The Vigilantes Part 21

"Yes, ma'am. I'm aware of that. How did it happen?"

"He was doing bad. Long time. He had it coming."

"Because he beat you? You did say he's responsible for the bruises on your body."

She looked at him oddly. "I don't understand."

"Did you kill him?"

"No! I told that first cop that!"

"Okay, then how did it happen, Ms. Mays?"

"I guess that bullet killed him."

Payne exhaled audibly. "Okay, let's start from the beginning. Who had the gun?"

"A delivery guy. He come in with Kendrik's paper. That paper I had that the cop took?"

"The Wanted sheet?"

"Yeah, that's it. He come in and-No, wait. First he say he got a check for Kendrik. And when I let him in, he give me the paper. The sheet. Said there was no check."

"This began at what time?"

She c.o.c.ked her head. "Time? This morning, all I know. Ain't no clocks in a crack house!"

Payne nodded as he wrote that on his notepad and thought, Right. Right.

If something's not nailed down, it's sold for drugs.

My G.o.d, what a way to live.

"What did this guy look like? And was he alone, anyone else in the house?"

"Just him. Old white guy, maybe my age. Tall. Kinda skinny."

Payne wrote that down and asked, "He give you a name? You ever see him before?"

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "I think Kendrik did something bad to this guy. Or maybe to his family. Robbery, rape, something. Once my boy got in the drugs, he was no good."

Payne noted that on his pad, then said, "This old white guy your age-anything unusual about him? Anything at all special or different you remember about him?"

She thought about that for a moment. Then she grinned.

"He give me money. A hundred dollars, he did! How many times that that going to happen? Some white guy come in your house and give you a hundred dollars, then tell you how to get going to happen? Some white guy come in your house and give you a hundred dollars, then tell you how to get ten thousand ten thousand more!" more!"

She's almost giddy.

The sugar must really be kicking in.

She squinted her eyes at Payne and wagged her right index finger at him. "And I want my reward!"

"This man had a gun?"

She looked at Payne with an expression that suggested he was nuts. "How else Kendrik get shot? Had to! I never saw it. But it made a loud noise. Sounded like a cannon boom in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"That's where Kendrik was shot, in the bas.e.m.e.nt? Do we have your permission to go through it and search your whole house?"

She nodded, then snickered. "If you want. Sure. Just try not to make a mess." She looked at Payne and said, her tone flat, "That was a joke."

Now she's feeling so good she's a d.a.m.n comedienne.

Payne nodded, then said, "You do know it's against the law to tamper with the scene of a crime, remove or otherwise alter evidence?"

She shrugged.

Payne raised an eyebrow, then went on: "Okay, do you know the cabbie who helped you?"

She shook her head. "No. He just the first one who'd help me. Had to walk four blocks till I found him on Reed Street. Only charged me twenty bucks. Said he was sorry for me but glad to see Kendrik got what he deserved. n.o.body liked that boy."

Payne wrote that as he asked, "And this cabbie helped you do what?"

"He's a really big guy. He took that rug and rolled Kendrik up in it, then carried him to the car."

"Ms. Mays, that's the tampering with evidence I'm referring to. You should've called 911 and-"

She laughed. "Call 911? What? I ain't got no phone. And I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't call no police if I did."

Payne stared at her.

Amazing. You get beat to h.e.l.l and back, someone blows away your son in your bas.e.m.e.nt, but whatever you do, don't call the good guys. . . .

He went on: "Are you also aware it's against the law to harbor a fugitive?"

"Harbor?"

"Let him live with you."

She sat up in the chair, puffed up her chest, and in as loud and angry a voice as she could muster said, "I didn't let let him live with me! I throwed him out over and over. But he come back. And when I try throwing him out again, after he been in jail, that's when he beat me really bad. What can I do? I got no money to move out, so I just deal with it all . . ." Her voice trailed off. She reached for the soda bottle and drained it. him live with me! I throwed him out over and over. But he come back. And when I try throwing him out again, after he been in jail, that's when he beat me really bad. What can I do? I got no money to move out, so I just deal with it all . . ." Her voice trailed off. She reached for the soda bottle and drained it.

Then she crossed her arms and glared at Payne. "I want my reward!"

Payne looked back at her, then glanced at his watch and said to the recorder, "Interview paused at one-forty P.M."

He stood, stuck his notepad in his pocket, and said, "I'll be right back."

He left the handcuff off her but, using the sliding bolt, locked the interview room door from the outside.

Only Jason Washington was in the small observation room when Payne entered.

"The minute you got her permission," Washington said, his deep, sonorous voice answering the unasked question, "Tony went to get a Search and Seizure warrant signed by the judge and sent the Crime Lab to her house."

"If that house is anything like its resident, I doubt we're going to get anything of real use. Other than maybe a bullet fragment. The shooter probably collected his sh.e.l.l casings."

Washington nodded and said, "You're probably correct, Matthew. But you know to 'never say never.'"

"And 'always check the rock under the rock,'" Payne said with a smile, citing Washington's well-known rule of thumb for conducting thorough investigations.

"I learned you well, Young Matthew," Washington said mock-seriously.

Payne looked at Shauna Mays through the window and parroted her: "'I want my reward.'"

Washington chuckled, but then in a serious tone said, "And she should get it, considering the h.e.l.l she went through."

Payne looked at him, then back at her.

After a long moment he said, "Jason, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"She didn't do it," Washington immediately answered. "She's arguably guilty of a whole host of other mistakes in life. But murder isn't one of them. And after one look at her physical condition, the DA isn't going to go after her for harboring a fugitive."

Payne nodded. "We could throw tampering with evidence charges at her, or even accessory to murder. But why?"

"I doubt the DA would press charges if they caught her jaywalking," Washington said. "We'll hold her till we see what, if anything, they find at the scene. Then let her loose to collect her reward."

They looked at her again.

After a moment Payne said coldly, "I'm betting this won't be the last we hear of Shauna Mays. And not alive."

"Great minds follow similar paths, Matthew. I agree. There're ten thousand reasons why."

"The whole 'hood will be after her money."

Matt Payne then felt his phone vibrating again. When he pulled it out, he saw the call was from the same number as the call he'd ignored earlier.

He looked at Washington, shrugged, and said, "Excuse me." He answered it: "Payne."

After a moment he said, "Hold on," then hit the SPEAKERPHONE key.

"You still there, Sergeant Payne?" Javier Iglesia's voice came over the speaker.

"Yeah, Javier," Payne said. "I'm here with Lieutenant Jason Washington-"

"Hey, Lieutenant," Javier interrupted. "Haven't seen you in quite a while."

"How are you, Javier?" Washington asked.

"Not real good. I was just telling Sergeant Payne that I'm near my home in Kingsessing-southwest Philadelphia?"

"We know it," Payne said. "What's this you just said about a Princ.i.p.al Bazelon being murdered?"

"We got the call from Twelfth District this morning that she'd died in her sleep," Iglesia began. "But I just found out she really died during a home invasion by a really bad dude named Xpress Jones . . ."

[image]

". . . and now part of that crowd is taking Xpress down to collect that ten-grand reward," Iglesia finished some five minutes later. "It being a homicide and all, I thought you'd want to be the ones who grabbed him."

"Give me this animal's name again, Javier," Payne said, pulling out his notepad and flipping to a clean page.

"Xpress Smith. Xavier Xavier Smith, aka Xpress. Black male, twenty-four." Smith, aka Xpress. Black male, twenty-four."

Payne wrote it down. "Okay. Got it. Any unusual features to look for to ID him?"

Javier snorted. "Other than being attached to an angry mob of wannabe g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers? And the ten-g price tag on his head? Don't worry, Sergeant. You can't miss him. Xpress is pretty messed up."

"Thanks, Javier. We've already got someone down there. I'll give him a heads-up."

"Later," Javier said.

Payne broke the connection, then slipped the cell phone back in the left front pocket of his pants.

Matt Payne looked at Jason Washington and said, "So we have a mother bringing in her dead son, and now we have street-justice punks cashing in a really bad guy? And those first eight pop-and-drops. Killadelphia, Killadelphia, indeed. The vigilantes-and now we know there's at least one-are everywhere. Worse, I'm beginning to think Operation Clean Sweep has been commandeered by Five-Eff." indeed. The vigilantes-and now we know there's at least one-are everywhere. Worse, I'm beginning to think Operation Clean Sweep has been commandeered by Five-Eff."

"Well, Francis Fuller's reward system is certainly superior to ours in attracting attention," Washington said. "To start with, he's not a cop. And, as we well know, n.o.body on the street wants to talk to cops."

Payne grunted.

He said, "Carlucci is really going to blow his cork when he hears about the street vigilantes turning in this thug and that Kendrik's doer is still loose and, we can presume, still active. Next time you see my head, it'll probably be on a platter."

Payne looked at Washington a long moment, then sighed. He said, "You're smarter than I am, Jason. What the h.e.l.l do I do next?"

"Applying for the monastery ever cross your mind?"

[THREE].

Jefferson and Mascher Streets, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 1:55 P.M.

"Bobby, what the h.e.l.l does five f.u.c.king minutes matter?" Thomas "Little Tommie" Turco glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch and anxiously tapped his steel-toed work boot. "The permit says two o'clock start time. We're wasting daylight, not to mention burning rental money. Go on and swing it."

Puffing on a stub of a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth, the bulky, thirty-eight-year-old Turco-who was anything but little-stood on the step outside the cab of a red-and-white Link-Belt crane he'd rented two hours earlier. A weathered cardboard sign, cut somewhat square, was taped to the door of the cab. It was poorly hand-lettered with a black permanent-ink marker: TURCO DEMOLITION & EXCAVATION. NOT FOR HIRE. UNDER CONTRACT WITH CITY OF PHILA HUD.

"You got it, boss," said Bobby "the Ballbuster" Bucco, who was sitting at the controls. He fired up the Link-Belt's diesel engine.

Little Tommie then gave a thumbs-up to Jimmy "Dirtball" Turco. His cousin was at the controls of a ma.s.sive Caterpillar D3K bulldozer that sat next to a pair of Bobcats with front-end loading buckets and a line of five heavy-duty dump trucks waiting to haul away debris. The bright yellow, nine-ton dozer roared to life. Then its twin tracks and giant front blade began kicking up clouds of dust as the dozer started pushing into piles the scattered, busted debris of the onetime residential neighborhood.