than others. But any community, given enough time, builds its share of issues. We have the luxury of letting time heal those wounds, if we allow it.'
Rellik met Wayne's eyes. Dred's did not meet King's.
'Five-O ain't ever off the clock. When you know a cop to not be a cop?' Colvin asked.
'He's here because I can work with him.'
'You saying you trust him?' Rellik pointed a halfchewed leg bone at King.
'I didn't say all that.' King stopped short of vouching for him. That was a weight he didn't need. 'He's still police. And they crawl all up in your Kool Aid whenever there's a body. How does business go then?'
'So what are you proposing? A co-op? You want to get your hands dirty now?' Dred asked.
'No. I'm here strictly to represent the community. Me, Pastor Winburn, Cantrell, we the community.'
It all came down to power. Rellik had power. Dred had power. Colvin had power. They gripped people's hearts and imagination. And they held the boogeyman fright, the monster in the closet or under the bed. Their stranglehold over the neighborhood propelled him.
'And what? We the parasites you trying to get rid of?' Dred continued.
Yes. King wiped his mouth with his napkin. 'You aren't going anywhere. So we need to find a way to coexist.'
'Or what? You come at us with your golden gat?' Colvin asked. 'Yeah, I've heard about you, too.'
'No. We mediate. Me, Pastor Winburn, and Cantrell. An impartial board to hear disputes.'
'So all power runs through you?' Dred asked.
'You all have the power. Life and death in your hands. Every day you grind brings life and death into the community. I want us to dream bigger. To take better care of our community. And I think this is the first step.'
Mulysa stretched his short, stocky body out of the uncomfortable Victorian-era chair. There were plenty of snacks and pop to be had, but nothing approaching the smells emanating from the other room. The pastor and that gay-ass detective talked their talk about community and trying to 'connect' with them. That might work on some of the young uns. The Boars and Rok actually listened with something close to attention. Tristan stood off to the side, acting like she wasn't paying attention, but she took it all in. That was her way. He noticed that played-out fool Naptown Red sidled towards him as if he was slick.
'You Mulysa. Colvin's boy,' Red said. There was an ugliness to his face, his dry skin accentuating the splotches along his face. His brittle-straight hair was in desperate need of a wash.
'Yeah, nukka,' Mulysa said. 'But I ain't no one's boy.'
'I didn't say you his bitch… though he do treat you like one.'
'You need to get out of my face or parlay or no parlay…'
Red put his hands up in an 'OK, OK' gesture of backing off. 'I'm just saying, I know talent when I see it. And know how to appreciate it.'
Mulysa didn't say anything, but didn't turn and leave either.
'You know what you are to Colvin, don't you? Him and his half-white self. The blood of our oppression's thick in his veins. You know what you are to him?'
'I'm his nukka.'
'You need to say I right. Nigger.' Red's blood shot gaze held Mulysa's thickly vesseled eyes. His words carried an intensity, a truth, like the japes of a court jester. A weight Mulysa couldn't ignore.
'Nigga.'
'Nig. Ger. Say it like it means something. Like it has the sting of history behind it.'
'Nigger.'
'Louder.'
'Nigger!'
Tristan turned to him, her hand at the ready, a reflex itchy to wield her blades though she had left them in the car. Pastor Winburn and Cantrell raised up to see if there was any trouble. Red waved them off.
'Yeah, motherfucker. You just another nigger up in this piece. Ain't no American dream for you. Ain't no two point five kids, a car, a house, or a dog called Muffy. You a nigger.'
'A nigger.' Mulysa knew. He always knew.
'A nigger who can't find no straight work. Who can't pay his bills. Who didn't finish school. No-account, no- hope-having nigger. Don't you forget that shit. When you ready to be appreciated, you come look me up.'
'So what do you want from us?' Rellik pushed his plate from him, unable to eat another bite. They all had their part to play and Rellik couldn't help but think that his part was about up. This was King's game now.
'I just want you to think on it. Get up with me later.'
'The way I see it, this here arrangement don't benefit me no how.' Colvin said without defiance or bravado, but with a matter-of-fact plainness. 'You said it yourself: ICU the strongest. We got our own connect. We got our own muscle. We don't need y'all. No disrespect. I don't want to step on your business, but we just going to go ahead and do our own thing.'
Colvin pushed away from the table. King also rose, out of respect, not threat. Merle opened the door for him.
'Mulysa, come on. We out,' Colvin barked.
'Sit, Mulysa, sit. Good dog,' Naptown Red stagewhispered.
Tristan and Mulysa attended him, trailed by Broyn. Mulysa caught Red's eye one last time. Tristan slipped one of Pastor Winburn's cards into her pocket.
'Anyone else?' King hid his disappointment.
'I'm not committing to nothing, but Colvin raises a point. What's in it for us?' Rellik asked.
'Peace.'
'So what, we carve up the city like we Churchill, Truman, and Stalin?' Dred asked. The implication was dirtier than King wanted to imagine. He was giving assent to their trade. Conceding the war for the sake of security. Dred's eyes seemed to dare him to cross a line.
'You already have your territories, Dred. You work that out in the spirit of cooperation. We will mediate disputes and hold the line.'
'And if one of us goes rogue?' Rellik stared at Colvin's vacated seat.
'If they cross the line, we go after them,' King said.
'So the crown rests on you after all,' Dred said.
'All I want is peace.'
'King's peace.'
Merle summoned the fey folk to clear the dishes and bring the desserts. The room fell to silence, creating an intimacy no one wanted, and worse, most feared. Nothing broke the stilled conversation except for the sound of Wayne eating.
'So what is this? Warning or wake?' Merle whispered.
'Both,' King said. 'If we play things right, we may manage to get enough time to clean up this mess.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The triple homicide hadn't grown cold, but Lee and Cantrell were out of active leads and had worked other cases in the meantime. They'd put down a body dump at Eagle Creek, originally ruled a suicide until a contact of Lee's steered them toward a boyfriend who was screwing around with his gun and accidentally shot his girlfriend. They put down a case of a Hispanic male shot at the Eagle Terrace apartments. Turned out he was beefing with another dude over the attentions of a prostitute. A tip from Lee's confidential informant put them on the hunt for one Rondell Cheldric, aka Mulysa. Cute, Cantrell thought, 'Asylum' spelled backwards. They were obviously dealing with a clever knucklehead.
Cantrell and Lee weren't friends. They weren't even partners, not in any real sense. They simply shared a vehicle. Lee was like the person Cantrell got stuck with on a long flight, the chatty kind who asked too many questions, didn't especially care about his answers, mostly loving the sound of their own voice. Ironically, it was Lee who preferred to ride alone, whereas Cantrell reveled in the idea of a partner. He longed for the company and
