A Dark Place, page 15
Mr. Hare turned around and stood to his full six feet. He looked down at Urban. “Boy, you pull a pistol on a man, you’d better be ready to use it,” Mr. Hare growled.
Urban looked down and saw the old man’s pale white, erect penis sticking out of his pajamas. The sight of a grown man’s erection, and the thought that this man was molesting his little sister, conjured up a rage inside Urban that he didn’t know existed.
“You have about five seconds to get your little nosy behind out of this room, or I’ma call them folks who brought you here and have them take you back to the orphanage. And I know you don’t want—”
Urban fired the pistol and hit Mr. Hare in his stomach. The old man fell back onto Jamillah, who screamed at the top of her lungs. Jamillah jumped up and ran to her brother.
Mrs. Hare ran into the bedroom and stopped when she saw her husband lying on the child’s bed, with his penis sticking out of his pajamas. Mr. Hare was clutching his chest as the life slowly flowed out of him.
“My God!” Mrs. Hare gasped. “What have you done!”
“He was trying to have sex with my little sister,” Urban cried as he stood there with the smoking gun still in his hand.
Mrs. Hare was in her late sixties, and she moved as fast as she could to her husband’s side. She looked down at the half-naked man and shook her head. Then she turned to Urban, walked over to him, and reached for the pistol. Urban wasn’t very trusting at this time. He backed up and pointed the pistol at Mrs. Hare.
“No, son,” Mrs. Hare said, shaking her head. “I don’t blame you. You were only protecting your sister,” she said through tears. “My husband is a very sick man. It was time for it to stop,” she added, as if this little episode had happened too many times before. “I don’t blame you one bit, child. Please give me the gun.”
“I don’t wanna go to jail. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I couldn’t let him rape my sister. I don’t want to go to jail,” Urban cried, shaking his head from side to side.
“No, son, you won’t,” Mrs. Hare assured him. “You have my word.”
“I don’t trust you,” Urban said, with the pistol still pointed at the woman, who had been nothing less that sweet to him and his sister.
“Look at him,” Mrs. Hare said, pointing at Mr. Hare, who was writhing in pain and gasping for his last breath. “A sixty-year-old man half naked in a child’s bedroom. Jamillah, run and get the telephone for me, baby.”
“No,” Urban yelled, and Jamillah stopped in her tracks. “Who are you calling?”
“I’m calling a family friend. You can even dial the number and talk to him if that will make you feel better.”
“Who is this family friend? And why are you calling him?” Urban quizzed.
“He’s like a son to me. He’s a very good man, and he will know what to do. I promise you that you won’t be in any kind of trouble.”
Urban thought about her response as his anxiety kicked into overdrive. He calmed himself, then nodded to Jamillah.
Once Jamillah had returned with the phone and had handed it to her brother, Mrs. Hare called out the digits, and Urban dialed them. The man on the other end of the line was Priest Dupree. Thirty minutes later, Priest came over. Mr. Hare was still breathing when they placed him in the trunk of Priest’s car. By the time they arrived at their destination, he was dead. Priest and Urban removed him from the trunk, grabbed a few shovels, and buried the man.
Priest used a few of his connections to carry out the cover-up. He took an unclaimed John Doe from the medical examiner’s office, had him cremated, and Mrs. Hare pretended this John Doe was Mr. Hare and went along with the funeral, as if her husband had died of natural causes. No one was ever the wiser.
Priest walked over and placed a hand on Urban’s shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. “You had no choice, bro. Some people deserve to die.”
“I’m sure, but who are we to make that call?”
“We are men. And sometimes as men, we are forced to make tough calls. Would you rather that asshole was still here and your sister had ended up a mental vegetable because some grown-ass fool decided to use her as his sex toy?”
Urban huffed. “Doesn’t seem like I did anything with that one but delay the inevitable. She’s still a mental vegetable. Out in those streets and getting worse by the second.”
“Maybe, but that’s on her. She was an adult when she made those choices. Children have to be protected at all costs. That doesn’t guarantee they will all live healthy or successful lives, but it gives them a chance. And that’s what you did. Which is why you shouldn’t spend a second regretting your actions when that’s just what any real man would do.”
“Sometimes I wish I had gone another route. Maybe called the cops or something. Killing isn’t an easy thing to get over. No matter the reason.”
“Yes it is. Have you ever killed a roach?”
Urban gave Priest a look that said, You can’t be serious.
“What? It’s no different. The damn bug was fucking up your peace of mind, so it had to go. I don’t know why we place more value on human beings than we do on any other creature. Folks kill dogs if they bite somebody, but we allow humans to rape, kill, maim, and yet some bleeding heart will walk around with a picket sign, fighting for these criminals’ rights. Fuck that. I squash they asses and keep it moving.”
Urban shook his head at the man standing in front of him. Priest had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever met. He was a real-life ghetto Robin Hood. He had paid so many people’s gas bills in the winter and electric bills in the summer that it was a wonder he wasn’t broke. He had bought so many groceries for hungry families, taken so many kids to the doctor, and visited more schools than he could count. Yet he could be one of the coldest killers this world had ever seen.
“You did what a man was supposed to do, Urban. You didn’t go to the cops. His ass would have been out on the streets in two years or less. Then what? I’ll tell you what. Back at the same shit, with someone else’s child. You put his ass where he would never hurt anyone again. And the world is a better place for it. You should never have another sleepless night. As a matter of fact, you should sleep good, knowing his old perverted ass isn’t trying to screw someone’s child. Fuck him. I hope his ass is rotting in hell.”
“I wish I was that way, but I’m not. It still bothers me that I took another man’s life.”
“Correction! Technically, you didn’t kill him. You shot him. His ass died in the trunk of the car. I’ve been shot, and I ain’t dead. So look at it like that if it’ll make you feel better. Now, get over it and stop being a pussy.”
Urban frowned and looked around. Now he remembered where he was. He was standing on the land where he and Priest had buried Mr. Hare.
Chapter 28
Jethro was onto something. He was finally starting to make some headway on the case of this strange occurrence out at Lucinda Rawlings’s place.
He had driven over to the black side of town and had started asking questions. No one liked him, so the residents hadn’t been very cooperative. But once he’d started threatening them with outstanding warrants and new, trumped-up charges, he’d started getting some answers. He hated to do that, but he needed to get some information. His first hint of success came when he bumped into Kenny Mays, one of the local thugs. Kenny was a wannabe tough guy and a small-time drug dealer who would never make anything of his life. All his teeth were gold, and he always seemed to wear a colorful do-rag over his braided hair. The only time he had ever left Elkton was when he spent a few years in the state prison at Reidsville.
“Who assaulted Ms. Rawlings, Kenny?” Jethro asked as he rode beside the man, who was riding a bike.
“Wasn’t me,” Kenny said and started to pedal a little faster.
“I didn’t say it was. All I asked you was, who beat the woman?”
“I don’t know,” Kenny said, picking up his pace a little more.
“Do you have any information that may lead me to the person who did?”
“Nope.”
“Did you ever get caught up on your child support? What about those traffic tickets? I see the judge done took your license, being that you riding on two wheels instead of four, but those traffic tickets still need to be paid.”
“Why you sweating me, Jethro?”
“Just need a little information.”
“Well, I don’t know nuttin’, man. You can’t make me know shit, just ’cause you need some shit.”
“They say a man who looks a lot like you broke into old man Warren’s store. Stole about three thousand dollars’ worth of goods. Just over the amount to make it federal. You know them feds don’t play around. Ain’t no parole with them federal boys, Kenny. So if they give you five years, you do all five, and with your record . . . well . . . ,” Jethro said, letting his words hang in the air.
Kenny kept pedaling.
“Now, I said it wasn’t you, but they got a tape. And hell, you know an all-white jury might be inclined to think all y’all look alike.”
Kenny stopped pedaling and slammed on the brakes, causing the bike to slide. He jumped off and glared at Jethro, who only smiled in return as he slowed to a stop.
“They say it was a city boy. Come out henh from Lanna,” Kenny said.
“City boy, huh?” Jethro answered.
“Yeah, they say he tried to steal Keisha’s baby, but old Lucinda put a whipping on his ass. He must’ve not known who he was messing with. That woman can beat most of the men round henh when she ain’t liquored up.”
“Where is Keisha?”
“Don’t know. Hear once old Lucinda got to tussling with the old boy, Keisha got the baby and bailed outta there.” Kenny stopped talking and looked away. It was a good thing he was a criminal instead of a poker player. It was obvious that he was holding back.
“Come on,” Jethro said, prodding. “Where is the girl now?”
“Nah, Jethro, I ain’t going there, man. You gone have to lock me up. I ain’t getting that girl in no trouble.”
“Trouble? Why would she be in trouble? She ain’t gotta worry ’bout no trouble if she ain’t had nuttin’ to do with her mama being assaulted.”
Kenny frowned at the suggestion. “That’s white folks’ shit, man. Black folks don’t hit our elders. We respectful people by nature.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ve already been informed about black folks and how respectful ya’ll is,” Jethro said sarcastically. “So where might I be able to locate Ms. Keisha?”
“I ain’t saying.” Kenny turned around and placed his hands behind his back. “I ain’t handing that chile over to no white man. Cop or not. Lock me up.”
“Oh, man, turn around.”
Kenny turned back around to face him.
“Here’s my position. I want the person who assaulted Mrs. Rawlings in jail. I believe some shady business is going on. And I believe that man who broke into Mrs. Rawlings’s house is a major player in that shady business. If I can find this fella, then I might be able to help some people. I’m shooting straight with ya, Kenny. All I’m asking is you do the same with me. Now, you gonna help me, Kenny? I promise you I won’t forget it, and a man in your line of work could use a favor from a man in mine.”
Kenny looked at Jethro, searching for signs of lies. He couldn’t tell if the lawman was real or full of crap.
“I ain’t never lied to you, Kenny,” Jethro said, reading the apprehension on the young thug’s face.
“You sure you ain’t gonna mess with that girl, Jethro?”
“I give you my word.”
Kenny looked down, still contemplating whether he should take the word of a white man. That deal had never worked out too well for him in the past.
“Kenny, this is serious business. There are some out there who don’t think very much of yo’ people. I ain’t one of ’em. I believe God made us all the same. I’m only trying get to the bottom of this and help that girl.”
“I’ll tell you where she is, and I bet’ not hear no mention of Kenny Mays’s name, or I swear I’ma get you, Jethro.”
“You threatening an officer of the law?”
“Yeah.” Kenny’s serious look said he meant every word he said.
“Just ’cause I need this information, I’ma let you slide with that one.”
“Whatever, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I will be in your face if I hear my name caught up in this shit!”
Jethro was thoroughly offended, but he kept it to himself. He understood where the tough guy was coming from. Being labeled a snitch was the same as a death sentence in the black community.
“Okay, man,” Jethro said with his hands in the air. “I told you, you have my word.”
“Yeah, that word better mean something.”
“It’s good as gold.”
“She over at Maceo’s,” Kenny said. Then he jumped back on his bicycle and rode off in a different direction.
Chapter 29
Jamillah walked into the visitation room, and her eyes went straight to the man in the police uniform. It took her a minute to recognize him, but once she did, she didn’t feel any better.
“Officer Vargas,” she said, with a blank expression on her face.
“Oh my. Look at you,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “I wouldn’t have recognized you if you hadn’t said my name.”
Jamillah didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded. Her heart was racing. Was the same man whose kindness was responsible for her rehabilitation waiting to take her to a hell that could possibly be worse than the one she was crawling out of?
“I see your scars have all healed up,” he said, looking at her face. “I had no idea there was so much beauty underneath all of that.” Officer Vargas stopped. “I’m sorry.”
“What can I do for you?” Jamillah said, anxious to get on with whatever was going to be.
“Is there someplace where we can have a little privacy?”
Jamillah searched the man’s face. She nodded for him to follow her. She led him to her room. Once he was inside, she left the door open.
Jamillah found it ironic that she was being so cautious now, when in her past, she had spent many nights locked up in rooms with men who should be put to death because of their sexual proclivities. Yet here she was, afraid to be alone with the man who could take credit for saving her life.
Officer Vargas looked around the room. He nodded his head, then pointed at a chair in the corner.
“Sure, sure, sure,” Jamillah said. “Have a seat.” Her nerves were on edge as she took a seat on her bed, directly across from her guest.
“I came by to check on you and to talk to you about your progress.”
Yeah, I bet, she thought.
“Do you do this for everyone you refer to rehab?” she asked.
“I’ve never referred anyone before,” he said with a smile. “I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but I was concerned about you, so I decided to come and check on you in person.”
Jamillah looked at the officer. His eyes were as sincere as they were the day he rescued her from herself. As a street person and an addict, she had gotten very good at reading the kindness in people’s eyes. To her and her kind, those eyes were signs of people who were to be victimized. But now, as she used that same skill, she saw something different. Was his smoothness a cover to get her to incriminate herself?
“Thanks,” Jamillah said, allowing her guard to come down a bit. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you, or anyone else for that matter. Forgive me for being rude.”
“No need to apologize. I guess I could’ve called before I barged in on you. I called to check on you a few times. Asked if you needed anything, and they told me you enjoyed working out, so I took the liberty of buying you some clothes and a pair of sneakers to run in.” He pointed at the T-shirt that she was wearing.
The shirt was a black tank top with red glittery letters that read I’M ALL THAT.
“I thought that one was appropriate,” he said with a wide grin.
Jamillah was touched. She looked at the clothes that were hanging in her closet and covered her open mouth. “You did that?” She had thought Amani purchased the clothes.
“I did,” Officer Vargas said.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I wanted to,” he said. “After two weeks, you were still here. I felt like you were serious about getting yourself better, so I wanted to help.”
“That is far too kind.”
“Not really. I remembered the shoes you were wearing when I first met you, and I figured you would surely break an ankle if you were out running in those things.”
“Hey,” Jamillah said, acting offended, but she had to laugh herself at the run-down off-brand sneakers she used to wear. “Those shoes were nice.”
Officer Vargas stood and held out his hand. Jamillah stood and reached out her own hand.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
Officer Vargas walked to the door, then stopped. He reached into his shirt pocket and removed a business card. “Jamillah, your name came up in the system as a person of interest in a homicide-suicide investigation. It’s not my case, so I’m not really interested in the facts, other than to give you a heads-up.”
There it was. Jamillah’s body threatened to collapse right on the spot. Instant stress overcame her.
“Marcus Clarkston,” Officer Vargas said slowly. “That name sound familiar to you?”
“Oh, my God!” Jamillah said, clutching her heart.
“He was found dead in a City of Atlanta dumpster.”
Jamillah closed her eyes at the thought.
“The last person he was seen with was you.”
“Marcus,” Jamillah said as tears rushed from her eyes. She had been doing very well over the past week at not thinking about Marcus.
“As it stands right now, you’re wanted only for questioning, but this is something that you must take care of.” Officer Vargas handed Jamillah the card. “This is my sister. She’s an attorney. I suggest you call her, or at least get one of your own.”
