screamed in her face. It wasn’t the first time I heard the word nigger. Nor the last. But it’s the one I remember. Then Maxie reached back again, a closed fist. Nicole went straight down. This time she didn’t get up.
There was a group now, all white, all watching. I heard some snickers and felt the circle tighten as Nicole lay on the ground. They were excited. Waiting. Predatory.
I don’t really remember considering, reflecting, or even moving. I was just there, inside the circle, reaching out my hand and helping the black girl stand up. There was blood at her temple and more dripping from her nose. She seemed oblivious to it. Instead, she just looked at me, curious. More like she wanted to sit down and talk, help me with problems I couldn’t yet understand. She seemed to hold this wisdom in a child’s look, and dropped it on me like a bomb.
That’s what I remember. Me and Nicole, middle of the circle, surrounded by so much hatred and feeling none of it. That is, until Maxie crashed the party. He clubbed me with a forearm from behind and told me to fuck off. Apparently, I was ruining his fun. Even better, I was two years younger and a hell of a lot smaller.
Twenty-six years later, I know for a fact that I can fight. I’ve boxed in a ring, not as an amateur, but for money. Not a lot of money, but enough to handle most anything that might come down the street. At nine years old, however, I didn’t realize what latent talent lay in my fists. That was, until I closed them and laid into Maxie. I blackened an eye, cracked a tooth, and busted his face pretty good. Then I slipped my hands underneath his chin and felt the give, the softness of his windpipe. Once I got there, Maxie stopped struggling and started worrying. I saw the whites of his eyes, oversized in their sockets, and felt the violence and the power within. Just a little more pressure, a bit more, and it would be over. For Maxie. And for me. So easy. So simple. So right.
Seconds before I would have fractured Maxie’s windpipe, Phillip came down the street at a run and caught me with a boot across the head. I hit the ground, rolled, and got up. Smiling. It was the first time the blackness had ever thickened behind my eyes, ever misted them over. Not the last time. But the first. I was nine years old and I liked it. In time, I would learn to love it. Now, I only fear it.
After Maxie, no one in the neighborhood messed with me very much. Or Nicole. No one ever played with us too much either, but that was okay. Nicole understood me, understood the world in a way that seemed beyond time. Two and a half decades later, we were here. In a coffee shop. Talking about a murder.
“Known you a lifetime,” I said.
“Best friends?” Nicole said.
“Yes.”
“Then why does my best friend get pulled in on a homicide beef, spend half the day in jail, and not pick up the phone to call me?”
The DA’s office had finally kicked me loose at a little after noon. Such news apparently traveled well.
“You heard about that?” I said.
“Yes, Michael, I heard about that. I also knew John Gibbons. Now would you like to explain to me why the DA thinks you killed him?”
“It’s a little complicated,” I said.
“No kidding. You can start whenever.”
Nicole leaned back on her stool, took a sip of her cap, and waited for a response. She could wait a long time. I knew that from experience. I took a deep breath. A cell phone buzzed in her handbag. Nicole held up a finger and checked the caller ID.
“Hang on. I have to take this.”
My friend walked away. I stirred my coffee. After a few minutes she returned.
“Sorry about that. Listen, I know this is important, and believe me, I want to hear the story. Whatever it is. But right now I gotta run.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
Nicole pulled on her coat as she talked.
“Did I tell you about the task force I’m on?”
I shook my head.
“Come on. I’ll give you a lift home. It’s on the way.”
Nicole headed north on Broadway and took a left on Addison. She talked rapidly as she drove.
“Last month the state formed its first rape task force.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I’m telling you about it. It’s a SWAT team of specially trained nurses, detectives, forensic staff, and counselors. We get called in to deal with sexual assaults in the city.”
“Why sexual assaults?”
“Lot of reasons. Mostly, though, because evidence is not being collected properly. You know how it is. The victim is traumatized. The nurse is trying to comfort and take the rape kit.”
“The cops are trying to get a statement…”
“Exactly. Bad stuff happens.”
Nicole cruised past Wrigley Field and took a left on Lakewood.
“The SWAT team is different,” she continued. “Each person has a job he or she is trained for and nothing else.”
“So the nurse does her rape kit…”
“And that’s it. Doesn’t communicate with the victim in any way. That is left to the detective and counselors.”
“Less for the defense to attack at trial,” I said.
“You got it. Everything is controlled and documented. A clean record from the time we get on scene.”
“Nice.”
Nicole pulled up in front of my building and turned to face me.
“I oversee collection of the forensic evidence. Start a chain of custody for our lab. Pretty easy stuff. The point is, though, we’re at the scene and create a record.”
“You headed there now?”
“Yeah. A break-in and assault on the Northwest Side. The victim’s still at her house.”
Nicole checked her watch.
“We’re meeting there in forty-five minutes.”
“How about I tag along?”
My friend cocked her head and pushed a look of curiosity across the car.
“Tag along. Why?”
“Sounds interesting. Besides, this murder thing I’m involved in…”
“I remember the murder thing.”
“There might be a rape connection.”
Nicole exhaled softly and looked out into the newly born night. The quiet was suddenly heavy between us and I felt the weight of years take hold. Not the careless intimacy of a lover. Much more than simply a friend. It was a connection that could only be forged between children. A connection you got maybe once in your life. More often, more likely, never. Then Nicole turned back my way and spoke.
“I hear you, Michael. And I’d love to help. Thing is, I can’t just take you along.”
“How about I follow?”
Nicole shook her head once and shifted into drive.
“Can’t stop you from doing that. But I won’t make it easy. And you won’t get into the crime scene. Now get out.”
She pulled away almost as soon as I slid out the door. My car, however, was parked at the corner. I got behind the wheel and was on her bumper within a block. I flicked my headlights. She looked up at her rearview mirror. I still had my coffee, took a sip, and followed.
CHAPTER 10
The house was just south of Montrose and east of Cicero, at the wrong end of a street called Pensacola. It
