Pernicious (4 page)

         
Barry gulped the water. “His place.”

         
“Okay. Go on.”

         
“We went and got a eight ball and then we saw this girl, she was walking down Broadway, and she, you know, looked the type we were interested in. I’d seen her around before, I knew she got high. Babyboy asked if she wanted to ride with us and she said something stupid, you know, ‘For a price,’ or something like that. We were headed back to Babyboy’s place when I said I needed cigarettes and something to drink. We stopped at Seven-Eleven and everybody got out--”

         
“Excuse me. What’s this girl’s name?”

         
“I think it’s Linda…Linda Faye, I believe.”

         
“Okay. Now all of you guys are at Seven-Eleven, right?”

         
“Right. We went in and got some stuff and got back in the car. We were riding, Babyboy started patting his pockets and said, ‘Where’s the rock?’ We stopped the car and Babyboy started going off on the girl, you know. ‘Bitch, give me my shit!’ She said she didn’t have it. We tore the car up looking for it…couldn’t find it. We drove off.

         
“Babyboy told her she had sixty seconds for the rock to appear or something bad was gonna happen to her. She started crying and Babyboy hit her a couple times with the gun. She tried to jump out the car…All a sudden--Boom!--the window exploded. Blood everywhere and the girl just sitting there with this big hole in her…It was…I couldn’t believe it!”

         
A hand covering his eyes. “It was terrible…just terrible!” peering at Tasha through splayed fingers. “Can I go now?”

         
“Where did the gun come from? The one found in the glove compartment.”

         
“It belongs to Babyboy. I don’t know where he got it.”

         
“Who’s driving the car while all the commotion is going on?”

         
“I was…Babyboy started…you see, I was high, so I let him drive a little while.”

         
“Your partner, Babyboy,” Tasha said, “can assault a passenger, discharge a weapon at close range, and still keep the car between the lines?”

         
“He surprised me, too.”

         
“By the way, that’s a nice car you have.”

         
“Thank you. I try to keep it clean. We were on our way to wash it when y’all stopped us.”

         
“A car like that,” Tasha mused, “is not the kind you let everybody drive, is it?”

         
“You got that right. People will tear your shit up if you let em. Why I don’t let nobody drive mine.”

         
“Unless you’re high, remember?”

         
“Yeah.”

         
Tasha crossed to the door. “Let me check on something. I’ll be back shortly.”

         
“Can I go when you get back?”

         
“We’ll see.”

         
When she entered the adjacent room, Paul stopped talking.

         
“Go ahead,” Bob urged him.

         
“I was scared after he shot her ’cause I was thinking he might shoot me, too. He kept hollering, ‘Chill out! Chill out!’ I told him to let me out, but he wouldn’t. He said we had to figure this out. I told him
we
didn’t shoot her.
He
did! Next thing I know he stopped and kicked her out the car.”

         
“At Thirteenth and High Street?” Bob asked.

         
“I guess. I’m not really sure. We’d been smoking most of the day.”

         
“Then what happened?”

         
“We went and got some more dope and then we went to his house and…”

         
“Go ’head, son,” Bob said.

         
“When we were getting out the car, the rock fell out.”

         
“The one Jenno thought Linda had stolen from him?”

         
Paul nodded. “That’s what makes it so messed up. We both thought she stole…I guess it slipped between the seat when we went inside the store.”

         
“That is messed up,” Bob agreed. “What did you do after the discovery?”

         
“We smoked the dope. What else could we do?”

         
“Give us a few minutes, will you?” Bob said. Tasha followed him out the door.

         
“Your guy sounds more credible than mine,” Tasha said.

         
“I’m taking him down on accessory after the fact. He’s not walking.”

         
“Let’s wait for ballistics and forensics. If all the dots connect, let’s hit Barry with first degree.”

         
“Sounds like a plan to me. You know, at first I thought this was headed to a cold case file. It was easier than Sudoku. Good work, Tash.”

         
Barry had resumed his vigil at the window when Tasha returned. “Can I go now?” he asked. “You said I could go when you got back.”

         
Tasha shook her head. “I didn’t say that. Sit down, Barry.”

         
He sat, slouching in the seat.

         
“Barry, we seem to have a problem.”

         
“What!” standing up. “What problem?”

         
“Calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t work out. Your road dog, Babyboy, recalls a different version of events. He says it’s your gun and
you
shot Linda. He says you shot her…and then you kicked her to the curb.”

         
“He’s lying and his breath stank! He’s lying on me! I didn’t shoot that girl, and he knows it!”

         
Tasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “The gun, Barry…” She paused for effect. “It has your prints on it, not his.”

         
Tasha knew if Barry had wiped the gun clean, he would know she was bluffing, and he might ask for a lawyer, which would end further discussion.

         
Barry collapsed in the chair, eyes twitching, lips trembling, hands going to his face, the table, back to his face.

         
“I-I didn’t mean to kill her,” he mumbled.

         
“Say again?”

         
“I didn’t mean to kill her. I was just trying to scare her. She stole my dope…She didn’t have to do that. All she had to do was ask…I would’ve gave her some.” He covered his face with his hands and let out a muffled moan. “Oh God! It was an accident. I was only trying to scare her.”

         
Tasha silently observed him as he sniveled, though she wanted to say, “Yeah, butthead, and after you shot her and kicked her out the car you found the dope and smoked it.”

         
She checked that and said, “I sense your pain, Barry. I think you’ll feel better you write down what happened.” She slid her pen and pad toward him. “I also need you to sign it.”

                                     
Chapter 2

         
Derrick, Tasha’s eight-year-old son, and Neal, her ex-husband, were watching television when she arrived home that evening. They didn’t even look up when she walked in. She picked up the remote and clicked off the television.

         
“Hey!” Neal and Derrick protested.

         
“Derrick,” Tasha said, “go find something constructive to do.”

         
“What?” Derrick snapped.

         
“Young man, you better check your mouth.”

         
“What’s to do, Momma?”

         
“Find something. Anything but television.”

         
“What about me?” Neal said. “What you want me to do?”

         
“
You
can go home.”

         
“You must have had a bad day,” Neal said.

         
“Neal, what would you know about a bad day? In order to have a bad day you must first have a job.”

         
“That was low, Tasha. Real low. Dump on me if it’ll make you feel better.”

         
“Neal, I’ll feel better when you go home.”

         
Neal snatched up his baseball cap. “Okay then, I’m gone. You don’t appreciate what I do for you.”

         
“What is it, Neal Montgomery, you do for me? I’d sure like to hear it.”

         
“I watch your son while you’re at work. Apparently that doesn’t matter much to you.”

         
“Neal, he’s your son, too. If you want me to pay you to
watch
your son, I will. Of course, if I do I’ll be forced to demand child-support. Let’s see…fifty dollars per week times eight years of non-support. That’s twenty thousand and--”

         
Before she could finish, Neal stomped out without closing the door. Derrick stood in the hallway, staring at her.

         
“You got a problem?” Tasha asked him.

         
He started to say something, thought not, and disappeared.

         
Tasha dropped on the couch.

         
Didn’t have to talk to them that way. Didn’t have to.
    
How many times have I told Neal not to let Derrick watch TV all day?