Читать книгу Ghetto Girls IV - Anthony Whyte - Страница 7

CHAPTER 2

Detective Kowalski was profusely perspiring, pacing back and forth. His swagger slowed and he rubbed his nose, thinking. The detective wanted to wrap this case up fast.

“Your protections are all gone. Your mob associates were all wiped out. Now level with me! Are you leading a criminal enterprise?” he asked, staring at Eric’s nonchalant face. “Am I right? You took care of Maruichi and his boys so you can be a drug kingpin?”

“What the hell are you talking ‘bout, man?” Eric snorted.

Kowalski was in the hunt for a suspect and possibly a promotion if he could crack this case open. Eric sat at a desk in the detective’s office, his arms folded. He watched as the detective paced in front of him.

Eric was contemplating his next move and glanced at the presidential Rolex on his wrist. It was five after eight in the morning. His lawyers would arrive soon to get him out of this jam. Having already spent six hours being interrogated by the police, Eric was a little frustrated, but in control.

“Look dick, I ain’t stupid so why don’t we cut the fun and games. You’ve got nothing on me. I don’t have to say anything until my lawyers walk up in here. Then I’m out. You understand, don’t you?” Eric was tired and his voice sounded strained.

“Don’t forget, I got a weapon used in the commission of a crime with your prints all over it.”

“That’s bullshit! I got witnesses. I didn’t commit any crimes, dick. My lawyer walks up in here, I walk out. That’s what’s up!”

“You fucking screwball, you’re not going anywhere. This is your gun and it was used in killing a man.”

Detective Kowalski discharged the magazine and slammed a black Glock 37 on the desk. The sound of the weapon making contact with the empty desk reverberated through the tiny office. Eric was unshaken but Kowalski’s breath was coming fast. He leaned closer and yelled.

“I could make it real bad for you if you don’t cooperate!”

Kowalski’s tone was menacing but Eric remained unfazed. He folded his arms and smirked at the sweating detective.

“Oh yeah, that’s your story, dick. I ain’t gotta say no more. My lawyer will be here soon and you’re going to have to let me go. Stop the games. You’re trying to plant that on me. You and I know it’s not working.”

Kowalski stared at Eric and shook his head. The brass would back him if he could break the case open. He needed something corroborating. Detective Kowalski thought for a minute. An officer walked into the room and handed Kowalski a note.

“I’m saying this now Ascot. It’s cheaper for you to play ball with us,” Kowalski warned and stared at the piece of paper.

Then he smiled.

“It seems like your man Lil’ Long was planning ahead. He’ll be haunting you even in death.” Kowalski stood and watched Eric’s reaction.

Eric stared at the smiling detective, wondering what was written on the piece of paper.

“What do you mean, dick?”

“Here, read this for yourself,” Kowalski said, shoving the note at Eric.

Eric hesitated but took the note. His face contorted when he saw his name and beneath it the (800) BODY-HIT grim reaper signature. Blood rushed to his head, making him woozy. Eric steadied himself and turned the note over as if expecting something other than the dollar amount. He held the paper as if he was weighing it in his hand.

“I mean, your friend, or should I say ex-friend, put out a flat one hundred grand on your head.” Kowalski laughed, snapping his fingers like he was rolling dice. “How’d you like that turn of events, huh? Just when you thought you were home free. Now you’re gonna have to be looking over your shoulders all the time.” The detective paused and snickered. “Now, do you want to cooperate? Remember your good friend, Busta had been marked for such a hit, before you answer. Busta told us a few things about your arrangement before his brain was blown out.”

Eric didn’t know what to say. He shrugged his shoulders, grabbed his chin and rubbed the stubble on his face. Busta would never snitch. Lil’ Long had killed him, he was sure, but Eric didn’t know why. Busta stayed connected to the street and had beef with a lot of people.

The detective reached into his bag of tricks and placed a ring on the desk. Eric’s mind froze for a beat. He stared at the familiar canary yellow diamond on the ring Busta used to wear on his right pinky finger.

It was as if the detective had found the right bullet for the empty gun on the desk. He smiled wryly when he saw Eric’s brow wrinkled and a notable grimace clouding his expression. Eric was pondering all his options. The number one priority was to get out and make sure his niece was okay. Second he needed added security. Eric summed it up in his mind. He looked at the detective sweating him through a heated stare.

“Cooperate…? C’mon man, I already told you I don’t know anything. You’re barking up the wrong tree!”

“Now you’re sounding like Eric Ascot, Mr. Big Time Music Producer, but you’re going down one way or the other. There are people out there who killed my partner and I wanna know why and I wanna know it quickly. You can start by telling us all about how you and Busta conspired to murder four people.”

Eric looked at the notepaper again and then at the detective. This was a trick to get him to talk. He shoved the note at the befuddled detective.

“When my legal team gets here, you’re gonna have to release me, dick. You and I know none of the things you’re saying is true. You’re just trying to shake me down for info I know nothing about. Do us both a favor and fall back. You’ve kept me here too long already, wasting my fucking time.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna probably get your release. But I’m telling you, you’re a slime ball and you’ll be back crawling and begging once those bullets start coming at you. The bullet only nicked you this time. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” Eric said.

“They’re all dead, Eric. Busta, Maruichi and his boys, we’re all you’ve got left. Come straight and we can work out a deal,” the detective offered.

“Deal? You cannot be serious?”

“We’ll see. You’re brave now. Next time you won’t be able to fucking make up a song about it because you’ll be a dead cocksucker!” Kowalski screamed in Eric’s face.

“Yeah, I don’t care about your theories,” Eric said.

“I’m gonna give them to you anyhow,” Kowalski said, leaning closer. “You and your former friend, Busta, have been in contact with a hit squad, an organization which goes by some kind of code. Now we can prove the organization is responsible in the killing of at least four police officers and several civilians on someone’s orders. Your involvement has already been determined. Now you can tell us who gave the orders for those people to die. Give me names and some reasons why these people were murdered!”

The detective’s bellowing didn’t rattle Eric, who calmly adjusted the yellow diamond cuff links on his Gucci shirt.

“I was shot,” he said. “You’ve had me cooped up in this office all morning trying to get me to answer questions on shit I don’t know about. I guess you don’t know when to quit, huh?” Eric was looking at the gun.

“Why did he want you dead?”

“Maybe he was a disgruntled fan. He didn’t like my last song. I don’t know. Maybe you know dick.”

The detective was rattled and grabbed Eric by his shirt collar. Eric rose to his feet as the detective continued shaking him.

“He may have missed that time you sonofabitch! There’ll be other chances to prove just how tough you are!” Kowalski screamed.

Two uniform officers came busting through the door. They fought and struggled to get the detective off Eric. During the commotion, Eric was hit twice in the face before they finally dragged the irate Kowalski away.

“You better cut a deal right now. The price on your head guarantees you’ll be back begging for our help,” Kowalski shouted as he was pulled out the office. “You’re gonna be begging—”

“Muthafucka get outta my face,” Eric muttered while examining his torn shirt. A couple minutes later, a uniformed officer returned. “That muthafucka must be crazy,” Eric said. looking at his injured arm. \Another officer approached him.

“They giving you a hard time?” the officer asked.

“This shirt must be offensive,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“You can leave. Your lawyers have bailed you out,” he said.

Eric got up and adjusted his clothes. The chief stepped in front of him, looking him up and down.

“I don’t like your kind. You rap millionaires wearing your expensive clothes trying to pass yourselves off as decent people…”

“I’m not a rap millionaire, I’m a music producer I do all types of—”

“Whatever you are, all the hip-hop-pity-shit makes no difference to me. At the end of the day, you’re still a criminal so you better be prepared to pay them high price lawyers a lot of damn money. You can guarantee one thing. We will get you. Go on back to your studio and put it in a damn song, Mr. Music Producer.”

He was mean-grilling so close to Eric that blobs of spit crashed into his face. Eric pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his face.

“You made your point,” Eric said before walking out the office.

Kowalski, the chief and his superiors were staring at him as if he were a prize. They watched Eric strut to the front desk and shake hands with his lawyer.

“We need constant surveillance on him. He’s a tough guy with a soft heart. Let’s find where he’s slipping and then let’s pounce. Give him a lot of attention, I want wiretaps to go over his telephone records. He’s connected somehow. Find me something so I can nail the nigga to the wall,” the chief ordered. “We’ve got to wrap this case and very soon. We need the murderer caught. The department already lost a couple of good men in this one. We can’t afford to drag this one too long, especially you Kowalski. He helped to kill your partner. Now get on your jobs!” the chief ordered.

A group of detectives huddled and as Eric walked by, they nodded and dispersed. Eric stood at the front desk and conferring for a few minutes with his attorney. They walked away still in conversation.

“Are you alright, Eric? Everything is alright. But apparently someone from their side notified the media. The news hounds are waiting outside. I’ll handle them if you want me to.”

“I want you to handle them. I’ll... I’ll...” Eric was worn out.

His attorney turned and looked at the precinct commander, smiled and continued walking. Outside flashbulbs went off and reporters bumrushed the pair. Eric shook off the early morning sluggishness he felt and gave a good performance with a smile. Pictures were taken and the attorney started answering questions. Eric kept walking but was unable to avoid the ugly glare of the cameras and queries.

“How was your stay Mr. Ascot?” a paparazzo asked.

“How’d you like to be cooped up in a police precinct answering questions all night without being charged? And to make matters worse, I was the victim of a crime. Despite all that provocation, I’m doing real well. My songs are popping off the charts and I’m about to embark on a new project…”

“Why were you in taken in?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the detective is a strong advocate for censorship of my music.”

“What was the charge?”

“No charges have been leveled at Mr. Ascot at this time or any other time. An apparent robbery attempt was made earlier today…” the attorney started.

Eric slipped past the crowd, blinking and reaching for his shades, when he spotted someone who looked like Sophia. He stared and he felt a rush of adrenalin when he realized it was indeed his ex-fiancée.

“Well, I see you’ve not lost all your usual charisma, Mr. Ascot,” Sophia said, smiling.

“Sophia, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry. At the behest of my boss, I’m here to get your signature on some of Busta’s paperwork. Otherwise, I would not come and see you. This is strictly business!”

The impatience in her tone drew a cautious stare from Eric. Sophia was his fiancée but after Busta was killed, he had to sure up security. Eric did so with the help of the Maruichi brothers. They were linked to organized crime. Citing fear for her life and reputation, Sophia walked away. Eric pulled up his Marc Jacobs goggles, wrapping his eyes while looking searchingly in hers. The love was there but she had lost respect for his ways. He smiled easily.

“Business, huh?” he asked.

“Yes Eric, business. I don’t want to know why you’re in and out of jail.”

“I’ve been held and interrogated by the police and you come—”

“I’m not interested in your ghetto point of view,” Sophia said, raising her hand.

“I see you haven’t lost the nasty little attitude of yours. Do you want to discuss this business here, or should we go somewhere else where you can rake me over the fire in private?” Eric asked, looking around for a cab.

“I’ve got the firm’s chauffeur if you want to go somewhere,” Sophia said, turning away from Eric. His eyes checked her out from head to toe. He licked his lips and felt the lump in his throat.

“Good. Give me a ride cross town,” he said with his eyes riveted on her backside.

“What’s across town?”

“I have to get Deedee,” Eric said casually.

“Oh, she doesn’t have a ride?”

“Yes but she’s at St Vincent’s with her—”

“What? What is she doing at the hospital…?” Sophia stared at Eric anxiously.

“I’ll tell you about it on the way there.”

“No,. Tell me now. What happened to Deedee?” Sophia asked, grabbing Eric’s arm. “I’m sorry, but you just can’t say something like that, especially about Deedee, and walk away. I know she was…”

“It’s not Deedee. It’s Coco. She was shot last night.”

“What? Coco? You mean... Coco... we saw her, I saw her performing and... Oh my God! Is she dead…?”

“She’s holding on,” Eric said.

Sophia waved for the car and a black Cadillac stretch pulled over to stop in front of them.

“What happened?”

“Let go of my arm and I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

Sophia freed his arm and he held the door. Getting into the car, she wobbled and Eric steadied her.

“Thank you,” she said and nervously sat. “Tell me what happened, Eric.”