The Corner III (No Way Out) (19 page)

“Styles, what’s the deal?”

“The guy in the article you showed me. He’s a part of Slim’s crew. Low-level, but he ran an area.”

Dixon said, “Well, where he was killed was the same street where an alderman lives. A nice neighborhood, so as you can see I need something done about this shit.”

“Shit hitting close to the politicians, so they want some action, huh?” Styles said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes.”

“Well, you know I love you so much, boss, and I know you have aspirations to move up the ladder, so tell your alderman that you will have something for them in a couple of days. Something big enough to satisfy voters,” Styles assured her.

Dixon tried to hold back her smile, but couldn’t. She knew Styles did things his way, and she didn’t mind as long as he didn’t get out of control. He got things done and produced, and with his assurance, she couldn’t wait to get on the phone to the alderman and let the prominent politician know that justice was going to be served for bringing violence six houses down the street from his.

Styles stood, told his supervisor that he had to go and hit the streets and police. She had no objections and told him to call her if he needed anything. He said that he would, and after he walked out and closed the door to her office, LaDonna smiled and picked up the phone to call the alderman so she could assure him that things were being taken care of and that he could expect results soon. As she dialed, she thought about how she was going to be an area commander sooner than she had anticipated.

Styles collected all the data he needed and put the folders under his arm. He grabbed a doughnut from the box that was on the table and poured some coffee in a cup that was in his desk. He screwed on the travel lid and was on his way. Rivera watched as he left the squad room and didn’t bother his partner. He knew something was bothering Styles, but knew he’d tell him when he was good and ready.

*     *     *

Noonie was nodding in and out of sleep. He had been by Greg’s side for a couple of days, only taking the time to go home and shower. He assumed that someone close to Parker had killed Feet and put Greg in a coma because Feet had killed Parker. But it didn’t seem right to Noonie. The house Noonie was at was one of Greg’s properties he was selling, and no one in the streets knew about Greg’s real estate. Noonie didn’t like to see his friend lying in bed with tubes hooked up to his body and machines. At times he said a prayer and asked God, why? But in reality, he knew the answer. His friend was in the game and the game has no loyalty, secrets or friends. Hustling was the grimiest of all grime, and Noonie was stuck in the midst of it all.

Noonie had awakened when the nurse came in the room to change Greg’s catheter. He was in a coma but bodily functions moved on, so Noonie excused himself to the hallway. The slim built Puerto Rican needed to stretch anyway. He was serving as security for Greg until he was safe, so he was only going as far as the door.

“Tired, huh? You want me to give you a break? I’ll watch your man for ya,” a strongly built bald-headed man said as he walked to up to Noonie.

Noonie knew who the light-skinned man wearing jeans and a button-down was. “Officer Styles, what’s up?”

“Nothing much just checking to see how…” he opened a brown folder he had tucked under his arm and checked it. “Greg Johnson is doing.”

“As best he can, considering he—”

Styles cut Noonie off. “Got shot up trying to hide his boy out from a murder.”

“He wasn’t hiding him. He was turning him in, officer.”

“That’s detective, Detective Styles, young blood. I haven’t been an officer in years. I’m not in a uniform. I dress how I please and have the latitude to do what the fuck I want. Understand me?” Styles said as he got a little closer to Noonie. So close that Noonie could smell the mixture of cigarettes and breath mints.

Not in the mood to deal with the detective, Noonie said, “My boy is in there in a coma, and you’re here on some bullshit. So what’s up, what do you want?”

Styles grinned slyly then said, “Your boy is laying in there on some shit about the young man, Parker, who was gunned down by your other boy, Feet.” Styles looked in the folder. “Says here he was part of your crew. So my question is why would Feet kill Parker which it seems got Feet killed? Your boss, Slim, must’ve had something to do with it.”

There it was. Styles should have left that part out. Noonie remembered when they were in the club weeks ago when Slim was talking to the waitress. Noonie was there to celebrate the birth of his son and even though he was drinking good getting a good buzz and woman-watching, he as always, was focused on what was going on around him. He remembered when Styles and the other narcotic cops came into the establishment. He kept a watchful eye on the men and saw the pissed look on Styles’ face when he saw Slim talking to the waitress.

Noonie’s face was inquisitive when he said, “I wouldn’t think that you would have to come and ask me those questions. Wasn’t Parker your informant? I also did a little digging and found out he was your cousin. Now go and figure that.”

Styles ginned. “Why did Feet kill him?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who said you’re a detective,” Noonie said smartly.

The nurse exited the room and told Noonie that he could go back in. She smiled at Styles then continued on to her next patient.

Noonie, who was tired of Styles, glared at him and said, “Look, I’m about to go back in there with my boy, so unless you got some type of warrant, I’m through playing your fucking games.”

There was a pause as the men stared at each other.

Style grinned then said, “Go check in on your boy. I’d hate for him to keel over and you weren’t by his side.”

Noonie wanted to punch the well-built detective in his nose, but simply used his better judgment, turned and went back inside the room.

Styles, on the other hand, was pissed, but didn’t let it show. He walked off, and as he searched for Rivera’s number in his cell phone he mumbled, “I got your mothafuckin’ games, you little bitch.”

 Rivera answered, “Yeah, boss.”

“That motherfucker ain’t got shit to say so it’s a go, do your thang and hit me back before you make the move,” Styles told the detective.

“We’re on it,” Rivera said.

Styles walked out of the hospital and was as pissed off as he was when he had walked in. He really didn’t have reason to show up at Greg’s room, but he wanted Noonie to know that he wasn’t going to sit by and do nothing about his cousin getting killed, and Noonie picked up on that. But Noonie also realized that Styles was shitty over the fact that Slim was kicking it with Trish.

*     *     *

Lucky shook his head as he loosened his tie. “They say that boy was a firecracker,” he said.

“Live wire,” Slim said as he fixed them a drink. “We call ’em live wires.”

Lucky and Slim were in Lucky’s bar in the Bronzeville section of the city. Lucky was sitting at the bar, and Slim was behind it pouring himself and Lucky a glass of Martell Cordon Bleu on the rocks. They had just left Feet’s funeral. Lucky had given Red the money to bury the young man. Feet’s closest relatives that could be found were grandparents and they were very poor. Feet’s drug money was their main source of income, and they had no idea that it was illegal money. Feet had told them that he was working construction twelve hours a day. They were proud their grandson was working and knew construction paid well, so they had no reason to question his nice car or the money he gave them weekly.

Lucky shook his head. “It’s all the same meaning, just a different time. We called young folks like him firecrackers, among other things, in my day. It’s a shame that boy had to die like that. His people seem like good folk. You know they think he was working construction. Think that someone was trying to rob him for his money.”

Slim handed Lucky his drink. They both took a hefty swig to take the edge off the grim situation. The temporary fix would set in within minutes.

“That one soldier, Red, was close to Feet. He knew his people and told them that Feet was killed while being robbed.”

“That’s good, no need for his family to have bad feelings about their grandson. Especially since the kid was supporting them. I think I’m going to have someone take them twenty grand. Tell ’em that it’s from an insurance policy that he had at his job. Damn! Why did he have to go and kill the kid without an okay?”

“Reese told me that the kid and Parker had beef.”

Lucky asked, “So why didn’t Reese make sure nothing popped off when they found out that fucker, Parker, was a snitch and related to that detective?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Slim said as he searched his mind for the right answer. “What I can’t get is that they got killed around three. I had given word for Greg to have him surrender to the police by midnight.”

“Why at that time?” Lucky asked then drank the rest of his liquor.

“No reason, I just told Reese to tell them that. Greg was taking him to turn himself in but he’s fucked up and in a coma. So until he gets better I won’t be able to find out why they left so late.”

Lucky didn’t say anything. He simply made a mental note to keep his eyes and ears peeled for what was going on around them. He would also have Noonie question Red and Feet’s girlfriend. They were at the house when everything went down, and Lucky needed to know who it was that pulled the hit. Their crew was tied in with the two other major crews in the city of Chicago when it came to buying their drugs, and he had to be sure that it wasn’t one of them.

Lucky said, “Speaking of Reese, have you sat down with him yet and explained your plan?”

Slim sipped, “Not yet. I know it’s going to take a while for him to come around. He loves the streets and thinks they love him.”

Lucky’s laugh was short, he then said, “Don’t that boy know there ain’t no love in the streets? No matter how you try to slice it.”

“What can I say, he loves the life.”

*     *     *

With Greg in the hospital, Reese put Anthony in charge of collecting money from the streets. Reese told Anthony that he could keep the percentage off the packages he collected, which was twenty percent. Greg had crack, heroin and marijuana pumping out of houses all over the south side and had large orders of the party drug ecstasy, flowing through clubs all over the city—especially, downtown and up north. Greg liked to hit the clubs and party and when he introduced the ecstasy at an affordable price to the white club managers, word spread, the partying was on, and Greg was making money. The only problem was, Parker knew about one of the club managers buying the drugs and had relayed that information to Styles about a week before his demise. Styles, having that information, had his detectives watching the manager and when he made a mistake of purchasing some powder cocaine for his personal use, it was enough to pounce on him. A traffic stop and a search of his vehicle produced an eight-ball of powder, and with the threat of going to jail, he agreed to give up Greg when he dropped off the ecstasy. Styles knew that Greg wouldn’t be dropping off any of the ecstasy since he was laid up in the hospital hanging on to life by hope and prayers.

Rivera, Spivey and Bates sat in the all black Ford Explorer watching as Anthony walked out of the downtown club. Anthony was still dressed in the black suit, shirt and tie he wore to Feet’s funeral hours ago.

“His ass didn’t even take time out to change, a rush to get that money,” said Detective Bates a young wild white boy who lived off adrenaline, sky diving, racing cars, chasing fast women and gambling. He was good at all the things besides the latter, but then again who was.

 Rivera, who had his Evo cell clutched in his hand, said, “Business must go on, even if one of their boys got capped.”

“How much do you think he’s picked up?” Bates asked.

“I don’t know, but the two dope spots on the south side bring in a lot of cash, so we should be catching his ass with a sizable amount.”