Double Deuce Read Free Page B

Hawk. There was something in the way he held himself. And he wasn’t scared. Not being scared of Hawk is a rare commodity and is generally a bad mistake. But the kid was real. He wasn’t scared.
    “We all together here, man. You got some problem with that?”
    Hawk shook his head. He smiled. Uncle Hawk. In a minute he’d be telling them Br’er Rabbit stories.
    “Not yet,” he said.
    Major grinned back at Hawk.
    “Not sure John Porter believe that entirely,” he said and jerked his head at the guy that had been sitting on Hawk’s trunk.
    “He’s not dead,” Hawk said. Major nodded.
    “Okay, he be bruising your ride, now he ain’t. What you want here?”
    “We the new Department of Public Safety,” Hawk said.
    “Which means what?”
    “Which means that starting right now, you obey the 11th commandment or we bust your ass.”
    “You Iron?” Major said.
    “We the Iron here,” Hawk said.
    “What’s the 11th commandment?”
    “Leave everybody else the fuck alone,” Hawk said.
    “You and Irish?” Major said.
    “Un huh.”
    “Two guys?”
    “Un huh.”
    Major laughed and turned to the kid next to him and put out his hand for a low five, which he got, and returned vigorously.
    “Good luck to you, motherfuckers,” he said, and laughed again and jerked his head at the other kids. They dispersed into the project, and the sound of their laughter trailed back out of the darkness.
    “Scared hell out of him, didn’t we?” I said.
    “Call it a draw,” Hawk said.

CHAPTER 5
    “She was hit seven times,” Belson said. He was sitting at his desk in the homicide squad room, looking at the detectives’ report from the Devona Jefferson homicide. “They fired more than that. We found ten shell casings, and the crime-scene techs found a slug in the Double Deuce courtyard. Casings were Remington-nine-millimeter Luger, center-fires, 115-grain metal case.”
    “Browning?” I said. Belson shrugged.
    “Most nines fire the same load,” he said. “Whoever shot her probably emptied the piece. Most nines carry thirteen to eighteen in the magazine, and some of the casings probably ejected into the vehicle. Some of the slugs went where we couldn’t find them. Happens all the time.”
    Belson was clean-shaven, but at midday there was already a five o’clock shadow darkening his thin face. He was chewing on a small ugly cold cigar.
    “Baby took three, through the mother’s body. They were both dead before they hit the ground.”
    “Suspects?” I said.
    I was drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Belson had some in the same kind of cup, because I’d brought some for both of us from the Dunkin Donut shop on Boylston Street near the Public Library. I had cream and sugar. Belson drank his black.
    “Probably she was shot from a van that drove by slowly with the back door open.”
    “Gang?”
    “Probably.”
    “Hobarts?”
    “Probably.”
    “Got any evidence?”
    “None.”
    “Any theories?”
    “Gang people figure it’s a punishment shooting,” Belson said. “Maybe she had a boyfriend that did something wrong. Probably drug related. Almost always is.”
    “They got any suspects?”
    “Specific ones? No.”
    “But they think it’s the Hobarts.”
    “Yeah,” Belson said. “Double Deuce is their turf. Anything goes down there it’s usually them.”
    “Investigation ongoing?” I said.
    “Sure,” Belson said. “City unleashes everything on a shine killing in the ghetto. Treat it just like a couple of white kids got killed in the Back Bay. Pull out all the stops.”
    “Homicide got anybody on it?” I said.
    “Full time?” Belson smiled without meaning it, and shook his head. “District boys are keeping the file open, though.”
    “Good to know,” I said.
    “Yeah,” Belson said. “Now that you’re on it, I imagine they’ll relax.”
    “I hope so,” I said. “I wouldn’t want one of them to start an actual investigation and confuse everything.”
    Belson grinned.
    “You come across