One Dead Lawyer (18 page)
Authors: Tony Lindsay
The four of us stood in the shade of my grandmother's crab apple tree with Shlitz cans in hand. My brothers drank theirs while Ricky and I held ours. We'd tasted beer and we didn't like it. Ricky's mother's Boone's Farm wine was much better.
“Man, why y'all standing there like some lames holding them cans? Here, do it like this.” My brother Robert opened another can and downed it in three gulps. “That's how you do it. Now y'all try, see how many swallows it takes you.”
We had only tasted Boone's Farm wine and beer. We had never gulped either. And gulping with the purpose of finding out how many gulps it took to empty a can motivated us through four cans a piece.
Robert lit a joint and began smoking it. Ricky and I watched him out the corner of our eyes. I wanted to smoke some as long as it didn't cost us our five dollars. Robert called me to him. He put the joint inside his mouth backward, cupped his hands around my nose and mouth and blew smoke into me. He did the same to Ricky. We both bent over and gagged. When we finished coughing I looked over at Ricky to see if he looked any different. He didn't. And I didn't feel any different except for the beer bubbling in my stomach.
Charles passed us a bottle of some stuff that looked like water. I knew it wasn't water by the smell, but we drank it anyway. It was gin, and we promptly threw up all that was inside our stomachs. While we were bent over regurgitating, my brothers went through our pockets and took the five dollars.
When my grandmother got home from her part-time job at the alderman's office, she found us passed out drunk under the crab apple tree. She pieced together what happened from our slurred answers.
All my childhood life, Grandma had threatened to get me with the razor strap that hung on her bathroom door, but it never came off the hook for me. My brothers told me of the horrible beatings they received from it, and that was enough to stop me from being too bad over Grandma's. Obviously my brothers had forgotten about the strap.
With the strap in her pocketbook she walked Ricky and me to Taurus Flavors. There in the air-conditioned restaurant sat my brothers, eating steak sandwiches and ice cream. I didn't think grandma was going to go in there and beat them in front of the man who owned the store, but she did.
At the time my grandmother was bigger than both of my brothers. So when they tried to stand up she shoved them back down in the booth. She was hitting them hard with that strap and harder with words.
She told them God cursed people who taught little kids how to sin, and she couldn't figure out how “chilrens” so evil could be part of her. When she finished beating them she dragged them home by the back of their shirts. Needless to say, that sight didn't help their “cool” image a bit. It took years for kids in our neighborhood to stop talking about it.
Once home, she made them cut the front and back grass with her rusty old push mower, and they had to edge the grass with butcher knives. That evening she fried me and Ricky pork chops, but the best part was, she got her ice-cream maker out and made my brothers churn it, but me and Ricky got all the custard.
Â
Â
I haven't dreamed about my grandmother in a while. It's been even longer since I've dreamed of my childhood.
When I open my eyes, I see white and pink suds cover the windows of Ricky's truck. We're in a car wash. Ricky is sipping on an iced cappuccino. I spot one in the cup holder for me.
“'Bout time you woke up. You been out for over two hours. I now went and bought a city sticker, made a bank drop and picked up some souse.”
“Souse? You got crackers?”
“Yeah in the back seat in da bag with da souse. Ain't but a pound, don't find a home in it.”
The souse meat is in deli paper. That meant he drove all the way down Fifty-first Street to get it. I been 'sleep awhile. He's got some pepper cheese in the bag also. I take a slice of souse and cheese and fold them both between the crackers.
“D, I don't think you gonna get to the bottom of dis here mess. Ya dealing with some rich, powerful, wicked motherfuckers who don't care 'bout killing they own. I think Peal's daddy did it all. Think about it, man. Peal wasn't a killer. You made him piss in his pants.
“Yeah, at first thought I went with Peal, but man, dis was some cold, calculated shit. Dis was cleanin' up da loose ends. And Peal was a loose end. I think the daddy found out the bus was a hooked-up accident and tripped. He couldn't afford to be associated with dat type of disaster. I mean dis man does work for the Reverend Jesse Jackson. He cain't be involved in no lowlife accident cases. You feel me?”
What I was feeling was another souse, cheese and cracker sandwich, so I reached to the back and quickly made me another one.
“Ricky, you talking about this man killing his son. And for what, money? He's already rich.” Jet streams of water are spraying the truck.
“Man, rich white people kill each other over money all da time. They ain't never rich enough.”
“You forgetting Ricky, they're not white.” Ricky reaches into the back seat and folded up the souse, cheese and crackers. I guess that's it for the snacks. I grab the cup of cappuccino and blow the foam from the top and drink.
“They look white and they white rich.”
“What the hell is âwhite rich'?”
“You know, white people rich, real money.”
“Ricky, you are worth what, five, six million?”
“Huh?”
“I'm asking your net worth, between the properties, the liquor stores, the cleaning business, I know it's over five million.”
“So, what's ya point?”
“You are âwhite people rich,' if one chooses to use that phrase. Most white people don't have the money you have. I guarantee you Peal's daddy isn't as rich as you. Man, we as a people have got to stop putting ourselves beneath white people!”
“Man I ain't putting no white man over me!”
“You just did it, âwhite people money, real money' . . . Your money is real. You earned it . . . It's just as good as theirs. âWhite people rich,' please.”
I could tell Ricky is thinking about what I'm saying because he's gotten quiet.
“It's closer to ten.”
“What?”
“My net worth, it's closer to ten million. Dat's da reason Martha been sweatin' me about movin' out of da city. She say we can afford to live better dan we do.”
“Ten million? Damn man, I'm with Martha! It's time to move, boss.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. But back to Peal, I still say he didn't care about his weakest-link son. And ya missed da point, he didn't kill him fo' money. He killed him so da fallout from da bus thang wouldn't come back to him.
“I think dat Peal called up his daddy and told him about da threat Daphne had become. The daddy figured it would only be a matter of time before he was connected to it all.”
“But Ricky, all he did was invest money. A father can help a son. And Martin told us Peal Senior wasn't part of the day to day, he would have no problem proving that. His son ran the firm, not him.”
Ignoring me, Ricky says, “I'm gonna tell you what happened. He gave Randolph a couple of dollars to get started. Den all of a sudden da boy started makin' money. Daddy Peal starts thinkin' if da reject son can make money from dis, he knew one of his real boys would turn it out.”
“I know you're not thinking he killed his white son to put one of his black ones charge of the firm.” Ricky must have got a super-wash because the sudsy brushes are back on the windows.
“Yeah, dat's what I'm thinkin' exactly.”
“Ricky, my brother, it's time for you to quit smoking weed. Please let it go, partner . . . Just let it go.” The jet streams of water return are giving the illusion of movement.
“Okay, make fun if you want to, but we will see.”
“Yeah man, we will see.”
After the truck is air-blown dry, we pull onto the busy Torrence Avenue. I'm shocked to see that we are in Calumet City; I thought we were still on the south side. But I should have known because the gas stations out in the suburbs amaze me; you can fill up, get your car washed, get a fast-food meal and gourmet-style coffee.
I glance in the passenger mirror on the door and spot a detective car lit up and gaining.
“Ricky, pull over, man, I think the police are going to need to get by us.”
“Oh, shit! Man, dump that ashtray out the window! Dem cops ain't trying' to go by us, they coming fo' us!”
As I dump the ashtray, the cops speed past. I look at Ricky, whose eyes are glued to the fading detective's car.
“I told you man . . . Just let it go, paranoia is one of the signs. You been smoking that stuff too long.”
Ricky blows a heavy sigh and relaxes back in his seat. “Man where you want me to take ya because I'm 'bout gettin' tired of yo ass.”
“Irritability is another sign.”
“Look-a-here, man, enough is enough. Now where we goin'?”
“Well you in this with me, where do you think I should go next?”
“I came out to the south 'burbs while you was passed out, because I was thinkin' Eleanor's was the next move. Now I could be wrong since I'm on da verge of some type of marijuana-induced breakdown.” He lets go of the steering wheel and starts trembling his upper torso.
“That ain't funny, man. You wouldn't be the first man who baked his brain on weed. And I wasn't passed out, I was 'sleep, But you're right, Eleanor's is our next stop.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ricky has replaced Howlin' Wolf with Buddy Guy and I'm seriously grooving to Buddy's guitar licks. My cell phone rings. Ricky frowns, but turns the music down; it's Carol updating me. She gives me the Nelsons' phone number, which I no longer need, and next she tells me that the police called and my Caddy was stolen from the impound lot.
I hear her telling me to stay calm. I tell her I will and ask is there anything else. She says no and clicks off the line.
There is nothing I can do about my Caddy. I am not going to drive around looking for it and I'm 98 percent certain the police are not going to pay for it.
“What's up, D?”
“My Caddy got stolen from the police impound.”
“Damn, now dat's a bold car thief. Will da city pay for it?”
“I'm reporting it to my insurance company. They can deal with the city. The car is insured against theft. It was stolen. Where it was stolen from and who stole it is not my problem.”
“I hear you. Get whatcha pay fo', bro.”
“Did I tell you Mr. Nelson said Martin drives a Black DTS like mine?”
“Naw . . . Well damn man . . . dat's who me and Gina saw peeling out da alley! Remember she was screamin' to the police about seein' you leavin' da alley!”
“You right, my baked-brain brother, and that explains how Peal got out to Regina's. When the police arrested me I didn't see his SUV anywhere in sight. I was wondering how the hell he got out there. He rode with Martin. I saw him and Martin climb in the SUV, but I didn't see them drive off. Wait a minute, let's go over Daphne's place. I want to see if Peal's SUV is still parked there. If it is, we got Martin.”
“How?”
“Yesterday Martin set up a meeting with Daphne to draw her out the house so Peal could break in and get files on the bus accident. We got back to Daphne's before Peal had a chance to leave and caught him easing out. Stanley beat him down. Martin comes out of nowhere and helps Peal. But this is the kickerâafter the whipping Peal took he couldn't have driven. That puts him and Martin in the car together. If Peal's BMW SUV is there, it's bye-bye, Martin.”
Ricky nods his head agreeing, “Yeah man, you on to something now.” He turns the volume on Buddy Guy back up and heads for 94 Westbound.
Â
Â
Cruising by the new houses on Clark, Ricky says “Maybe Martha will be happy living down here.”
“No, I don't think so. Martha wants a full spread, dude, and you know it; gated-community living or on a golf course.”
“You got it like that, Ricky. Don't be afraid to live at your station. When we get out to Eleanor's take a look around. Out there is where a man worth ten million should have his family.”
No sooner do we enter the guest lot than I see Peal's SUV. “There it is. Pull alongside it, man.”
Ricky parks and we both jump out and walk around the BMW. We start looking in the windows for what I don't know. I flip my cell open to call the police when I feel it. There is a pistol in my back. I look over and see Ricky collapse.
“I told you we would get to dance!”
I try to turn but I'm going down too, from a hard knock on the head.
What wakes me up is the smell of sewage. Ricky and I are gagged and bound to wooden blocks in a dim, damp basement. Shadows are swaying on the wall in front of us. The light must be hanging above us. Behind me I hear voices, all males.
“Why did you bring them here?”
“I didn't know what you wanted me to do with them. The fat one's Ricky Brown, he's worth a handsome ransom.”
“And what does that have to do with me? All I wanted you to do was make the BMW disappear.”
“We make people disappear, geek, not trucks.”
I'm guessing it's about three people behind us.
“Yes, I saw how well you make people disappear, especially innocent people.”
I'll be damned; it's Martin.
“That bitch wasn't innocent, little brother, and her little mark-ass son was doin' the same shit that fucked up our lives, so he wasn't innocent either.”
“We all agreed to ruin Peal.”
“Naw that's you and Lady with all that plannin' shit. I told y'all two years ago when I got out all they asses was goin' down. The guilty will be fallin'!”
“These men are not guilty.”
“Naw they ain't, so what do you want us to do with them?”
“Let them go.”
“Not today, and you know what . . .”
Three shots are fired.
I look over to Ricky, he's fine. My head is ringing. The shots sounded incredibly loud. The basement must be small.
“Damn, Mac . . . You shot your brother all to shit! Why you do that?”
“I'm not my brother's keeper . . . The motherfucker just wasn't actin' right. Especially after he found out I popped his bitch. He didn't want the slut responsible for his own daddy and mama dyin', dead. We went homeless after my daddy died and the bitch he was fucking was part of the reason.
“Him and Lady have gotten soft with money. He was too weak to trust. It was only a matter of time before he turned me over to the cops.”
“But MacKnock, he did shoot the lawyer.”
“No he didn't. He said he didn't do it. He asked me did I open fire on him and the lawyer. He said the two of them was on the back porch together and all of a sudden somebody started shooting at them. Martin didn't kill the damn lawyer. His punk-ass thought it was me shooting at them. The motherfucker was too scared and paranoid. He didn't pop that lawyer.”
“Damn, well who did the lawyer?”
“I don't know and don't give a fuck, I'm just glad his ass is dead.”
“What about them two?”
“We holdin' they ass for ransom. Get in touch with Ricky Brown's people, them niggas are hip to the ransom game. Hey, grab they watches and wallets so they people will know we fo' real. If they don't pay, we can bury they ass right down here with the rest of the marks.”
My Rolex is snatched from my wrist and he cuts open my jeans to take the wallet.
“MacKnock, didn't you say you wanted to get with this cat here?”
“Later. I got to get the Bentley back out to Lady and the BMW and the Ford to the chop shop. His ass ain't goin' nowhere.”
The light goes out and we hear them climbing stairs. A door is slammed shut and a bolt clanks in its holder. Damn, it's dark. A minute or so later I hear a big engine turn over. It can't be fifteen feet away. A heavy bass beat follows the engine starting. We hear the vehicle pull off.
Ricky tries several times to stand, and so do I. We are bound to the wooden blocks. The way we are taped and tied it's useless to struggle, but we both keep trying. I hear Ricky tumble over. He stops moving. I can't call to him. I cease my own movement and hold my breath, straining to hear anything from him. A fatigued groan comes from his direction.
Ricky's to the right, but to my left where the engine noise came from I hear a rumbling. Now it's thuds; someone is kicking against something. It's the window. The window is kicked open and the evening light comes through.
A kid scoots through the window with a flashlight. He makes a birdlike call and the basement door is shot open. Two kids come through it with pistols and knives. They cut us free and help us up. I run to Martin and check his pulse. He's gone. One of the kids is pulling me out the basement door. Thank you, Jesus!
We are hurried into a wrecked but drivable '98 Oldsmobile. JT, Stanley's problem, slides behind the wheel and floors the big sedan.
“We seen them grab y'all,” he yells excitedly. “Them niggas don't play. If they wouldn'a left, it wouldn'a been shit we could'a did to get y'all out of there 'cept call the police. Them niggas is killers fo' real. Big MacKnock and his boy be about makin' folks disappear off the face of the earth.
“We heard about Snap and his mama on the news. We was drivin' over there to get some information about the services and saw them jackin' y'all.
“Man, Mr. Brown! I know we all hired for that management training program now! I want to get started tomorrow and I want to be in a store way out in the suburbs, away from all this drama!”
Â
Â
Ricky has JT and his crew drop him at home. He is quiet and reserved during the ride to his house. Seeing him this calm after being held hostage is spooky. He tells the boys to call him in the morning about the training program. He barely says good-bye to me.
I'm expecting him to try and convince me to ride with him to find the kidnappers. He doesn't. He tells me not to report anything to the police. He leaves me in the car with JT and his crew.
Â
Â
I have Ricky's future store managers drop me off at my office. I don't want to go home; I need to think, and my office is the best place for that. Besides, going home will get me back on Daphne and Stanley. I'm going to miss them both, not from the past but from the time we just spent together. Mr. Nelson was right; they didn't deserve to get shot down like rabid dogs, but the truth of it is . . . Matthew MacNard didn't deserve what Daphne and Peal did to him either.
In the bottom drawer of my old-fashioned desk is a gallon of E&J brandy. I seldom drink E&J nowadays, but a client whose mother we helped get her Medicaid remembered when I did.
The lights in the office are on. I guess Carol had to hurry home. I drop down in my swivel chair, retrieve the gallon and fill my coffee cup to the brim. It's not Remy but it will do. Gulping the brandy, I don't hear her until she says, “Boss, I thought you stopped drinking like that.”
Usually Carol sneaking up on me in this fashion would have startled me. But I do believe being bound in the basement has worn out all my fear indicators, and I am entirely too tired to get startled. I keep drinking until my cup is empty.
Carol shakes her head, stops at my desk, bends down and gives me a quick peck on my forehead. “Are you okay, D?”
“Everything is fine, just a little tired.” I lie to her because me talking ain't happening.
“If you have any questions about the stuff on your desk, call me. I got a hair appointment on 91st and Ashland so I'll be close for a while. Oh, . . . and, boss,” she pinches her nose closed and informs me, “you got an odor on you. Take care of that fast.” She floats right out the door.
“Okay.” I say to her back.
On my desk is information on the MacNard family. It starts with an article about Matthew MacNard's suicide. Martin's older brother Michael found him dead. The next article was about Mildred MacNard, who accidentally set herself on fire while smoking on a shelter cot. She died two days later. The last article is about Michael MacNard being convicted of assault against Attorney Randolph Peal.
Maybe if I had come to the office earlier, Martin might be alive. I could have confronted him about his lies and possibly found out about his twisted brother.
Two coffee cups full of E&J would be a bit too much. As I pour only half a cup of the brandy, the thought of calling the police on Michael MacNard enters my mind, despite Ricky's request. The murdering bastard should be in jail. I drink down the brandy.
I don't pour any more E&J because the band of stress that was wrapped tight around my head has been loosened. Drinking more will have me drunk. Instead of getting up and going home to feed my dogs, my fingers are dialing Eleanor's number. Michael answers.
When he hears my voice, he asks, “Mr. Price?”
“Yeah, MacKnock, it's me.” He slams the phone down before I can tell him to turn himself into the police.
I call back and a woman answers. She tells me Eleanor is over Daphne's folks' house. I stand to go to my car and remember there is no car. I spot the Nelsons' phone number on Carol's desk. Eleanor is there, and she agrees to meet me at my office.
Other books
The Waltz by Angelica Chase
A Fatal Slip by Meg London
How To Avoid Death On A Daily Basis: Book Three by V. Moody
Veil of the Goddess by Rob Preece
Cleat Chaser by Celia Aaron, Sloane Howell
Rapture by Lynne Silver
A Game of Spies by John Altman
Short Circuits by Dorien Grey
The Lost Realm by J. D. Rinehart
The Last Hour by Charles Sheehan-Miles