Smalltime, dismissing the validity of Gunner’s testimony with a flip of the wrist. “Toby wouldn’ta said shit like that ’bout Rookie, not to him, not to nobody.”
“The way Toby looks at it, Rookie screwed him first,” Gunner said, eyeing Rucker, “so he figures he doesn’t owe him much in the way of set loyalty.”
“The Rook still a Blue,” Rucker said. “No matter what he done. So what if he was drivin’ when Dr. Love got rolled on? It’s the cops what say Toby was the one rode with ’im done the shootin’, not Rookie.”
“Then Rookie was the driver that night?”
“No! I didn’t say that. I just said, what if he did? So what?”
It was a lie told too late. He had already allowed Gunner to hear the ring of truth in his voice, and now the detective could easily tell the difference between the two.
A snow-haired black man with a dirty apron tied around his waist appeared at the open door of the liquor store behind Smalltime, and the three Blues all turned in his direction when Gunner glanced his way. The store was apparently his, and he had a pained look on his face that said he objected to the assembly taking place out in front of it, but he let the look speak for itself and said nothing, cognizant of who a trio of these trespassers were and the myriad ways in which such people often reacted to attempts to dislodge them. To save face, he rubbed his hands on his apron and nodded his head, saying hello, but there was no mistaking his shame as he ducked back inside immediately after, an old man choking on his own fear of children.
“Look,” Gunner said to Smalltime, “you boys are going to have to make a choice here. You can’t protect Rookie and help Toby at the same time. Something’s gotta give.”
The Blues were silent. Smalltime scratched his chin to kill time, then said, “What you want us to do?”
“I want you to quit messing around and start giving me some straight answers. Was Rookie driving the car when Lovejoy was killed or not?”
Smalltime produced another shrug. “Prob’ly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means don’t nobody know for sure, but the way he was actin’ that day, he must’ve had somethin’ like that on his mind. And he is hidin’ out, right?”
“When you say the way he was acting, what are you talking about? How was he acting?”
“Well, like … he talked a lot of shit that day, way I remember it. Tellin’ guys what he was gonna do to ’em if they didn’t shut up, an’ shit like that. Cappin’ on ’em, an’ stuff. That what the Rook usually do when he nervous, talk smack, like when we about to go ’bangin’ some Tees, or somethin’.
“And he stayed straight, wouldn’t get high. Phi and Donnell an’ Cube tried to get ’im to do some rock, but he wouldn’t do none. Said he was cuttin’ down, some shit like that. Ain’t that right, Phi?”
Mullens nodded his head, leaving Gunner to guess the details.
“The Rock don’t never turn down no rock, man,” Smalltime said. “Never.”
“Boy’s a head,” Mullens said, agreeing.
Meaning Rookie was into crack, and not casually.
“Then there’s the thing with the crib,” Smalltime went on. “We had—I mean we got a place where we keep all our shit—you know, our rods an’ everything. It’s a secret place, ain’t nobody s’posed to know where it is but the homeboys, but somebody still ripped it off. Motherfucker just broke in one night an’ took everything, didn’t leave shit. That’s how we figure whoever it was done Dr. Love got hold of Toby’s piece.”
“And you think Rookie was the one who stole it.”
Smalltime just shrugged.
Gunner asked if any one of the three had an idea where Rookie could be holed up, watching Rucker’s face, in particular.
Smalltime shook his head. “Not me.”
“Uh-uh,” Mullens said.
Rucker said nothing.
“Or seen him since the shooting?”
“I ain’t,” Smalltime said.
“No,” Mullens said.
Which again brought all
“The way Toby looks at it, Rookie screwed him first,” Gunner said, eyeing Rucker, “so he figures he doesn’t owe him much in the way of set loyalty.”
“The Rook still a Blue,” Rucker said. “No matter what he done. So what if he was drivin’ when Dr. Love got rolled on? It’s the cops what say Toby was the one rode with ’im done the shootin’, not Rookie.”
“Then Rookie was the driver that night?”
“No! I didn’t say that. I just said, what if he did? So what?”
It was a lie told too late. He had already allowed Gunner to hear the ring of truth in his voice, and now the detective could easily tell the difference between the two.
A snow-haired black man with a dirty apron tied around his waist appeared at the open door of the liquor store behind Smalltime, and the three Blues all turned in his direction when Gunner glanced his way. The store was apparently his, and he had a pained look on his face that said he objected to the assembly taking place out in front of it, but he let the look speak for itself and said nothing, cognizant of who a trio of these trespassers were and the myriad ways in which such people often reacted to attempts to dislodge them. To save face, he rubbed his hands on his apron and nodded his head, saying hello, but there was no mistaking his shame as he ducked back inside immediately after, an old man choking on his own fear of children.
“Look,” Gunner said to Smalltime, “you boys are going to have to make a choice here. You can’t protect Rookie and help Toby at the same time. Something’s gotta give.”
The Blues were silent. Smalltime scratched his chin to kill time, then said, “What you want us to do?”
“I want you to quit messing around and start giving me some straight answers. Was Rookie driving the car when Lovejoy was killed or not?”
Smalltime produced another shrug. “Prob’ly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means don’t nobody know for sure, but the way he was actin’ that day, he must’ve had somethin’ like that on his mind. And he is hidin’ out, right?”
“When you say the way he was acting, what are you talking about? How was he acting?”
“Well, like … he talked a lot of shit that day, way I remember it. Tellin’ guys what he was gonna do to ’em if they didn’t shut up, an’ shit like that. Cappin’ on ’em, an’ stuff. That what the Rook usually do when he nervous, talk smack, like when we about to go ’bangin’ some Tees, or somethin’.
“And he stayed straight, wouldn’t get high. Phi and Donnell an’ Cube tried to get ’im to do some rock, but he wouldn’t do none. Said he was cuttin’ down, some shit like that. Ain’t that right, Phi?”
Mullens nodded his head, leaving Gunner to guess the details.
“The Rock don’t never turn down no rock, man,” Smalltime said. “Never.”
“Boy’s a head,” Mullens said, agreeing.
Meaning Rookie was into crack, and not casually.
“Then there’s the thing with the crib,” Smalltime went on. “We had—I mean we got a place where we keep all our shit—you know, our rods an’ everything. It’s a secret place, ain’t nobody s’posed to know where it is but the homeboys, but somebody still ripped it off. Motherfucker just broke in one night an’ took everything, didn’t leave shit. That’s how we figure whoever it was done Dr. Love got hold of Toby’s piece.”
“And you think Rookie was the one who stole it.”
Smalltime just shrugged.
Gunner asked if any one of the three had an idea where Rookie could be holed up, watching Rucker’s face, in particular.
Smalltime shook his head. “Not me.”
“Uh-uh,” Mullens said.
Rucker said nothing.
“Or seen him since the shooting?”
“I ain’t,” Smalltime said.
“No,” Mullens said.
Which again brought all
Similar Books
