A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. Wish I did, but I don't. I'm just playing around. Enjoy!
Chapter 24.
Ian Nottingham ghosted along the rooftops of the buildings on the block that Alonzo Brown lived on. He had spent nearly 30 minutes of his allotted hour watching the front entrance of the building his quarry resided in, a dilapidated five-story tenement that was nearly identical to practically every other building on the street. Five people had entered and exited the structure during that period, none of whom were the man he was looking for. Finally, Ian had decided it was time to make a move. He was an extremely patient man, and were it not for the time constraint placed upon him by Sara Pezzini, he would have easily spent another hour or two on the rooftop across from Alonzo Brown's building, watching and waiting. Years of practice tracking down people at Kenneth Irons' behest had taught him that sometimes it paid to be patient, that sooner or later the person or persons you were looking for would come to you. But tonight, Nottingham did not have that luxury. He had promised the Wielder he would return in an hour and he knew she would hold him to his word.
Effortlessly, he leapt from the roof of one building to another, until he reached the one he wanted. Climbing onto the fire escape, he descended silently to the third floor. Unfortunately, the shades were drawn on the windows that looked into Alonzo Brown's apartment, completely blocking the view of the interior. However, a light was on in the room that Ian had identified as the bedroom from the glimpse he'd gotten into the apartment directly above this one, and his acute hearing picked up the sound of someone moving around inside the room. Swiftly, he returned to the roof.
The locked and alarmed rooftop door presented no problem at all to him, and within seconds he was inside the apartment building. He paused, allowing his vision to adjust to the dimness of the stairwell. A mélange of cooking odors wafted up to him, underlaid by the smell of refuse, cigarette smoke, incense, and marijuana. Somewhere, perhaps two or three floors below, a baby was crying. Closer by, Ian heard the sounds of a couple arguing in Spanish, televisions, loud rap music, a woman singing in the shower, children laughing and yelling as they roughhoused, and a man's voice repeatedly asking them to stop it and go to sleep. Silently, he descended the stairs, pausing on each landing to listen for the sound of any doors opening, until he reached the third floor. He moved down the dimly lit hallway and stopped in front of Alonzo Brown's apartment. He listened and heard the television playing but nothing else. After cursorily examining the three locks on the door, Ian knelt and removed his lock-picking tools from his coat pocket and set about unlocking the door. He paused after picking each lock and listened, still hearing only the TV. Rising to his feet, he eased open the door and slipped inside. He glided soundlessly down a long hallway, passing the dark kitchen. The flickering light of the television and a small table lamp were the only illumination in the living room, which was empty.
A sweating can of soda and a plate containing a half-eaten sandwich and some potato chips sat on the coffee table. Ian heard a hissing sound and the rustle of clothing coming from the direction of the bedroom. Silently, he moved down the short hallway that led to the bedroom, passing a bathroom on his left and a closet on his right.
Alonzo Brown, a cigarette hanging from his lips, was standing at an ironing board ironing the shirt belonging to the security guard uniform pants he wore. His back was to the bedroom door, and for a full minute Ian stood in the doorway watching him perform this mundane task, which he did awkwardly with his left hand because of the bulky plaster cast encasing his right arm and hand. Then Alonzo must have sensed Ian's presence, for he suddenly looked over his shoulder directly at him.
The man's eyes widened in horrified recognition and his mouth dropped open, causing his cigarette to fall from his lips. But it never reached the shirt on the ironing board because, moving with inhuman speed, Ian caught it in midair, somehow without even dislodging the half inch of ash on the tip.
"Awww, shit!" Alonzo howled in terror. Still clutching the steaming iron in his hand, he stumbled backward a couple of steps, fetching up against an armoire.
"Put the iron down, Mr. Brown," Ian said softly, "and nobody will get hurt."
Wild-eyed, the young man stared at Nottingham and then at the iron in his hand and then back at Ian. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he said, his voice quavering.
"No. Put it down, and we will talk."
"Just talk?"
"That depends," Ian said. Turning, he tipped the ash on the end of the cigarette into the ashtray that sat on a nearby bureau, and then examined the glowing tip with satisfaction before pinning the other man with a malevolent stare.
Alonzo slowly straightened up and moved to the ironing board, setting the hot iron down on it. He gazed at Ian fearfully, unconsciously cradling his plaster-covered right arm in his left.
"Now, Mr. Brown, you are going to tell me where I can find Angel Medina and his brother Joaquin."
"Why you wanna know where they at?"
"That is my business," Ian replied, noting the way the man's eyes darted toward his bed. "I do not want to hurt you, Mr. Brown, but I will if I have to. Save me the trouble and yourself the agony, and tell me where they are."
"You don't know how crazy those muthafuckers are, dawg," Alonzo said, shaking his head. "They've killed niggas just for lookin' at them wrong." His eyes flicked toward the bed again.
"It so happens I do know how mentally unstable the Medina brothers are, Mr. Brown. But if you tell me what I want to know, I can promise you that after tonight, you will never have to worry about them again." Ian took a step closer to the other man, causing him to flinch. "I am fast losing patience with you, Mr. Brown. Tell me what I want to know. Now, or I will put this cigarette out in your eye."
"Fuck that!" Alonzo yelled, and dove for his bed, or, more accurately, for the nightstand next to it.
Calmly, Ian watched as he scrabbled like mad in the drawer of the nightstand and came up on the other side of the bed holding a gun in his none-too-steady left hand. He pointed it at Nottingham.
"Yeah, that's right, I got me a piece, and I'll blow your muthafuckin' head off with it if you don't get the hell out of my house right now, muthafucker!" Alonzo said, breathing heavily.
Ian shook his head. "I am afraid I cannot do that until you have told me what I need to know, Mr. Brown." He turned and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray.
"Are you crazy, dawg? I said I will shoot your goddamn ass!"
"Now, you and I both know that gun is not loaded, Alonzo," Ian said quietly.
The other man blinked, then scowled. "It sure as fuck is."
Ian turned and picked up a framed photograph of a smiling, gap-toothed boy with sparkling, mischievous eyes. "Is this your son?"
"What the fuck? Put the goddamned picture down and get the fuck outta my house before I shoot you, you fuckin' psycho!" Alonzo shouted, but the shaking in his hand worsened.
"I would guess from the toys scattered around the living room and the clothes in that laundry basket over there that he stays here often. How old is he, seven? Eight?"
"Nigga, you must be crazy, standing there talkin' 'bout my boy while I got a gun on you!"
"It is wise of you to keep a weapon on hand, Alonzo, just in case. This is a rough neighborhood. But I think you love your son too much to keep a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer where he could easily find it," Ian said quietly. "I know another father who loves his son very much. That boy will die unless I can find Angel Medina and his brother Joaquin. I myself have not known this boy for very long, but I have already grown very fond of him and would hate to see such a promising life cut short. More importantly, someone I care for very much loves the boy, and his death would destroy her. I cannot let that happen." He gestured toward the uniform on the ironing board.
"I see that you have a job as a security guard, which is quite a feat considering that you have a criminal record."
"That was a long time ago. Just petty, juvenile shit. I ain't no convicted felon," the young man said sullenly.
"However, your job tells me that you do not work exclusively for Angel Medina, and that you are trying to legitimately provide for your son instead of relying on ill-gotten gains, which I imagine would be very easy to do," Ian observed.
"I don't want Corey to make the same mistakes I did," Alonzo said fiercely. "Joining a gang and shit. I'm a lookout for Angel for a few hours before I go to work at midnight. That's all I do. I don't sell no drugs or nothing," he said defensively, lowering the gun. "I know it ain't right, but you can't say no when Angel asks you do to something. He really is a crazy muthafucker. And his brother's even crazier."
"And when you accosted my Lady?"
"Awww, we wuz just tryin' to scare her. I swear. We thought she was some crazy crackhead ho looking to get high. You have to be kinda crazy to come down to this neighborhood alone at that time of night, especially looking as bootylicious as she do. No disrespect, yo," Alonzo added quickly at the dark look Ian gave him.
"So, tell me, Alonzo, do you know where Angel's new drug den is?"
"Yeah. It's an abandoned ice factory on 7th Street between Avenue C and D. Word is he's expecting a major shipment soon 'cause my niggas say he's running low on product."
"Do you know where Angel and Joaquin are now?"
"No. Last time I spoke to Angel wuz a couple of days ago, after he up and moved outta that place your bit--, uh, lady wuz snooping around in. He don't like nobody keeping tabs on him when he about to go pick up a shipment."
"How does he contact you? By cell phone?"
"Yeah. I don't got his cell phone number. He always calls me. But I do got his pager number on speed dial. It's how I warn him if I spot trouble coming."
"I would appreciate it if you would give me that number. It might come in very handy," Ian paused as he felt his cell phone vibrate. "Please excuse me a moment, Mr. Brown." He took out the phone and looked at the display before opening it. "Sara."
Pause.
"I am speaking to him now."
Pause.
"I know it has almost been an hour."
Pause.
"No, I have not broken any more of his bones. Really, we are just talking."
Pause.
"I will return shortly, my Lady." Ian started to put the phone away but a squawk that was audible even to Alonzo came from it. Nottingham hurriedly put it to his ear again.
"Are you all right, Sara? I heard you yell," he asked anxiously.
Pause.
Ian closed his eyes tight for a moment. "My apologies. Good. Bye. Sara." He hung up and then heaved a weary sigh.
Alonzo Brown actually smirked. "Shorty got you on a short leash, hunh, dawg?"
"You have no idea," Ian said ruefully. He turned and put the picture of Corey Brown back on top of the bureau. "You have been most helpful, Mr. Brown. If the information you have provided is correct, I promise you there will be no repercussions because of what you told me here tonight. I am going to give you my cell phone number. I want you to call me if Angel calls requesting that you perform lookout duties for him. Will you do that?"
"Yeah, I guess so. What are you, some kind of FBI agent or something?"
"Or something. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?"
"Yeah." He reached into the nightstand and pulled out a pad and pen, handing them to Ian.
"Here's my cell phone number. Now, write down Angel's beeper number if you would. Oh, and send your emergency room bill to the address I wrote next to my number. It will be taken care of."
"Yeah, right," the other man said doubtfully, but then he met Ian's eyes. "You for real, ain't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Brown, I am. I regret having fractured your arm, but I thought you were reaching for a weapon and I could not take the chance that my Lady might come to harm." Ian put the slip of paper with Angel's beeper number on it into the inside pocket of his overcoat.
"I feel you. Well," he glanced at the paper Ian had given him, "Mr. Nottingham, I gotta leave for work soon and I still haven't finished my ironing. I'll call you if Angel calls me."
"Please do. And, Mr. Brown, I am sure I do not have to tell you not to mention our meeting to Angel should he call, do I?"
"No, sir."
"Good, because I would be most displeased if he were to learn that I am looking for him and his brother." Ian nodded toward the ashtray. "Smoking is very bad for your health, Mr. Brown. You really ought to quit."
"Yeah, yeah, my shorty keeps tellin' me that," Alonzo said nervously, glancing at the almost full ashtray.
When he looked up again, Ian Nottingham was gone.
More to come. Thanks for the feedback everyone! Keep it coming. It is most inspirational!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. Wish I did, but I don't. I'm just playing around. Enjoy!
Chapter 24.
Ian Nottingham ghosted along the rooftops of the buildings on the block that Alonzo Brown lived on. He had spent nearly 30 minutes of his allotted hour watching the front entrance of the building his quarry resided in, a dilapidated five-story tenement that was nearly identical to practically every other building on the street. Five people had entered and exited the structure during that period, none of whom were the man he was looking for. Finally, Ian had decided it was time to make a move. He was an extremely patient man, and were it not for the time constraint placed upon him by Sara Pezzini, he would have easily spent another hour or two on the rooftop across from Alonzo Brown's building, watching and waiting. Years of practice tracking down people at Kenneth Irons' behest had taught him that sometimes it paid to be patient, that sooner or later the person or persons you were looking for would come to you. But tonight, Nottingham did not have that luxury. He had promised the Wielder he would return in an hour and he knew she would hold him to his word.
Effortlessly, he leapt from the roof of one building to another, until he reached the one he wanted. Climbing onto the fire escape, he descended silently to the third floor. Unfortunately, the shades were drawn on the windows that looked into Alonzo Brown's apartment, completely blocking the view of the interior. However, a light was on in the room that Ian had identified as the bedroom from the glimpse he'd gotten into the apartment directly above this one, and his acute hearing picked up the sound of someone moving around inside the room. Swiftly, he returned to the roof.
The locked and alarmed rooftop door presented no problem at all to him, and within seconds he was inside the apartment building. He paused, allowing his vision to adjust to the dimness of the stairwell. A mélange of cooking odors wafted up to him, underlaid by the smell of refuse, cigarette smoke, incense, and marijuana. Somewhere, perhaps two or three floors below, a baby was crying. Closer by, Ian heard the sounds of a couple arguing in Spanish, televisions, loud rap music, a woman singing in the shower, children laughing and yelling as they roughhoused, and a man's voice repeatedly asking them to stop it and go to sleep. Silently, he descended the stairs, pausing on each landing to listen for the sound of any doors opening, until he reached the third floor. He moved down the dimly lit hallway and stopped in front of Alonzo Brown's apartment. He listened and heard the television playing but nothing else. After cursorily examining the three locks on the door, Ian knelt and removed his lock-picking tools from his coat pocket and set about unlocking the door. He paused after picking each lock and listened, still hearing only the TV. Rising to his feet, he eased open the door and slipped inside. He glided soundlessly down a long hallway, passing the dark kitchen. The flickering light of the television and a small table lamp were the only illumination in the living room, which was empty.
A sweating can of soda and a plate containing a half-eaten sandwich and some potato chips sat on the coffee table. Ian heard a hissing sound and the rustle of clothing coming from the direction of the bedroom. Silently, he moved down the short hallway that led to the bedroom, passing a bathroom on his left and a closet on his right.
Alonzo Brown, a cigarette hanging from his lips, was standing at an ironing board ironing the shirt belonging to the security guard uniform pants he wore. His back was to the bedroom door, and for a full minute Ian stood in the doorway watching him perform this mundane task, which he did awkwardly with his left hand because of the bulky plaster cast encasing his right arm and hand. Then Alonzo must have sensed Ian's presence, for he suddenly looked over his shoulder directly at him.
The man's eyes widened in horrified recognition and his mouth dropped open, causing his cigarette to fall from his lips. But it never reached the shirt on the ironing board because, moving with inhuman speed, Ian caught it in midair, somehow without even dislodging the half inch of ash on the tip.
"Awww, shit!" Alonzo howled in terror. Still clutching the steaming iron in his hand, he stumbled backward a couple of steps, fetching up against an armoire.
"Put the iron down, Mr. Brown," Ian said softly, "and nobody will get hurt."
Wild-eyed, the young man stared at Nottingham and then at the iron in his hand and then back at Ian. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he said, his voice quavering.
"No. Put it down, and we will talk."
"Just talk?"
"That depends," Ian said. Turning, he tipped the ash on the end of the cigarette into the ashtray that sat on a nearby bureau, and then examined the glowing tip with satisfaction before pinning the other man with a malevolent stare.
Alonzo slowly straightened up and moved to the ironing board, setting the hot iron down on it. He gazed at Ian fearfully, unconsciously cradling his plaster-covered right arm in his left.
"Now, Mr. Brown, you are going to tell me where I can find Angel Medina and his brother Joaquin."
"Why you wanna know where they at?"
"That is my business," Ian replied, noting the way the man's eyes darted toward his bed. "I do not want to hurt you, Mr. Brown, but I will if I have to. Save me the trouble and yourself the agony, and tell me where they are."
"You don't know how crazy those muthafuckers are, dawg," Alonzo said, shaking his head. "They've killed niggas just for lookin' at them wrong." His eyes flicked toward the bed again.
"It so happens I do know how mentally unstable the Medina brothers are, Mr. Brown. But if you tell me what I want to know, I can promise you that after tonight, you will never have to worry about them again." Ian took a step closer to the other man, causing him to flinch. "I am fast losing patience with you, Mr. Brown. Tell me what I want to know. Now, or I will put this cigarette out in your eye."
"Fuck that!" Alonzo yelled, and dove for his bed, or, more accurately, for the nightstand next to it.
Calmly, Ian watched as he scrabbled like mad in the drawer of the nightstand and came up on the other side of the bed holding a gun in his none-too-steady left hand. He pointed it at Nottingham.
"Yeah, that's right, I got me a piece, and I'll blow your muthafuckin' head off with it if you don't get the hell out of my house right now, muthafucker!" Alonzo said, breathing heavily.
Ian shook his head. "I am afraid I cannot do that until you have told me what I need to know, Mr. Brown." He turned and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray.
"Are you crazy, dawg? I said I will shoot your goddamn ass!"
"Now, you and I both know that gun is not loaded, Alonzo," Ian said quietly.
The other man blinked, then scowled. "It sure as fuck is."
Ian turned and picked up a framed photograph of a smiling, gap-toothed boy with sparkling, mischievous eyes. "Is this your son?"
"What the fuck? Put the goddamned picture down and get the fuck outta my house before I shoot you, you fuckin' psycho!" Alonzo shouted, but the shaking in his hand worsened.
"I would guess from the toys scattered around the living room and the clothes in that laundry basket over there that he stays here often. How old is he, seven? Eight?"
"Nigga, you must be crazy, standing there talkin' 'bout my boy while I got a gun on you!"
"It is wise of you to keep a weapon on hand, Alonzo, just in case. This is a rough neighborhood. But I think you love your son too much to keep a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer where he could easily find it," Ian said quietly. "I know another father who loves his son very much. That boy will die unless I can find Angel Medina and his brother Joaquin. I myself have not known this boy for very long, but I have already grown very fond of him and would hate to see such a promising life cut short. More importantly, someone I care for very much loves the boy, and his death would destroy her. I cannot let that happen." He gestured toward the uniform on the ironing board.
"I see that you have a job as a security guard, which is quite a feat considering that you have a criminal record."
"That was a long time ago. Just petty, juvenile shit. I ain't no convicted felon," the young man said sullenly.
"However, your job tells me that you do not work exclusively for Angel Medina, and that you are trying to legitimately provide for your son instead of relying on ill-gotten gains, which I imagine would be very easy to do," Ian observed.
"I don't want Corey to make the same mistakes I did," Alonzo said fiercely. "Joining a gang and shit. I'm a lookout for Angel for a few hours before I go to work at midnight. That's all I do. I don't sell no drugs or nothing," he said defensively, lowering the gun. "I know it ain't right, but you can't say no when Angel asks you do to something. He really is a crazy muthafucker. And his brother's even crazier."
"And when you accosted my Lady?"
"Awww, we wuz just tryin' to scare her. I swear. We thought she was some crazy crackhead ho looking to get high. You have to be kinda crazy to come down to this neighborhood alone at that time of night, especially looking as bootylicious as she do. No disrespect, yo," Alonzo added quickly at the dark look Ian gave him.
"So, tell me, Alonzo, do you know where Angel's new drug den is?"
"Yeah. It's an abandoned ice factory on 7th Street between Avenue C and D. Word is he's expecting a major shipment soon 'cause my niggas say he's running low on product."
"Do you know where Angel and Joaquin are now?"
"No. Last time I spoke to Angel wuz a couple of days ago, after he up and moved outta that place your bit--, uh, lady wuz snooping around in. He don't like nobody keeping tabs on him when he about to go pick up a shipment."
"How does he contact you? By cell phone?"
"Yeah. I don't got his cell phone number. He always calls me. But I do got his pager number on speed dial. It's how I warn him if I spot trouble coming."
"I would appreciate it if you would give me that number. It might come in very handy," Ian paused as he felt his cell phone vibrate. "Please excuse me a moment, Mr. Brown." He took out the phone and looked at the display before opening it. "Sara."
Pause.
"I am speaking to him now."
Pause.
"I know it has almost been an hour."
Pause.
"No, I have not broken any more of his bones. Really, we are just talking."
Pause.
"I will return shortly, my Lady." Ian started to put the phone away but a squawk that was audible even to Alonzo came from it. Nottingham hurriedly put it to his ear again.
"Are you all right, Sara? I heard you yell," he asked anxiously.
Pause.
Ian closed his eyes tight for a moment. "My apologies. Good. Bye. Sara." He hung up and then heaved a weary sigh.
Alonzo Brown actually smirked. "Shorty got you on a short leash, hunh, dawg?"
"You have no idea," Ian said ruefully. He turned and put the picture of Corey Brown back on top of the bureau. "You have been most helpful, Mr. Brown. If the information you have provided is correct, I promise you there will be no repercussions because of what you told me here tonight. I am going to give you my cell phone number. I want you to call me if Angel calls requesting that you perform lookout duties for him. Will you do that?"
"Yeah, I guess so. What are you, some kind of FBI agent or something?"
"Or something. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?"
"Yeah." He reached into the nightstand and pulled out a pad and pen, handing them to Ian.
"Here's my cell phone number. Now, write down Angel's beeper number if you would. Oh, and send your emergency room bill to the address I wrote next to my number. It will be taken care of."
"Yeah, right," the other man said doubtfully, but then he met Ian's eyes. "You for real, ain't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Brown, I am. I regret having fractured your arm, but I thought you were reaching for a weapon and I could not take the chance that my Lady might come to harm." Ian put the slip of paper with Angel's beeper number on it into the inside pocket of his overcoat.
"I feel you. Well," he glanced at the paper Ian had given him, "Mr. Nottingham, I gotta leave for work soon and I still haven't finished my ironing. I'll call you if Angel calls me."
"Please do. And, Mr. Brown, I am sure I do not have to tell you not to mention our meeting to Angel should he call, do I?"
"No, sir."
"Good, because I would be most displeased if he were to learn that I am looking for him and his brother." Ian nodded toward the ashtray. "Smoking is very bad for your health, Mr. Brown. You really ought to quit."
"Yeah, yeah, my shorty keeps tellin' me that," Alonzo said nervously, glancing at the almost full ashtray.
When he looked up again, Ian Nottingham was gone.
More to come. Thanks for the feedback everyone! Keep it coming. It is most inspirational!