Ham’'s call had gone out on police channels; bad news traveled fast.
“"Still alive. Sort of.”" Grace had left the hospital to come to the crime scene. Jedidiah Briscombe had looked like death, shrunken in the hospital bed with a cannula in his nose that was giving him oxygen but not much comfort. “"I put the word out, hope Jamal comes in to see him. If he does, I’'m cuffing him to Mr. Briscombe’'s hospital bed.”"
“"Mae told me that some of the girls at school think boys in gangs are scary-cool. That’'s what they say, ‘'scary-cool.’'”" Rhetta looked stricken. “"I don’'t know what Ronnie would do if Mae …... well, actually, he might lose his mind if she brought a boy home for a simple, innocent study date. Even a nice boy.”"
“"I’'m wondering if Malcolm joined up, too,”" Grace said. “"That could explain why he snuck out of the house. Maybe Tyrell gave him a job and Malcolm screwed up. Maybe he did something more unforgivable than getting fired from a place Tyrell hoped to toss.”"
“"That sweet baby?”" Rhetta caught her breath. “"What if Todd joins a gang?”"
“"He’'s not going to join a gang. And Mae is smart. She wouldn’'t date a gangbanger.”"
“"You’'re smart. And some of the guys you wind up with …...”" Rhetta scrunched up her nose.
Grace was mildly affronted. “"Hey, I only pick up nice guys. Mostly.”"
“"How about that one who left you handcuffed to your bed all day?”" Rhetta countered.
“"Zach? He got scared. I forgot to tell him I was a cop.”" Grace shook her head. “"Rhetta, your kids are good kids. They’'ll stay good kids. Thanks for moving on this so fast,”" she added, changing the subject. “"I know you’'re busy.”"
“"I gave you cuts. It was the least I could do, for Malcolm.”"
Bobby trotted up with a notepad and pencil in hand. His hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and he was wearing a black leather vest over a burgundy shirt. He said, “"We’'re getting the footage off the minimart security tapes. They’'ve got a camera aimed at the front door, and another directly at the street because of the number of drive-bys. They got their windows blown out last Halloween.”"
“"Straight at the street? Whoa, talk about a lap dance,”" Grace said. “"That’'s just a damn gift.”"
There was a phantom smile on Bobby’'s face. Nobody could be very happy at the scene of Malcolm Briscombe’'s death, but they were cops, used to a sort of tough love that left civilians stymied. You saw what a cop saw, you had to put it at a distance. Look at Bobby, all messed up after he went undercover in that child sex ring. Hateful and angry, till Grace made him scream out his rage and horror.
Grace said, “"I’'m going to go take a look at the dealer while Henry’'s got him on the table.”"
Rhetta nodded. “"And I’'m going to pray for his soul.”"
“"Don’'t bother,”" Grace said. “"He doesn’'t have one.”"
Forty minutes later, Grace put on a surgical gown and a mask and entered Henry’'s morgue. Her mission: to collect more information on the case; and also to curse the dead scumbag to hell. Henry had told her on the phone that he placed his victim—--if a dealer could be called a victim—--at under eighteen. She had three cases involving minors now: Haleem, Malcolm, and Shithead. She wanted very badly for there to be good solid links between two or even all three of her cases so she could gift-wrap it and hand it to Captain Perry. Make it a scoop that Kendra Burke would be forced to share with her adoring public. But that might be more than even God could manage.
I’'m gonna hate you on sight, Grace promised the dead dealer as she approached Henry’'s slab. But when she saw Henry weighing his lungs, then moved her line of vision to the profile of the corpse’'s face, she was startled by Shithead’'s youth. He might be older than Malcolm, but he certainly couldn’'t be as old as Jamal. Another kid,
“"Still alive. Sort of.”" Grace had left the hospital to come to the crime scene. Jedidiah Briscombe had looked like death, shrunken in the hospital bed with a cannula in his nose that was giving him oxygen but not much comfort. “"I put the word out, hope Jamal comes in to see him. If he does, I’'m cuffing him to Mr. Briscombe’'s hospital bed.”"
“"Mae told me that some of the girls at school think boys in gangs are scary-cool. That’'s what they say, ‘'scary-cool.’'”" Rhetta looked stricken. “"I don’'t know what Ronnie would do if Mae …... well, actually, he might lose his mind if she brought a boy home for a simple, innocent study date. Even a nice boy.”"
“"I’'m wondering if Malcolm joined up, too,”" Grace said. “"That could explain why he snuck out of the house. Maybe Tyrell gave him a job and Malcolm screwed up. Maybe he did something more unforgivable than getting fired from a place Tyrell hoped to toss.”"
“"That sweet baby?”" Rhetta caught her breath. “"What if Todd joins a gang?”"
“"He’'s not going to join a gang. And Mae is smart. She wouldn’'t date a gangbanger.”"
“"You’'re smart. And some of the guys you wind up with …...”" Rhetta scrunched up her nose.
Grace was mildly affronted. “"Hey, I only pick up nice guys. Mostly.”"
“"How about that one who left you handcuffed to your bed all day?”" Rhetta countered.
“"Zach? He got scared. I forgot to tell him I was a cop.”" Grace shook her head. “"Rhetta, your kids are good kids. They’'ll stay good kids. Thanks for moving on this so fast,”" she added, changing the subject. “"I know you’'re busy.”"
“"I gave you cuts. It was the least I could do, for Malcolm.”"
Bobby trotted up with a notepad and pencil in hand. His hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and he was wearing a black leather vest over a burgundy shirt. He said, “"We’'re getting the footage off the minimart security tapes. They’'ve got a camera aimed at the front door, and another directly at the street because of the number of drive-bys. They got their windows blown out last Halloween.”"
“"Straight at the street? Whoa, talk about a lap dance,”" Grace said. “"That’'s just a damn gift.”"
There was a phantom smile on Bobby’'s face. Nobody could be very happy at the scene of Malcolm Briscombe’'s death, but they were cops, used to a sort of tough love that left civilians stymied. You saw what a cop saw, you had to put it at a distance. Look at Bobby, all messed up after he went undercover in that child sex ring. Hateful and angry, till Grace made him scream out his rage and horror.
Grace said, “"I’'m going to go take a look at the dealer while Henry’'s got him on the table.”"
Rhetta nodded. “"And I’'m going to pray for his soul.”"
“"Don’'t bother,”" Grace said. “"He doesn’'t have one.”"
Forty minutes later, Grace put on a surgical gown and a mask and entered Henry’'s morgue. Her mission: to collect more information on the case; and also to curse the dead scumbag to hell. Henry had told her on the phone that he placed his victim—--if a dealer could be called a victim—--at under eighteen. She had three cases involving minors now: Haleem, Malcolm, and Shithead. She wanted very badly for there to be good solid links between two or even all three of her cases so she could gift-wrap it and hand it to Captain Perry. Make it a scoop that Kendra Burke would be forced to share with her adoring public. But that might be more than even God could manage.
I’'m gonna hate you on sight, Grace promised the dead dealer as she approached Henry’'s slab. But when she saw Henry weighing his lungs, then moved her line of vision to the profile of the corpse’'s face, she was startled by Shithead’'s youth. He might be older than Malcolm, but he certainly couldn’'t be as old as Jamal. Another kid,
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