The dim yellowish translucent light from the streetlamp shifted over of the curves of a woman’s figure lying face up on the wet piles of leaves. The large rain drops loudly drummed against the metal roof of the bus station. The chief was out investigating the shooting of another known drug dealer. Since the last of the Walker and Moore family were sent to prison, the violence slowly died down. However, tonight in the alley behind the Greyhound bus station, someone left the dead bodies of a local crack dealer and a prostitute. While Frontier ‘Stretch’ Bates, an out of town drug dealer sold Ginny Gilbert, a known local prostitute a few rocks of crack, someone silently gunned them down. Only the night owl that occupied the steeple of the church next door witnessed the crime.
The chief watched as Manny Ross took the man and woman's fingerprints. Officer Steadman searched the area for any evidence they could use. ‘Chief, it looks like Gilbert got it first while she was giving Stretch a blowjob right here,’ The tall man kneeled down and carefully picked up the blood stained glass crack pipe and small purse with his gloved hand and placed them into the evidence bags. Standing back up, he pointed up the alley and continued, ‘And then, they shot Stretch as he ran toward his car on Ashford Street.’
Manny finished taking the prints from the bodies and reached into the young man’s back pocket. Retrieving his wallet, he thumbed through the stack of cash inside. ‘Well, chief, we know it was not robbery because he still has over ninety dollars in his wallet. His driver license has a Selma address. Wonder why he drove twenty six miles to sell crack and get a blow job?’ He tossed the wallet into the waiting evidence bag.
After receiving and sealing all of the evidence bags, Chief Hogan placed them inside the clear evidence box inside his trunk. He replied, ‘I am not going to worry about it. Right now, my main concerns are who shot these two, and if there were any witnesses.’ He stepped into the SUV and headed for the office. Later after logging the evidence, the tired chief walked to the front door of the police station. Stopping to say good night to Officer King, he left for the day to go home to his wife.
The drive to West Lafayette and Craig Drive took only twelve minutes. The chief SUV slowly pulled into the driveway. As he came closer to his home, he noticed a figure leaning over the wooden fence surrounding his rose bush. The figure cut one of the stems with a knife and placed it into the collar of his suit jacket. Grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat, he exited the SUV and walked over to the figure. ‘I wonder why that motherfucker would stand there and cut my fucking roses without asking me. He does not know me that well,’ the chief thought to himself. Checking his temper, he moved closer and realized it was Randall Essex, an ex dope user that somehow made a complete turn around.
‘I saw you leave your favorite hiding spot, Detective.’ His voice shook trying to restrain his laughter. I couldn't tell if you were spying on me or getting busy with Stacey again. The latter, I hope.’ the man laughed and walked by the angry chief and shot him a deep stare. Their eyes never wandered from each other. ‘So, what the hell were you doing on my property, Detective?’
The chief stopped and placed his briefcase on the ground and stared at him ‘Look, bitch, don’t try to play tough with me. I’ve cut you and your fat ass wife a lot of slack since you are my brother in law. I could have busted you a long time ago, but anyway; could you tell me who the guy was driving the Bentley. I believe he was wearing the dark brown wind breaker.’ He continued to stare at Randall. His hands were now buried in his pants pockets; he pulled out small mug shot. ‘Was that him?’ He pushed the picture into Randall’s extended hands.
Randall looked at the picture. It was Scott McLean, an enforcer for Frank Riggers. He replied, ‘Nah, but why? Who is he anyway and what did he do?’ He was not going to let the chief know the truth because he heard how ruthless this drug dealer could be and he did not want to see the chief hurt.
‘Nothing, this is just part of an ongoing police investigation. I really can not talk about it.’ The chief reached down and picked up his briefcase. ‘So, you’ve been inside to say hi to Martha?’
‘Not without police protection,’ Randall replied as the two men walked inside the one story ranch style home. Stephen married Martha Essex in 1986. Three years later, they bought this home on West Lafayette. The house needed a lot of work because it was old and sat abandon for years. However after years of loving care, it developed into one of the show homes for the annual parade of home.
Stephen walked through the opened screen door into the front room. ‘Hi, honey I am home.’ An over weight black and white beagle slowly stumbles into the hallway.
‘Woof, Woof’ Honey barks excitedly and wags her tail. ‘Woof, Woof,’ the sound of her bark echoes through the house. By this time, Martha saunters into the front room from the den and kissed Stephen on the lips. ‘Hi, Stephen, I am glad you made it home safe, but you could have left the trash on the curb. I told you I do not want that bastard in this house.’ She folded her arms and stared at Randall.
‘Well, I love you too, sis.’ Randall replied.
‘You what, she screamed and continued, ‘Fool, If you loved me you would not do what you do. You sell drugs and everyone knows it, Randall.’ She stomped her foot and continued, ‘My husband is police chief. How do you think that makes him look?’ Turning to her husband, she demanded, ‘I do not want him in this house, Stephen.’ Angry, Martha stormed out of the room. The beagle follows closely behind, ‘Woof, Woof’, her voice resounded as if to comment on what she said. ‘Get Out, Get Out,’ Honey barked
‘Man, I am sorry about that,’ the embarrassed chief replied. The two men stepped out on the porch.
‘Man, don’t worry about it.’ Randall walked down the stairs. ‘At least she’s speaking to me and not throwing things like she did at the family reunion. Remember, she tried to hit me with the cake and hit Big Mama instead. That was funny.’
Stepping off the porch, Stephen stood next to Randall and whispered, ‘Look, I need you to get a message to the person that killed that crack dealer. Next time, dump the body outside of my jurisdiction.’
Randall shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and fumbled with his car keys, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, but I will put the message out.’ He shook the extended hand of Stephen and walked down the driveway. Turned onto West Lafayette, he walked three miles back to Pickens Hill. It was still early and no one was around the fire pit as Randall walked down Jackson towards Pickens. A few moments later, he entered Bobbie’s trailer. The couple still uses it as a place to sell their weed and control the drug traffic on the hill. ‘Where is Justice,’ he asked Bobbie.
She was bagging some more weed into half ounce sacks. Stopping for a moment and reaching for the pack of Newport’s on the table, she replied, ‘I think she is at the house, Randall. Do you want me to call up there to see,’ she asked.
‘Nah, I’ll walk up there. I will be back before things get jumping. Will you be okay?’ Randall knew no one would mess with her but he had to ask anyway.
Placing the loaded Smith and Wesson forty-five caliber handgun on the table, she stated, ‘Go take care of business, boss. Me and Old Bessie will handle this.’