Читать книгу Ghetto Girls Too - Anthony Whyte - Страница 9

FOUR

Lil’ Long felt his body would hold out after the bullets hit but as he laid out on floor bleeding, he began to feel his body shift into uncontrollable movements. The spasms came and his face contorted as the end dawned on him. Here it comes, the shakes. He struggled with the thought and fought hard against surrendering.

This is not how it should end. Nah, this ain’t the kid’s time to go. Not yet. I’m just not ready to go. Nah, nah, especially, not like this. Lil’ Long wanted to scream but could only grunt in pain. The blood in his mouth suppressed his words. They stayed burrowed deep inside. His mind burst setting thoughts afloat.

A surge of burning sensation left his senses numb to the discomfort of his journey. His insides wailed against the torment of increasing pain. I can’t go out like this, nah, not like this. Not now. Lil’ Long gripped his fists and willed himself to live as he felt blood stream from his wounds. Eyes cast downwards followed the red path of blood across the shiny wooden floor. Against the white walls of the luxury apartment, tiny splashes of blood red were repulsive against the artwork.

Police continued to arrive in droves, lightning fast. Lil’ Long thought it was a good thing. He told himself that the paramedics couldn’t be too far behind. He desperately needed one. With all the blue uniforms walking around, you’d think a brother dropped a bomb, he mused.

Police moved back and forth getting and searching for evidence. Crime Scene with their yellow tape sealed off areas and drew white chalk lines around the dead body. It was as if death had, in a blur, transported them into a nightmare.

The squelching of radios and walkie-talkies and the bantering of the police and paramedics brought realness to the situation. These activities along with the buzz of arriving media completed the transformation of Eric Ascot’s ritzy apartment into a bonafide crime scene.

In this enclave of expensive buildings occupied mostly by affluent whites, Ascot was an outsider and was viewed as dangerous because he was black. It was probably presumed that he had orchestrated a deal where a shootout inside his apartment was the final scenario. Nary had a neighbor batted an eye at the macabre scene on the twelfth floor. It was as if the uniformed officers standing guard outside Ascot’s apartment were expected to be there.

Vans filled with camera crews and reporters arrived on the scene at the ready. All of the neighbors they spoke with attested to not knowing much about Ascot except that he was black and people were shot dead in his apartment. Ascot was guilty and should go to jail. An old white lady, completely ignorant of Ascot’s accomplishments in the record industry, first praised the work of the police for their quick response in catching a gun toting criminal then, after berating Ascot, apologized for the shame this hideous crime had brought on the neighborhood. Staring into the camera, the old lady used the last portion of her fifteen minutes ranting.

Inside the apartment, techs combed the place scraping here and getting samples there. An angry looking sergeant paced the scene inspecting the area. He chatted wildly on the walkie-talkie.

“Multiple gunshot wound, two victims. One appears to be fatal, checking....wait…hold your damn horses. Confirmed dead, early twenties, female. Another appears to be alive. Black male, late teen to early twenties. That’s what we’ve got so far. Over.”

Surveying the scene, Kowalski asked, “Where are the paramedics already?”

“Upstairs,” an officer yelled.

“Get them down here, pronto! We’ve got to save this man. He maybe the last chance I…ah, we have to crack this case wide open. You agree with that, partner?”

“It’s Detective Hall, not partner. And what makes you so sure that the scumbag lying there with all that blood leaking out of him is gonna make it, Kowalski?”

“Cause Detective Hall, we, you and I, are gonna make sure he gets taken to our hospital.”

They eyed Lil’ Long’s bloodied body unmoving on the wooden floor. Detective Hall held out looking for another answer. If the hotshot detective here thinks he should live, I’ll play along, Hall thought. Nevertheless, he felt Lil’ Long should remain on the floor and bleed to death. It would be better for everyone. The answer was that simple but he gave his word anyway.

“All right, we’ll do it your way.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, partner,” Kowalski gushed and patted Hall on the shoulder. “You won’t be sorry. You’ll see.” Kowalski held Hall’s shoulder as he continued, “This is the big one.”

“We’ll see, partner,” Hall said, knowing that he had already betrayed his gut feeling, something he had not done in over twenty years on the job. As a rookie, he was always reminded to trust your partner because a cop out on the street had two friends, his gun and his partner. Your survival depended on it.

Gregory Hall was a little different. He had once been the proud parent of a high school all star jock for a son who had been cut down in the prime of his life. Hall’s only son succumbed to bullets from the gun of a thug like the one laying in his own blood. It would be sweet revenge if that low life just bled to death, Hall thought. But the once fulfilled father had made it to detective sergeant. Now he had to act accordingly.

He had enjoyed the ride but now he was forced to go back on one of his promises he made to himself. Let these thugs die like gangsters should, cold and with no empathy. Hall knew that Lil’ Long was a career criminal who deserved to bleed until lifeless. His evils were unrepentant. It would be the right thing to do. Hall had a wife and three girls. He was a family man. He wasn’t God. He was only a human being with responsibilities. He hoped that maybe one day, the ill feelings he harbored toward this type of scum would leave. Right now they were only roadblocks, he thought. Hall’s focus was jarred when he heard his white partner clamoring for attention. He turned to him like a studious father dealing with an impatient child.

“You got to learn to trust me. You’ve got to show more enthusiasm for the team,” said Kowalski before shouting, “Bring those fucking medics down here now.” Hall knew he was going to have to deal with this type of immature behavior from his partner. It was what everyone expected from the highly charged junior detective. Kowalski had less than ten years on the job but he had made his bones fast by becoming a narcotics officer. He rode a wave of successful busts for three years, which landed him as detective. Young and arrogant, he wasted no time in pissing off his partner. “Come on, what is it you’re waiting for?”

An officer charged upstairs to deliver the request. The owner and occupants of the apartment were in one of the bedrooms surrounded by six or seven officers. Two paramedics tended to Coco and Deedee. They sat huddled together as the paramedics, two young guys, attempted to comfort them by obviously flirting with them. The girls were cold and appeared shell shocked. They didn’t seem to want to say too much.

“Y′all were pretty lucky surviving all that with just minor scratches and bruises. Wouldn’t want to mess up two beautiful faces now, would we?”

The other paramedic spoke on his walkie-talkie. “Both the girls are fine and the adults are okay,” he said then an officer rumbled through the door disturbing everyone.

“The sarge needs a medic downstairs right away,” he said then bounded back downstairs. Coco’s lips curled in silent fury. Deedee eyes slanted as they stared at each other hoping the incredible hadn’t happened.

Eric turned around and looked at the girls. He heard the paramedic who had been flirting with Coco speak.

“Duty calls. It seems like we’ve got someone who’s not ready to die just yet.” The paramedics removed their equipment and went out before Eric recovered enough to ponder aloud.

“Who?” Eric asked. His question was met by an angry growl from Detective Kowalski. He leaned inside the doorway and answered.

“Well, put it like this, Mr. Ascot, you’re no longer looking at double homicides,” he remarked rudely.

“Man, I already told your ass that the cat downstairs with all the bullets, he was trying to rob me and the rest of the people here. He shot the other lady, a guest of mine, and I had no choice but to defend my household. Would you let somebody run up in your crib and rob you?” There were no answers. Eric continued, “I didn’t think so.”

“Is that your story? I’m to stand here and understand that you had no other type of problems, ah, any beef with this notorious drug dealer? You mean there were no drug deals gone bad?” Kowalski asked.

“Listen, with all due respect, detective, if you’re gonna charge me with something then you just go ahead and...” Ascot was about to get on a roll but Sophia didn’t want him to. She tried to intervene.

“Eric... Officer...” Sophia began. Her pleas went unheeded after the detective went beyond the limits of courtesy. His tone changed and professionalism was out the window.

“No, you listen,” Kowalski shouted angrily. “The only reason your black ass ain’t locked down is because your girlfriend here got connections.”

The detective stood eyeball to eyeball with Eric, staring dead center in Eric’s angry mug. Their faces were close enough for Eric to smell his pores. Testosterone growled loudly but cooler heads prevailed. Detective Hall tugged at his partner’s arm. Eric resisted the urge to push the officer out of his face. Instead, he stood arms folded across his chest and stared furiously at Kowalski. For a couple of frantic moments, both held their ground grill to grill until a fuming Ascot made his overture.

“Before I ask you to leave my place, I want your fucking badge number. Fuck with me, I will have your job.”

“All right then, Mr. High and Mighty, take a look but I want you to know that we’ll be checking these guns carefully and the serial numbers better match correct. Start worrying if you see me again.”

The detectives walked out of the room towards the stairs. Eric sat next to Sophia.

“The nerve of those fucking cops. They just jealous, that’s all,” Eric said as the other officers slowly filed out.