Black 01 - Black Rain (17 page)

The big guy bursts out laughing and all his men fall in doing the same. I just look at him, then at Little Tiny to let him know I’m not about to let this go too much further.

Little Tiny squirms from under the goons holding him, like he’s trying to get to me.

“Man, why’d you have to say that stuff? You’re starting trouble, man.”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all day, fat man,” the big guy states.

Little Tiny’s face contorts like he just tasted something sour, and he stares at the rude man, showing that he didn’t appreciate that last remark.

“Hey, fella, I don’t like being called fat. I’m working out, okay? Why are you tryin’ to put me down? You fucking asshole!”

The big guy walks up to him and pushes his finger into Little Tiny’s bulging belly. “Well, that workout mess isn’t working for your fat ass,” he says.

Little Tiny lunges for him, but is restrained by the men holding him. Hit in the face with the brass knuckles, he falls to his knees in pain. His round face is quickly swelling and turning red from the blow.

I tense up. “Leave him alone, asshole!” I am hit across the jaw, as well. My head rings and it feels like the right side of my face is burning. I kick one of the guys holding me on the outside of his knee, making his leg buckle beneath him. He falls in excruciating pain. I head-butt the other man holding me, breaking his nose.

I elbow the big white guy in the face, after blocking one of his punches. He falls back as I lunge on top of him,
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not giving him time to react. I commence punching him in the face.

Little Tiny has pushed one of his aggressors into the wall and has the other man by the nuts when Vernon walks in eating barbecued pork skins.

“What the fuck?” He drops the pork skins and bags from the store and pulls his gun.

“Stand down!” Vernon demands.

I get up, throw a perfect punch and start kicking the hell out of the big white guy who has fallen to the floor.

“So, Mr. Brass Knuckles, you like hitting people, huh, asshole?” I stomp the guy in the ribs and shoulders.

“Joe, that’s enough!” Vernon orders. “Everybody sit down over there on that couch!”

I go to Little Tiny as Vernon collects the guns and identifications from our assailants. We look at their IDs.

All of them are cops.

“You all right, big man? You really scared me with all that white thunder you were bringing,” I tease as Little Tiny’s jaw bulges.

“Yeah, I’m cool, and this isn’t funny. Where’re those brass knuckles?”

Vernon throws them to him. Tiny walks up to our interrogator and whips him one across the face. “I just wanted you to see how this shit felt. That’s some white thunder for your ass. Where’s the refrigerator? I need to put some ice on my face.” Little Tiny looks around the room, holding his swollen jaw.

“Yeah, I heard that. Get me some, too,” I say.

I go to the table and look at the men’s identifications.

The big guy that smacked us around is Lieutenant Rick

“Brutus” Tucker. The other men are Officers Ronnell
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Jenkins, Stanley Turner, Adam Fletcher and Christopher Hunter.

“You guys are pathetic. An officer of the law is never to give up his badge or gun and I have both. What will your boss think of that?” I ask as all the men except for Lieutenant Brutus Tucker glance sideways, agitated.

“Shit happens,” he replies with a smirk.

I turn to him. “So, Brutus, you need a little ice on that jaw, bro?” I tease.

“Fuck you, asshole! I’ll finish the job next time.”

I backhand him on the swollen side of his face and he grimaces. “Oh, did that hurt? I think you need to learn a little respect, Mr. Man. So let me see if I can assess this situation. You’re Cattanno’s flunky, right? Probably his poor excuse for a right-hand man?” Tiny hands me some ice wrapped in a towel and I put it to my face.

“I slapped you pretty good, huh, punk?” Brutus asks, smiling.

I backhand Brutus across the face again for good measure. “Yes, you did, but not as good as I slapped your stupid ass. Now, as I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, Cattanno sent you here to find out if I was legit. Well, yes, I am legit. I’m one bad motherfucker, and to prove it, I got all of you sitting here like little bitches. I got no beef with you guys. I’m just trying to score some extra cash. Y’all tell Cattanno that when you get back, and if he wants your badges and guns, he needs to come to me himself to get them. I got a feeling that he ain’t gonna be too happy when he sees y’all. You sorry excuses for cops can go.”

“Hold up, Joe. At least shoot them in the ass, the foot, something. You gonna just let them waltz out of
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here?” Little Tiny asks, pacing the floor and turning red from anger.

I push Little Tiny back as he rushes toward the men.

“Remember, you work and live here. I don’t.”

He realizes that I’m protecting his cover and he plays along.

“I was just playing, fellas. I hope y’all have a great day and come to my hotel anytime and drinks will be on me,” Little Tiny says as he backs away.

Vernon gets up and opens the door to the suite and motions with his gun for them to exit. They file out one by one and Brutus stares at me as he exits. We close the door behind them.

“You know they gonna be back, right?” Vernon asks.

I shake my head, having already thought of their options, “I don’t think so. Cattanno will want to get those badges back, because they can’t work without them.

He’ll want to meet.”

“Detective Johnson,” Little Tiny begins, “We’ll be having another agent help us on this case and she’ll be in contact with you in the morning. Her name is Epiphany Duvall. I heard she’s all that and then some.

I’m heading back downstairs to keep watch for trouble.

I’ll call up if anything goes down. Man, y’all need to straighten up this room. Housekeeping is gonna flip if they find this place torn up like this,” Little Tiny says, shaking his head. He holds ice up against his jaw as he exits the room.

Vernon and I look at each other and start to tidy things up a bit. “I thought that’s what housekeepers got paid for. To straighten things up! Damn!” Vernon complains.

“Watch your mouth, Vernon. We might get some
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company and we don’t want to look like we’ve trashed the place.”

“Y’all did trash the place! What are you talking about?” Vernon complains.

“Dude, if you could start helping and stop bellyach-ing, we could be done very quickly.”

“Whatever, dude,” Vernon says as he collects the guns and badges, unloads the guns and places them all in his briefcase.

I pick up our bags and take them to the bedroom. A knock comes at the door. We both pull our guns and stand on either side of the door, ready to fire.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Jehovah’s Witnesses!” a high-pitched voice answers.

“Ice cream man!” another husky voice joins in.

“It’s your wife’s baby’s daddy,” another voice shouts as a thunderous roar of laughter explodes from the hallway.

“Open the damn door, fool!” someone shouts, knocking loudly again.

We pull open the door and there stands our ex-pimp friend, Pretty Kevin, dressed in a spaghetti-red two-piece suit. With him are Mo-Mo and Sweet St. Louis Slim, who, not to be outdressed, has on a lime-green two-piece suit with matching Stacy Adams shoes.

Vernon rolls his eyes, heads to the table and pulls out the dominos.

“What up, fools? Y’all almost got shot! Y’all play too much!” But I’m happy to see my friends.

We give each other some dap and hug as we greet.

Pretty Kevin stands there in his suit, flawless ebony-hued skin, wide-toothed grin and fly hair cut. “Joe, it’s good to see you and Vernon. We would have come in
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sooner, but we were listening to some old tapes of the only King of Comedy, Richard Pryor.You guys doing all right?”

“Where were you guys when we were getting our asses kicked?” Vernon asks as he puts his cigar in his mouth.

“We? I’m the one with the swollen jaw,” I remind him.

“Well, hopefully that will keep your smack-talking down,” St. Louis Slim says, laughing.

“I ought to slap you for wearing that lime-green suit in here, and where’d you find shoes to match?”

St. Louis Slim brushes his sleeves and checks for wrinkles. “Don’t hate! Congratulate! The shoes are liz-ards and I get my grip from Harold Penner’s. You better ask somebody. And you know ain’t nobody bad like me. Remember that, because I make clothes like this look, oh, so very good,” he states as he strolls over to the domino table and sits by Vernon.

“Joe, we been here at least twenty minutes,” Pretty Kevin says. “Agent Chase called me and said you were in trouble and are in a bad situation.” Chase, Pretty Kevin and I have been friends for a number of years.

Chase knows who is loyal to me and who I would contact for backup. She’s smart like that, and those type of instincts will keep her alive. “She said that you were headed this way. She was worried about you and thought you might want some help. I called my boys and they said you just left. So we met up, and now we’re here to save the day. We got your back, man.”

“Yeah, I can tell by all that laughter in the hallway.

Did Chase say where she was?”

“Naw, but we got a very good idea where she is.”

Mo-Mo walks up and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Joe, we were sitting out in the parking lot when
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these five guys came out arguing. They had bad news written all over them, so we got the license-plate number and called in a favor to a police friend, who ran the plate and we got the address of a house. We asked the sister at the front desk and she said it was on the edge of town. It’s a big-ass, expensive, fortress kind of a place with about four or five guards around the perimeter. We went over there and cased the joint with the night-vision goggles like the ones we gave you guys.

How is that for having your back?” Mo-Mo asks as he goes to the refrigerator.

“Man, all y’all got is soda and juice? Damn, man, I’m hungry. Can we eat these sandwiches?”

“Vernon and that damn juice. Didn’t we talk about that, old man?” Pretty Kevin asks.

Vernon gets up and walks over to Pretty Kevin.

“Haven’t you got your ass whipped enough to last you a lifetime for calling me old?” They both laugh and hug. Pretty Kevin gives Vernon the address of the house they’d cased.

“What you wanna do, Joe?” Vernon asks, when we’re all sitting around the table.

I rub my eyebrow, bite my bottom lip and look at all my friends. “Well, we can’t just bust up in there and rush the place. I think we should chill. He’ll call and then we can determine what needs to be done to get the information. We need to bust his ass and get Agent Chase out.”

Sweet St. Louis Slim rubs his stomach, “Yo, I’m hungry! Can we eat these sandwiches or what?”

“Man, I’m not in the mood for no pimp-steak sandwiches, Sweets. I didn’t drive all this way to eat barbecued bologna,” Pretty Kevin complains.

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“Joe, we got the suite next door to you guys, and we charged it to the FBI,” St. Louis Slim says.

“How in the hell did y’all do that?” Vernon asks.

“Sweet St. Louis told the front clerk that we were working on a case with you guys. You know no woman can resist Sweet St. Louis Slim,” Mo-Mo says in adoration. Vernon, Pretty Kevin and I just roll our eyes.

“Whatever, Mo-Mo. Where are your pompoms and bobby socks? You might as well do a cheer for your boy,” I tease.

“Damn, Joe, Agent James owes me anyway for locking a brother up for nothing,” Pretty Kevin says as he snaps his fingers. “Fuck that, Elliot Ness mothafucka.

We gonna order room service courtesy of the FBI. You can put them sandwiches back, dawg. We’re living high on the hog tonight courtesy of the federal government,”

Pretty Kevin says with a sly smile.

Vernon shakes his head, “Kevin, you were the lead suspect in the case we were working on, and remember it was your hookers that were coming up dead. We had no choice but to arrest you.”

Commissioner Wayne didn’t cut Pretty Kevin any slack, and he’d had Vernon and I pick him up and arrest him. I’d felt bad for him, but Kevin got really angry about the incident.

Pretty Kevin snaps his fingers again, “Fuck all that.

I’m not eating nobody’s bologna, man. Not tonight. So y’all can put them pimp-steak sandwiches back in the refrigerator where they belong. We’re ordering room service courtesy of the fucking FBI.”

I finally give in, grab the phone, toss Mo-Mo the menu and dial room service.

Chapter 10

Dread and Chase are eating dinner in the dining room at Dread’s home. They haven’t said two words to each other when Brutus, Ronnell, Weasel, Adam and Christopher walk in through the kitchen with their plates and sit at the table.

“What’s going on? Do we have news of the detective?” Dread asks, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He searches the men’s faces while pushing away from the table. They all look at each other; clearly something has gone terribly wrong.

“We had a problem, boss,” Brutus fidgets with his hands.

Weasel puts his head down and adds, “He had another guy with him. I think he was a bellman. He had to be around three hundred pounds. We lost our guns and badges.”

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Brutus shuffles and says. “We just fucked up. We’ll make it right.”

Dread laughs, sits back in his chair and tosses his napkin on the table. “So you mean to tell me one cop and a fuckin’ bellman took out my men? Pleaz don’t tell me dat. Wat kind of fuckin’ cops are you, anyway?

“Brutus, I hold you responsible. You have to make dis right. You get those badges and guns back or I’ll have to deal with you.” Dread pulls out his knife and snarls as he tosses the switchblade at Brutus’s head. It barely misses, grazing his ear and sticking in the high-back oak chair where Brutus is sitting. Brutus wipes the blood from his ear and swallows hard, but says nothing. He never takes his eyes off Dread.