Chapter 1

 

Mick

 

The first time I noticed her she was coming out of city hall. She was very noticeable. Tall, good looking, and dressed nicely. She had a look of sophistication about her. You know the type. Cool, calm, and collected. We passed, I nodded, and she ignored me. Bitch!

I'm Mitchell Crawley, also known as Mick and sometimes as Mick the dick because I'm a detective with the city police department. Just so you know, I'm not fond of being called Mickey. It's a bit too mousey for me.

The next time I saw her was at a social function hosted by the mayor, John Hall. My invitation was not really an invitation. I was told to be there so like a good little civil servant I went. That time she was in the receiving line standing beside his honor, the mayor, and was introduced as his wife, Tiffany Hall, the city's first lady. That time I got a glance and not much more. I had the feeling she was warming up to me. Tiffany was a tall blond of around forty, but well preserved. Unless you looked at her eyes she could pass for under thirty with no trouble.

The third time I saw her she was being escorted into a motel room by Milo and his hand was on her ass. Milo whose real name is Harold Carter, is not someone most people would consider a nice man. In fact no one would consider him a nice person.

I first ran across Milo just after I joined the police department. I was in uniform back then. I had just started being allowed out on the mean streets by myself. I was in a neighborhood where smart cops didn't go by themselves, but I was young, big, strong, and carried a badge and a gun. I was so full of myself I was certain I couldn't be hurt or killed. That crap was knocked out of me soon thereafter. Getting shot will knock that nonsense right out of a person. But that came later. That night I was still super cop, crime fighter.

I turned the patrol car's lights off and was alley crawling. Easing down first one dark alley and then another. I figured if you were going to fight crime you had to go where crime was. I saw three men beating the shit out of another one. Two guys were holding one while a third was beating the victim. They all were black, but that wasn't any surprise because I was in the heart of the ghetto.

I jumped out of my car and used my baton to distract the man doing the beating. A hard jab to his unprotected kidney did the trick. Then I turned my attention to the two men doing the holding. One got rabbit in his feet and he ran down the alley. The other one should have ran. I cold-cocked him and he dropped like a rock.

The victim had slumped down and was only barely conscious. I called for the wagon and they hauled him off to the emergency room while I loaded the other two dudes. Since one was only semi-conscious from the love tap I had bestowed on him, I took him to the ER to get checked. I dropped the other one off at the jail so he could get started pissing blood.

While I was waiting for my man to get an okay to go to jail, the victim came out of the examination room. I called him over because needed his statement so I could get the arrested into the system.

"I'm Milo," he said through puffy lips. His face was nearly covered by the bandages the docs had put on him. He was going to need some dental work also, because one of his front teeth was missing. "I owe you, man, and I never forget a favor."

I got the information I needed and let him go on about his business. I knew the odds were against him showing up in court, but you do what you can do. I didn't expect a seventeen year old to be civic minded, but he surprised me by showing up and I got a conviction on the two men I arrested. Not that it did much good. The fuckers beat my back on the street.

That trial came almost two months later and Milo looked a lot better than he had in the ER. He had a shiny gold tooth to replace the one he lost in the alley. After the hearing he came up to me in the hall outside the courtroom.

"What can I do for you, my man?" he asked. "What you need?"

"I need for you to call me Officer Crawley," I said. I was a pompous son of a bitch back then. "I don't need anything, Mister Carter. Just go have a good life." Maybe pompous doesn't describe it.

"I'll do that very thing, Officer," he responded giving me a flash of his new gold tooth. "You need anything, you find me. Milo pays his debts."

It a funny thing how some people's lives keep getting intertwined. Milo and I kept running into one another over the next several years. It seemed that I was always pulling his chestnuts out of the fire. Twice I saved him from a beating and once I saved him from sure death. I have no idea how many times I could have arrested him for one infraction or another. He was always into something illegal. I don't know why I never arrested him, but I didn't. Other cops did, but not me.

Over the next few years, Milo got smarter. He was streetwise and strong so he carved out a place for himself. I mean literally carved out a place. Milo got a reputation as a knifeman and one to be reckoned with. I still didn't understand why I kept giving him slack, but I did.

After I made detective Milo proved to be a valuable asset. There was no crime from Sixteenth Street to the river he didn't know about. When he wasn't actually involved, he was a source of good information. I cleared a lot of cases using Milo as an informant.

Our symbiotic relationship was in its tenth year. I think symbiotic is the right word. We used each other to survive and even to prosper. It was information from Milo that got me the rank of detective first grade.

That was what I was doing when I saw her. I was detecting. I was doing a solo stakeout watching the motel from my car in hopes of locating a car-jacker who was supposed to be staying there.

The fact that Milo was with a white woman came as no surprise. He had an attraction for white chicks. Maybe it was the other way around, but he scored with them constantly. I was aware he ran a string of white call girls catering to gentlemen of color. But Tiffany Hall? That was a puzzler.

For a moment I thought it was a case of mistaken identity, but when they got closer, less than twenty feet, I knew there was no mistake. That was the city's first lady, Tiffany Hall, without a doubt. As they approached I scooted down so they couldn't see me. She couldn't see, but I knew Milo probably had. He didn't miss much. I raised up and watched them disappear into the room.

I knew I was in procession of some valuable information, but I didn't have a clue how it could benefit me. I continued the stakeout for another two hours. I had to wonder what the hell Tiffany Hall and Milo were doing all that time. I was absolutely positive they couldn't be fucking all that time. I had to think that for my own peace of mind.

I planned on staying there until the car-jacker showed up or Milo and company came out, but fate intervened. There was a robbery in progress call that I couldn't ignore and I rolled on it.

I got tied up on the robbery thing for several hours because the silly bastard took a hostage and it took a while to convince him he was not getting a jet plane and a million dollars. When he came down off of whatever had him flying high, he gave up, but it was too late for me to go back to the motel. I went home to rest and get as fresh start on the morrow.

Again fate got in the way. I got busy fighting crime and stayed that way for a few days. I wasn't in any big hurry to find Milo. I knew where he could be found and that was where I found him when I got the time to look.

Milo maintained a quasi-office in a bar at the edge of the black community. That's what we call the ghetto these days. Milo set on his throne, which actually was a chair at a back table, in the dark stinky bar called the Ace of Spades. If a white man had opened a bar for blacks and called it that, he would have been run out of town on a rail. I was one of the few whites that knew Milo actually was the owner of what most locals simply called 'The Spade'. That's where I found him.

"Dick...tective Crawley," he said when he spotted me. I was standing just inside the door trying to get my eyes adjusted to the gloom. "What brings you to this part of town? Not that I'm unhappy to see your smiling face." Somewhere along the way, Milo picked up a decent education. He could talk like a college professor or a street thug depending on his audience. "Jimmy, get my friend a beer!" he called to the bartender.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I said after I fumbled my way to his table and sat down.

"I have been accused of it, but to what do you refer?" he said.

"Shacking up with Tiffany Hall," I hissed quietly, mindful of all the highly tuned ears in the place.

"I'm afraid I do not know of whom you speak, my good man," he said showing me his gold tooth. "I am not acquainted with a Tiffany Hall."

"Knock off the fake British accent, Milo. I saw you with her three days ago at the no-tell motel over on River Street. That's the fucking mayor's wife, you fool."

"Motel? Three days ago? Hell, Mick, I wasn't with the mayor's wife. I had one of my ladies out for a spin, but her name is Melody. I acquired her recently and wanted to know if she was any good. She was, by the way. Very good."

"Acquired her from whom?"

"Little Bobby had her last and I think he got her from old man Howell. Howell died some time back. Little Bobby is nowhere as good a poker player as he thought. I won the bitch."

"Tell me about her," I said taking a sip of the beer.

"What's to tell? A snooty blond bitch that likes to fuck niggas. She's working part-time, so she spreads her lily white thighs a couple days a week. Little Bobby may have more background, but that's all I know. What makes you think she's the mayor's wife?"

"I thought it looked like her," I said casually. Thought, my ass! I knew for a certainly it was Tiffany Hall, but I decided to hold my cards a little closer to my vest. Milo didn't need to know everything I knew. "There was a hold-up at a liquor store over on Lott Street yesterday. Who did it?"

"Haven't heard anything about it," he said. "I'll check around and see what's shaking. Give me the rest of the day and I'll get back to you." He shifted into street language. "You lookin' to score with Melody. She be a great fuck. I'll cut you a deal, but she usually likes her meat dark."

"No thanks, Milo," I said and casually asked where Little Bobby hung out.

"You can usually find him on Melrose. He's got some curb-crawlers that takes up most of his time. I've told him time and time again to leave the street whores alone and get into the call girl game. More money and less headaches. Now I have a question for you. Why do you cops insist on driving those black Crown Victoria automobiles? You may as well have a big sign on it saying, 'I'm a cop, but you aren't supposed to know it'. I saw you slouched down in your car." I didn't bother to answer his question about the car even though it was a good question. I usually felt lucky just to have something that would run.

I left him a short while later and went looking for Little Bobby. The 'little' part of his name was like calling a bald man curly. There wasn't anything little about Bobby. The word was he got the name in prison where there was another Bobby who apparently was larger. A larger man was hard to imagine. Little Bobby was nearly seven feet tall and weighed in at over four hundred pounds. About half of that was lard. I located him right where Milo suggested I would. Bobby was on Melrose giving some black hooker a hard time.

"I'll whip your black ass until your fuckin' nose bleeds!" he was yelling at the tiny woman. "You don't give no pussy away unless I say so and I never say so, you dumb cunt!" I pulled in beside a fire hydrant and waited for him to finish his tirade. "You gave that cop some pussy so you fuckin' own me." He glanced around and saw me waiting. "What the fuck you want?"

"A moment of your time, please, Bobby," I said. "Step into my office, if you please." I could actually hear the springs of the city's vehicle moan in protest when he got in beside me.

"S'up?" he said.

"I need some background data," I answered.

"Say what? Data? I look like a fuckin' library to you? Get away from me, Crawley. You got me mixed up with your fuckin' house nigger, Milo."

"Now that's no way to talk to me, Bobby. I saved your life just last night."

"How did you do that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I killed a shit eating dog," I said. He snorted. "How many of them curb-crawlers are yours, Bobby?"

"All of them on Melrose. Got a few more here and there. Why?"

"I was thinking that it would be a financial blow to you if I stationed a couple of vice cops along this street. Don't you think so? Maybe a few uniforms to walk a beat on Melrose?"

"What the fuck you want from me, De-tective?"

"I want to know about the whore you lost in a card game to Milo. Some white woman named Melody. Don't leave anything out, Bobby."

"What you want to know about that for?" I gave him my cop's stare. "She was working in old man Howells stable until he up and died. She was freelancing after that until I got her and convinced her she needed me. Man that was prime white pussy. She liked it black and rough. Only white bitch I had workin' for me and I lost her to that fuckin' Milo. I think your asshole buddy cheated."

"Yeah? You want to tell him that or do you want me to?" It hard for a dark skin man to turn pale, but Little Bobby tried.

"No, man, I was just kiddin' you. I know Milo wouldn't cheat. Why you askin' 'bout Melody for? What she do?"

"Like I said, Bobby, it's just background. What else can you tell me about her?"

"That's all I got. I didn't have the bitch but a couple weeks. Lives out in suburb-ville somewhere. Comes in a couple days a week unless she bleedin'. Fuckin' bitch does it all. Gobble a knob, takes it up the ass, she'll even standstill for a gang-fuck. I was goina make some serious money off her. I offered to buy her back from Milo, but he wouldn't sell. That ain't right."

"Besides you, does she have any friends in town?" I was fairly sure nobody ever considered Little Bobby a friend.

"Naw, not that I know of. She was snooty to all my gals. You know, like her shit didn't stink. Maybe Nina and her could be called friends. They was always gabbin' and they worked a party together one night."

"Where can I find Nina?" I asked.

"Hell, I ain't goin tell you where you can find my girls! Give me a fuckin' break, man!" I gave him another dose of my cop's stare. The look is something every cop develops over time. It's the look that says 'you do not want to fuck with me'. "She's the tall bitch on down a couple of blocks. She's got a red wig on today."

My vehicle gave a huge sigh of relief when Little Bobby got out and it did seem a bit lower on that side when I pulled away. I found Nina plying her trade on the corner of Melrose and Barker. I pulled to the curb and motioned her to come. She started forward then realized I was a cop and stopped. Milo was right about our cars.

"Get your ass over here, Nina!" I shouted through the open window. "Do not make me chase you!" Like she could run in those platform shoes. They added another four inches to her natural six feet. She came, but at a snail's pace. "Get in here where it's cool," I told her.

"Is this a bust?" she asked.

"No," I answered. "I'm going to ask you some questions nicely and you are going to answer just as nicely."

"I want to," she said. "I really do, but I'm behind on my money and Little Bobby will whip my ass if I come up short."

"You tell Little Bobby that you were taken out of service by Detective Mick Crawley and you tell him he touches you I'll throw his fat ass in jail."

"Man, I ain't goinna tell him anything like that!" she said rolling her big eyes. "That's just beggin' to get my ass whopped." I took a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to her. That left me with exactly none. "Okay, now you're talkin.' What you want to know?"

"Tell me about a white gal named Melody," I said.

"Oh, you mean Blondie," she said. "Yeah, I know the bitch. Used to hook for that old fart. What was his name? Howell, Yeah, that's it. After he died she was working a corner over on Barker. Kinda snooty, but she liked her nigga cock. Only fucks the brothers. Little Bobby caught her and put her on his string. Then I heard the fool lost her playing cards."

"When you say Little Bobby caught her, what exactly does that mean?"

"Everybody think Bobby is a teddy bear, but he ain't. He's as mean as a stripped snake. He sent a couple his buds and they offered Blondie some fuck money. Silly fool got in the car with them and they took her to Little Bobby's place. She told me the three of 'em fucked her for three or four hours. Brought in a few other brothers and gave her all the dick she wanted or could stand. When they were all through with her, Bobby told her she worked for him or she didn't work at all. She weren't no dummy so she started hookin' for Little Bobby 'til he thought he was a gambler. Now she's fuckin' for Milo. That's all I know 'bout her. You want some head? You paid for it."

It was a nice offer, but I declined saying I had to get back to work. One thing I had never thought and that was Little Bobby being a teddy bear. Grizzly bear, maybe. He was a 'person of interest' in several homicides. One white man and two black hookers. I'd never prove it, but I was sure Little Bobby killed them. Teddy bear, my ass!

I considered what I knew about Melody, AKA Blondie, and AKA Tiffany Hall. The rich wife of a rich city official who spent her leisure time hooking for the brothers. I mention rich and that was a fact. His honor was rich when he became mayor and no politico loses money in office. They just get richer. According to the information I got on Tiffany Hall, she was born rich. Scads of older-than-dirt money.

So the question loomed larger than life. Why? Why would the rich wife of a rich politician be in the gash for cash trade? It couldn't be for the money, so why was she doing it?

I was willing to devote all of my time to finding out why, but my lieutenant had other ideas. He actually had the gall to think I should do something productive with my time. Based on the anonymous tip I got from Milo I caught the holdup man from the Lott Street liquor store the next day. Silly fucker still had a printed paper bag from the store he held up and most of the cash. All sixty-five dollars of it. At that level, crime does not pay worth a damn.

That got me an atta-boy, a pat on the back, and a new partner. I didn't want any of it especially the partner. My old partner got sick and retired. Not actually sick, but sick of the department's bullshit. I had been working solo for nearly a year and I liked it. I could tell from LT's nasty grin that I was about to get fucked and not even given a smooch.

"Good job on that Lott Street bandito, Mick. I guess you heard we're getting a new dick from Midtown. Well, the problem with this dick is, she ain't got one. Yeah, we're getting Lady Di."

"Please tell me this is just one of your really bad jokes, LT," I said. Everybody in the whole cop shop knew about Diane Masters. She was the darling of the police department. She was our poster girl. Pretty as a man's second wife, but totally useless. Admittedly, the useless part I only had second or third hand. I had never met the woman and didn't want to.

"No joke, Mick," he said. "The bad news isn't that she's coming to our little part of heaven, but it's that she'll be teamed with you. Are you going to cry?"

"Fuck no, I'm not crying!" I snapped. I wanted to, but big boys don't cry."Give her to someone else, LT. Charlie don't have a partner."

"Yes he does," LT said giving me his smug smile. " Rogers is back from sick leave. You are the only one who doesn't have a partner. Besides it don't make any difference. The precinct commander wants you to partner up with her. She'll be here before the day is over with so get over it."