The Apostles (26 page)

By then Mumps had retrieved the dice. He was shaking them in one hand as he dropped big faces on the ground. “I need a fader, not a friend. Hundred I shoot, hundred I hit. What's up? Don't get scared now.”

All of a sudden a gray Crown Victoria whipped into the lot. The headlights flickered repeatedly as Bull and Grove jumped out the car with their guns in their hands.

Several of the gamblers bolted, while the rest of them rose and looked at the detectives. Grove's face was a determined mask as he made a beeline for Solemn Shawn. Bull knocked his chicken dinner to the ground and grabbed the surprised gang leader's arm.

“What the fuck is up?” Solemn Shawn asked.

“We taking you in for questioning,” Grove replied smugly. “We
can do this shit the hard way or the easy way. The hard way mean you gone have to stop off at the county hospital before going to the station.”

Solemn Shawn asked, “You got a warrant? Because this is private property.”

“You think you smart, don't you,” Grove snarled. “That's pretty good. I love it when a criminal knows the law. It would have worked, but the only problem is we caught you engaging in an illegal activity. That way we don't need a warrant.”

“What illegal activity? Eating a wing dinner?”

“Gambling, asshole,” Grove replied. “Bull, cuff him.”

The large detective holstered his weapon and pulled out his handcuffs. “Go ahead and resist, punk.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Solemn Shawn noticed that Big Ant and another Apostle named Hot Rod were inching closer to the unsuspecting detectives. With a nearly undetectable shake of his head, he stopped their movements. Big Ant's eyes questioned him, but again Solemn Shawn gave his nigh imperceptible head shake.

Bull secured the cuffs on Solemn Shawn's wrists behind the gang leader's back and pushed him in the direction of their car.

As they walked toward the car, Grove noticed the two big face bills on the ground. He smiled and walked over and picked up the two hundred dollars. “Whose money is this?” he asked innocently.

No one answered.

“Well, I guess this is our lucky day, Bull,” Grove announced as he pocketed one of the bills and handed the other to his partner.

Just as Bull was about to put Solemn Shawn in the car, he said, “Hold up. Let me leave something with my buddies.”

“What is it?” Bull asked testily.

“Go in my shirt pocket.”

Bull reached into the pocket of Solemn Shawn's printed Enyce shirt and pulled out a midnight blue velvet ring box. He tossed it to Grove.

Grove opened the box and closely inspected the engagement ring it contained. He whistled. “Gotdamn, boy. You got some good taste and she must got some good-ass pussy ‘cause this here is one nice piece of ice. What's this—one and a half carats?”

“Three,” Solemn Shawn answered.

“Well, I don't want to be responsible for something like this,” Grove said as he closed the box and tossed it to one of the Apostles, who in turn handed it to Big Ant.

Big Ant accepted the ring box as he stared at the dicks with a look that could have melted the diamond mounted in the white gold engagement ring.

As the detectives tucked Solemn Shawn in the rear of the car, he called out, “Take that to Bezo and tell him to hold that down for me, A.”

Bristling with anger, Big Ant nodded his head.

T
HE INTERROGATION ROOM WAS BARE EXCEPT FOR A TEN
-inch-wide steel bench that ran the length of the room—deluxe accommodations for the accused. One of the homicide and violent crimes detectives' most successful procedures for extracting statements from suspects was to leave them alone in a room like this for a few hours, and let them sweat it out. After a couple of hours had passed the detectives would enter the room and apply pressure to the suspect. They typically had seventy-two hours in which they could hold a man without charging him with anything, and they tended to use this tactic to their advantage. This simple formula had weakened hardened criminals, causing them to make incriminating statements and even confessions.

Detectives Lonihan and Casey were letting Solemn Shawn sweat it out right now—or so they thought. They spent three hours doing miscellaneous things—eating lunch, doing paperwork, and joking around with the other detectives in the squad room.

Detective Casey looked across her desk at her partner. Lonihan was reading about the Chicago Bulls' latest misadventure in the flesh market commonly referred to as the NBA draft. “Lonihan, let's go check and see if the teakettle is ready to whistle. He's been on the fire long enough.”

Without looking up from the newspaper, disgustedly Lonihan said, “This fucking Jerry Krause is such a butt ass. This asshole is responsible for single-handedly dismantling the best team in the
history of the Chicago Bulls. He allows the greatest players the game has ever seen to walk away. And who does he replace the six-time world champions with?”

Casey took the bait. She knew that even if she didn't show the slightest bit of interest in professional sports, her partner would still somehow manage to make it the subject of conversation.

“I don't know. Who did Krause replace them with?” she asked dryly.

“With fuckin' babies! This fuckin' genius replaces world-class athletes with fuckin' drooling, whining babies! After every loss he talks about how we're in the rebuilding phase. It took less time to build Rome. This fucking guy drives me nuts. When is Reinsdorf gonna get rid of this stupid son of a bitch? I swear I could—”

“Let's go dig into this guy,” Casey said, breaking into Lonihan's sports tirade as she stood. She grabbed her pad from the desktop and headed for the interrogation room.

After folding up his newspaper, Lonihan struggled out of his chair and followed her. When they opened the door of the interrogation room, Solemn Shawn was sitting on the bench with his head against the wall. He appeared to be asleep.

Lonihan walked over and kicked his foot. “Wake up!”

“I'm awake,” Solemn Shawn announced. “And keep your damn feet off me.”

The chunky Irish detective glared down at Solemn Shawn. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. I said keep your damn feet off me.”

Instantly Lonihan's beefy cheeks reddened. He glanced over at his partner with a look of disbelief.

Casey decided to cut him off at the pass. She didn't believe that Solemn Shawn had stewed long enough for any heavy tactics to work yet. She put her hand on the rolled-up sleeve on Lonihan's arm. “Why don't you grab us a few chairs,” she told him.

Mumbling under his breath, Lonihan went to fetch two chairs.
When he returned to the room he positioned the chairs a few feet in front of their suspect and eased his bulk into one.

Casey took the other. She held out her hand to Solemn Shawn. “I'm Detective Casey and this is Detective Lonihan.”

Solemn Shawn looked at her hand like it was covered in anthrax spores.

She withdrew her hand and flipped open her notepad.

“Why am I here?” Solemn Shawn queried.

“Slow down, punk,” Lonihan snapped. “We're asking the fucking questions.”

Casey silenced her partner by raising her hand. To Solemn Shawn, she said, “I see that you want to dispense with the amenities. That's cool. I like to get down to business. Do you know James Bingham?”

“No.”

“What about a guy named Bing?”

“Never heard of him.”

Casey paused. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, careful not to crease her pants. “Want a smoke, Shawn?”

“Don't smoke.”

“How about a soda? A cold Pepsi or something?”

“No thanks.”

Detective Lonihan couldn't take it anymore. He pointed his fat, pink finger in Solemn Shawn's face. “Listen here, punk! My partner is trying to be nice to you and you're acting like a real jerk wad! Out there on the streets you might be a big man, but not in here, asshole!”

With a chilling smile on his face, Solemn Shawn removed his Gucci eyeglasses. “I don't mind the news, cop, but you can keep the weather,” he said as he wiped Lonihan's spittle from his face.

Lonihan's face screwed into a beet-red mask. “You arrogant, little shit bird! You think this is a fucking game! I've put punks like you away for the rest of their natural lives!”

Casey had seen and heard enough. She grabbed Lonihan's arm and pulled him from the chair and whisked him out the room. She slammed the door behind them, cognizant all the while of Solemn Shawn's laughter in the background.

“You're letting this guy make you lose your fucking cool, Lonihan! If you lose your fucking head, you lose your fucking edge! What are you thinking? This guy is smart. Too fucking smart. He made you look like a green shield in there, Detective. Is any of this getting through your thick Irish skull?”

Some of the red had begun to drain from Lonihan's fleshy cheeks, but he was still huffing and puffing. “You heard that fucking jerk-off in there, Casey. Who does he think he is?”

“The leader of the largest, most organized street gang in Chicago,” Casey stated matter-of-factly. “And you're in there trying to heavy-hand him like he's some sixteen-year-old triggerman in a drive-by. A Big Mac and a slap aren't going to get this guy talking. We've got to use his arrogance against him. This is not the type of guy that we can tune up to get him to make a statement or incriminate himself. If anything that'll make him shut down.”

Lonihan didn't totally agree. “I'm telling you, Casey. This guy is a smart ass and we've got to treat him accordingly. You know how these guys are. I'm not gonna tiptoe around this guy. Fuck him. We're trying to put together a case. A case that the captain has a strong interest in getting squared away.”

The two homicide detectives were so busy arguing that they didn't notice Detectives Hargrove and Thensen enter the violent crime division. The two GCU detectives stood and watched them argue for a few moments before Grove interrupted them.

“You two should get married,” Grove quipped, causing Lonihan and Casey to become aware of their presence.

“We don't have time for you guys right now,” Lonihan snapped.

“You see this, Bull? Look at how we get treated. We bring them their prime suspect and now they don't have time for us. Well, I just
had a small convo with the captain and he said that we could have a crack at our illustrious friend in there if you couldn't get anywhere with him. And judging from your little lovers' quarrel, you guys aren't getting anywhere, so we'll give it a go-round. Any objections?”

Lonihan had to stifle a curse. The last time Captain Hartibrig had chewed him out about not wanting to accept help from the GCU was still in the back of his mind. Not wanting to see the look of satisfaction on Grove's face, Lonihan looked down at his shoes.

Casey pointed to the interrogation room. Behind Grove's and Bull's backs she shook her head at her partner. She would never understand how Lonihan had made detective. In her opinion, he was totally inept. She could never get away with half the things he did.

“C'mon, Bull, let's show these homicide dicks how to do this,” Grove said confidently as he marched to the interrogation room.

The gang crimes detectives trooped into the room. Grove grabbed Lonihan's former chair and turned it backward before sitting in it. Bull chose to stand. He leaned against the closest wall with a bored look on his face.

There was no change in Solemn Shawn's expression.

Cheerily, Grove asked, “What's up, A? What's cracking, A?”

Not taking the bait, Solemn Shawn remained silent.

“Hey, motherfucka. I'm talking to you.”

“I hear you,” Solemn Shawn said.

“Well, next time I ask you a fucking question you better answer, nigga. I ain't a stupid, fat Irish pig. I know who the fuck you are and what you and your Assholes are capable of doing, A.”

Impatiently, Solemn Shawn glanced at his Kenneth Cole wristwatch.

Grove had to smile. To his partner he said, “You see this motherfucker, Bull? He up in here acting like we inconveniencing his punk ass.”

“Humph,” was Bull's reply.

To Solemn Shawn, Grove said, “I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Big-time Gang Leader, but do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?”

“Shoot,” Solemn Shawn said simply.

“We know that Bing was a Governor. We know that Apostles and Governors don't get along. The question is, why did you kill him?”

“I didn't. Didn't know any Bing. Never heard of him. Had no reason to kill someone that I didn't even know.”

“You hear this shit, Bull?”

“I heard,” Bull answered.

“Well, Bull. Riddle me this. If this asshole didn't kill Bing, then why were his fingerprints found at the scene?”

Grove looked into Solemn Shawn's face, hoping that his announcement would have had some effect on him—it didn't. “So tell me, why were your prints found at the scene of a homicide investigation of a person that you didn't know and didn't kill?”

“I don't know. Why don't you tell me?” Solemn Shawn said sarcastically.

Nodding his head in approval, Grove said, “You're pretty good. It almost sounds as if you really don't know. Nice act. ‘Cept for that one mistake, you could have gotten clean away with this one. It was good work too. No shell casings. No witnesses. If you wouldn't have been drinking, you probably would have never gotten sloppy. Tell me though. Why'd you do it? I mean, this guy Bing wasn't a heavyweight. He was a young dude. For you to personally off this dude, he musta really done something. It doesn't even sound like business. It feels personal. What'd he do? Fuck one of your hoodrats? C'mon, you can tell me.”