Disparity By Design 6/10
Mar. 1st, 2012 07:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whedonistTitle: Disparity by Design
Fandom: Nikki & Nora
Pairing: Nikki & Nora
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 – some parts are more risqué, some have serious language and deal with mature themes and adult concepts like violence, offensive language and naughtiness.
Disclaimer: I’m sure I’ve covered this in the previous 7 stories I’ve written in this fandom, but to cover my bases, I’ll repeat myself – Not mine. I’m playing with someone else’s toys, Nancylee Myatt's and others actually. All for fun and if money is being made off what I’m writing, someone should let me know.
Author’s Note: My coffee's cold - thoughts aren't happening right now.
Ch. 6 – Medals & Scars
“This is starting to wear thin, Nora,” I pout as my arms unfold to unbuckle my seat belt. She pulls to the front of the line of police cars and puts Frankie in park.
Her sigh tells me a lot, but she tries to find the sunny side, “At least it was only our bath that got interrupted.” She tilts her head in my direction, smirking.
“Hmm,” I growl, “if it had been anything more, I’d be forced into felony assault.”
Following Nora, I step from the car and look around. The air is still and just this side of chilly. The night sky is clear and the moon high and large enough to show me the taped off area of a building half gutted by fire. No fire trucks though and it doesn’t smell like there was one recently.
“Must be old,” Nora speaks up and I look at her. Her head motions to the house and I nod.
“Come on. Let’s go find out why we are needed so urgently.” I start off on a path around the hollowed house; it leads us towards the back next to another gutted building and a field.
I stop when I see the group of detectives. Nora runs into me from behind and I shoot a look over my shoulder.
Her grin is just this side of sheepish and she says, “Well, you stopped,” as if not paying attention to the person you’re following is reason enough for nearly knocking me over.
“Wait,” she drawls, finally looking over my shoulder to see Georgia, Jesse, Dom and Benny standing in a half circle.
“This better be good,” I snap and pinch the sleeve of her coat to tug her along.
“Well,” Jesse notices us first and says, “look who decided to show up.”
I briefly shut my eyes, chanting a mantra, ‘I will not hit, I will not hit, I will not hit,’ over and over again. We signed out less than two hours ago. We were at home, soaking in our beautiful tub.
“Oh, Jess,” I hear Dom say in a warning tone, “Nik’s gonna pop here in two-point-three. Why don’t we show them what we’ve got and then maybe she won’t try and shoot us all.”
I glare their way and Nora says, “I expect it soon, Barrett. What in the hell warrants dragging all six of us out here in the middle the goddamn night!”
Benny lights up and slips between Nora and me. Slinging his arms across the back of our shoulders he talks, “Well you see my Sapphic sleuths, we had originally called Jess and Georgia, due to a slight conflict of interest. However, upon their arrival they, did what they do so well, and began to detect…”
“Oh, for fucks sake, Armstrong,” Dominic snips.
“Could you get to the point, idyo. We’d like to get home before the sun comes up,” Jesse added.
“The first vics I.D. was on him when we patted him down before the M.E. got here,” Georgia filled in.
“And then I,” Jesse puffed up his chest, “remembered the face of our D.B. matching a file that was on your desk.” Jesse points to me and I feel my brow furrow.
“Well,” Nora gently shoves Benny away and demands, “Let’s see’em.”
Our coworkers motion over their shoulder and I motion Nora along. May as well get this over with.
The bodies have been marked off; placards for the forensic photographer are in place. From the distance, I see the bodies are side by side. One is on their back and the other on their stomach. Reaching the first body, I notice it’s female.
Maybe they moved her to see if they could get her I.D. I also notice the bullet wound they exposed on the back of her skull. The lack of mess tells me it was a small caliber bullet. The man lying next to her is face up. The beam of my flashlight passes over his face. The light glints off a piece of metal in between his lips. Taking a closer look at it, I see it’s a coin. The vics face finally registers.
“Shit,” Nora hisses.
“I see your ‘shit,’ sugga, and raise you a ‘fuck me,’” I grouse right along next to her.
We hunch down at the same time and look into the lifeless eyes of Chad Stohs, otherwise known as, Jon Helms.
Well, ain’t this a bitch.
“How much you wanna bet the girl is his partner in crime?” Nora ticks and I have nothing to say to that.
“Nora,” Georgia comes up behind us and sighs, “How you two manage to get your thumb in all the pies is beyond me.”
“Oh, trust me Sarte, if you want this pie…” I huff and right myself.
The file Annie sent to Luke was just enough to annoy the hell out of Nora and me. Wanting to be thorough, I go to the girl and look over her visible skin. Noting no visible tattoos, I take her left arm and remove it from underneath her body. Pushing the sleeve of her jacket up, the mark I’m looking for is inked underneath her wrist.
Shit.
I bite my lower lip and I feel Nora’s hand on my shoulder.
I drop the wrist and look back up at her.
Her eyebrow is arched and I shrug.
“Beaumont, you okay?” Georgia asks stepping around to the other side of the bodies.
“You sure you don’t wanna take this case?” I ask hopefully.
Her lips jut out and she shakes her head. “Not when you two are lookin’ like that.” Her hands go to her hips and push back her jacket. The beige slacks she has on are getting muddy around the cuff of her boot.
“I’ll call Morgan,” I offer and stand.
“We need to…” Nora can’t manage to say the rest and instead motions behind us to where our other coworkers are.
“Let’s talk to Morgan first.” I don’t want to step in anything more than we have to.
“But you can’t say that’s why they had to pass it on…” Nora tries to argue.
I shake my head and notice Georgia giving us curious looks. “I won’t. I won’t muddy waters either, Nora Marie. Come on. Our night just got more interesting than the bath we were sharing.”
“Really?” Georgia’s incredulous voice sounds behind me as I stalk back towards the team. “Is that really what you two do? I can never get Mike to do things like that…uh, maybe I should…”
I shake my head and hear Nora’s bark of laughter. Shooting a look over my shoulder I see her pull Georgia in and whisper something into her ear.
It’s hard to see in the dark, but her light brown skin grows a bit darker.
“Now, before we get into this detective,” Jake Morgan clucks on the other end of the phone line, “I had to check security clearance…”
“And why would you need to do that?” I interrupt him, sitting up a little straighter in my chair.
“Because you found me and there are very few ways get to Stohs’ file. What I’m curious about is how a detective for the N.O.P.D. has Yankee White clearance with a few addendums tacked on?” I really don’t like the sound of his voice. And what the hell is Yankee White clearance?
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I will patience to come. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
“Marshall Morgan, while I can appreciate good natured curiosity, I really just would like some background information on your witness. Chad Stohs a.k.a John Helms was murdered last night and is the primary suspect, along with the other body found, Jennifer Kirkpatrick, in a bank robbery and double homicide.” Nora catches my eye and I wave her off before snipping, “Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated if you could answer my questions.”
Morgan titters in my ear and huffs, “I knew you wouldn’t tell me, but hell, why not. What do you want to know?”
“Who is Chad Stohs?” I ask picking up the pen next to the notepad on my desk.
“Stohs was a street punk that got lucky. He started playing gofer to some of the more aggressive members of the Seventh Circle Widows. He was a kid that had two loving parents, but a self destructive streak. He turned state’s evidence over to an A.U.S.A. that busted up a human trafficking ring across Michigan, Minnesota, Illinois and Indiana.”
I scribble furiously and ask, “Who’d he turn on?”
“Ian Grinton was the leader of the Thirteenth Street Hooligans, a gang that formed in Chicago. Grinton was running some serious bodies from the Canadian border. Chad actually manned up and came forward,” Morgan answers.
“And who are the Seventh Circle Widows?” I wonder.
“They’re an outfit that started in the Seventies. The gang went national in the early eighties. They like to recruit across color lines, but target underprivileged kids. They start young. Nine, ten years old. Rope kids in as runners, pushers, smugglers and then they move up in ranks. Some of the Widows specialize in drugs, some armed robbery, some smuggling. Depends on where the gang is localized.” I hear him take a drink of something and pick right back up. “Their story is a lot like every other gang that’s started up. The only thing they don’t do, at least from what I know, is kill. While some of them have been tagged with homicide. None that I know of is guns for hire.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Dunno. It’s not completely uncommon, but it’s interesting.”
“So Stohs was a runner that was in the wrong place at the wrong time and stepped forward for help,” I summarize. “Stohs had a black widow tattooed right below his left ear, on the neck. Jennifer Kirkpatrick had one on the inside of her left wrist…”
“Gang symbol. The Widows always mark their kind. Always on the left side. For the guys it’s in one of three places, right below the left ear on the neck, high on the left forearm or on the left hand, back of the palm between index and thumb.” I take a sip of my cold coffee and grimace as he pauses. “For the women, it’s similar, the neck, the wrist or depending on how slutty the girl is, high on the inside of their thigh.”
“Why would it be there?” I ask and scribble some more notes.
“Really it depends. Some girls like it there so that they don’t have anything visible. Mostly, those girls, they end up running with the gang because their boyfriend is and they don’t plan on doing any…” he pauses and his teeth click before saying, “heavy lifting.”
I’m not following. “Heavy lifting?”
“They don’t get involved in activity. The girls with the thigh tat are relegated to arm candy and a warm hole. The girls that have it visible, they’re a different breed. Meaner, a helluva lot more tough and sometimes more dangerous than the men they run with.”
“Most of the gangs I know of don’t allow females to do the ‘heavy lifting’ as you say. Why do they?”
“Dunno, they’re just an equal opportunity gang. When the group got its start it wasn’t so much concerned about looks. They wanted results. They got them. One of the original members was a girl, Shanyett Cascardo. She’s a lifer in California. I suppose, if one of the original members was a girl, why not others, right?” he reasons and I shrug.
I suppose.
“Stohs wasn’t supposed to be in New Orleans. His last relocation was for Jacksonville, North Carolina. Look, given what you know and what I’ve told you, I’d say Stohs wasn’t out of the life, ya know? I’d check with your local know it all about gang activity and start from there.”
I lean back in my chair and silently agree.
“You never mentioned how Stohs ate it. I’ll take a stab in the dark and say Stohs and his gal pal were killed execution style. You probably haven’t gotten the results back, but what the reports are going to tell you is that they were on their knees. The executioner was kind. One GSW each in the back of the head. Small caliber bullet.” He pauses and finishes up, “The bodies were then moved. Not much, just rolled over on to their back, hands clasped over their waists and a coin inserted between their lips.”
“How did…” I try to stop him.
“The coins were gold, more than likely foreign, pounds, English or Scottish in origin and from the eighties,” he finishes.
“How did you…”
“Cascardo’s doing time because she killed two of her underlings. They crossed her. Went out on their own and tried to do bigger and better. If a Widow is killed, and they’re found like that, it’s because one of their own did it. The coins are Charon’s obolus. They may have crossed the leaders, but Stohs and Kirkpatrick are still Widows.”
I rub my forehead and huff, “Well, thanks for the info, marshall.”
“No problem, detective. Good luck with the case,” he says and disconnects.
I lay the phone in its cradle and see Nora looking at me.
I shake my head and she frowns.
“When do you two wanna talk?” Benny appears next the left of our desks. His hands are planted firmly as he rests on them looking between Nora and myself. “Beaumont, I heard you talking to the U.S. Marshall.” His lips purse when Nora and or myself don’t move.
Rolling his eyes, he urges, “You two aren’t stupid. Stubborn, more than I think even I know, but not stupid. Let’s go chat.”
This time he doesn’t wait for us. He turns on heel and heads towards an open interview room. Looking back to Nora, she’s already up and moving.
Scrambling, I grab my note pad, a pen and my coffee. Cold or not, I need something to keep me going right now.
Benny slips inside room four, the last one along the hall. It’s also the one we use to bring in victims’ families to talk to which means there’s no viewing room. There’s no way for someone to overhear. As the last one in, I push the door closed, set my stuff on the end table and lock the door.
The two couches in the narrow room sit opposite each other. Benny’s sitting on the arm of the one on the right, his right foot swinging and arms folded across his chest. Nora’s eyeing him, cattycorner to him on the left, mirroring his position.
Rolling my eyes at their antics, I huff, “Will you both sit down like normal people.”
My eyes narrow as I shoot looks to both of them. Nora’s quicker than Benny, but they both slide down the arm and end up sitting like normal people. Making a point, I sit down next to Benny and start in, “So, we have two bodies. Both involved in the Seventh Circle Widows. Marshall Morgan just gave me a rundown of their identifiers.”
Eyeing the tattoo peaking out above his shirt collar, I continue, “Which you have.”
I don’t see Benny redden often, but he does today.
He is and can be a lot of things. In my time at S.C.U., Benjamin Armstrong has never been withdrawn and sullen.
My attempt at trying to give him space is futile at best. I study our coworker, our friend. Noticing the sweat peppering his forehead, the silence stretches.
It forces me to finally ask, “Are you going to fill in the missing pieces here, partner?”
His tongue pokes out and runs along the bottom of his lip. “Sorry, I just…didn’t think…you think you’ve made peace, as much as you can, and well…” He rubs his hands flat against his thighs as his eyes skirt between me and Nora. “Dom’s the only one that knows, ladies. I mean…”
I feel my brow contract, bunching up as I watch him stumble. His mouth clamps and his eyes drop to the floor.
The sound of him clearing his throat is loud, but it does the trick in allowing him to continue, “I guess I’ll make it short and sweet. I grew up in the East Bay area, San Francisco, California. Dad took off when I was four or so and it was my mom, my sister and me.” His shoulders raise and droop. “My mom worked her butt off, but she was a hippy type, we had people staying with us all the time. Some good, some not so good and some…” he clears his throat again and motions with his hands. “I don’t think I need to elaborate do I?”
“No,” Nora speaks for the first time that we came in here.
His eyes cut to her, mildly surprised. I lay a hand on his knee and say, “Benny, you don’t…”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “I want to.” At my slight nod, he continues, “So right, anyhow, when I got old enough to not be home, to not have to worry about getting beat or…touched, I think I started runnin’ around with neighborhood kids when I was seven, eight or so and it just became a thing. The kids that I ran around with became my family, ya know? We looked out for each other.”
A wan smile passes over his face and he shakes his head. “We had a few of us that stuck around; some left, new ones came.” The smile falters after a few brief moments. “As I got older, my mom’s addiction presented itself and she lost her job. We needed money, so I started peddling, dropping off stuff for O.G. Widows. They were tied into a few of the biker clubs that were around and connected to some other people down in L.A. and San Diego.”
“Needless to say, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was using socially and we, me and my best friend, were at Cha-Chi’s house when some tweaker was too strung out and started shooting the place up. I was zonked, had shot an eight-ball right before it happened. Long of the short is that the judge decided to go easy on me when the dust settled.”
I cock my head to the side and he answers me without provocation, “’Cause we were all using, most of us underage, we were given a choice, juvie or rehab. Rehab went to the kids that named names. Juvie for those of us that didn’t. My record’s sealed. Expunged on my eighteenth, but I got clean and got straight.”
He finally looks at me and points to his neck. “I got this when I was thirteen. I keep it to remind myself. When I got out, I had worked enough to have a decent savings. I got my G.E.D. and the day I was released, I threw a dart at a map of the states and ended up here. I haven’t left since.”
“Do you know anything about the Widows now?” Nora asks.
He shakes his head. “Not really. I don’t keep up. They gave me a bit of protection when I was in juvie, but when I got out, I made a clean break. When I saw the tats on the vics bodies, I knew I had to take myself out of the investigation. So, thanks for picking it up.”
“Benny,” I rub my hand up and down his thigh. His small smile is enough.
“Hey, we’re good. I just thought I owed it to you guys. We good?” He covers my hand with his own and gives it a squeeze.
I don’t notice Nora until she takes up the cushion on the opposite side of Benny. “So, Armstrong, if you’re a bad ass ex-con, how’d you manage the kumbaya detective?”
“A friend of mine in juvie actually, his story wasn’t much different than mine. We got started on it together. A lot of my shit…it was…I wasn’t settled. I found a path that worked.” He winks at us and says, “You should give the meditation a try Delaney, your cranky ass could use with a little bit of mindful meditation.”
“I’ll do that as soon as you line dance to Jay-Z,” Nora retorts, causing Benny and myself to erupt into a fit laughter at the imagery.
Next>>>
Fandom: Nikki & Nora
Pairing: Nikki & Nora
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 – some parts are more risqué, some have serious language and deal with mature themes and adult concepts like violence, offensive language and naughtiness.
Disclaimer: I’m sure I’ve covered this in the previous 7 stories I’ve written in this fandom, but to cover my bases, I’ll repeat myself – Not mine. I’m playing with someone else’s toys, Nancylee Myatt's and others actually. All for fun and if money is being made off what I’m writing, someone should let me know.
Author’s Note: My coffee's cold - thoughts aren't happening right now.
“This is starting to wear thin, Nora,” I pout as my arms unfold to unbuckle my seat belt. She pulls to the front of the line of police cars and puts Frankie in park.
Her sigh tells me a lot, but she tries to find the sunny side, “At least it was only our bath that got interrupted.” She tilts her head in my direction, smirking.
“Hmm,” I growl, “if it had been anything more, I’d be forced into felony assault.”
Following Nora, I step from the car and look around. The air is still and just this side of chilly. The night sky is clear and the moon high and large enough to show me the taped off area of a building half gutted by fire. No fire trucks though and it doesn’t smell like there was one recently.
“Must be old,” Nora speaks up and I look at her. Her head motions to the house and I nod.
“Come on. Let’s go find out why we are needed so urgently.” I start off on a path around the hollowed house; it leads us towards the back next to another gutted building and a field.
I stop when I see the group of detectives. Nora runs into me from behind and I shoot a look over my shoulder.
Her grin is just this side of sheepish and she says, “Well, you stopped,” as if not paying attention to the person you’re following is reason enough for nearly knocking me over.
“Wait,” she drawls, finally looking over my shoulder to see Georgia, Jesse, Dom and Benny standing in a half circle.
“This better be good,” I snap and pinch the sleeve of her coat to tug her along.
“Well,” Jesse notices us first and says, “look who decided to show up.”
I briefly shut my eyes, chanting a mantra, ‘I will not hit, I will not hit, I will not hit,’ over and over again. We signed out less than two hours ago. We were at home, soaking in our beautiful tub.
“Oh, Jess,” I hear Dom say in a warning tone, “Nik’s gonna pop here in two-point-three. Why don’t we show them what we’ve got and then maybe she won’t try and shoot us all.”
I glare their way and Nora says, “I expect it soon, Barrett. What in the hell warrants dragging all six of us out here in the middle the goddamn night!”
Benny lights up and slips between Nora and me. Slinging his arms across the back of our shoulders he talks, “Well you see my Sapphic sleuths, we had originally called Jess and Georgia, due to a slight conflict of interest. However, upon their arrival they, did what they do so well, and began to detect…”
“Oh, for fucks sake, Armstrong,” Dominic snips.
“Could you get to the point, idyo. We’d like to get home before the sun comes up,” Jesse added.
“The first vics I.D. was on him when we patted him down before the M.E. got here,” Georgia filled in.
“And then I,” Jesse puffed up his chest, “remembered the face of our D.B. matching a file that was on your desk.” Jesse points to me and I feel my brow furrow.
“Well,” Nora gently shoves Benny away and demands, “Let’s see’em.”
Our coworkers motion over their shoulder and I motion Nora along. May as well get this over with.
The bodies have been marked off; placards for the forensic photographer are in place. From the distance, I see the bodies are side by side. One is on their back and the other on their stomach. Reaching the first body, I notice it’s female.
Maybe they moved her to see if they could get her I.D. I also notice the bullet wound they exposed on the back of her skull. The lack of mess tells me it was a small caliber bullet. The man lying next to her is face up. The beam of my flashlight passes over his face. The light glints off a piece of metal in between his lips. Taking a closer look at it, I see it’s a coin. The vics face finally registers.
“Shit,” Nora hisses.
“I see your ‘shit,’ sugga, and raise you a ‘fuck me,’” I grouse right along next to her.
We hunch down at the same time and look into the lifeless eyes of Chad Stohs, otherwise known as, Jon Helms.
Well, ain’t this a bitch.
“How much you wanna bet the girl is his partner in crime?” Nora ticks and I have nothing to say to that.
“Nora,” Georgia comes up behind us and sighs, “How you two manage to get your thumb in all the pies is beyond me.”
“Oh, trust me Sarte, if you want this pie…” I huff and right myself.
The file Annie sent to Luke was just enough to annoy the hell out of Nora and me. Wanting to be thorough, I go to the girl and look over her visible skin. Noting no visible tattoos, I take her left arm and remove it from underneath her body. Pushing the sleeve of her jacket up, the mark I’m looking for is inked underneath her wrist.
Shit.
I bite my lower lip and I feel Nora’s hand on my shoulder.
I drop the wrist and look back up at her.
Her eyebrow is arched and I shrug.
“Beaumont, you okay?” Georgia asks stepping around to the other side of the bodies.
“You sure you don’t wanna take this case?” I ask hopefully.
Her lips jut out and she shakes her head. “Not when you two are lookin’ like that.” Her hands go to her hips and push back her jacket. The beige slacks she has on are getting muddy around the cuff of her boot.
“I’ll call Morgan,” I offer and stand.
“We need to…” Nora can’t manage to say the rest and instead motions behind us to where our other coworkers are.
“Let’s talk to Morgan first.” I don’t want to step in anything more than we have to.
“But you can’t say that’s why they had to pass it on…” Nora tries to argue.
I shake my head and notice Georgia giving us curious looks. “I won’t. I won’t muddy waters either, Nora Marie. Come on. Our night just got more interesting than the bath we were sharing.”
“Really?” Georgia’s incredulous voice sounds behind me as I stalk back towards the team. “Is that really what you two do? I can never get Mike to do things like that…uh, maybe I should…”
I shake my head and hear Nora’s bark of laughter. Shooting a look over my shoulder I see her pull Georgia in and whisper something into her ear.
It’s hard to see in the dark, but her light brown skin grows a bit darker.
“Now, before we get into this detective,” Jake Morgan clucks on the other end of the phone line, “I had to check security clearance…”
“And why would you need to do that?” I interrupt him, sitting up a little straighter in my chair.
“Because you found me and there are very few ways get to Stohs’ file. What I’m curious about is how a detective for the N.O.P.D. has Yankee White clearance with a few addendums tacked on?” I really don’t like the sound of his voice. And what the hell is Yankee White clearance?
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I will patience to come. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
“Marshall Morgan, while I can appreciate good natured curiosity, I really just would like some background information on your witness. Chad Stohs a.k.a John Helms was murdered last night and is the primary suspect, along with the other body found, Jennifer Kirkpatrick, in a bank robbery and double homicide.” Nora catches my eye and I wave her off before snipping, “Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated if you could answer my questions.”
Morgan titters in my ear and huffs, “I knew you wouldn’t tell me, but hell, why not. What do you want to know?”
“Who is Chad Stohs?” I ask picking up the pen next to the notepad on my desk.
“Stohs was a street punk that got lucky. He started playing gofer to some of the more aggressive members of the Seventh Circle Widows. He was a kid that had two loving parents, but a self destructive streak. He turned state’s evidence over to an A.U.S.A. that busted up a human trafficking ring across Michigan, Minnesota, Illinois and Indiana.”
I scribble furiously and ask, “Who’d he turn on?”
“Ian Grinton was the leader of the Thirteenth Street Hooligans, a gang that formed in Chicago. Grinton was running some serious bodies from the Canadian border. Chad actually manned up and came forward,” Morgan answers.
“And who are the Seventh Circle Widows?” I wonder.
“They’re an outfit that started in the Seventies. The gang went national in the early eighties. They like to recruit across color lines, but target underprivileged kids. They start young. Nine, ten years old. Rope kids in as runners, pushers, smugglers and then they move up in ranks. Some of the Widows specialize in drugs, some armed robbery, some smuggling. Depends on where the gang is localized.” I hear him take a drink of something and pick right back up. “Their story is a lot like every other gang that’s started up. The only thing they don’t do, at least from what I know, is kill. While some of them have been tagged with homicide. None that I know of is guns for hire.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Dunno. It’s not completely uncommon, but it’s interesting.”
“So Stohs was a runner that was in the wrong place at the wrong time and stepped forward for help,” I summarize. “Stohs had a black widow tattooed right below his left ear, on the neck. Jennifer Kirkpatrick had one on the inside of her left wrist…”
“Gang symbol. The Widows always mark their kind. Always on the left side. For the guys it’s in one of three places, right below the left ear on the neck, high on the left forearm or on the left hand, back of the palm between index and thumb.” I take a sip of my cold coffee and grimace as he pauses. “For the women, it’s similar, the neck, the wrist or depending on how slutty the girl is, high on the inside of their thigh.”
“Why would it be there?” I ask and scribble some more notes.
“Really it depends. Some girls like it there so that they don’t have anything visible. Mostly, those girls, they end up running with the gang because their boyfriend is and they don’t plan on doing any…” he pauses and his teeth click before saying, “heavy lifting.”
I’m not following. “Heavy lifting?”
“They don’t get involved in activity. The girls with the thigh tat are relegated to arm candy and a warm hole. The girls that have it visible, they’re a different breed. Meaner, a helluva lot more tough and sometimes more dangerous than the men they run with.”
“Most of the gangs I know of don’t allow females to do the ‘heavy lifting’ as you say. Why do they?”
“Dunno, they’re just an equal opportunity gang. When the group got its start it wasn’t so much concerned about looks. They wanted results. They got them. One of the original members was a girl, Shanyett Cascardo. She’s a lifer in California. I suppose, if one of the original members was a girl, why not others, right?” he reasons and I shrug.
I suppose.
“Stohs wasn’t supposed to be in New Orleans. His last relocation was for Jacksonville, North Carolina. Look, given what you know and what I’ve told you, I’d say Stohs wasn’t out of the life, ya know? I’d check with your local know it all about gang activity and start from there.”
I lean back in my chair and silently agree.
“You never mentioned how Stohs ate it. I’ll take a stab in the dark and say Stohs and his gal pal were killed execution style. You probably haven’t gotten the results back, but what the reports are going to tell you is that they were on their knees. The executioner was kind. One GSW each in the back of the head. Small caliber bullet.” He pauses and finishes up, “The bodies were then moved. Not much, just rolled over on to their back, hands clasped over their waists and a coin inserted between their lips.”
“How did…” I try to stop him.
“The coins were gold, more than likely foreign, pounds, English or Scottish in origin and from the eighties,” he finishes.
“How did you…”
“Cascardo’s doing time because she killed two of her underlings. They crossed her. Went out on their own and tried to do bigger and better. If a Widow is killed, and they’re found like that, it’s because one of their own did it. The coins are Charon’s obolus. They may have crossed the leaders, but Stohs and Kirkpatrick are still Widows.”
I rub my forehead and huff, “Well, thanks for the info, marshall.”
“No problem, detective. Good luck with the case,” he says and disconnects.
I lay the phone in its cradle and see Nora looking at me.
I shake my head and she frowns.
“When do you two wanna talk?” Benny appears next the left of our desks. His hands are planted firmly as he rests on them looking between Nora and myself. “Beaumont, I heard you talking to the U.S. Marshall.” His lips purse when Nora and or myself don’t move.
Rolling his eyes, he urges, “You two aren’t stupid. Stubborn, more than I think even I know, but not stupid. Let’s go chat.”
This time he doesn’t wait for us. He turns on heel and heads towards an open interview room. Looking back to Nora, she’s already up and moving.
Scrambling, I grab my note pad, a pen and my coffee. Cold or not, I need something to keep me going right now.
Benny slips inside room four, the last one along the hall. It’s also the one we use to bring in victims’ families to talk to which means there’s no viewing room. There’s no way for someone to overhear. As the last one in, I push the door closed, set my stuff on the end table and lock the door.
The two couches in the narrow room sit opposite each other. Benny’s sitting on the arm of the one on the right, his right foot swinging and arms folded across his chest. Nora’s eyeing him, cattycorner to him on the left, mirroring his position.
Rolling my eyes at their antics, I huff, “Will you both sit down like normal people.”
My eyes narrow as I shoot looks to both of them. Nora’s quicker than Benny, but they both slide down the arm and end up sitting like normal people. Making a point, I sit down next to Benny and start in, “So, we have two bodies. Both involved in the Seventh Circle Widows. Marshall Morgan just gave me a rundown of their identifiers.”
Eyeing the tattoo peaking out above his shirt collar, I continue, “Which you have.”
I don’t see Benny redden often, but he does today.
He is and can be a lot of things. In my time at S.C.U., Benjamin Armstrong has never been withdrawn and sullen.
My attempt at trying to give him space is futile at best. I study our coworker, our friend. Noticing the sweat peppering his forehead, the silence stretches.
It forces me to finally ask, “Are you going to fill in the missing pieces here, partner?”
His tongue pokes out and runs along the bottom of his lip. “Sorry, I just…didn’t think…you think you’ve made peace, as much as you can, and well…” He rubs his hands flat against his thighs as his eyes skirt between me and Nora. “Dom’s the only one that knows, ladies. I mean…”
I feel my brow contract, bunching up as I watch him stumble. His mouth clamps and his eyes drop to the floor.
The sound of him clearing his throat is loud, but it does the trick in allowing him to continue, “I guess I’ll make it short and sweet. I grew up in the East Bay area, San Francisco, California. Dad took off when I was four or so and it was my mom, my sister and me.” His shoulders raise and droop. “My mom worked her butt off, but she was a hippy type, we had people staying with us all the time. Some good, some not so good and some…” he clears his throat again and motions with his hands. “I don’t think I need to elaborate do I?”
“No,” Nora speaks for the first time that we came in here.
His eyes cut to her, mildly surprised. I lay a hand on his knee and say, “Benny, you don’t…”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “I want to.” At my slight nod, he continues, “So right, anyhow, when I got old enough to not be home, to not have to worry about getting beat or…touched, I think I started runnin’ around with neighborhood kids when I was seven, eight or so and it just became a thing. The kids that I ran around with became my family, ya know? We looked out for each other.”
A wan smile passes over his face and he shakes his head. “We had a few of us that stuck around; some left, new ones came.” The smile falters after a few brief moments. “As I got older, my mom’s addiction presented itself and she lost her job. We needed money, so I started peddling, dropping off stuff for O.G. Widows. They were tied into a few of the biker clubs that were around and connected to some other people down in L.A. and San Diego.”
“Needless to say, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was using socially and we, me and my best friend, were at Cha-Chi’s house when some tweaker was too strung out and started shooting the place up. I was zonked, had shot an eight-ball right before it happened. Long of the short is that the judge decided to go easy on me when the dust settled.”
I cock my head to the side and he answers me without provocation, “’Cause we were all using, most of us underage, we were given a choice, juvie or rehab. Rehab went to the kids that named names. Juvie for those of us that didn’t. My record’s sealed. Expunged on my eighteenth, but I got clean and got straight.”
He finally looks at me and points to his neck. “I got this when I was thirteen. I keep it to remind myself. When I got out, I had worked enough to have a decent savings. I got my G.E.D. and the day I was released, I threw a dart at a map of the states and ended up here. I haven’t left since.”
“Do you know anything about the Widows now?” Nora asks.
He shakes his head. “Not really. I don’t keep up. They gave me a bit of protection when I was in juvie, but when I got out, I made a clean break. When I saw the tats on the vics bodies, I knew I had to take myself out of the investigation. So, thanks for picking it up.”
“Benny,” I rub my hand up and down his thigh. His small smile is enough.
“Hey, we’re good. I just thought I owed it to you guys. We good?” He covers my hand with his own and gives it a squeeze.
I don’t notice Nora until she takes up the cushion on the opposite side of Benny. “So, Armstrong, if you’re a bad ass ex-con, how’d you manage the kumbaya detective?”
“A friend of mine in juvie actually, his story wasn’t much different than mine. We got started on it together. A lot of my shit…it was…I wasn’t settled. I found a path that worked.” He winks at us and says, “You should give the meditation a try Delaney, your cranky ass could use with a little bit of mindful meditation.”
“I’ll do that as soon as you line dance to Jay-Z,” Nora retorts, causing Benny and myself to erupt into a fit laughter at the imagery.
Next>>>
