Blind Man's Alley by Justin Peacock Page B

the door of a cornered suspect was in the doorway; if a blind shot was fired that was where it would go. After a minute he knocked again, louder, again identifying himself as police. Finally the door opened, still latched on the chain, and a small, plump, elderly woman stared out at him. “Dios mío,” she said. “You see what time it is?”
    “IT’S LIKE this, Rafael,” Detective Jaworski said to the young man across the table. “We’ve got guys searching through your apartment right now. They’re turning the place upside down. Your grandmother’s room too.”
    Over an hour had passed since they’d brought Rafael in. The uniforms had driven him back to the Housing Bureau, where they had Fowler make a confirmation in-person ID. Once they’d brought him to the Ninth they’d left him to cool his heels for a while, running his sheet, waiting till the warrant was granted and the search of the Nazario apartment was under way. They’d also run Rafael’s hands and clothes for gunshot residue.
    “You got no reason to be dogging me,” Rafael said. He was loose-limbed and lanky, maybe still growing.
    Gomez shook his head. “Oh, but we do, Rafael. You going to deny you had a beef with Sean Fowler?”
    “I got no love for the man, sure, after what he done. The only reason they got those fake police there is to throw us out of where we live.”
    “I know it’s hard to believe when you live in the projects, Rafael,” Jaworski said, “but smoking weed is still illegal in these United States.”
    “He didn’t catch me smoking no weed.”
    “We have the police report and the court file, Rafael,” Jaworski said. “We know you pled out.”
    “I pled to disorderly conduct is all. That’s not even a crime . Besides, I only pled to that to get out of jail. It don’t mean I did nothing.”
    “Actually it does,” Gomez said. “Or don’t you remember the part where you told a judge that you were guilty?”
    “I was just doing like my free lawyer told me to do. She didn’t believe me neither, but I wasn’t doing shit when Fowler came up on me that night.”
    “I understand why that’s your story now, Rafael,” Jaworski said. “I guess your Legal Aid lawyer neglected to fill you in on what could happen if you pled guilty to a drug charge.”
    “This is all just bullshit,” Rafael protested.
    “You didn’t realize that pleading guilty on smoking a blunt would lead to your losing the roof over your head, did you?”
    Rafael winced in frustration. “How am I supposed to know that?” he said. “If my stupid-ass lawyer don’t bother to tell me, then how’m I gonna know?”
    “Let alone that it would mean your grandmother’s looking at being out on the street too,” Jaworski said. “Can’t feel too good, doing that to the woman who raised you.”
    “We got a new lawyer now, a real lawyer, taking care of all that.”
    “A real lawyer, huh?” Gomez snorted.
    “Let me make sure I have this, Rafael,” Jaworski said. “You’re saying that Sean Fowler framed you on a drug charge, that now because of that charge you and your grandmother are getting evicted from your apartment, meaning that the woman who raised you up is looking to be out on the street in the twilight of her years, and you’re saying that with all that you’ve got no motive to kill Fowler?”
    “Anybody do that shit to me and mine I’d have something to say about it,” Gomez added.
    “I got plenty to say about it. But I’m saying it through the lawyer. He’s straightening all this out.”
    “Maybe, maybe not,” Gomez said. “But it’s all because of Sean Fowler.”
    “Look, Rafael,” Jaworski said. “We’re all reasonable people here. Now, we obviously know that you and Fowler had a history. We’ve got an eyewitness that puts you at the scene. The lab will be back to us within the hour, let us know whether you’ve got gunshot residue or blood spatter on your hands or the clothes you were wearing. If you’re going to