Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 21- Momma Peaches

I feel like death warmed over.

Make no mistake about it, I'm happy to be alive, but all this poking, prodding, and pricking me is riding my last nerve. I'm ready to get the hell up out of here. Two days of hospital food and old bitches—pardon my language, Lord—sponge-bathing and wiping my ass is driving me up the wall.

Why did Alice come after me? Why did she kill Cedric Robinson? Who helped her escape the mental hospital? Who was Arzell Carter's backstabbing ass? What about Rufus Jones, who was found dead in the backyard? What is my relationship with Barbara Lewis? Have I ever met her before? Was I sure? Why did Alice kill Captain Johnson? On and on the questions went until my head felt like it would explode.

I should've gone with the truth. I'm too old and tired to try to keep up with a lie, plus I promised the man upstairs that if he got me through Alice's crazy, bat-shit meltdown I'd turn over a new leaf. What can I say? Changing is harder than I thought.

Between interrogations and catnaps, I sneak glimpses of the local news from the television mounted on the wall. The constant up-to-the minute updates on the death of the city's beloved Captain Johnson have the city reeling.

"Hello?" A new nurse sticks her head into the room. "Time for another blood draw."

"I'm not going to have any blood left by the time y'all get through." She laughs, but I'm not joking. The nurse sets up by the bed and glances up at the television.

"Damn shame." She pricks my arm without warning. "This city is going to hell. You'd think we live in a third-world country or something."

"Humph." This nosey bitch knows that I'm tied to the case.

She and the others have been creeping in here every chance they can, trying to get my ass to talk so they can have something to gossip about around the nurse's station. I don't have time for messy bitches—Excuse me, Lord.

Yet, the old me wants to say, "That grimy, punk-ass bitch nigga with a badge finally got what the fuck he had coming to him."

He made most of his career-making busts off the backs of the Vice Disciples. He even put my husband, Isaac, in the clink ten years back. Hell, Captain Smith was gunning for Isaac since he rolled in from Chicago. Yet, at the end of the day, Captain Melvin Smith lived by the streets and he died by the streets. End of story. Now, knowing the role he played in Mason's disappearance, I hope his ass is roasting in hell with a fucking apple in his mouth.

On the screen, the news replays this morning's press conference. Captain Hawkins stands in front of the cameras looking like a deer caught in headlights. It's almost funny since she's more competent and on her game in person than she comes across on TV. Still, I keep staring and thinking that I know her ass from some place. I don't usually forget faces—but then again, I'm stacking some years on this old body and maybe one or two names have slipped between the cracks.

The Memphis Police Department is going out of its way, trying to convince the public that they're united in getting the city's growing violence under control. They ain't fooling nobody. The city is broke, and niggas here outnumber the police by a wide margin.

"All right. That's it," the nurse says after filling the last vial. "I'll see you in a few hours." She grabs everything up and then swishes her thick hips toward the door.

"Afternoon!" Captain Hawkins says, strolling into my room with a forced smile. "You're looking good today."

Oh, damn. Not again. Instead of answering, I swing my gaze to the tall, lanky cop waltzing in behind her. Who in the hell is this? "I'm sorry. This is Lieutenant John Fowler. He will be the lead investigator on your case. Of course, I'll be working with him and overseeing everything while transitioning into my new position."