Sharon parked the car in front of the restaurant, and got out of the car at the same time Brenda did. She glanced at her watch, then at the Chief.
"How long do you think you'll need with the son?" She asked.
"Mm. Hard to say. 45 minutes, tops?" Brenda answered, rummaging through her bag for her pad and pen.
"Okay. I won't need that long with the store owners, so I'll meet you over here when I'm done." Sharon flashed a wide grin at Brenda, then spun on her heel and walked over to the mini mart, pulling open the door and disappearing inside.
Brenda watched her go, then turned, and walked into the restaurant. She was uneasy, but she couldn't place the source of her feeling. The young man she was supposed to be interviewing sat on a stool at the counter, his head in his hands. She walked over to him, and sat down on a stool near his.
"Mr. James?" She spoke his name softly, though thanks to the string of bells on the door to the restaurant, she was sure she hadn't startled him with her presence.
"Erik. Mr. James is my father." His voice was thick with tears.
"Erik. I am so sorry about your sister. I promise you, I'm going to do everything in my power to bring her killer to justice. Any help you can give me, to that end, would be greatly appreciated. Do you think you can answer some questions for me?" She asked gently, putting her notepad on the counter.
"Sure, although I don't know what kind of help I'll be." He spun his stool to face her, his eyes hollow.
"Can you tell me about your sister? People she may have argued with recently, or a jilted boyfriend?"
He laughed, a short, bitter burst.
"I can't tell you anything about my sister. We haven't spoken in over a year."
"Since your father's diagnosis?" Brenda was surprised.
"We had a...disagreement. I haven't really seen my father since then, either." He answered.
"Illness can be hard on a family, I know when my daddy had his heart trouble, it put a right strain on my relationship with my mama and my brother. It's hard to see the people you love hurting, isn't it?" She sympathized, patting the young man on his arm.
"Well, sure. But that wasn't what the disagreement was about. Alessia, she told my father that my brother and I would never want anything to do with this place. So he changed his will, and gave Jerome second dibs on it. I tried to tell them that Jerome wouldn't like being 2nd in command to a younger woman, but nobody would hear me. They thought I was jealous, that I was trying to get in line. That I wanted this place. I don't, you know. I hate the smell of cooking oil. I got teased in school, because I always smelled like fry grease. I don't want to run this place. I just knew that, being old school, Jerome wouldn't take kindly to being put second to Alessia. My father always looked past that man's fault, because he loved him. But I see him for who he really is. And really, he's a punk ass, who thinks women belong in the kitchen, or knocked up. But not above him in business, you feel me?" He ground his teeth together.
"What about your mother? Did she have feelings about Jerome?"
"She knows what I know. But she doesn't think he's capable of doing anything to fix the problem, you see? She dated Jerome, before she met my father. She called him shiftless. Said he lacked direction. She told me that Jerome had all the good ideas, and my father had all the follow through. And that that's why she married my father. Because he would follow through. This restaurant was Jerome's idea. He wanted to have a soul food joint, you know? Place for families to come, eat some good food, shoot the shit, place they could bring their kids. Said he wanted to call it Romey's Joint. When my mom got together with my father, she told him that Jerome had asked her father for a loan to start it up. Her father said no, because he knew it would fail. So my dad went to the small business beureau, and had them draw up a business plan. He found a real estate person who showed him around to different restaurants that were on sale. He went to her father, with estimates, and projections of profits. Her father gave him a loan to start this place. My father and Jerome didn't speak for 6 months, and then my father brought Jerome on as a junior partner. I don't think Jerome really understood that that meant that if my dad kicked the bucket, he'd still be junior to whoever my dad chose. So when my dad got diagnosed, right? Jerome was all, 'I'm here for you, man. The restaurant will be safe with me.' and all like that, and my dad was like, 'The restaurant will be in good hands, with you and Alessia.' And Jerome left that room, you could just feel the rage, you know? Like it was coming off him in waves. And so I told my dad, that he had to make Jerome the senior partner, or cut him out all together, because he wasn't going to be no second to no female. And my father just looked at me. He looked at me and he said, 'Son. I never thought I'd see the day, when you'd dishonor your uncle like that. You'll always have a place in this business, but Jerome has been there from the start. You can't just say whatever you want to say, and think that that will make me change my mind about the will. I'm disappointed in you.' And I didn't know what to say. I mean, here, my father finds out he's dying, right? And all I'm trying to do is be a man, and make sure my baby sister is okay, and he's thinking I'm trying to move on him? Before he's even cold in the ground? Does he think that's the kind of man he raised? Just because I don't want to run the restaurant, doesn't mean I don't have dreams. I'm in school now, for information technology. I'm going to open a computer repair business. But my father thinks I'm busy chasing girls, and drinking beer on the corner. He doesn't see me, just like he didn't see Jerome. I don't know what happened here last night. But I do know that I find it damned weird that someone came in here shooting, and my baby sister gets executed, and Jerome walks out with not a scratch. They didn't take shit. I looked around. Nothing is missing. They shot my sister in cold blood, ma'am, and they left Jerome in the kitchen. What could she have done? She's 24 years old. What could she have done? Tell me that." His voice broke, and the tears spilled over, as he put his head down on the counter and sobbed.
Brenda put her hand on his shoulder, and patted it absently, her mind reeling with the new information. With her free hand, she rummaged in her bag, and pulled out her cell phone.
"Lt. Tao? Can you run the money on a Mister Jerome Parks? Yes, he was the junior partner in the business. Thank you so much." She slid the phone shut, and realized that Erik was staring at her.
"You think he set it up, don't you?" His voice was hard, now, no trace of tears.
"No sir, I do not. I don't have any thoughts, yet, one way or the other. I already ran the money on your father, your sister, and you and your brother. I wasn't aware that Jerome had a vested interest in the business, because until I spoke with you and your father, we were under the impression that he was just an employee. Since that's what he told us. Erik, can I ask you one more question? It might seem odd, but I think it might be important." Brenda leaned in, putting her hand on his arm.
"Sure. I'll tell you anything you want to know." Erik replied.
"Before last night, had anyone shot a gun in here before, that you know of?"
"Once, we got stuck up. This was about, 6 years ago? And Jerome, he was waving the pistol they kept for protection, cuz he didn't think it was loaded, and he shot the ceiling. Just over there, above the magazine racks. You can still see the hole. My dad left that tile up to remind the neighborhood thugs that we got bullets too, you know? Worked, too, til last night. Nobody tried to mess with us, not even the peeps who roll with the Russians now." Erik answered, gesturing in the direction of the errant bullet.
"What happened to the casing? From the bullet that hit the ceiling.?" Brenda asked.
"We kept it in the cash register. Just to razz Jerome. It's probably still there." He moved around to the register, and keyed it open. He shuffled through the change, then the bills, then looked up at Brenda, his eyes wide.
"It's gone. It's been here since it happened, and it's gone. What does that mean?" He asked, his voice trembling.
"I'm not sure, Erik. But I intend to find out." Brenda answered. She glanced at her watch, and discovered that an hour had passed since they started talking. She frowned, wondering what was keeping Sharon.
"Listen, Erik. You've given me a lot to work with today, and I thank you so much for being so forthcoming. I am truly sorry for your loss, I am. I can tell that you loved your sister very much, and I want to do all that I can to bring her killer in, okay? If you think of anything else, you call me. I have to go find my associate. She had some questions for the owners of the mini-mart, and I expected her back a while ago." Brenda stood, and started towards the door.
Erik reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Wait! Let me walk you over there. There are some people who don't take kindly to cops in this area, and they all tend to congregate over there. And no offense, but you scream 5-0." Erik kept his hand on her arm, as he propelled her towards the door.
"Well all right then. Thank you." Brenda hoped that Sharon's late arrival was due to the discovery of something important, and not anything untoward.
They walked up the street, and Brenda peered into the store, but didn't see Sharon anywhere. She pulled open the door, and Erik followed her in. Stepping to the counter, she flashed her badge at the tall clerk.
"Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson. My associate came in here about an hour ago, to inquire about the shooting that took place here last night. Can you show me where she is?" Brenda kept her accent under control, limiting her drawl.
"She was here. She left. I do not know where she went." The man's accent was pronounced.
"Can you tell me your name, sir?" Brenda narrowed her eyes at him.
"Robert Peters." He replied, his voice terse.
"And did you speak with my associate?"
"I did. She asked about the politsiya who shot his gun last night. I do not know him, but I have seen him before. He is friends with that chornee* who works the restaurant on this street. I told her that. She asked how often he was around. I told her I do not keep the tabs on politsiya or the chornees. She asked me about the young people who are often in and out of my store all the day long. I tell her that I cannot be the truant person, and make them go to school like they should. So I keep my head down, and I mind my business, and they do not steal my cigars and the candy." He turned away, straightening a display behind him.
"How long ago did she leave, Mr. Peters?" Brenda was trying to push back the creeping sense of dread.
*chornee is a phonetic spelling of the Russian word for Black.
"Mmm. Thirty minutes, maybe? As I say, I do not keep the tabs on the politsiya." He replied, without turning to face her.
"All right then. Thank you." Brenda stepped back out onto the street, and took several deep breaths. Erik stood next to her, scanning the street.
"Your girl, she got a cell phone?" he asked, realizing that the blonde woman was near panic.
"Yes. Or, at least, she did. Assuming it hasn't been stolen." Brenda replied, frozen by the worst case scenarios running through her head.
"Call it." Erik barked.
"What? Oh. Yes. Right." Brenda pulled her phone out, and dialed Sharon's number. As she stood, listening to the ring, Erik walked down the street, then gestured to her to follow.
"Come here, fast!" He called out.
Brenda sprinted after him, following as he turned into the alleyway between the restaurant and the mini-mart.
"Call the phone again." he said
Brenda dialed, and heard the faint ringing of Sharon's cell phone. She followed the sound, and found Sharon on the ground behind the dumpster. Dropping to her knees, she dialed 911, while fumbling to find a pulse. She sobbed with relief when she felt the steady thrum of Sharon's heart beneath her fingers. When dispatch answered, she relayed their location, and explained that there was an officer down. She turned to Erik, still standing there, looking slightly green.
"Go get me some plastic bags, and some tape. And go tell Mr. Roberts to give you a pack of Ziploc bags, unless he wants the wrath of the LAPD on him. Go fast!" She instructed, turning back to the prone form on the ground before her. There was a huge bruise forming on Sharon's temple, and she had the beginnings of a black eye. Brenda found a pencil in her purse, and flipped open Sharon's blazer, relieved to see that she still had her gun and badge. She heard footsteps returning, and looked up to see Erik dashing down the alleyway, his hands full of plastic.
"Here. I got a lot of bags, because you didn't say how many." He said, handing her the items.
"Thank you. Can you go wait for the ambulance, and show the paramedics where to bring the stretcher? " She asked, turning back to Sharon without waiting for his reply.
She took a large plastic bag, and placed it over Sharon's left hand, covering the sleeve of her jacket as well. She used the tape to secure it, then repeated the process on her right hand, hoping to preserve any evidence that might have been collected if Sharon had fought back. She knew that she shouldn't move her, that she might be disturbing the crime scene, but she didn't care. She pulled Sharon into her lap, and stroked her face gently.
"Sharon? Captain Raydor? It's Brenda. It's me. Sharon. If you can hear me, I need you to wake up now. Sharon. Come on, now. You're a fighter. Don't stay down." Brenda leaned down, pressing her lips to the Captain's forehead.
"Come on. Sharon. Dammit, Captain! Don't you bail on me now. You just got bumped on the head. Come on." Brenda's voice cracked, and the tears that had been obediently staying put, spilled over. She angrily wiped them away, and sniffled loudly.
"Do you...need...a tissue, Chief? If they left my purse, I believe I have one." Sharon's voice was thin, and very dry, but Brenda thought it might have been the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.
"Oh thank god. Thank. God. I cannot tell you what you've done to my need for chocolate, Sharon. I may have to knock over a ding dong truck. What on earth happened?" Brenda pressed her face into Sharon's hair, relishing the citrus sting, and ignoring the tears that continued to fall.
"I talked to the store owner, Robert. He's a charmer, let me tell you. And he told me that Officer Taggart was friends with one of the restaurant people. I'm assuming it's Jerome, though it may also be the daughter. I left the store, and stopped by the car to make a phone call to my team. Then, I was on my way in to meet you, when I heard something behind me. I went to turn, and everything went black. The next thing I remember, is you, sniffing into my ear drum." Sharon moved to sit up, but Brenda held her tight.
"You've got quite the bump on your head, so I think we'll forestall any movement til the paramedics arrive, okay? Humor me?" Brenda pleaded.
"Fine. I'm a little dizzy anyway." Sharon relaxed into Brenda's arms.
"They should be here any minute. My god. You were laying there, so still. And I thought...I thought that you...and I..."Brenda stifled another sob, and leaned down, pressing her lips gently against Sharon's. "When I found your pulse, I promised myself that as soon as you were awake, I would kiss you, no matter who was around. Leave it to you to wake up in the alley before there's an audience." She quipped, quirking her lips in a small smile.
"I didn't know you were an exhibitionist, Chief Johnson." Sharon murmured, wincing as she moved her head.
"Shhh. Hold still. I think I hear them coming." Brenda said, but put her hand on her gun belt, flipping the holster open anyway.
The paramedics, led by Erik James, burst into the alleyway, and moved quickly, transferring Sharon to the stretcher, and checking her vitals. Brenda called Sgt. Elliot, and asked him to bring the spare set of keys for Sharon's car, and drive it to the hospital, since her purse was indeed, missing. Then, she shook hands with Erik again, and thanked him for his help, before following Sharon into the back of the ambulance.