I knew that Anthony wanted out of the LAW. I knew that Razor not only wouldn’t let Anthony leave the LAW, but quite possibly would eventually involve him in some sort of illegal activity.
So now there was one other thing I knew.
It was time to break up the gang.
Chapter 49
I decided to focus on Razor for a while. It wasn’t that I was certain that he was at the center of everything that was going on or, for that matter, anything that was going on at all. It was just that at the moment, he was the only wild card in the deck.
First, I called Denny and asked where Razor stood in the line of suspects in T-Man’s murder.
“He’s higher on the list than he was a day or two ago,” Denny said.
“Because he’s one of the guys in charge of the new gang,” I said.
“Sure,” said Denny.
“Does he have an alibi for the night T-Man was killed?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” said Denny. “We had some of the officers on the anti-gang unit handle the interviews with the Links and the Gates. We figured those kids might be more forthcoming with cops they see on a daily basis. Gimme a minute, JB . . . yeah, here it is . . . Randy Weathers talked to your boy Razor, whose real name, incidentally, is Richard Kelly. I’ve worked with Weathers a couple of times. He knows what he’s doing. Anyway, according to the paper I’m looking at, Razor was home with mom that night. ‘Course, half the kids in the gangs said they were home that night, and the other half were at friends’ houses. You know how that goes.”
“Yeah, I do. Okay, thanks, Denny.”
“Anytime, JB. Hey, by the way, when do I get to see pictures of you in that puffy shirt?”
“Just as soon as you start buying off the rack,” I said.
“We both know that ain’t happening, son.”
“Exactly,” I said, as I hung up.
My next call was to Augie. He was in a meeting but got back to me about thirty minutes later.
“JB. What’s up?”
“I need some information on one of the Links, name of Richard Kelly. Can you help?”
“Razor,” said Augie. “Yeah, sure, lemme just swivel over to my computer here. Okay, waddaya need?”
“Age, address, home situation, anything you have.”
“You looking at Razor for anything in particular?”
“He told Anthony Warren he can’t get out of the new gang.”
“So you’re looking for a thread to pull on,” said Augie.
“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”
“Okay, here we go. Actually, most of this stuff I knew without pulling it up on the computer. Razor’s been with us awhile. He’s nineteen, in tenth grade.”
“Tenth grade?”
“Yeah. He has a slight learning disability, so slight, in fact, that the school tested him twice just to be sure of the results. Anyway, the learning disability gets him into LD classes.”
“Which qualifies him as a special needs student,” I said. “Which means it’s almost impossible to kick him out.”
“There you go,” said Augie. “Unless he commits a major felony on school grounds, it’ll pretty much take an act of Congress to get him out of here before he’s twenty-one, and he knows it.”
“I was about to ask why he stays,” I said, “but there’s gotta be money involved, right?”
“You’re on a roll, JB. Razor lives with mom, and mom is a master at manipulating the system. As a special needs student living in a single-parent home in a depressed neighborhood, our little Richard’s eligible for a nice government check every month. Technically, of course, the check goes to mom.”
“Would she lie for him?” I asked.
“Would, has, does and undoubtedly will again,” said Augie. “You gotta keep in mind, JB, this isn’t anything close to a normal mother-son relationship. These two may be blood relatives, but the only color that matters to them is green.”
“Which brings us back to the monthly check that keeps on coming as long as mama’s little boy stays in school.”
“Right,” said Augie. “The check that they no doubt divvy up in whatever way and then go about their separate lives.”
“Does he actually even live with the mother?”
“Sure. If we caught him living elsewhere, the checks would stop. Does any of this help, JB?”
“Maybe,” I said. “One more question, Aug. Does Razor have a car?”
“Yeah, a black Camaro, about five or six years old. He parks it down the street during the day, then drives it around the school for a while after dismissal.”
Augie and I talked for a few more minutes before ending the conversation. After I hung up, I sat for a bit and thought about the best way to watch Razor. Apparently, he spent most weekdays at school, so I only had to concentrate on weeknights and weekends. Today was Monday, so if I got started right away, maybe I’d get lucky before the weekend.
Razor and his mom lived on Dinwiddie Street, which parallels Patterson Avenue, where Larretta and Anthony live. Unlike Patterson, though, Dinwiddie is only a few blocks long and, especially nice for my purposes, is a dead end. Anyone living on Dinwiddie who wanted to leave the area would almost certainly take Dinwiddie straight to its intersection with North Highland Avenue, which is where I was parked at six o’clock that night. I was a little ways back from the intersection, under some trees which, along with the early-evening darkness, did a good job of keeping any causal observers from noticing me.
That first night, there was no sign of the black Camaro. Must have been a heavy homework night for Razor. There weren’t many other vehicles in sight either. After dark, there’s not much movement of any kind in gang neighborhoods.
Around eight o’clock, I got out of my car and walked to the mini-mart at the intersection and used the bathroom before buying a cup of really bad coffee and a surprisingly good ham and cheese sandwich. I ate
