Chapter 1

 

I was watching an apartment complex. That's what I was being paid to do, I'm a private investigator. My mission was to record the coming and going of an estranged man whose wife believed he was up to no good. I had been watching the apartments off and on for two weeks and had come to know who belonged and who didn't. Up to this point the subject of my surveillance came home from work, went in to his apartment, and stayed there until he left for work the following morning. From what I could tell he was behaving himself. In fact he was boring as hell.

The woman in the apartment above him was a hot to trot blonde and she was rowdy enough for several people, but no one was paying me to keep up with Blondie, which I considered a shame.

I had noticed that the apartment at the far end of the two story strip was occupied by a large impressive black man. I also noticed that the big black man didn't lack company and like the blonde he seemed to be a social creature. Both the blonde and the black were active, but my subject was about as active as a turnip.

I had reported to my client that there didn't appear to be any hanky-panky, but she insisted that I continue on. She was paying so I was staying. I was hoping that I didn't die from sheer boredom.

I knew from watching the apartment that the trash collectors would be coming early the next morning so I made plans to come back during the night and collect my clients husband's trash. I recognize that it's not very noble, but as a rule it's very educational. People have this stupid mindset that if they wad it up and toss it, that it's gone for good. Nothing could be further from the truth. Never, never throw anything away that you don't want the world to know. If it has your name or any identifying numbers, such as account numbers, credit card numbers, bank records, best shred or otherwise destroy it before you toss it.

I arrived back at the apartments about three in the morning. My thinking was that everybody should be in bed by that time. I was right about that. The neighborhood was as quite as a tomb, but I had made one slight miscalculation....none of the trash containers were marked. I didn't know which belonged to the subject of my investigation. Like a good scout I was prepared so I bagged all the trash from each of the six large cans.

There were eight apartments, but two were empty, so I had six large trash bags to search.

I decided to wait until later in the morning, at a civilized hour, to check the trash bags. I took a shower and went to bed. I remember smiling as I drifted off to sleep, wondering what the city trash collector would think when they came to six empty containers.

I got up at the crack of noon and was soon hard at work on the trash bags. I quickly identified the first three by mail that had been carelessly thrown away. The fourth container was not from my subject's apartment, but it was, by far, the most interesting. There were two large photo albums and nine video tapes cassettes. A quick examination of the photo albums aroused my interest. The big black man and apparently some of his black male friends, were photographed in all types of action shots with white women. There was a wide variety of action, twosomes, threesomes and group shots. All were of black men and white women. This type activity is one of my things and I have long recognized that I am a voyeur. I guess all investigators and photographers are voyeurs if they'll admit it. I lay the photos and tapes aside and continued what proved to be a fruitless search of the rest of the trash. My subject had thrown nothing incriminating away, but I wasn't too surprised. I had a suspicion that the poor man was just trying to get away from the woman he had married.

Chapter 2

 

It was Saturday so I decided to go and watch the apartments for a while. My subject was off on weekends so I reasoned that if he was going to do anything it would be today.

Just as I parked my car I saw the big black man come running down the sidewalk from his apartment. He ran to the trash containers and threw off the lids. Empty was not what he apparently wanted to see because he pick up the container and slammed it back to the sidewalk.

I could hear him cussing as he slammed the trash container down again and again. A young black woman came running up to him apparently trying to calm him. He picked her up and slammed her down just like he did the trash container.

Apparently unhurt, she bounced to her feet and attacked him. I got out of the car, not to intervene, but to hear what they were saying. I am not a coward, but when I said this man was big, I mean really big.

"You stupid cunt bitch!" he shouted, slapping her. "You threw away a million bucks and a lot of fine pussy. I'll kill you, you fuckin' whore bitch!"

"You don't need 'dem white bitches," The small woman cried, hitting him on the chest with ridiculously small fists. "You got me!"

"I ain't got shit 'cause you're dead, you stupid bitch." He had her lifted by the neck and had drawn back a meaty fist.

I couldn't just stand and just watch so I started across the street to stop what I believed was going to be a murder. Just as I pulled my trusty gun out of its holster I saw the police car pull up.

The big man saw the black and white about the same time I did and he threw the woman at them. She literally flew through the air like a rag doll. Big man whipped a big gun out of his belt.

Two black cops jumped out of the patrol car and yelled for the black man to freeze. He didn't, but I dammed sure did. I didn't like the way this was shaping up at all. By my count there were three black men all with guns and one puny white private eye. I slowly squatted down between two cars and carefully peeked over the back fender.

The big man carefully took aim and shot one of the cops. I couldn't believe it. He just stood there and shot the cop. The other cop started shooting and I guess he shot the big man five or six times before the hulk fell. I put my gun back into the holster and stayed where I was. I knew from my own experience that the surviving cop had adrenalin pumping in by the buckets and he was very likely to shoot anything and anybody that surprised him.

Soon the place was crawling with cops and ambulances and fire trucks and of course the vultures of the media. I casually drifted over to where all the action was. I recognized one of the plain clothes cops. His name is Richard (don't call me Dick) Elliott. He's real touchy about the name.

"Hi, Dick," I said. "What'cha got goin' on?"

"What the hell you doin' here?" he growled. I think he likes me, but just afraid to show it.

"Aw, Dick," I said. "That ain't no way to talk to your star witness. I saw this evil deed and I am ready to stand up and be counted."

One of the paramedics stepped up, "Lieutenant, your officer is going to be okay. His vest saved his bacon, but the other man is dead."

Dick grunted, "What about the woman? She going to be all right?"

"Yeah, we are going to transport, but she'll be okay, I think," the paramedic said. "Mostly abrasions and some bruising."

Dick Elliott turned to me, "Well, ass, let's have it. What did you see?"

We are such good friends. He used to call me asshole, but now he has shortened it. Sort of like a nickname. I told him what I had seen. He seemed satisfied that it was a "good shooting".

"You know his name?" I asked.

"Yeah, Darrel Green. Called himself 'Hammer'. Got a rap sheet 'bout four yards long. Mostly small crap. Pulled a couple years for armed robbery sometime ago." He cocked an eye at me "Why are you so interested?"

"Oh just nosey," I answered casually. "Been watching this place for a while. Lot of women going to be unhappy he's dead."

"I guess," he answered. "Vice seems to think he had some amateur hookers he was pimpin' for. Don't matter now, I guess."

"Not to 'Hammer'," I said.

I made a trip to the police station where a bored stenographer took my statement. I signed all three copies and bid my friends good day.

I decided to go by the apartments again just to take a look around. My client's old man had not even come out during all the excitement. To be honest it was my curiosity about the late Hammer that led me to his apartment.

I casually strolled around the area for a while before approaching the dead man's apartment. I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't to find the apartment door standing slightly ajar.

I eased the door open with the barrel of my gun and was met by the small black woman Hammer had used as a shot put. She squealed and I nearly shit. I don't know who was the most surprised.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded gruffly.

"I live here," she said, her eyes darting around, coming to rest on my pistol.

"No you don't." I said. "Who are you and what do you have there?" She was holding a brown attaché case made of some kind of reptile skin and she was backing up as I entered the room.

"Tell me now or later down town," I bluffed. "Up to you."

"I'm Betty," She said her voice quivering. "Betty Harrison. My ...er...ah...boyfriend lives...er...ah...lived here." Tears started down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and there were several darker places on her face and arms. There was a band aid over one eye and several others on her arms.

"What's in the case?" I demanded. "Drugs?"

"I don't know," she answered sitting the case down and taking a step away from it. "I was just going to keep it until....." Her voice trailed off.

"Until you could peddle the drugs?" I asked, trying to sneer. Frankly I doubted that Darrel Green, A.K.A. Hammer, was a dealer. I hadn't seen any activity that would indicate drugs and I can usually spot it.

"No, no! I don't have anything to do with drugs," she said. "I don't know what's in the case."

"You are lying," I said. It's very hard to do the "good cop/bad cop" thing when you are by yourself, so I was just doing the bad cop half of the routine.

"Just some papers," She cried. "I swear that's all I know 'bout it. It's locked and I ain't got a key."

"What kind of papers, Betty?" I asked. "If it's locked how do you know what's in it?"

"I saw Darrell put some papers in it this morning just...just before...ah...you know."

"Did the cops talk to you?' I asked.

"What'ch mean?" she asked. "Ain't you a cop?"

Oops, "Of course," I snapped. "I mean the other cops."

She stilled looked at me suspiciously. "Yeah, some. They asked me what I knew about Darrell."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told 'em that Darrell hated cops, 'specially black cops."

That shouldn't come as any sunrise to the men in blue. "Did you tell them why Darrell would start shooting at the cops."

She shook her head slowly. "I guess nobody will ever know that. He was pretty mad at me and I guess he just flipped. I don't know."

"Why was he mad at you?"

She shrugged her shoulders, but didn't answer.

"Come on, Betty," I said gently easing into a good cop persona. "Let's get this over with here and now without any body getting hassled."

Betty Harrison gave a big sigh and then started talking.

"I threw some dirty pictures and tapes away. Darrell was pissed at me for that."

"What kind of dirty pictures?" I asked.

"Darrell had a bunch of white sluts that was ho'in' for him. Him and some of his buddies took pictures of them doing all that stuff. I got mad and threw them in the trash. They was already gone when Darrell found out about it."

"What do you mean, "whoring for him"?

"You mean you don't know what 'ho'in' is?" she said cutting her eyes at me.

"I know what it means," I said. "What do you think it means?"

"He'd make dates with black men for them to go fuck. Then he would collect money. What's that sound like to you?"

I had to smile even if she was getting over her initial fear. "Sounds a lot like whoring to me," I said. "What's in the case you were sneaking off with?"

Betty Harrison shrugged her shoulders again, "Names I guess" she said. "Phone numbers, addresses. I don't know for sure. Darrell was careful not to let me see what all was there."

"Where are you from, Betty?" I asked.

"Greenville, South Carolina," She answered. "Darrell was going to marry me, he said he was!"

"Yeah, I guess he was," I said slowly. "Go home to Greenville, South Carolina, Betty Harrison. There ain't nothing here for you now."

I watched Betty walk down the sidewalk and when she had turned the corner I made a quick inspection of Hammer's apartment. It was a nice apartment and it was full of expensive stereo equipment and all kinds of electronics. I figured as soon as the word got out that Hammer was no longer among the quick, his stuff would quickly vanish. Since I'm not a thief, I left the apartment pretty much as I had found it. Of course I took the attaché case with me.