Roy Glenn - No More Tears In The End

“I wanted to talk you about the robbery and the people that got shot here.”

“I was in the back, so I didn’t see what happened. I told the police that. Tasheka and Shameka were both working; they can tell you what happened.”

“I notice that you have cameras, do you have a recording of it?”

“Yes, sir. You could look at it in the back or I could make you a copy.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and make me a copy while I talk to the ladies. I’ll look at the video after that,” I told Al and he rushed off.

“So tell me what happened.”

“Well, I was workin’ the register and Tasheka was gettin’ the food when they came in.”

“Where were the two people that got killed?” I asked.

“Right where you’re standing,” Tasheka said.

“Go on.”

“They walked straight up here, pulled their guns, and one said give me all the money,” Shameka said.

“The other one stepped up and shot them,” Tasheka added.

“What did they look like?”

“They were both dark-skinned. They both had on baseball hats, dark glasses and black scarves, so I couldn’t see their faces,” Tasheka told me.

“But one of them, the one that shot those people, had dreads,” Shameka said.

“What happened then?”

“I gave them what was in the drawer which was nothing but a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Good thing they didn’t go in the back ’cause Al had just came and got the money out the register. They probably woulda killed him too.”

“Did either of the people say or do anything before they shot them?” I asked.

“Nope,” Shameka said. “They was just standin’ there waitin’ to make an order. I was gettin’ the money; they didn’t have to kill those people.”

“Could you tell if the two of them were together?”

“No. He came in first. She was in-line behind him,” Tasheka advised.

“You sure?”

“She be in here all the time. I never saw him before.” Tasheka looked at Shameka. “You seen him before?”

“Not that I remember.”

I showed them the picture that Mrs. Phillips gave me. “That her?”

Both ladies looked at the picture. “That’s her,” they both said almost at the same time.

“You ever seen her with anybody?”

“She meets some guy here, but it wasn’t the guy who got killed,” Tasheka said.

“If she was here he was coming. She always orders the food and be waitin’ for him at a table,” Shameka told me.

“Did you see him that day?”

The ladies looked at each other. “Nope,” Tasheka said.

“I didn’t see him,” Shameka agreed. “Dag, you ask more questions than cops, don’t he, Tasheka?”

“He sure does.”

“Maybe I’m more interested than the cops.”

After I thanked the ladies for their help, I went in the back to see what Al had for me. He handed me a disk and had the video cued up to the point where the bandits came in the place, then he left me alone in his office. I watched as it happened just like the ladies said it did. Watching made me wonder about something. I rewound the video and watched it again.

If neither Zakiya, or the other guy did or said anything to provoke them, why did they shot them?

The bandits were smart enough not to look directly into either camera. Then why risk a murder charge, over a hundred and fifty dollars?

It didn’t make sense.

Not to me anyway.

Could the cops be right and Mrs. Phillips be wrong about Zakiya? The shooter stepped right up to her and put one in her chest. Then he shot the guy.

I turned off the player and went back in the restaurant. After I thanked everybody for their help, I assured them that I was going to get security up in there soon.

I left the restaurant and drove back to Zakiya’s apartment. On the way there I called and left a message for Tamia Adams to call me. I wanted to know everything they had on the guy Zakiya was killed with. My thinking was that even though they didn’t come in together, that this whole thing might be about him. But if that was the case, why did he shoot Zakiya first?

I had a lot of questions and hoped I could find answers in her apartment. There was one other thing I had to know about. Who was the man she usually met at Paradise? It was probably the married man that Dee told me she was seeing.

Once I let myself in, I went straight for her computer and went on-line. I searched her Internet history to find her e-mail provider. I hacked the password to her account; a trick my old partner Jett Bronson showed me. I began reading her e-mails and it wasn’t long before I found an e-mail for somebody with the e-mail address nice_n_slow@msn.com.

In that e-mail Zakiya and whoever it was made plans to meet at Paradise. I sorted the e-mails by sender and read the next few. It was obvious from reading them that this was definitely the married man she was seeing. I printed the e-mail with the details and turned off the computer. I would take it to Monika to see if maybe she could find out the real name of the user or from where it was sent.

On the way to Monika’s house I thought about Jett. We’d all been a part of a special operations unit in South America killing drug dealers, blowing up drug plants and seizing their financial records. My specialty was weapons, commando tactics. Jett’s specialty was electronic surveillance, computers; if it was high tech, Jett was on it. Monika’s specialty was munitions. We were small teams, each working independently. But all of a sudden, the entire unit is needed to take out one plant. Then boom, everybody dies-except us.

The only reason we didn’t die, too, was Monika fell on approach to the objective. Her ankle was broken and she couldn’t continue. She wanted us to leave her, but Jett refused. “You can go if you want to, Nick, but I’m not leavin’ her,” Jett told me that day.

While Monika and I tried to lecture Jett on the need to follow orders and proceed to the objective, the objective blew up. I remember the three of us with our mouths wide open, watching it burn to the ground.

When I got to Monika’s apartment, she looked surprised to see me. “I was just thinkin’ about you,” Monika said and shook her head. “Thinking about Jett really.”

“That’s funny. I was just thinkin’ about him on the way over here.”

“You know it’s ’cause of him that I read the paper now.” Monika pointed to the pile of newspapers in the corner. It didn’t matter what country we were in, Jett always read the paper every day. “You never know what’s goin’ on unless you read the paper,” Monika quoted Jett.

They were already the best of friends when I met them, although Jett thought Monika was mean, overbearing at times, and has a tendency to be a pain in the ass. And she held Jett personally responsible for the sins of the white man; they would do anything for each other. He’s the reason why Monika is alive wearin’ that patch and not dead. She had been shot five times.

The night that Monika got shot, I was at the hospital standing by the window and watching the sunrise. When I turned around Jett was sitting there. He just sat there staring at Monika, he didn’t even blink. I was worried because I’d never seen Jett like that before that night. Jett was always live. Finally, after about an hour, Jett said something. “I was there, Nick. I was right fuckin’ there, Nick-Right there. She called me, Nick. She said things didn’t go well with Chilly. She said to meet her at her house. When I got there I heard the shots. I ran to the door, yellin’ for Monika. I went inside and saw her. . lying there. I picked up the phone and called the cops. She tried to talk. But I couldn’t hear what she was sayin’. I did what I could to stop the bleeding and make her comfortable. I heard a noise in the back. I got to the back door in time to see someone drive away. I got to my heap and I followed him. He didn’t pick me up. He stopped at a house on 229th Street. I put on my gloves and went in after him. He didn’t hear me come in; caught him in the bathroom pissin’.