"Right. Still, Jamal popped four caps through door, thinking it was this crazy buck Diaz, but it was two cops instead."
"Shot at two cops, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Not a good idea."
"Tell me about it."
"Who were they, do you remember?"
"Two guys from the Eight-Seven. One of them had red hair."
"Hawes, was that his name?"
"I don't know."
"What's Diaz's first name? The crack dealer."
"Manny. Manuel, actually. You think he killed them?"
"Well, I don't know. You tell me."
"I think he coulda killed Jamal, cause he's crazy, you know, and he thinks Jamal stole some shit from him, which he didn't. But I don't see how that ties in with Yolande or Richie."
"Richard. You know him?"
"Just to say hello."
"He deals, too, you know."
"Yeah"
"You think he might've known this Diaz guy?"
"I don't know."
"So Jamal pops four through the door…"
"Yeah." so naturally they arrest him."
"Yeah."
"Then what?"
"Dragged him out of here."
"How come he was on the street again? How come they didn't lock him up?"
"I guess they figured they didn't have nothing on him."
"How about the gun? He shot at two fuckin cops, they didn't lock him up?"
"He thought it was Diaz."
"Did he have a license for the gun?"
"I think so."
"Guy with a record, they gave him a license?"
"Then maybe not."
"So why'd they let him go?"
"I got no idea."
Ollie was thinking that sometimes a bull shit misdemeanor wasn't even worth taking downtown. included violations of 265.01, where a criminal with a firearm could get you a year in prison, which was insignificant even if you behaved yourself and got on the street in three and a third months.
But this Jamal jerk had popped four at a pair of cops which should have irked them considerably caused them to haul his ass downtown toot Unless they were thinking he'd be more valuable to them outside, lead them to whoever had torn out a dead hooker's insides, who the hell knew? Take a look at Ollie, first thing you'd be picking up all your and next thing you'd be downtown waiting arraignment with your shoes falling off and your falling down cause they took away your belt and shoelaces and your brand-new stolen Rolex.
Or and this was a possibility maybe they with a murder on their hands and the shift change they didn't want to bother with booking and mug shots and printing and court appearances on an Amis the guy might even walk if he pulled a bleedin black judge. Better to let the shithead walk especially since he'd been trying to chill shithead, which maybe next time he'd succeed, more power to him. There are more things in police work, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your potato patch. Still, Ollie would ask.
Next time he was up the Eight-Seven, he would ask why they let a nigger in criminal possession of a weapon stroll right out of that li'l ole squad room ah, yes, m'dear boys, yes, indeed.
"So Yolande, and Jamal left here about a quarter to ten…"
"Yeah."
"And Jamal got back around eleven…"
"Yeah."
"And drove you to the Brill."
"That's right."
"And he was here when you got home around three…"
"Three-thirty, it must've been."
"He was home."
"Yes."
"But Yolande never made it."
"No. Which is funny."
"Funny how?"
Ollie asked.
"Cause she called to say she was on her way."
"Oh? When was this?"
"Around five-thirty in the morning."
"Called here?"
"Yeah. Told Jamal she was just leaving the Stardust…"
"The Stardust? Down on Coombes?"
"Yeah."
"And said she was coming home?"
"Soon as she could catch a cab," Carlyle said. Bingo, Ollie thought.
The uniformed radio motor patrol cops who pulled the taxi to the curb didn't think it was a stolen vehicle oh anything because a 10-69 was specifically an incident. But then why had the dispatcher radioed cars and asked them to stop and detain the taxi this particular license plate? Stop, detain, and back. That was the message.
So they pulled the cab over and asked the driver his license and while one of the cops looked it over if he were intercepting a huge dope shipment Colombia, the other one radioed home to say the perp and what should they do now? They asked where they were and told them to sit tight Detective Oliver Weeks from the Eight-Eight on the scene.
Meanwhile, Max Liebowitz was behind the wheel, wetting his pants.
This was a bleak area of Calm's Point. had just dropped off two suspicious-looking guys who, it turned out, were stockbrokers home late from a party celebrating a dollar merger.
