“Whoever did this doesn’t give a fuck if he’s caught,” Davis observed.

“He’s probably not planning on being in town long enough to give a shit about any evidence,” Ellington said.

“All right, spill it!” Miles ordered, watching Ellington and Davis summarize a case, although he had no clue what they were summarizing.

“What?” Ellington asked.

“What the fuck are you working on that made you show up here today? And how did you come to the conclusion that this son of a bitch is planning to skip town? I want to know what you know, Detective, and I want to know now!” Miles said forcefully.

“Remember the assault on the old lady that happened last month sometime?” Ellington asked. “The really brutal one?”

Miles scratched his head as he tried to remember. “I think I do. The old woman from the projects. She was raped. Fucked in the…”

“Jesus!” Brittingham whistled. “Same fucking MO. You think they’re related?”

Ellington nodded. “I know they are. The girl that he was looking for when he attacked the old lady was her best friend,” said Ellington, pointing to Markita’s dead, naked body.

“Why in the fuck didn’t you say so when you first walked in?” Miles shouted. “What, is this a fucking poker game or something? We holding our cards close, Detective?”

“What the fuck does Vice have to do with any of this?” Brittingham asked.

“The girl’s husband was a major dealer who got popped. He was a Vice target. She was also a Vice target. Her new boyfriend popped her husband; he was a major dealer, and a Vice target, and then he got popped,” Ellington explained.

“Who’d he get popped by, her third boyfriend?” Miles proclaimed. “Talk about some bad-luck pussy.”

“So who are we after here?” Brittingham asked, just wanting his job to be as simple as possible.

Ellington shrugged. “I wish we knew. The only thing we do know is that this guy is a fucking nut case.”

“I want the file on this one,” Miles told her. “I want to know everything that you know, and I want to know it yesterday. I’m getting this son of a bitch off the streets.”

Two dark-suited men stepped into the bedroom. They were young, clean-shaven, well-dressed. They screamed Feds.

“And you two are?” Miles asked, not playing any more games with his crime scene.

“I am Agent Harbinger, and this is my colleague, Agent Covington. We’re from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“FBI?” Miles huffed. “What’s your jurisdiction here?”

“Excuse me?” Josh asked.

“Well, we got Homicide, Internal Affairs, and now FBI. I guess DEA and Customs will show up next, telling me that she was smuggling for the cartel. This whole thing stinks to high heaven. Why are so many noses interested in a young, dead black woman with no criminal record, no known boyfriends, vices, or any other red flags in her history? Why is the FBI here, at a homicide scene? Don’t tell me: She was kidnapped at the age of four? You heard me, why are you here?”

Josh smiled. “Was she a victim of an abduction?”

“Don’t get cute with me, son!” Miles bellowed. “What’s the FBI’s business here? I’m trying to conduct a homicide investigation.”

“We’re conducting a highly classified federal investigation,” Josh told him. “We’re going to take a look around, if you don’t mind. By the way, why did you say you had vice detectives here?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why are they here?” Phil asked Josh. He removed a notepad and pen from his pocket.

“And why is Internal Affairs here?” Josh added.

“Just leaving,” Cleaver told them. He stormed from the room angrily. Fucking FBI. I needed a chance to search the damn place and these assholes show up. Fuck! I’ll have to come back later when the circus is over.

Ellington and Davis headed for the exit.

“I’ll get those files to you, Lieutenant,” Ellington told him as she left the apartment.

Phil and Josh turned to each other and smiled.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on here?” Miles asked, looking at Harbinger and Covington as the room cleared out.

“Hey, we just wanted to jump-start the marathon,” joked Josh as he patted Covington on the back.

“Yeah, get ’em up and runnin’.”

Let’s Call It a Comeback

Michael pulled up his Lincoln Navigator in front of Gah Git’s house. His mother looked somewhat tired.

“You okay?” he asked as he placed his hand on top of hers.

“Yes, son, yes, I’m fine. You gonna have to help me out this big truck you got,” Gah Git said.

“I’ll help you, Gah Git,” said Bria, hopping out and opening the door for her grandmother.

“Here, I got her,” said Michael, pushing Bria out of the way to assist his mother.

“Dag, Uncle Michael, just push me down the next time,” joked Bria.

“Come on, Mama; don’t pay her no mind.”

“That crazy child right there, is you kiddin’ me?” added Gah Git, agreeing with her son.

“Whatever, say what you want, you know who be in here taking care of you, Gah Git. Uncle Michael’s just a visitor, Gah Git. I’m the one who’s gonna have to take care of you.”

“Lord have mercy, I’ll be all tore up in here with you and your crazy sister,” said Gah Git as she looked at her granddaughter and thought of Irene, the twins’ mother, who had died while giving birth to the girls. Gah Git thought of her daughter, Irene, every day. Everybody did, but no one talked of the twins’ mother, no one really ever said Irene’s name, never. That’s how Gah Git had ended up with the twins. Gah Git brought them home from the hospital and went over to the funeral home the next day and buried her daughter. Gwendolyn’s crazy ass was too busy doing other things, like getting high, to take care of Khaleer, so Gah Git demanded the youngster stay with her. And when Gwendolyn had Brandi, addicted to crack cocaine at birth, Gah Git stepped in and took her from Social Services. Ms. Bradley, the social worker assigned to Brandi’s case, still came by from time to time just to visit with Gah Git. She had been trying to get Gah Git to foster mother some abandoned children in the system, but Gah Git had her hands full. Paula was the only child of hers who seemed to have it together. She worked at the bank as an assistant branch manager, she dated on and off, took her yearly vacations to the Caribbean, and was raising Gary, Zorian, and Avanna on her own.

Michael swung open the door as Bria held the screen door for Gah Git. Out of nowhere, the darkened living room lit up and all the family popped out of nowhere.

“Surprise!”

Everyone yelled in unison as Gah Git stepped through the door. Gah Git looked around the room at her family and thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. There were “welcome home” balloons and ribbons, and flowers from neighbors and well-wishers filled the tiny living room. Paula had cooked for two days and two nights, and if you didn’t know better, you would have thought it was Thanksgiving.

“Malcolm? Malcolm, is that you?”

“Yeah, Mama, they done let a black man be free.”

“Malcolm, oh, son; I can’t believe it.” Gah Git used every bit of strength she had in her and embraced her son. It had been so long since she had seen him. Tears rolled down her checks.

“I been praying, son, praying that you would come home. I’m just so glad you’re here. You just don’t know,” she said, still cradling her firstborn son in her arms.

“Yes, Malcolm, that’s all she’s been talking about: you coming home. We’re glad to see you,” said Paula, giving her older brother a hug as Gah Git finally passed him over.

Gah Git’s heart lit up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza as all her grandbabies ran over to her.

“You been sleeping in that bathtub, boy,” said Gah Git, joking with Khaleer.

“No.” He laughed at her, knowing darn well that he had been.

“Yeah, brother; good to see you,” said Gwendolyn, looking as if she had partied like a rock star all night long as she gave her brother a long embrace.