11
“My baby! They killed my baby!”
By the time Jack reached the muscle car it was parked out in front of one of the tenement houses. The ambulance sat in the middle of the street, its red strobe flickering, curious neighbors spilling from their homes to see what the commotion was.
The paramedics were already rolling a gurney out a doorway, the small body on it covered with a sheet.
Jack checked the address. It was Jamal Thomas’s apartment.
An emaciated but not unattractive woman in her early forties stood on the sidewalk, her arms stretched toward the gurney, her face twisted in agony as Leon held her back.
“My baby!” she cried, her high, shrill voice full of raw emotion. “Why did they kill my baby?”
She tried to wriggle away but Leon held tight, his own face slack with shock and grief as he stared at the gurney, tears running down his cheeks. The other kids stood around him, open-mouthed, looking much more like children than gangstas, their bravado overwhelmed by the tragedy of the moment.
Jack quickly assessed the scene, and as the paramedics reached the rear of the ambulance he approached the one nearest the doors and showed him his GNT credentials. “What happened here?”
The paramedic waved him away. “Stay clear.”
“Have the police been notified?”
“Soon as we got the call.”
“What’s the C-O-D? Was he shot?”
The guy hesitated, as though sizing Jack up; he seemed to decide it might not be a bad idea to keep a potential ally on hand.
The EMT shook his head. “Overdose.”
“Like hell!” Leon shouted, gently passing the crying woman into the arms of one of his friends. “I already told you, Jamal wasn’t no junkie!”
“Okay, man, take it easy,” the paramedic said.
“Yo, man, that’s not good enough,” Leon snarled. He drew a Glock from the back of his waistband and crossed the sidewalk. “You take it back! You apologize to my mother!”
“I’m sorry!” the young man said. “I take it back!”
The other EMT had stopped moving the gurney. He edged behind the ambulance. Jack positioned himself between Leon and the other paramedic.
“Leon, listen to me-put away the gun,” Jack said. “I want to find out who did this but we need to talk. ”
“The cops did this. That’s who killed my brother.”
“How do you know? Do you have any names, descriptions? Are there any witnesses?”
Jack couldn’t make a grab for the Glock. Leon’s finger was on the trigger, and though they were backing off, moving behind cars, there were too many people standing around to risk an accidental discharge. Instead, Jack ignored the gun. He’d had weapons pointed at him before, and they were never the threat. The man holding it was. If Jack stayed calm, chances were fifty-fifty he could talk Leon down. Or at least delay him until his mother realized what was happening.
Jack looked into Leon’s eyes and held them. They were bloodred in the flashing light of the ambulance, still clouded with tears.
“Talk to me, Leon,” he said calmly.
“The cops,” he said, sobbing but still pointing the gun. “They came in our house and put Jamal down like a dyin’ dog.”
“If we’re going to prove that, I need details,” Jack said.
“Man, you need to go away!” one of the kids shouted.
“Me, too?” came a voice from the middle of the street.
They all looked over as Maxine came walking from out of the darkness. If she wasn’t exactly an angel, she was the closest thing Jack had ever seen.
“This is my associate Maxine,” Jack said. “You saw her in the car. Remember?”
Leon kept the gun on Jack while he looked at Max. “Yeah.”
“Leon, if you want to show your brother respect, then let the paramedics do their job while we go inside and have a nice calm conversation,” she said. “Think you can manage that?”
Leon looked at her. Then, choking back a sob, he wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his gun hand. He nodded.
“Great,” she said.
The apartment was a cluttered, two-bedroom disaster in serious need of a handyman. Cracked ceiling. Dents and scuff marks on the walls. A battered oven in the small kitchenette with its door hanging lopsided, probably unused for months.
From the looks of things, Juanita Thomas wasn’t much of a housekeeper, and judging by the drug paraphernalia scattered across the worn coffee table, she wasn’t much of a mother, either.
Jack and Maxine exchanged looks the moment they entered the place. Max’s expression said, See, I warned you. Jack’s replied, Did I say I doubted you?
But he wasn’t here to judge anyone, just to get information. It took Max a little more persuasion to get Leon to sit down with them-minus his gang-but the kid finally came around. In fact, now that his rage had given way to sadness, now that he didn’t have to put on a tough-guy show for the gang, he seemed grateful to have someone to talk to.
As they entered, Leon escorted his mother into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Jack and Max were silent as they waited, Jack feeling the walls of this depressing dump close in on him. He caught Max flash a look at the water stain on the ceiling, the dark, mildewed rot around it.
“You made it out,” Jack said in a voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t your life anymore.”
“But it’s theirs,” she said sadly.
There was no disputing that. Jack was trying to imagine where Mrs. Thomas got Leon’s bail money. Either she had the cash on hand for drugs, got it from selling drugs, or went into hock with a pusher who would have her on her back till it was paid back with interest. Or maybe Leon would knock over a 7-Eleven. Roll some tourists on Market Street. There were all kinds of opportunities for people who had nothing to lose.
A moment later Leon came back out. “I gave her medicine to calm her down,” he said. “She needs to sleep.”
They didn’t ask what he had given her. They didn’t have to.
“What about you?” Max asked. “You feeling any calmer now?”
Leon dropped into a threadbare armchair and lowered his head slightly, trying to hide the tears that were forming again.
These guys are always different when you get them alone, away from their posse, Jack thought. The tough talk, the gestures-it was all for show, like a peacock fanning its tail feathers to seem bigger.
“He was just a stupid runt,” Leon said. “Never hurt anybody. Not even-”
Leon stopped himself.
“Not even the guy he was supposed to pop on the Tenderloin?” Jack asked.
Leon looked up sharply. “A dude gotta know how to survive,” he said. “Off this block, another thug’s turf, you choke, you dead.”
“Did you see what happened that night?” Jack asked.
Leon didn’t answer.
“You stopped at a light,” Jack prompted. “That’s how it’s done, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened then?” Max asked.
