Lemmon's Journey

Chapter Eleven

Detective Miriam Quinez sat listening to the old man tell his melodramatic sob story about losing his wife and then discovering letters from his runaway daughter. She listened uninterrupted as Lemmon narrated about boarding a Peter Pan bus from a town called Sheffield, enroute to Harlem, New York. How eventually he found the remains of his daughter cremated inside an urn. She listened to his croaking voice with genuine empathy and pity. Miriam was in her mid-thirties, raised by a single mother in Brooklyn. She had lost her only brother to gun violence while as a rookie and was wise enough to know she too could have become a similar statistic to the streets years back had she not decided to become a cop. She had seen enough strife and darkness and was familiar with the hurting pain Lemmon Grandee was going through. Plenty of times she had being the one to break such type of news to parents who’d lost a son or daughter to drugs or guns. The misery was especially predominant here in Harlem. It was a scourge that will never go away.

They were at her desk on the second floor of the 35thPrecinct building, along Amsterdam Avenue. Lemmon had enquired from the duty officer manning the front desk who’d directed him where to go, and he was lucky Miriam had little work doing when he appeared to break her monotonous work. Lemmon told her the name of his daughter, and mentioned Shontelle’s name as well. Miriam turned to her desktop and punched several keys on her computer then clicked on a mug shot photo that was his deceased daughter. The photo was seven months old and it identified her as a prostitute. Her rap sheet listed her string of arrests, most concerning s*x soliciting, reckless endangerment, assault, receiving stolen property, and drug possession. Lemmon looked at the sullen feature that was his daughter, distraught by how wrecked she looked. Miriam then allowed him to tell his story.

Lemmon finished his diatribe with a question, which basically summed his purpose of visit: he wanted to know how his daughter died. Miriam was used to such question, even though it pained her to see the misery on parents’ faces whenever they requested it. Sometimes the less they knew was often the best.

“Are you sure you’d like to know?” she asked him.

“Yes, I am sure,” answered Lemmon.

Miriam told him to wait. She got up and left the detectives’ room and was gone for some minutes. Lemmon played with his hat while he surveyed the large room, observed the other plain clothes detectives behind their desks talking into phones, some questioning strange fellows who looked uncomfortable be there. No one bothered looking at his direction. Lemmon polished his glasses with his tie while he waited. Miriam returned with a file folder in her hand. She sat down and opened it and Lemmon watched her sift through the contents before turning to him.

“We did a full autopsy before we released her body,” her voice became mechanical as she read off the status report. “No one appeared to claim her corpse, thus the state granted cremation. I’m sorry to say this but your daughter was strangled. We found rope lesions and someone’s palm prints around her throat. The same pair of hands that severed her carotid artery. Aside from that, there were major scarring around her virginal walls, meaning she was raped before strangulation. Autopsy also found quantities of alcohol, cocaine, and crystal meth in her blood stream. Numerous puncture marks on her arms, wrists and thighs, where she’d ingested her drugs over a period of time. She had severe bruises on her flesh as well. There were three wide cuts on her abdomen and torso, and bruising on her cheek and nose. Whoever it was that did this to her gave her quite a beating before she died.”

Miriam pulled three photos out the folder and gave them to him. The photos showed his daughter lying dead on a metal slab, her features too pale. Her eyes were shut and looked like she was asleep. Lemmon was numb listening to the detective call off the contents in his daughter’s folder. His heart cried out was he stared at his daughter’s photographs and quickly gave them back, not wanting to store her dead image in his memory.

“I never could imagine one day being alive to see her like this,” he remarked.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Grandee.”

“Her friend Shontelle told me she had been the one who wrote the letters to me. The ones I told you about.”

“Yes, I know Shontelle. She too has a history. Just glad she managed to turn her life around. It’s a lot hard for women who’ve lived that sort of life before to ever change.”

“She told me the man who had my daughter hooked on the drugs and enslaved her. Said his name is Wilkes.”

Miriam nodded. “Shawn Wilkes. Yes, he’s a devious character. Did she tell you what he’s about?”

“That he’s dangerous and he uses women to do whatever.”

“He’s what you might call a stain in the city, and the sort of clout he’s got makes it hard for us to nail him. We know he’s into racketeering, drug distribution, including prostitution, but some far we haven’t pinned anything on him. His women deliver his drugs and count his money for him. Every time we tried to make something stick, he manages to maneuver his way out of it.”

“He’s responsible for my daughter’s death,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“That may be,” she said politely. “But right now we can’t prove that.”

“He has my grandson, too. My daughter had a little boy named Randall. I’ve asked Shontelle about him, but she told me he’s probably with this Wilkes fellow.”

Miriam gave him a quizzical look when he mentioned this. She reached for her notepad and wrote what Lemmon just said. This was an angle worth exploring. There was a lot regarding the investigation she wasn’t privileged to share with Lemmon. On the surface, all lingering cases against Shawn Wilkes appeared closed, but only if something new cropped up. Even now there was still an ongoing sting operation at work to bag him to justice. This new insight was something she was going to have to clarify with her Captain.

“We’ll have to look into that,” she said, closing the folder. “I have to ask sir, how long will you be in the city?”

“Right now I don’t know. I gave myself a week, but it looks like I’m going to be here longer than that. Until I know my grandson is safe with me to take him home.”

“That sounds all right. What’s the name and address of the hotel where you’re staying?”

He told her and she wrote the address down on the notepad.

“I know it’s not my place to ask this,” Lemmon said to her, “Is there any assurance I can get about you arresting this Wilkes fellow responsible for my daughter’s death?”

Miriam chose her words carefully before she spoke. “That’s a question I can’t answer right now. Officially, the case has gotten somewhat cold since no leads have turned up with anything new. But I’ll talk with my Captain and see what else can be done to bring it to light.”

Disappointment clouded Lemmon’s face. There was nothing encouraging in her words, no inkling of hope that any outcome of justice will befall the bastard responsible for his daughter’s demise, the same bastard who now owned his grandson. He’d used spent his anger last night at Shontelle’s apartment and was too weary right now to grip with the detective. Still he wasn’t giving up on this—no way was he returning to Sheffield carting just Gloria’s ashes and his broken heart. He would remain here and find a means to see all of this to the very end. Nothing was going to quell his heart till he got some closure to this. Lemmon got up and shook hands with the detective, told her he would keep in touch. Miriam promised doing the same too. She watched him walk away from the office as quiet as he’d appeared. She tore off the page where she’d written his number and pocketed it. Miriam knew she was going to be seeing him again soon.

* * *

Reggie stood behind a bar counter, reclining with his arm against the cash register. He was perusing the day’s New York Times. A jukebox across the room played classic rock and roll at low volume. The bar was dark, located in the basement section of a restaurant. The proprietor owned both establishments, and usually steered his customers to the bar to water down. A back window looked out at the street level sidewalk that was 84thStreet. All it showed was the dull sighting of people’s feet walking along the sidewalk and cars cruising past. It was 11:17 A.M. Folks won’t start pouring in till noon for their afternoon liquor.

For now there were just Reggie and two other patrons in the bar. This was his favorite time, when he seldom got to be bothered by anyone. It was his daydreaming time, when he imagined himself being somewhere else. Far from the city. It was a subject he never stopped bringing up with Shontelle: both of them quitting Harlem and everything that had to do with New York. Leave the past behind and head southbound to the future, to Florida to the start of something new. Why Florida?Shontelle asked him. Why not anyplace else, what’s Florida got that other cities don’t?The sun, he answered. Lots and lots of sun, and the ocean, too. Reggie couldn’t seriously explain his wholesome fascination about Florida, except something about the state reminded him of happy childhood dreams. He loved the summer, and Florida seemed the ideal place to stay warm and live life happy. He was weary of the cold and hostile outlook that was New York. Here you work like a mule and get little or nothing for your time. Everywhere he looked he saw the same old haunts he’d known since a young pup. The same garbage-infested gutters and dark alleys filled with the same ragged familiar faces. The same old cats multiplied by a dozen, strutting the streets, repping the same old thing they did last year. Whenever one croaked dead, five more took his place. The cops too ain’t changed, too. Reggie hated his life here with nothing new coming his way. The idea of heading to Florida was a topic he never stopped pressing on Shontelle.

What’re we gonna do if and when we do get to Florida?She flung the question at him. Reggie never liked the way her voice sounded whenever she talked back at him, like she always had to question his intelligence and deride him for not sounding serious enough. It was hard though blaming her for ribbing him that way. Like her, he too had crawled out of the gutter. He too had lived through the horror of being a dope fiend who later got cleaned up unlike plenty of others he knew who never made it through. It was high time he proved and showed her that he was a man of his word and passion.

“I don’t know, but we’ll think of something,” he’d snapped back. “Look, I ain’t saying it ain’t gonna be tough, but have a little faith, babe. We’ll work something out. Look, we’ll start out with nothing and one way or another end up with something. We’ll get ourselves jobs. I’ll work nights and days and do whatever, and we’ll save us some money and do something great with it. We’ll rent a couple of boats and teach ourselves how to fish.”

Reggie gets so animated when engrossed with his Florida daydreaming he could barely make himself stop shooting ideas off the top of his head. Even now as he stood behind the counter engrossed by the day’s headlines, he couldn’t quit picturing it all happening. He knew Shontelle would go along with it. She might be headstrong, but he knew she too would love nothing but quit her Starbucks job and move on to something better, even though she thinks leaving the Big Apple is a bad idea. Some more convincing was all she needed, and Reggie figured that moment would come once he’d saved up for the trip.

He looked up when he heard the front door open and sun light streamed momentarily from outside as someone shut the door and came down the short flight of stairs into the bar. The man approached the counter and Reggie folded away the newspaper, surprised by the presence of his visitor.

“The hell . . . how you find me, old man?”

“Shontelle,” Lemmon answered after he’d taken one of the bar stools and dropped his hat in front of him on the counter. “I stopped at Starbucks and she told me where you might be.”

“I’ll be damned. You walk all the way getting here?”

“You can say that.” Lemmon rubbed his knee and grimaced from the long walk he’d just had. “I did make some stops along the way to catch my breath.”

Reggie chuckled. “Seems you enjoy punishing yourself, old man. How come your old ass didn’t take the train?”

“I don’t know how. Maybe I will next time. You got anything to drink in this joint?”

“Sure, I’ve got what you want, old man. What will it be?”

“I’ll start with a beer, anything you’ve got. And stop calling me old man.”

“Yeah, whatever. What’s your brand of beer I’ve got a lot.”

“You choose, I don’t care.”

Reggie filled him a glass of draft beer and placed a napkin under his drink. Lemmon sipped his drink and smacked his lips.

“That felt real good,” he dropped the glass.

“You look like you’ve been needing that a long time.”

“With what I’ve heard and seen before I got here, I could use a dozen of these.” He took another sip of his drink. “So, this where you work?”

“One of them. I’ve got another gig at a jazz club down in south side Bronx.”

“You play?”

“With a couple of my buddies, yeah. Bass guitar, twice a week gig thing. We’re trying to impress the club owner, see if maybe the fat cat can open some doors opened for us. When you’re down the ladder bottom, it’s hard for cats sitting at the top to hear you. Also out here, you’ve got plenty of younger cats doing the same s**t you’re onto, only a lot better than you.”

“Always hard and tough finding a break.”

“Oh man, you’ve got no idea. I’m stuck at this shitty counter serving drinks a year now. Easy-going, I know, but I f*****g hate it. I’d make more money selling eight balls, than I would standing here pocketing tips. But do I got a f*****g choice? Don’t think so.”

“So spread your wings and move to something different. You can’t do anything else?”

“I could, but pickings are slim. I ain’t done through college, and I’ve got a stamp on my record I can’t shake off.”

“What do you mean?”

Reggie contemplated whether to tell him. He didn’t really want to, but figured the old man was harmless. Besides, he seemed to be in a talking mood, so why not.

“I got popped two years back—grand larceny. That was a black days, slinging H.”

“I don’t follow.”

Reggie looked at him, frustrated. “s**t man, I was smoking and selling heroin, that’s the f**k I’m sayin’. You get it now?”

Lemmon nodded that he got it. “That happen before or after you knew my daughter and Shontelle?”

“A little before. I ain’t goin’ to lie to you, old man. s**t was crazy back then. Weird and crazy. Doing s**t to score just to get high, and the girls were too. Me and the fellas hit the streets hustlin’, do a little bit of robbin’ and stealin’ . . . somehow we got sloppy and I got thrown in the slam. It was either that, or I’d probably have OD’ed someday. That was a life changer for me.”

“OD’ed?”

“Yeah, you know, I’d have dropped dead and died from all that s**t. Either that or catch a bullet or get my ass shanked someday. These streets can kill without blinking, it’s all I’m saying.”

“How did you get yourself cleaned?”

“Wasn’t my choice. The cops threw me in a government-type rehab cleaning program, about the smartest favor the government ever did for me. The place had old school crack heads and junkies in there, a lot of them loonier than batshit. It’s was like taking a stroll through hell, you know what I mean. Washing all that junk off you, then they’d talk you out through therapy. Some guys I knew couldn’t handle it and sneaked off into the streets again. Surprised I didn’t join them; maybe I was too damn tired to even try. Somehow I stuck with it.”

“How about Shontelle? How did she get clean?”

“I ran into her a couple more times after I’d gotten clean and brought her there. I’d have brought your little girl there too, but she was deep in bed with Wilkes at the time. Last thing I needed was showing my face around his turf. That bastard got me hooked in the first place.”

“I’d like to meet this Wilkes fellow,” Lemmon declared.

Reggie looked at him seriously. “Oh man, you don’t wanna do that. Trust me, you don’t.”

“I went to the station this morning and spoke with the detective Shontelle told me about. This Wilkes character is well known to them, but they’ve nothing to go after him.”

Reggie smirked. “I ain’t surprised. Listen old man, Wilkes ain’t the type of fella you want to be messing with. The man snuffs people, young or old. The f**k you gonna do, walk over and threaten him to give up your grandson? That what you think of doing?”

Lemmon considered the question. “Not threaten, no. I just want to talk to him to give me Randall.”

Reggie laughed. “Just like that? You’re s**t out of spitting luck, old man. A guy like Wilkes would throw you off his sight than spite at you.”

“Then we’d better make sure he does, because I do want to speak with him.”

“s**t, man. You’re old, you’re crazy, and you’re dumb for even thinking of that.”

“So I’m dumb,” Lemmon conceded. “It’s why I need your help.”

Reggie saw the determined look in his eyes. “You f*****g serious?”

“I amserious, Reggie. Down to my bone.”

“Well if you are, then what you need my black ass for? You want to go out and catch a death sentence, be my f*****g guest. Don’t drag me along for the ride.”

“You know where I can find him. Point him out to me, and I’ll take care of the rest. I won’t need you to do anything besides that.”

Reggie shook his head and got busy washing several wine glasses under the counter. “Ain’t my fight, old man. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to happen, Reggie, whether you help me or not. There’s got to be people around who know where I can find him. I don’t care who I’ve got to bribe to tell me what I need.”

“Hold on to your pension, old man. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to take you, just saying you’re nuts, it’s all. A white man like you has got to be crazy.”

“You would be if you were me,” said Lemmon.

“Hell no, old man. I’d cheated death before. You’re walking into a lion’s den, that’s what you want to do. I’m going along with this ‘cos I knew Gloria, but not for your old ass. How soon you want this to happen?”

“Whenever you’re free. Today, if possible. Or tomorrow, I don’t care. The longer I wait, the more I might explode.”

Reggie checked his watch. “Damn, past noon already. Tell me where you’ll be, so I’ll roll over and come grab you in the evening.”

Lemmon wrote down the hotel’s address and his room number for him on a napkin and told him he would be in all day. He finished his drink and paid for it before wearing back his hat and left the bar.

* * *

Evening was fast approaching and Lemmon was tired to make the long walk back to his hotel and decided to attempt the subway. He stood for a long time cross-checking the subway route’s map before buying himself a rail ticket. Twice he missed his way and sought train advice from transit cops before he figured out the right platform to be standing. He rode toward Fifth Avenue and got off from there, then strolled into Central Park. He knew the direction from where he was to the hotel and took his time getting there. Lemmon avoided the milling cluster of tourists, too many of them aiming cameras in every conceivable direction. In the park he saw mothers leading their babies in strollers, families pointing at ducks in a pond, friends laughing and talking as they walked. A conglomeration of activities he had missed as a father. Too many things he should have done with Gloria but never did. Standing there and seeing all this happen brought forlornness to his eyes. Lemmon felt like he was the only one missing out right now on what was a perfect day to be in the park. He bought a soda from a vendor and sat on a bench and observed the world before him. He might have missed with Gloria, but it wasn’t late to start all over with his grandson. He looked at the sky and his thoughts went out to Abby. He imagined her looking down at him right now. Lemmon wondered what she thought of him sitting here on this bench in a city that was foreign to him.

How he missed her so much.

He finished his soda and dumped it in a trash bin before continuing with his walk. He located one of the park’s exits then went searching for where to get something to eat.

An hour later walking back to the hotel, Lemmon drew to a stop and made a gasping sound as he felt a numbing pain in him. His hand went to his chest and he groaned from the burning-like sensation coming from his heart. He went and leaned against a wall, waiting for the sensation to go away. He took control of his breathing, whooping air in and out of his mouth as beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. He fanned himself with his hat, still maintaining his breathing procedure.

A minute later the sensation gradually abated. Lemmon felt better but remained where he was, stunned by the heart palpitation he’d just survived. It wasn’t the first time such occurred to him. He’d gotten himself through a physical a month before his retirement. Stress had being the diagnosis and the doctor had prescribed a bunch of pills and taught him the deep-breathing procedure. Lemmon presumed cynically that the doctor would have prescribed anything to get an old goat like him out of his chair, though the first time he’d experienced such attack, the procedure had worked perfectly when he tried it. His bunch of pills were in his side drawer at the hotel; he would take them the minute he got to his room.

Lemmon resumed his walk with no further incident except still muffled from the experience.

Hours after he’d consumed his pills he returned to the phone booth to give Marley another call. A woman was there hollering and spitting angry profanity into the mouthpiece. He waited in the corridor, cringing from listening to her expletives. The woman gave one final curse before slamming down the phone’s handle and strutting away from it. Her eyes glared at Lemmon as she walked past, as if expecting him to demand a taste of her vitriol. He approached the phone booth and saw the phone’s handle was greasy with oil stains when he picked it up. He popped his set of quarters then dialed Marley’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Marley. It’s me, Lem.”

“How’re you doing, Lem? Tell me something, did you say last time that Gloria’s dead?”

“Yes, Marl, it’s the truth. My little baby’s gone.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Lem. Really, this hits below the belt.”

“Yeah. You can’t imagine how bad I felt when I got the news.”

“I know. Tell me everything.”

Lemmon scratched the side of his head then began talking.

* * *

The dream occurred to him again, but with a difference this time. As always he was dressed to travel, flying over the lonely highway at midnight. Someone hovering in the sky some distance away from him. Lemmon drew closer and realized it was his grandson Randall. He yelled his grandson’s name, but Randall didn’t make like he heard him. Something dawned on Lemmon that they weren’t alone, that something was coming for them. He looked over his shoulder and gasped with horror at the fiery demon streaking across the moonless sky toward them. Lemmon tried to increase his speed but it was futile. The demon advanced frighteningly closer and closer. Lemmon yelled at his grandson to run. Randall was now alert and frightened. He too yelled something at his granddad but Lemmon couldn’t make out his words. The demon streaked past Lemmon, leaving a fiery red trail behind him. Lemmon dove after the demon but all he caught was air. He watched helpless as the demon fell upon his grandson. Lemmon stopped to let loose a scream and his scream merged with Randall who was as well screaming as the demon ripped through him.

Lemmon shot up from bed, screaming his head awake.

A thudding sound emanated from his heart and he doubled up in pain. It felt as if his chest was about to explode. Eventually he fell back on the bed.