Frank Zafiro - Some Degree of Murder

She shook her head.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s tall and skinny. Sometimes he wears his hair in cornrows. Sometimes it’s picked out in an afro.”

“He’s black?”

“Oh, yeah. Fawn likes black guys. Me, I can go either way, but she really dug it.”

“Did you tell this to the cop who came and talked with you?”

“No way. He never asked about a boyfriend and I probably wouldn’t have told him anyway. You’re not going to tell Fawn’s mom are you? That would kill her.”

My mouth was dry. “Why didn’t she tell her mom about Malcolm?”

Natalia looked at me like I was stupid. “Because he’s nineteen. Because he’s black. Because she was sleeping with him.”

I stood up and walked off without saying a word.

“Are we done?” she called after me.

When I didn’t answer, I heard her say, “Asshole.” Then the door slammed behind me.

We were headed down to a Denny’s on Sprague when the driver finally spoke. “I’m pretty sure I know which one you’re looking for. It’s near the Home Depot and the Costco.”

I stared out the window as neighborhoods passed by.

“I can recommend a couple of better places to eat than the Denny’s,” the driver said. He was balding, fat and breathed heavily as he drove.

The cab hit a pothole and bounced me into the middle of the back seat. I pushed myself upright behind the passenger seat and fastened my seat belt.

“Sorry about that. Damn city never repairs their pot holes.”

When I didn’t answer him, he reminded me about his offer. “Like I said, I know a couple of better places to eat.”

My eyes shut tight as I tried to block out his babbling. He must have gotten the hint because he became very quiet. Several minutes later we pulled up to a Denny’s on Sprague near Edward Road. I paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi.

“Want me to wait for you? I’ll click the meter off until you’re ready.”

I shook my head and turned away, not waiting for an answer.

Inside the Denny’s, a wrinkled waitress with sagging breasts and a wide ass showed me to a small booth. When I realized I couldn’t see the kitchen, I told her I wanted a different booth and pointed out my choice. She crinkled her nose at me. “Makes me no never mind. Something to drink?”

“Coffee.”

She brought a clean cup and filled it. She laid a menu in front of me. “I’ll be back for your order.”

I nodded and scanned the restaurant. Several elderly couples occupied the booths around me and a couple of single men sat at the bar eating their breakfasts. Older waitresses hurried about, helping out their customers..

The door to the kitchen opened and a black kid walked out carrying a large grey tub. He loped over to a table and cleared it of dirty dishes and glasses. His hair was in cornrows and he had the gaunt look of someone who had seen too many long nights dancing with crack. How he managed to continue working surprised me, but by the way he looked I imagined he’d probably quit any day.

He walked by me on his way to another dirty table.

“Hey,” I said to him and held out a fifty.

The kid stopped and eyed the green in my hand. “Yeah?”

“Are you Malcolm?”

“Nope,” he said flatly but never took his eyes off of the cash.

I waved the bill in my hand. “I need to ask Malcolm a question.”

He looked around the restaurant. “Go ahead and ask.”

I shook my head and folded the bill in my hand. “Not here. Out back.”

“What’s the question?”

“Out back,” I said and got up from the table. I passed Malcolm on my way to the cashier. I dropped three bucks in front of the clerk. “I just had coffee. That should cover it and the tip.”

She nodded and took the cash.

Out back, I had just lit a cigarette when Malcolm came out. “Can I have one of those,” he asked with a motion towards my smoke. I gave him one and lit with my lighter.

“Where’s the money?”

I pulled the fifty out of my pocket and slipped it under the lip of the dumpster next to us. “You get it when you give me an answer.”

“Then ask your question.”

“Why was Fawn Taylor down on Sprague?”

His eyes widened and he stopped midway through an inhale on his cigarette. The smoke came out in bursts as he coughed. “You five-oh?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m looking into her death as an interested party.”

“Interested party? What’s that mean?”

“It means I want to know why she was down there.”

Malcolm looked over at the cash that hung from the dumpster. “She was workin’.”

“You mean hookin’?”

“Same thing, gee.”

“Why was she workin’?”

“Girl didn’t have no cash. Couldn’t steal any from her parents. Them folks never left shit lying around.”

“Why’d she need cash?”

Malcolm looked at me. “That’s more than fifty dollars worth of questions.”

“I’ll double it then. Why’d she need cash?”

“She needed more of that cookie-cookie crack than she could afford.”

“You got her smokin’ it?”

“I didn’t make the girl do nothing she didn’t want to do.”

“Who was she working for?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I dunno. She was independent.”

“No one’s independent.”

The kid laughed at me. “Listen, this is how it worked. I hooked her up with my dealer. She wanted some of the juice but he wouldn’t give it to her for free. So she let him fuck her for a hit. He told her if she wanted more to go and earn it on Sprague. That bitch sure could fuck for a girl her age.”

“You knew she was fourteen?”

“Yeah, I did. She knew what she wanted. I just helped her find it.”

“What did she want?”

“Black dick and good times.”

I pounced on him, forcing him into the building. When the back of his head hit the concrete wall, the cigarette fell from his mouth. I punched him hard in the gut and doubled him up. My hand grabbed his face and slammed his head again into the wall. I smashed him three times in to the wall and let him drop to the asphalt. He lay on the ground, moaning softly.

As I walked away I tucked my shirt into my pants and straightened my jacket. I shook free another Camel and lit it. I wandered through the parking lot of the Home Depot and entered the store.

An hour later, I climbed into a clean River City Taxi and told the driver I needed to go back to the Davenport hotel. He was a young, white kid in a pressed white shirt with a black tie. His spiky blonde hair and diamond stud earring clashed with the business attire but his attitude was professional none-the-less.

“Yes, sir,” he said when I told him my destination. “I’ll have you there in a few minutes.”

We were traveling westbound on Sprague behind a thick patch of traffic. The kid remained quiet except to ask me if I had a preference on a music station. When I told him I didn’t he turned off the radio. We rode in silence for a couple of miles when I saw it. Near Freya Street, the thing that nagged at me earlier when I was on Sprague finally worked its way into my consciousness. On one side of the street, an older white woman walked down the street in high heels and a short skirt. Across the street, a large black man walked at the same pace, his eyes always on her. His walking cane was for show and bounced lightly off the ground as he strolled.

“Do me a favor and stop the car.”

The driver looked over his shoulder at me before pulling into the parking lot of an auto detailing shop. “Sir?”

“I’m getting out here. What do I owe you?”

He rattled off an amount and I shoved some bills in his hand. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Axel.”