George Pelecanos - DC Noir

That nearly led to a major confrontation right there between Zack and Junior, but the club’s security stepped in and defused the matter. Plus, Zack had high respect for Cecilia and didn’t want further mess to spread.

Junior cut menacing eyes our way, but didn’t say a thing, he just helped bring Sarah back to consciousness. Zack decided it was best for us to leave, and as we made our exit, he hollered back at Junior: “You get a pass this time, nigga. Best you keep yourself and tramp in line!”

Chemically, blood is thicker than water, but in the case of me and my brother, a series of painful experiences had transformed that chemistry. Our hearts became harder and the blood diluted behind our sufferings. In our respective pursuits of foolish material gain, we had lost the love and care.

The year is now 1975, five years since the murder of Sarah Ward. Perhaps this is a shocking revelation to the reader, but I am writing this story from prison. A reporter named Frances Parker from the Washington Post contacted me and asked me to tell my story — she said she would cowrite it and turn it into a short story for her magazine. She also offered me a handsome fee. As I told Frances when I first met her, money is no longer important to me. At this stage of my life, I only want to clear my conscience and be granted God’s forgiveness for all of the evil that I’ve done. I’ve grown close to Frances Parker since our first meeting of a year ago when she came to this prison and asked me to do a story. Initially I said no, but she kept coming back. A story to generate income for herself had been her original reason for contacting me, but after a year of really getting to know each other, we have become good friends. She has encouraged me to lift my burden and let the folks in D.C. and the rest of the nation know exactly what happened that night inside the Fantasy Club.

The night that Sarah was murdered, she had accompanied my brother to the Fantasy. Zack had invited them to this gathering under the pretense that a truce and the possible joining of crews would make all of our lives better. I was a willing accomplice to this deception.

Unknown to anybody other than Zack and myself, an undercover D.C. police officer was planted in the club. He was a personal friend of Zack’s and one who was very well paid to be there that night. His name was Ted Jenkins.

Zack and I were sitting at our reserved table at the Fantasy that night, sipping drinks and watching the dancers move creatively to the beat on the dance floor. The DJ was playing high-energy sounds to keep up with the lively and frantic mood.

Junior and Sarah entered around midnight, extending greetings to those they knew as they made their way across the dance floor to our table. Zack rose and shook hands with Junior, and both he and Sarah gave me slight nods of greeting. A round of drinks was ordered as the two men began to make small talk over the booming rise of the music. Moments later, Zack and Junior told me and Sarah to split while they talked over some business.

Immediately, I asked Sarah to join me inside the ladies’ room. “We girls need to do some talking and mending ourselves.”

Two women were coming out as we approached the rest room. Drunkenly laughing and poking fun at each other, they purposely paused in front of the entrance so that we could hear them. This sort of plump-bodied but cute, short-afro-wearing woman said to her frail ugly-duckling-type girlfriend: “Girl, I just pulled this nigga tonight who is spendin’ money like crazy. He’s packin’ meat, if you know what I mean. Child, I’m gonna spend his money, then fuck his brains out.”

As they passed, Sarah and me entered the bathroom and moved to the far end by the wash basins and toilets. Large mirrors were positioned on the walls above the sinks, which had stools under them. We sat next to each other and began to chat.

I told her that I was sorry for all that had happened between us, that since she was my brother’s woman we were sisters in a way, that none of us should be at each others’ throats. It would take time for everything to mend properly between all of us, but me and Zack were willing to forgive and make a new start.

Then I got up slowly, patted her on the shoulder, and told her that I’d be right back — I had to get my purse for a few items I needed to freshen up.

As I dodged around the frantic dancers on my way back to our table, I turned to gaze back at the ladies’ room entrance. At that instant, undercover officer Ted Jenkins darted inside the rest room without anybody other than me noticing. I proceeded to our table.

“Back in the nick of time, baby. Where’s Sarah?” Zack asked.

“She’s still in the rest room waiting for me to come back,” I responded. “Came back to get my purse. Need to freshen up to keep looking good for you, Daddy. How’s it going with you and Junior?”

“We’ve reached an agreement,” Zack said. “But Junior needs to tell you something, so hold tight for a second. Run it, Junior.”

I could see the hatred for me in Junior’s eyes. But he spoke with remarkable calm. “Let’s get one thing straight, Fee-Fee. I’m only here to prevent a stupid war between Zack and me. Fighting will only cost the loss of lives on both ends, and the loss of a whole lot of money. None of us need this shit, so Zack and me have agreed to stop going at each other. Sarah won’t be going at you anymore and I expect you to stay clear of her. Another thing: I got what I want, you got what you want. We ain’t brother and sister no more, and it’s best that we keep it this way. Do I make myself clear?”

As I listened to my brother, I saw Ted Jenkins exit the ladies’ room and lose himself in the crowd.

Before I could get a word out in response to Junior, all hell suddenly broke out. Screams of terror could be heard coming from within the rest room. The music and dancing abruptly stopped and the crowd rushed to see what had happened. Junior sprang from the table and ran toward the rest room.

Moments later, a squad of D.C. police were on the scene, directing the crowd away from the crime area. Three other officers led by Ted Jenkins hurried over to where Junior was trying to muscle himself through the crowd to the club’s entrance. With their guns drawn, two officers grabbed Junior, slung him to the floor, and quickly handcuffed him.

The crowd went silent as Junior yelled out at his captors, “What the fuck is going on? Get the fuck off me, you pieces of shit. I ain’t did nothing!”

“You are under arrest for the murder that just took place,” Jenkins announced. “You have the right to an attorney…” and so forth, his words drowning beneath the chatter of the confused crowd, watching as the cops swiftly moved Junior outside to the waiting police car.

A year later, after a series of court hearings, Junior was tried and convicted of murdering his fiancée, Sarah Ward. Undercover officer Ted Jenkins told the court that he had been there at the club doing surveillance work and had witnessed a heated argument between the two in front of the rest room entrance before they both entered. That was right at the time of the murder. He hadn’t thought that the argument would carry over to something violent.

“Couples are always arguing, then quickly making up,” Jenkins concluded. “I just feel so bad that I probably could have prevented that fool from killing her.”

Zack and I were summoned to the grand jury to state what we knew or saw. We both emphatically claimed that we didn’t see, hear, or know anything.

Junior was convicted and given a sentence of twenty years to life. Throughout the entire process he insisted that he was being framed. He’d figured out that Zack and I set him up, but he didn’t call names. Lacking evidence, it wouldn’t have helped him anyway.