Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 38- Hydeya

The Royal Knights motorcycle club . . .

This damn city is going to hell fast and dragging my ass down right along with it. Forty-three muthafuckin' dead bodies. I can't even wrap my head around this shit right now. I haven't even been captain a full week and now I have a damn massacre on my hands. Black folks have gone crazy.

The white folks have gone crazy. What in the hell is going on? "Here you go," Fowler says, coming up from behind me and handing me a cup of coffee.

"You look like you could use this."

"Only if you spiked it with a little sumpthin' sumpthin'," I say accepting the cup.

"I would if I could, but word is that the chief is coming down."

"Of course she is. Why miss an opportunity to put her other foot into my ass and then drag me in front of the cameras?" I glance up to where the Royal Knights' windows are supposed to be to see a train of news vans and reporters clicking and filming away.

It's going to be another one of those days. Huffing out a long sigh, I chug half a cup of coffee in one gulp. Since I'm operating on less than two hours of sleep, I'll likely need a caffeine IV drip before the end of the day.

"Well, I guess you can look on the bright side," Fowler says in between his own sips of coffee.

"At least there are bodies to match up to the blood everywhere. Last night, the department responded to reports of gunfire out at the Rivergate Industries parking lot only to find a hell of a lot of blood stains and spent cartridges—but no bodies. Whatever the hell went on, the shooters were kind enough to clean up after themselves."

"Humph. No bodies equals no homicides, which equals no paperwork, which equals nothing to jack up my sky-high murder rate even higher. You need to learn to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth, Fowler."

"Your murder rate?" He chuckles. "Look at you. You're already talking like a seasoned captain."

"Do me a favor and start acting like a detective and find me some clues to who's behind this bloodshed so I can limit the number of times I look like Boo Boo the Fool on the evening news. Can you do that?"

He busts a smile and gives me a two-finger salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Watching his wise-cracking-ass march off, I chug down the rest of my coffee. After I spend another ten minutes supervising detectives and the forensic team, a commotion stirs up outside and the herd of reporters swarms around the chief.

"Chief Brown! Chief Brown! Chief Brown," they chant in unison before competing to outshout individual questions at her.

"I have no comment at this time," the chief keeps repeating while trying to push her way behind the crime scene tape.

Once she's inside the bullet-riddled motor club, she snatches off her cheap sunglasses and zeroes in on me like there's a hidden tracking device on my ass.

"Hawkins," she barks, and then goes on the march. In my sleep-deprived head, I envision myself turning into the Road Runner, giving her ass a few beep-beeps, and then jetting out of here.

"This is the last damn thing the department needs right now." And the award for stating the most obvious shit goes to . . .

"Do you hear me, Captain Hawkins?" Brown snaps.

"Yes, ma'am. We're all on top of it."

"I don't need you to just be on top of it. I need results—on something! The mayor is riding my ass so hard my hemorrhoids got fuckin' hemorrhoids, you understand me?"

"Yes, Chief." Talk about a visual that I could've done without. She sucks up a sharp breath and then glances around.

"Now. Do we have any idea what the hell went on out here?" I take in a deep breath, prepared to deliver the bad news, when Fowler's shout cuts me off.

"WE GOT A LIVE ONE HERE!"

Everyone's heads whip around to a back door. Chief Brown and I race to the sound of Fowler's voice like a pair of competing Olympians. By the time we reach the entryway, Fowler has a white woman scooped into his arms and is carrying her up the stairs.

She's wearing a tiny jean skirt and a bikini top and is covered in blood except for the tears running from her powder-blue eyes.

"Oh God, please tell me that she saw who did this," Chief Brown prays openly. At the woman's nod, I'm flooded with relief as well and wait for her to speak with bated breath.

"They were niggers."