'Can't you do something about him?' Rellik asked.
His irritation at Merle reminded King of Wayne. Only then did he realize that he was about to mount a campaign and none of his most trusted people were with him. Wayne was tied up with Outreach Inc. who knew where Lott and Lady G were. Even Percy was nowhere to be found. Only Merle stood by him. The empty seats at the table mocked him. King bridged his fingers in front of him as Dred and Rellik spoke. He'd been so tired lately, so off his game, his mind harried and soft. He didn't know Rellik and certainly didn't trust Dred. However, matters of mutual self-interest bound them to him.
'He's right. Colvin's doing what he loves. There's no talking to him,' Dred pushed. King felt like he was leading him. There was always the trap of the precipice with his words.
'What you fittin' to do? Make a citizen's arrest?' Rellik asked.
'We stop him.' King didn't know what he meant, what all he was willing to do. He had to walk lightly between being a snitch and needing police involvement. But Merle was right, Colvin was above their pay grade. It was the same reason they would have to face Colvin themselves, not send in their soldiers.
Dred pounced on the opening. 'King's right. We aren't peaceable people. We fight for it. We take it. It's over.'
'You hood as fuck, man,' Rellik said. 'That's your answer to everything.'
'What say you, O Prince of Nap?' Dred said with a hint of contempt.
'Careful now,' Merle said, though to King or to Dred no one was sure.
'Heavy be the head,' Dred said, a serpent whispering into King's ear. 'Don't grasp after power if you aren't prepared to wield it.'
Rising from his seat, King released the magazine of his Caliburn. Pressing against the spring, he thumbed the top shell then palmed the magazine back into the grip. He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, the grip turned rightward. Easily grasped by his right hand, it felt as natural in his dip as a sword in its scabbard. 'Let's go.'
'That's my young dude.' Dred glanced back to King. 'Time to tool up, son.'
Smoke damaged the brick of the building facade from a fire over a decade ago. The cramped alcove, dark from the broken lights, but not black like the steep stairwells of the Phoenix Apartments, smelled of piss and neglect.
On the tip of Omarosa, they had run Rondell Cheldric, aka 'Mulysa', through the Bureau of Criminal Identification. His sheet ran longer than anything he had presumably read, a litany of assaults, robberies, suspected in three rape cases — he even did a bid on a manslaughter — Mulysa was a keg of dynamite searching for an excuse to blow.
Huddled in the entranceway, the overhang was large enough to hold Lee and Cantrell and the first of the SWAT officers who held the breaching ram. Lee pressed his ear against the door, listening for any sound. Nothing. Cantrell flanked him. His case, his suspect, his bust, Lee would take the door, he told them plainly, not a man to be trifled with when it came to taking doors. Playtime stopped and everyone became strict professionals because taking doors was ten seconds of life or death. Octavia arrived on scene to supervise the take-down.
'Police!' he shouted and his fists thudded against the door. Lee took a deep breath. With his gun aimed at the floor in his right hand, Lee raised his left to count things down. Backing away from the door, they all gave head nods to signal that they were ready.
Three.
Two.
One.
The SWAT officer swung the ram. The door jambs splintered as his momentum carried him through. The men fanned in, eyes darting about. 'Police!'
Taking one step into the foyer, Lee tried to determine if anyone was in the house. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, criss-crossing like sabers. Omarosa said this Mulysa character stayed here. At times there were other squatters, but Mulysa was all about playing well with others and thus was probably alone by now. He had a way of creating messes that came back on him. The commotion continued as the word 'Police' was shouted in the back rooms followed by the response 'Clear!' They trudged through a carpet of fast-food wrappers and animal droppings. Lee grew disgusted that anyone lived here at all. Lee thought he heard something from somewhere in back. A furtive movement by a back window. They cleared the closets leaving only the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was locked.
'You in there?' Lee demanded.
'Yes.'
'Rondell Cheldric?'
'Yes.' The voice sounded calm to the point of sounding rather annoyed.
'Come out. We want to talk to you.'
'Can it wait?'
'No.' Lee glanced at Cantrell with a perturbed, yet 'is this guy for real' expression. Lee kicked in the door, fearing evidence being flushed. Mulysa stood at the sink, unflinching as his door crashed in, standing in front of a cracked mirror daubing a knot under his eye. His dingy clothes gave him the appearance of a postal carrier who did double duty as a trash collector. From the stench, the only evidence flushed needed to be.
'Hands where we can see them,' Lee said.
Mulysa finished wiping his face. Either he was as cool as they came, or just plain stupid. He underestimated how close he came to getting his ticket punched with each uncooperative second.
'Can I help you?' Mulysa asked.
'We got a few questions for you,' Lee said.
'No need for the drama. I would've let you in, but as you can see, I was, um, indisposed.'
'You're coming with us.'
'Sure.' Mulysa had about reached his point. His blood was up after his tussle with Tristan and his head a little murky as he came down from his high. The cloak of civility strained him to breaking.
'We doing this hard or easy?' Lee stepped near to him, protecting himself through intimidation so that he didn't have to use force. Of course, the suspect had to be bright enough to perceive the threat.
'Nothing but easy. I didn't do nothin', so I got nothin' to hide.'
Cantrell knew poor. Since he grew up poor, his heart went out to them even if he stopped short of respecting them. His mother made the best home that she could amid their own squalor. What little they had she took care of: swept her porch, kept pictures on the fridge, ironed their threadbare clothes. Another type of poor deserved their mess. If the corners of the room smelled of piss, the way a shooting gallery would or if food piled up and molded along the counters or floors. Mulysa had been reduced to living like an animal, and didn't seem to much mind. Cantrell rifled through a pile of clothes and overturned couch cushions. A bag jangled as soon as he jostled it.
'Look what I found,' Cantrell chirped, toting a gym bag filled with an assortment of exotic knives. Lee took the machete in his gloved hand, inspecting it.
'Look here, you Uncle Tomming motherfucker,' Mulysa reared with a litany of insults and eyefucks Cantrell had come to expect. 'Them's my bitches.'
'You like big knives?' Lee asked.
'Put her down.'
'Give it a rest, Lee,' Octavia started.
'What's the matter, Rondell?' Lee continued being a shit. Sometimes he couldn't help being such a cop. He ran his hand along the blade, deliberate and slow.
'Don't you touch her.' A strain found its way into Mulysa's voice.
Cantrell rested a meaty hand on Mulysa's shoulder, while he reached for a set of bracelets.
'Oh that's the way it is. You like that, huh?' Lee turned the blade over in his hands, an awkward fondling, antagonizing the twitch in Mulysa's eyes.
'No one touches her but me,' Mulysa said.
'Maybe she doesn't mind stepping out on you.'
'Dirty bitch.'
With a wiry strength that they'd all underestimated, Mulysa easily slipped from Cantrell's grasp. The detective grabbed after him immediately, but the way Mulysa fought, Cantrell suspected he was up on something. Lee grabbed two handfuls of the man's shirt and shoved him into a wall. Despite the awkward angle and purchase,
