The scene outside of Fat Jew’s apartment was dramatic, to say the least. Over a dozen police cars blocked off the street. No one could enter the area. Ambulances and fire trucks were there, flashing red lights. The coroners loaded the dead bodies into the ambulances and rode away in silence. There were no sirens, no flashing lights as they drove away, no need to hurry to the emergency room. Channel 5 News had a van parked in the area along with one of their field reporters, Deborah Jackson, covering the news. A crowd of neighbors stood behind the yellow crime scene tape, observing the police and medical personnel at work. The crowd was large; almost the entire neighborhood was outside looking and talking amongst themselves about the massacre inside the apartment. For some of the neighbors, Fat Jew’s death was long overdue. For others, like Fat Jew’s family, it meant the end. The families of the victims blended in with the crowd. Their tearful mournful cries could be heard loud and clear. Fat Jew’s mother had fainted and was now in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask to her face. She had a bad heart, and the death of her youngest son created too much stress. The paramedics were monitoring her vitals in case she was having a heart attack. It was likely that she was going to be hospitalized.
Fat Jew’s main girl Sheryl was seven months pregnant. She sat on the sidewalk in tears crying her heart out. Another girl stood over her fanning her with a piece of paper. “No, no, he can’t be dead,” She cried, tears running down her cheeks. It was like the end of the world for Sheryl. She had been with Fat Jew for the last four years. She was only seventeen. During the time she had been with Fat Jew, she had been well taken care of and didn’t have to worry about working. In the next couple of weeks, after the funeral arrangements were taken care of and Fat Jew was laying in his grave, she would be at odds with his mother and his other children’s mothers for whatever money and possessions he had left. Mourning for Fat Jew would be short. His girl and family would be more concerned with dividing his money than losing him.
Cynthia Sanders stood amongst the crowd of people behind the crime scene tape. She quietly observed Sheryl crying her heart out on the side walk. Poor girl, she thought to herself. She hated to see Fat Jew’s family going through so much pain. Even though she knew Alex, her younger brother’s life was possibly in danger she remained optimistic until she was told differently. Minutes before, she was told by a young black detective to stay calm, while he went inside to see if there was anyone fitting her brother’s description. She covered her mouth and nose with her hands. Then tears of worry began forming and running down her face. “Don’t worry Cynthia,” said Shawn. He and the rest of her brother’s friends were standing by her side. Cynthia looked at Shawn and his friends and nodded her head, and then she wiped the tears from her face.
“I know he’s alright,” she said quietly. She tried to smile as much as she could, but her worry was still visible. She continued her observation, waiting on someone to tell her if Alex was alive or dead. Just when she figured she’d lose the rest of her sanity, she caught a glimpse of the young black detective who promised to get back to her with news about Alex. He stopped and exchanged words with another detective then made eye contact with her.
“Cynthia Sanders?” Det. Sinclair asked.
“Ye, yeah, that’s me. Is my brother inside?” She asked, wiping her runny nose.
“Yeah I’ve located him. He’s with one of the other detectives right now. Come on, I’ll drive you down to the station so you can be with him.
Cynthia nodded and said, “Thank you.” Sinclair raised the yellow tape so Cynthia could duck underneath it. The two then proceeded to Sinclair’s car, and a sea of relief washed over Cynthia.
The time on the clock read 9:45 PM, which meant that Tiffany should have gotten off fifteen minutes beforehand. Now that all the work in her area was complete, she was quickly making her way to the break room, so she could clock out and put the workday behind her. She untucked her shirt and pulled off her apron, and then she walked through the swinging double doors to the break room and sped past Kim making her way to the time clock.
“Girl, look at this,” said Kim, watching television in the break room.
“What?” Tiffany asked, as she entered the last four digits of her social in the time clock.
“A whole bunch of people done got killed up in Litton.”
“Say what?”
“Yeah look.” Kim pointed to the television, while Tiffany made her way over. The two listened to Channel 5 News’s Deborah Jackson describe the events.
“Five people were brutally murdered inside an apartment, here at The Litton Apartments. Police aren’t releasing names of the victims at this time, but I can tell you that children were involved. I spoke to one of the officers, and was told that a child was possibly killed or injured. He didn’t say which one. All that police are saying at this time; is that drugs and drug paraphernalia were found inside, and that some of the victims are possibly gang members. Robbery may have been a motive or maybe retaliation from something gang related. That’s all I’m being told for now, but five people have been murdered in a home invasion, involving children. That’s all for now, Deborah Jackson, Channel 5 News.”
“Thank you Deborah,” said the anchor person on television.
Tiffany recognized Fat Jew’s apartment on television. It was against policy to have a cell phone at the deli where she worked. They weren’t allowed any further than the break room. Tiffany was already at her locker, digging through her purse for her phone, before the broadcast ended.
“Damn that’s fucked up, huh?” Kim asked. Her words were easily ignored by Tiffany, while she rummaged through all the junk in her purse, searching for her phone. She regretted never cleaning her purse out. Then finally, she felt what she was looking for. She flipped her cell phone open and read the screen, twelve missed calls, all in the last hour. Eight of the calls were from Shawn. Why would Shawn be blowing me up? She wondered. Her gut told her that something wasn’t right and her thoughts instantly went to Boone, her brother. The reporter did say that children were involved. Oh my God, what if one of the children involved is Boone? She continued thinking, as she scrolled down the missed call menu and pressed the call button when she got to Shawn’s name.
“You alright, Tiffany? You look worried.” Kim asked, concerned.
“Yeah I’m fine. I know whose house that is on T.V. I just hope my little brother and his friends are alright.” Kim was about to ask another question, but Shawn answered his phone after the second ring and Tiffany turned her attention to him. Kim was eavesdropping, trying to hear as much as she could.
“Tiff,” yelled Shawn into the phone.
“Yeah,” answered Tiffany worried.
“Boone and Alex in trouble.”
“What?” She asked, confused.
“Everybody dead, Fat Jew, K.C., they dead Tiff! They kicked in the door and smoked everybody! Alex and Boone were inside buying some weed when the shit happened!” The last sentence hit her like a ton of bricks. Her jaw dropped and she was speechless. “Alex is alright, but aint nobody heard about Boone and aint nobody seen yo momma neither.”
“Oh my God,” she said under her breath. Shawn’s words were like a knife, repeatedly stabbing at her emotions. Though no tears fell yet, her eyes began to water. She quickly exited the break room leaving Kim wondering what was happening. She hung up with Shawn and was on her way out of the deli, walking at a hurried pace. Her head was down, to hide the tears that were now running down her face. She had missed the 9:30 bus that she normally rode home and now had to wait another thirty minutes for the next bus. Just before she could make her exit, she caught the attention of Pete, the owner of the deli, who was running roast beef through the slicer.
“Hey girl, slow down now,” Pete said, with a chuckle. He looked at his watch. “You still got thirty minutes foe that bus come.” When Tiffany didn’t respond and exited the deli without saying good bye, Pete knew something was wrong. He wiped his hands with a towel, took off his apron and went outside looking for her. He found her crying on the bus stop. “Hey girl, what’s wrong with you? You let some knuckle head boy steal yo joy?” The old head approached the bench and took a seat beside Tiffany. “What’s wrong?” He asked again. Tiffany turned to Pete with tears running down her face.
“I need to get home Pete. It’s my little brother. He’s in trouble, I think.”
The look on Tiffany’s face told Pete everything he needed to know. He nodded his head, like a concerned parent listening to their child’s problems.
“Let me grab my keys and tell Kim to watch the shop and I’ll take you home; Alright?” He gave Tiffany a soft pat on the back, before getting up from the bench and heading back towards the deli. A few minutes later he came back out. “You ready?” He asked. Tiffany nodded. The two then walked to Pete’s Escalade. On the way home Tiffany thought about her brother and his friends. All she could do was hope for the best, but she began assuming the worst.
The ride to the Criminal Justice Center was silent. The quiet hum of the motor blended with the dispatches, coming from the police radio. Hodges had made several attempts to get something out of the quiet youngster but each attempt was dead ended by Alex’s quiet demeanor.
The events of the day were beginning to take their toll on the fifty-six year old Detective Sergeant. He started his day bright and early at 7:00 AM, like any other. For the past three days he worked on a robbery case involving juvenile boys ripping off Somalian cab drivers at gun point. He was busy at his desk doing paper work when he received a phone call from his superior, reassigning the veteran to this case.
The time on the dash of his car read 10:41 PM. He knew he was in for a long night, probably a long morning also. He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. He thought about his wife, Kate, as he pulled up at the gated entrance of the CJC. Gotta call Kate and tell her I’m not coming home tonight, he thought. She’d be displeased with the news, although she understood the nature of his work.
The metal fenced gate retracted slowly, allowing the detective entry to the garage. He put his car in gear and slowly eased into the garage. Alex rose from his forward sitting position and turned to look out of the back window. A claustrophobic sense of imprisonment came over him as he watched the gate closing and the metal garage door coming down. He was now behind enemy lines once again, at the Criminal Justice Center, which was also called CJC. His brother had told him several stories about what goes on down here; everything from the finger printing process, to the interrogation room. His brother told him how the police pretend they were your friend. He could still hear his brother’s voice clear as day. “They offer you shit like cigarettes and sodas to ease tension and gain your trust. Then soon as you think they’re there to help, and they gain your trust, and your ass start talking. Then Bam! They gotcha, game over cause like they say, ‘anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.’ Just go in there and keep your mouth shut. As long as you do that, you’ll be out in 72 hours. Better yet just ask for a lawyer. You do that and they can’t talk to you.” Hodges left the vehicle and walked over to the weapons locker inside the garage. After placing his Glock 40 inside the weapons locker, he walked back towards the vehicle and opened the back door, so Alex could get out of the car. Once Alex exited the vehicle, he and Hodges entered the precinct.
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