make sure it was still there. Garlan wondered why they stopped on the steps of the library rather than usher him to a squad car, then he spied the cameras approaching.
'You ever get a new ride?' Cantrell asked.
'No, waiting on insurance.'
'How you get here then?'
'Walk.'
'Must be quite the letdown, going from such a fine ride to hitting the bricks.'
'It's all right.' Garlan only addressed Cantrell.
'Easy come, easy go. Must be nice to have it like that,' Lee said.
'Something like that,' Garlan said.
'Word on the street has it that you been running with Dred's crew now.'
'Yeah?'
'Yeah. 'Cept the ways we hear it, folks in Dred's crew have been having an unexpectedly short life span.'
'What some folks would consider high insurance risks.'
'So who put my name in they mouth?'
'Another witness,' Lee said, getting half a hardon at the thought of Omarosa. Or maybe it was the thrill of interrogating someone, not in the box, but in the street. 'Same one that told us we could probably catch up with you here.'
'Yeah?'
'Yeah. Old habits and all.' Lee loved getting up in people's shit.
'What's that mean?' Garlan asked.
'Who is it they say he run with?' Lee asked.
'Noles and Melle. Long rap sheets on both of them. Not so much you,' Cantrell said.
'Like you invisible or something.' Lee smirked with an all-too-knowing grin. He received a momentary eye-flick of acknowledgment on that one.
'Either he's good or ain't been caught,' Cantrell said. 'Or innocent.'
'Shit.' Lee couldn't help himself. 'Ain't an innocent thing in or on that body of yours.'
'Anyway.' Cantrell tossed him a hard eye then glanced at the cameras. 'You hear what happened to Melle?'
'Yeah. I heard about that. That was some nasty shit,' Garlan said.
'You ain't too broken up about it.'
'We weren't exactly close.'
'No crew love for your boy?' Lee asked.
'He was too wild, man. Always into some shit.'
'I see,' Cantrell noted. 'What about Robert Ither, Bartholamew DiGora, and Preston Wilcox? You might know them as Naptown Red, Fathead, and Prez.'
'I know Red. Not sure about them other two.'
'So you ain't heard.'
'Talk on it.'
'Brothers went down wet.'
Cantrell considered himself a detective, not a leader, despite the work he did in the community. Captain Burke constantly reprimanded him for clinging to that old saw, calling him afraid to lean into his gifts. Afraid might have been too strong. Most times he preferred the puzzles of detective work. Being behind the scenes and away from the politics and bureaucracy… despite being a natural politician who played bureaucracies like a fiddle. People were complex, but for all of their complexity they were simple at their core. Or there were certain things a person could count on. Like the look of genuine surprise that registered briefly on Garlan's face at the news of Naptown Red's death. He could almost spot the wheels turning as he puzzled out who could've done it and why.
'The scene was a real mess. Prez got off the easiest. Simple bullet to the brain. One tap, real close. Naptown Red, he put up a fight. Got some shots off, then it looks like someone stabbed him in the heart. But Fathead? Someone did a job on him. Took their time, too. His head took such a beating his own momma wouldn't recognize him. They pumpkinheaded him. And I get that you don't need shit to come back on you. I know they weren't your boys or nothing, but you got any thoughts on who might've done this?'
'Why you asking me?'
'I got this theory. It says that Dred has been stirring up things. Flexing a little, getting a feel for how much juice his name carried. That got him bumping up against Black and his set. Stuff goes back and forth like this stuff do. Then things get taken to the next level. Lyonessa gets caught up. Don't know who gave the order or who carried it out. We do have a vehicle description that vaguely matches your ride. But that's neither here nor there because it's been torched beyond recognition. As you know, it doesn't matter what we think, it's about what we can prove. But… someone out there must have a suspicious mind, cause they went after Melle. Probably got Noles on a shortlist, too. What I can't quite figure out is if the same person went after Red and 'em, changing up their methods, or if that was someone else tying up loose ends. You got any thoughts on that?'
'Nah, man…' Garlan trailed off.
'Cause if you do, we'd be all ears. That's why we having this civil conversation. Out here, in front of all kinds of passers by.' Cantrell tipped his hat to a sister eyeing them from the sidewalk. 'Not taking you in or busting up your routine. Just giving you something to think about.'
'A friendly warning,' he said.
'Cause someone's hunting your crew.'
'I said I don't know nothing,' Garlan yelled loud enough for any curious ears to hear.
'Well, if you do,' Cantrell began to hand him a card, but Garlan turned down the block and stepped off in a huff.
'What you think?'
'Evil is rare, but stupid is everyday,' Cantrell said.
'That so?'
'He's a ghetto nihilist. Life don't mean anything to him. Any of them. They got no reason to value it… Now they done gone and killed somebody. Part of them dead too.'
'You ought to become a philosopher.'
'I got nothing out here and I'm too old to start over.'
'I ain't mad at you. It's a color thing, I got that,' Lee said.
'You're my forty acres and a jackass,' Cantrell said.
'I'm trying to relate to you… my brother. And all you got for me is names. It ain't your fault some politicians need to feel better about their beaner nannies and gardeners and decide to force a rainbow coalition on your behalf.'
Life pressed in on Garlan from all sides. Everywhere he turned, there were crossroads, each folding in on itself like a Gordian knot. In charge of a few knuckleheads, overseeing a corner or two, he enjoyed a comfortable spot with Dred. A little money coming through, set him up nice. Some wheels too, though he had to ditch them with Five-O on the hunt for them. But a car could be replaced; freedom couldn't. And he had no interest in being locked up.
All the death haunted him, however. Each body a new weight on his conscience and it wasn't as if he had nothing but time to pass in a prison yard. He knew Rok from back in the day, but he got caught up in that Colvin mess and being between a player like Colvin and Dred and King was a bad place to find oneself in.
Then Noles and Melle and that business with the little girl. That kind of drama would have po-po in his Kool- Aid forever or until they found someone to put it on. Catch a young black buck like The Boars, get him in the back seat of a sheriff's car, and he get mysteriously shot with them claiming suicide or some shit. Po-po notwithstanding, the hood was hot, jumping with pissed-off Mexicans and brothers alike. Shit, it was barely safe to walk down the street of his own hood.
Which was how he found himself in Broad Ripple. On a Thursday night, the strip hopped as college kids crawled from bar to bar in a press of bodies and a good-time vibe. The lights of the Vogue flashed with a spotlight's glare. Live bands came through on a regular basis: Madonna's Abortion, The Chosen Few, Saving Abel, The Why
