“So Jamal takes a shot at John last night, misses, and hits the old woman on Diamond Street?” Lynch said.
“That's right,” Nola said. “But that wasn't good enough. Frank wanted Jamal to finish the job. That's why he had him take another shot this morning. Of course, we all know how that turned out.”
“So where does the whole kidnapping thing come in?” Lynch asked, shooting a look in Robert Harris's direction.
“I'm really not sure,” Nola said. “I mean, I know that was something they'd discussed before, but like I told you, I never believed it would happen.”
“So if you never believed it would happen, how'd you know what to tell Jamal when he called you this morning after he'd snatched the girl?” Lynch asked.
“The same way I always knew,” Nola said, growing nervous.
“Frank had given me a message to relay to him, and that's what I did. I relayed the message.”

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