The World in Reverse Page 12

  “What?” Johnson asked confused.

  “When I asked if she had told anyone about the baby, Ivy said that she hadn’t told a soul even though she had spent all day on the phone with her sister-in-law. They were talking about my ex-partner.” Nicola gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. “My house is bugged.”

  “You think?”

  “What else?” Nicola said, shaking his head.

  “Look, I’ve got a tech guy we can call to come and check the place out for us.”

  “Can he get out there tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure. He owes me,” Johnson said, pulling out his phone.

  As they were about to head out the front doors of the building, they saw media swarming on the stairs waiting for Nicola to come out.

  Stopping in their tracks, they turned around.

  “Shit, we better go through the back,” Johnson said, feeling sorry for his partner.

  “Ivy tried to warn me,” Nicola said, under his breath.

  “What?” Johnson asked.

  “Nothing,” Nicola said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Well, one good thing came out of this,” Johnson said, pulling the red jump drive out of his pocket.

  “You got it?” Nicola said in relief.

  “And made a copy, but I haven’t been able to review it yet.”

  “Well, we better not do it at my place,” Agosto said, feeling for his gun. Shit, it felt weird not having it or his badge on his side.

  Johnson saw Nicola’s hand run over his hip and instantly felt bad for him. “You’re going to get reinstated,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Nicola chuckled again, this time it oozed with sarcasm. “You don’t know Memphis very well, do you?”

  11

  Music boomed in the background as patrons continued on with their evening completely oblivious to the treacherous events happening in the back of the club in the owner’s office.

  Cane slammed his meaty hand down on the desk of the strip club owner, Big Yummi, and spit into the bloodied man’s face blurring his sight even more. “Where the fuck is the bitch? I know that you know where she went!” he said as his men held the middle-aged black man down in his black chair. “Just gone and tell me now, and I’ll let you go.”

  Blood shot out of Big Yummi’s mouth as he coughed. “I told you, man. I don’t know shit. She came in here earlier for a minute, waited around and then left. I haven’t seen her since,” he said, gasping for air through his broken nose.

  “Where did she go?” Cane asked, wiping the sweat from his red forehead and then slipping back on his John Deere cap.

  “If I knew…”

  Cane reached across the table and slapped the man across his face, making sure to crack him hard across his battered nose. “Don’t you fucking lie to me. I know you know something. All you pimps keep up with your hoes. And all you fucking niggers stick together.”

  “She wasn’t my hoe,” the man tried to explain. “She just worked here for Twist. That’s it. The bitch rarely even made pay out.”

  He writhed in pain, trying to break free from the two men who gripped his shoulders.

  “He’s pretty fucked up, boss. If he had known something, he would have said by now,” Cane’s number two, Sammy said, leaning against the table also. He watched on disgusted by how badly Big Yummi had been beaten. He had known the guy for years, picked up cash for Twist and Cane from him, drank with him. Now, he was approaching having to put a bullet in his head. It just didn’t sit right.

  “And who the fuck asked you when I should stop?” Cane asked Sammy in a huff. He knew that Sammy was right but still enjoyed beating the hell out of the man. “Did you get that surveillance shit out of the cop’s house like I told you?”

  Sammy sucked his teeth at the question. When had he not done what he was supposed to do. “Yeah,” he said, standing up. “We got it out right when the setup was going down with DeMario.”

  “And did you get to DeMario yet?” Cane asked, spitting snuff into a Styrofoam cup beside him.

  Sammy looked at the cup first and then up at his boss. On more than one occasion, he had seen his boss throw the contents of that cup into a man’s face. A disgusting action that he didn’t want done to him. “We tried, but cops are everywhere. He’s impossible to get to right now at the Med,” he said, shaking his head. “The media is thick down there right now and so the attention. We weren’t banking on that.”

  Cane was unmoved by the roadblock. “Well, then get our cop to do it. I want that motherfucker dead before the police have time to shake him down and find out that we set this shit up. I am not going down because of no fucking meth head. You got me?” He grabbed the cup.

  Sammy nodded, watching Cane’s hand. “We’ll get him, boss.”

  Cane paused for a minute and then spit into the cup again. Setting it beside him, he looked back over at his current project.

  Cane cracked a smile and pulled out a syringe. “Do you know what this is, Yummi?”

  “Man, I ain’t never did a fucking drug a day in my life. No one is going to believe that I started at 54 years old,” Big Yummi spat on the table and tried to sit up. If he was going to die then he was going to do it with a certain amount of dignity.

  The men quickly pushed him back in the seat.

  The booming base of music and loud conversations from the main area of the club clouded the room.

  “This ain’t about who believes what,” Cane said, taking the top off the syringe. “This is about sending a message to everybody who needs telling.” There was a devious smile on his chubby face.

  “Yeah. What they need telling you fat motherfucker?” Yummy asked, snarling.

  Cane smiled. “Isn’t it obvious, boy? There’s a new boss in town.”

  ***

  Roxie checked her phone one last time for any message from Agosto before she boarded a Greyhound bus headed for the only place that she knew that she would be safe.

  Tulsa, Oklahoma.

  The only person whom she’d ever told where she was truly from was Twist, and she knew that he wouldn’t have told a soul. Plus, it had been a while since she had gone home to the family farm to visit. They would gladly welcome her back with open arms without asking a hundred questions. And less questions ensured more safety.

  She was hoping for a different end result than having to leave town suddenly. She hadn’t brought anything with her. She left her apartment with only the clothes on her back. She’d burned all of her documentation, destroyed all of her technology, save her phone, which she ditched before she got on the bus and parked her brand new BMW on the long-term parking lot at the airport. For extra safety, she had also cut her hair, colored it and slapped on a pair of reading glasses.

  She had to disappear, never to surface again if she was going to stay alive.

  When it was obvious that Agosto wouldn’t show, she knew what she had to do. Before he was brutally murdered nearly in front of her, Twist had already warned her to only trust the cop, and the news said that he was hemmed up something fierce for beating the hell out of some gang member.

  It didn’t take a genius to see that this was all related. At least from her standpoint.

  Maybe the gang member knew too much, just like she did. Or maybe, this Agosto guy wasn’t someone that she could trust after all.

  Either way, she was headed out of Memphis and taking with her any hopes in solving Twist’s murder.

  ***

  For nearly a decade, Nicola had driven a department-issued, carpool vehicle nearly every day of his life. It was as much a part of him as being a cop. In fact, he hadn’t put over 1,000 miles on his newest personal car in the last year and half since he bought it.

  Even through the trouble that he had managed to get into down through the years, he had never been stripped of his amenities, simply because even on suspension, everyone knew that he would be back after his days were cut and sometimes his salary was lowered. This time, however, he was not only asked t
o turn in his badge and gun but also the keys to his city-owned Escalade. And that shining confidence that he had once had inside the department was suddenly lackluster. Before he could even get out of the precinct, people were whispering that this time would be the time that he was fired.

  Nicola wasn’t sure that they were wrong.

  Even after accusing him of being a mole and jacking him up at the headquarters, Johnson still was willing to give Nicola a ride back to his house in his a shitty little, Ford Taurus unmarked. On the way, Johnson turned on the radio and let down the window to smoke a cigarette.

  Nicola’s natural instinct was to complain, but he held his comments tight to his chest and simply breathed in the carcinogens.

  The talk show host, of course, was talking at about the misconstrued beating that Nicola had given DeMario earlier.

  A right-wing, conservative Republican with extremely far-right ideals had a huge following and it seemed that everyone was weighing in on the discussion.

  “Our phone lines are lit up today. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get to your comments or questions, but if not, feel free to go to our Facebook page and make yourself heard,” Yuman said, ecstatic that his ratings were shooting through the roof.

  Johnson reached for the radio to turn the station, but Nicola stopped him.

  “No, I want to hear what they have to say,” he said with a huff.

  “Are you sure about that?” Johnson asked. “You’ve been locked down at 201, but out here, man…” he paused. “People can’t stop talking about the video.”

  “I haven’t seen it yet,” Nicola growled, reaching for his phone.

  “Do me a favor and look at that once I drop you off,” Johnson asked.

  Nicola put his phone back in his pocket. “That bad, huh?”

  “You Rodney King’d his ass.”

  Yuman sighed into the microphone and chuckled. “You know, it’s odd that this guy was just all over the news promising the public that he would do everything in his power to keep us and our children safe. So, I find it ironic that he is now only hours later being brought up on charges for a brutal beating of a black man. I mean, are we really getting the entire story here? Was this man a possible suspect in the Baby Boy murders? Some are saying that it’s so. This is the kind of thing that divides our already divided city more. What are your thoughts?”

  Nicola knew that he was being sent to the slaughter.

  “Caller, you’re on the air,” Yuman said, trying to sound concerned.

  “Hi, Yuman, I don’t normally listen to your station, but I tuned in today to share another perspective. You all are taking his side inadvertently, suggesting that just because this black man is a supposed suspect that that gives this white man the right to beat the shit out of him. I saw the video. Excessive is not the word for it. Here we are in the 21 century and still making every excuse under the damn sun to protect white bigots with badges.”

  The phone went dead and Yuman immediately began his rant.

  “To call this man a bigot is a bit premature, don’t you think? We don’t even have all of the facts. All we know is that he is being investigated….”

  Nicola changed his mind. Turning off the radio, he looked out of the window. “So that’s how they plan to paint me.” He was suddenly sick to his stomach.

  “Don’t let that shit get to you, man. Everyone who knows you, knows you are definitely not a racist,” Johnson said with sudden passion. “The guys on the force will speak up for you.”

  Nicola chuckled as though the idea was preposterous. “You haven’t been on as long as I have. Race is one issue that divides even the blue blooded.”

  “This is not the 1900’s.”

  “I was born in the 1900’s. So were you. It wasn’t that far back that lynching’s were taking place right over on Auction Avenue, before the condos and mixed income living.” Nicola rubbed his aching head. “People have long memories.”

  “But you didn’t do it because he was black.”

  Nicola couldn’t tell if Johnson was asking or simply saying. He swallowed down his frustration and said the words aloud. “I did it because he threatened my family. I would have done the same thing no matter what color the guy happened to be.”

  “So find a way to get that out. Hold a news conference or something.”

  “You know the protocol as well as I do. I can’t say a word until this investigation is over.” Nicola rested his head back on the seat and looked out of the window.

  “Well, look. First thing first. We clear your name. If we find wiretaps or bugs at your place, then it will just prove what you’ve been saying. Someone is trying to sabotage this investigation.”

  Nicola nodded. “Proof is the key. The fucking burden of proof.”

  ***

  Four hours after sweeping every inch of his 5,500 square-foot, colonial house unsuccessfully for bugs and wiretaps with Johnson and his “bug” guy, Nicola finally gave up on his futile pursuit.

  Johnson screamed down from the attic as he wiped sweat from his brow. “Nothing up here either.” He ducked his head out of the attic stairwell at Nicola who walked up to the stairwell with a beer. “Figured as much,” he said with a tired, low treble in his deep voice. “Come down and have a beer with me.”

  Johnson’s eyes lit up at the sight of the chilled Bud Light. His reward for a job well done. “You don’t have to ask me twice. Yo, Deeds, get down here, man. Let’s have a cold one before we get out of here.”

  “On the way,” Deeds, the bug guy, screamed from the other side of the attic. “This place is huge.”

  “Tell me about it,” Johnson said, making his way down the attic steps. “How much do you pay for utilities with this monster?”

  “Had the entire place updated with more efficient appliances and had some installation changes done a few years back. It’s not as bad as you might think.”

  Nicola led the way down to the den on the first floor, where he turned on the television and sat down on the sofa. It was the first time since this morning that he had really exhaled and it hurt something awful. His chest cavity burned as it deflated.

  “Mind if I fix a sandwich to go with this beer? I’m starving,” Johnson said, making a b-line for the kitchen, which was adjacent to the den.

  “Help yourself,” Nicola said, tuning in to ESPN.

  The bug guy sat quietly on the other side of Nicola and rested back on the sofa as well.

  Nicola turned to the guy and passed him a beer. “How much do I owe you?” he asked, reaching for his pocket.

  “It’s on the house,” the bug guy said, taking the beer. “Courtesy of Johnson.”

  Nicola didn’t like hand-outs. “I don’t mind paying. You can’t work for free.”

  Johnson stuck his head out of the door as the microwave warmed up leftovers he had found in the refrigerator. “Keep your money, Nicola. At least on this one. Just think of him next time you need some work done.”

  The bug guy nodded in agreement and passed him his card. “You call that day or night anytime.”

  Nicola took the card and put it in his wallet. “Will do.”

  “Don’t you want to see the news?” Johnson asked curiously. “I mean, I know it’s painful to hear them lie on you, but how are you going to defend yourself, if you don’t know which lies their spewing?”

  “I’m sure the same lies that their telling tonight will be on first thing in the morning. Right now, I need a break,” Nicola said, running his tongue against his gums.

  “Well, we at least need to figure out who set you up,” Johnson said, determined to get something out of Nicola tonight before he left.

  Nicola sucked his teeth. “I’ll focus on all that tomorrow.”

  “Or you just don’t want to brainstorm with me, because you still don’t trust me,” Johnson said with a growl. “Look man, it wasn’t me.”

  “We’ve established that.” Nicola looked over at Johnson with a cool-it-look on his face. “But I’ve worked on enough shit t
o know for a fact that we have a mole. Someone, somewhere in this department is on the take and they are working hard to keep us off the scent, and off the trail that leads back to the whoever is responsible for the Baby Boy murders.”

  “So let’s make a list of everyone we’ve come into contact with since the beginning of the case and use that list to make a list of possible suspects,” Johnson urged. He shoved the sandwich of meatloaf and salad wrapped in a whole-wheat bun into his mouth.

  Nicola looked over at the bug guy and smiled. “Don’t take offense but I’m not 100% sure of your work, so I won’t be doing any planning whatsoever in this place.”

  “I guarantee my work,” the bug guy responded, nodding his head.

  “Do you guarantee it for five to ten, because that’s what I’m looking at if I’m charged with beating the shit out of that kid.”

  The bug guy was suddenly quiet.

  Nicola smirked. “Hey, I wouldn’t guarantee that either.

  “So do you want to meet somewhere?” Johnson asked Nicola.

  “Why don’t you just focus on trying to solve this case, and I’ll worry about saving my ass,” Nicola said, resting back.

  12

  With Al Green’s greatest hits playing softly on the stereo, Nicola sat outside of his in-laws’ house in his LX Lexus truck, smoking a cigar and drinking cognac straight out of the bottle with his window half down and the air blasting. The cool midnight breeze provided a temporary calming backdrop for his chaotic thoughts and helped circulate the robust smell of his fine Cuban cigar out of his new vehicle.

  He had a hundred problems to solve and in no particular order they flooded him like crashing waves against the rocks of a battered coastline: where was Roxie? How long had his house been bugged? Could he trust Johnson? Was there a mole? How did Cane fit into the murder of Twist? What was the common link between Twist and the Baby Boy murders outside of the drug, Molly? How was he going to go about solving this case? How was he going to keep his family safe until he did solve the case? Would jail be more likely than just being fired? Did he have a case to fight for his job? What was he going to do about his unborn child?