hope to use my newfound…' He stumbled for the right word.
'Sensitivity?'
'Yes, thank you,' he continued in his faux-polite manner. 'My newfound sensitivity in order to facilitate others in moving forward in the job.'
In the end, she tolerated her partner's half-acracka antics. Too often a cop's prejudice got the better of him, aimed at the poorest community in which he served. Today it was blacks. Tomorrow he'd forget about blacks and hate Hispanics. 'You're full of shit. And you shouldn't burn through so much coffee. You'll be up and down to piss all night.'
'That's why God created partners. And,' Lee pointed to a man approaching the corner in order to cop, 'why He created junkies too stupid to pick out cops obviously sitting on a corner.'
'Lookie here, lookie here. Poor dumbass Tavon.'
They had set up on Night's crew and had the beginnings of an outline of his organization worked out. They knew about Night who operated out of the Phoenix (all they had on him was a name, which was more than they had on his rival). One of Night's operations, Green's actually, was a red, two-story house known as The Shack, a pea shake house offering neighborhood games similar to Hoosier Lottery's Pick Three or Pick Four games. Since the money didn't flow to the state, they were illegal. Everyone knew it, hustlers, cops, citizens, and politicians, but that activity never led to bodies dropping and lined too many pockets, so a convenient blind eye was turned.
The police currently attempted to get up on Night's lieutenant Green — as high up on the food chain as they had worked — and, right now, Green's boys were doing sloppy work. Probably the reason Green was on the streets as much as he was. The detectives waited because before long someone had to pick up the count. However, Tavon Little provided them an opportunity they couldn't pass up.
Tavon paused on the corner with an eye on the car parked in front of a nearby house. The trunk, left agape while the owner ran stuff into the house, called to him with a sultry seduction, open and inviting. Wiping his mouth, he double-checked to make sure the coast was clear, Tavon hitched up his pants and nonchalantly strode toward the car.
The pair of detectives skulked from their car to intercept him. He veered off his beeline to the trunk like a gazelle who'd picked up the scent of hyenas. Half-throwing his hands up in a 'why me/why now?' declaration, he moved out of sight of his would-be suppliers. The last thing he needed was to be seen with black police old enough to be his mother, and worse, this redneck fool who'd love to see him dangling from a noose. Or a bumper.
'Tay-Von Little.' Octavia started in, emphasizing his name. Conversations were a finesse game and she hoped she had at least imparted that much to her erstwhile colleague. 'Tavon, Tavon, Tavon.'
'Officer Burke.' Tavon shrank against the tall wooden fence separating the prying eyes of neighbors. Burke and McCarrell crowded him. He chewed on a black-tipped fingernail, his bony body retreating further into his grim- stained, one-time-gray hoodie.
'Detective,' she corrected.
'My bad. De-Tec-Tive Burke.' Tavon addressed only her. 'What can I do for you?'
'Just looking for some information. A name really. Someone in Baylon's crew.'
'Baylon's crew? They ain't around here.'
'We know that, Tae. We didn't want to put you in the awkward position of dealing out your hook-up. Every organization has a weak link and if anyone knows about spotting a weak link, it'd be you.'
'I don't know if I can help you, Detective Burke.'
'Tavon, you watch Bugs Bunny cartoons?' Lee grabbed the man's jaw and turned his face to meet his, having grown a little hot about the casual disrespect shown by this bit of junkie trash. He decided he needed to get his attention.
'Yeah.' Tavon muttered through his clenched jaw.
'You remember the ones with the coyote?'
'Yeah, Road Runner.'
'Nah. The other ones, the ones with the sheep dog. You see, every day was the same. The sheep dog and Mr Wile E. Coyote would ride to work together, break for lunch together, but when they were on the clock — you know, once that work whistle blew — it was all business. Coyote would try and steal sheep. The sheep dog would drop an anvil on his head to handle his business.'
'Tavon,' Octavia, picking up on Lee's thread, pointed to him, 'this here's my anvil.'
'A name or maybe I should let you ride up front with me,' Lee said.
'Huh?' Tavon said.
'You know, all cozy like. Take a tour of the corners.'
'No need to go to any trouble.' Tavon raised his hands.
'Let your boys see you riding in style with po-po. Maybe drop you off on one of your favorite corners. How does that sound?'
'Juneteenth Walker. Folks call him Junie,' Tavon said with a quickness.
'Junie? He like folks calling him that?' Octavia asked.
'What's that matter?'
'I'm just saying. His momma, all proud of her beautiful baby boy names him after a black holiday, the celebration of our emancipation, but he turns around and the streets call him Junie. Junie… like he's some kind of bug.'
'That's the point,' Tavon said. 'You don't get to choose your name. Those with power over you name you.'
'That's a fucked-up way of looking at things,' Lee offered.
'It's a fucked-up life.'
'We'll check this out. If you on the level, there'll be something in it for you down the road.'
'This here's America.' Tavon's eyes grew wide with the lucidity spurred by capitalism. 'We believe in credit, but with all of this economic uncertainty — downturns and shit — we also a cash down payment sort of people.'
Octavia fished out a twenty dollar bill. She held it up when he snatched for it. 'Your info better be straight or else my anvil will have an excuse to drop all over you.'
'We're cool.' Tavon grabbed the bill and ducked out of their little enclave before he could be seen.
'What you think?' Octavia asked.
'Be nice to find out where this motherfucker lays his head. Hold on, I got something so that this night's not a total waste.'
Lee pulled some firecrackers out from under the backseat of their car. Octavia rolled her eyes and slipped into the driver's side. Lee tossed the lit firecrackers into some nearby bushes. Watching folks jump into each other's pockets wasn't her idea of entertainment as the touts and lookouts scurried for their covey holes, a few soldiers, hands on weapons, popped their heads out to see what was what. Lee grinned with the glee of a kid kicking over an anthill.
No one knew where Green lived. When folks needed him, they caught up with him on his cell.
His coat hung from a nail lodged in a bullet hole in the wall. A series of cracks in the plaster filigreed his wall. The water-damaged ceiling and floorboards trapped mildew within their spaces, so thick at times, breathing was a chore. Or would be to any but Green. The rest of his place was unfurnished for all intents and purposes. Surrounding a card table were mismatched chairs, from a broken La-Z-Boy to a lawn chair, not that he entertained often. Plywood covered the window creating the darkness of a cave which obscured the stained walls. A bare bulb dangled from the ceiling. Radiators filled the abandoned house though they, too, were long-stilled. From the bathroom came the stench of excrement and urine from a paper-clogged toilet, though the clawfoot bathtub next to it remained bone-dry. No electricity, no gas, no water. Burn marks trailed along the window sills from previous squatters. There was no bed or mattress to be found in the bedroom. For all practical purposes, the room was a walk in the closet, wall-to-wall with suits, coats, shoes, and brims.
Green stood.
'How's business?' Merle asked.
'Steady mobbin'. People always want to get their head up.' Green's voice was dry as kindling. 'What do you want, mage?'
'Can't two old friends share a moment?'
