Shattered (Michael Bennett #14)(25)

They were two strangers approaching me in a strange city. I wrestled with the age-old question that went back and forth in training classes: Do you interact with potentially hostile strangers from the protection of a car or outside where you can move? Exiting the car went against common sense, but I knew I would learn nothing by sitting inside.

I decided to greet my visitors in person. I struggled out of the Prius with as much dignity as I could muster. By the time I was standing up straight, the two men had stepped to either side of me. Was that on purpose? From a tactical standpoint, if they were going to attack me, doing it from two directions was their best bet.

I turned to put my back to the little car. Before I could say or do anything, the man to my right spoke.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” His Baltimore accent had a touch of Brooklyn. He was a little heavy and wore a light Ravens jacket over a fluorescent Nike T-shirt.

I said, “As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’m in the right place.”

The heavier of the two young men said, “We always try to help lost tourists so if something bad happens they can’t blame our neighborhood. It’s all about optics.”

The thin man on the other side of me, who was maybe twenty-five, said, “What are you looking for?”

I said, “The usual: love, security, and a long-term investment plan.”

That earned an odd look from the thin man. The chunky fella on my right laughed out loud.

The chunky young man said to his friend, “This guy has seen some shit if he’ll joke with two strangers in the hood.” Then he looked at me and said, “What are you really doing here?”

“No bullshit. I’m interested in the murder of a woman who was found in her car just about in this spot almost two years ago.”

The thin man said, “The white woman in the Audi?”

“That’s exactly it.”

“You probably heard it was gang violence.”

“I know that’s what was on the news. I’m not sure I see it that way.”

“That makes you smarter than the average reporter. No one has any idea why someone killed that lady. Technically, we’re a gang according to the city. We call ourselves the Fairfield Crusaders.”

“You’re not acting much like gang members.”

“How are gang members supposed to act? Maybe we should sell drugs or rob people. Don’t watch so much damn TV. There’s all kinds of gangs.”

I nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Now the chunky guy said, “Know what our toughest achievement is?”

I shook my head.

“We built a playground in the next block that gives kids under six a place to play safely. When we were done with that, we made sure Meals on Wheels came in to help serve the elderly people. They refused to come out here until we started taking over the routes. Never listen to the news, mister. Reporters don’t know shit.”

The thin man said, “You want to find out more about the woman in the Audi?”

I nodded.

“Come with us.”





Chapter 31



I felt comfortable with these two. They hadn’t bothered to give me any names, and I wasn’t going to ask. This wasn’t an official investigation. I didn’t have to write any reports.

The chunky man and the thin man led me into the next block. A man who could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy-five was balancing on a plastic chair with only three legs. His sparse gray hair circled around a bald crown over one of the darkest complexions I’d ever seen. His right eye was gauzy with cataracts. Half of his teeth were missing. The others were yellowed and jutted out in odd directions. He had that worn look of a man who had lived on the streets a long time.

The chunky man said, “Charles, tell this man about what you saw two years ago when that lady was killed in her car.”

I looked again at the old man. He lowered the bent cigarette he was smoking and squinted up at me with his filmy eye. The man said, “I seen two people pull up in that fancy car. About ten minutes after it parked, one person got out and walked away alone.” Before I could ask any questions, Charles added, “And no, I couldn’t see the person walking away. Not sure if it was a man or a woman. But I could tell they were white. That’s about the only thing that stands out in this neighborhood.”

My chunky guide prodded the man some more. “Tell him the rest, Charles.”

“I tried to tell the cops. They just told me to get lost. Never got to tell no one. No one who matters. Ain’t no one ever going to believe a white person murdered someone in this neighborhood, then just walked away. But I swear to Jesus, it happened.”

The thin man looked down and said, “You get your water for the day, Charles?”

The homeless man held up two bottles in one hand.

To me, the thin man said, “Some of the people who live on the streets forget about the basics. We make sure they have water and arrange for them to wash up at the community center down the street.”

I asked a few more questions but quickly realized the only firm detail was that someone had walked away from the car. That reinforced my theory that the homicide had had nothing to do with anyone local.

My two guides led me back to my car. As we walked, I said, “This neighborhood might be in bad shape without you guys.”