Searching for Justice

Right after briefing, Chief Hogan loaded up his patrol car and started to drive toward the call. Apparently a man and a woman was gunned down. He was shot twice once in the back and again in the head, and the bystander once in the head. Minutes later, he arrived and met with the officer who was in charge of the crime scene, logged in and got the details. The chief was out investigating the shooting of another known drug dealer. However, this time someone else got caught in the line of fire.

Since the last of the Walker and Moore family were sent to prison, the violence slowly died down. However, tonight in the alley behind the Greyhound bus station, someone left two dead bodies. While Frontier ‘Stretch’ Bates, an out of town drug dealer sold Ginny Gilbert, a known local prostitute a few rocks of crack, someone silently gunned them down. Only the night owl that occupied the steeple of the church next door witnessed the crime.

The dim yellowish translucent light from the streetlamp shifted over of the curves of the malnourished looking woman’s figure lying face up on the wet piles of leaves. The large rain drops loudly drummed against the metal roof of the bus station. The chief watched as Manny Ross took the man and woman's fingerprints. Officer Steadman searched the area for any evidence they could use. The entire area was surrounded by police tape, and everyone in neighborhood was outside standing around. There were even some family members on scene who were crying and upset. Chief Hogan walked and stood beside the body of Ginny. The area was covered in blood and brain matter.

‘Chief, it looks like Gilbert got it first while she was giving Stretch a blowjob right here.’

The tall man kneeled down and carefully picked up the blood stained glass crack pipe and small purse with his gloved hand and placed them into the evidence bags. Standing back up, he pointed up the alley.

‘And then, they shot Stretch as he ran toward his car on Ashford Street.’

Manny finished taking the prints from the bodies and reached into the young man’s back pocket. Retrieving his wallet, he thumbed through the stack of cash inside. He told the chief to glove up and as he started examining the body. Locating the bullet's entry wound and exit wounds, Manny described them in detail into the tape recorder. With help from the chief, he rolled the body over.

‘Well, chief, we know it was not robbery because he still has over five hundred and ninety dollars in his wallet and two sacks of crack in his pockets. His driver license has a Selma address. Wonder why he drove twenty six miles to sell crack and get a blow job?’

He tossed the wallet and the drugs into the waiting evidence bag. After receiving and sealing all of the evidence bags, Chief Hogan placed them inside the clear evidence box inside his trunk.

‘I am not going to worry about it. Right now, my main concerns are who shot these two, and if there were any witnesses.’

The chief decided to do a quick drive through of the town before going home for the night. Driving to his secret hiding spot where he did all his reports, he found a parked truck with two teenagers inside. Lighting their car up with the spot light, he went to investigate, running the guy and girl information through the system for warrants, and found out that the driver had a suspended license. Pulling them out of the car and patted them down, he found a crack pipe and some weed. The guy claimed weed belonged to the girl and said it was his pipe. He decided not to take them both to jail. Instead he had the car towed to the impound lot and sent them walking home. By this time, he was well into overtime. He stepped into the SUV and headed for the office. Later after logging the evidence, the tired chief retrieved his binoculars from the desk and walked toward the front door of the police station. Stopping to say good night to Officer King, he left to go to the hill to check out one more tip to check before going home for the day to his wife.

In an emergency effort to again bring law and order to the small town, Perry County sheriff department lent Marion police department several deputies to help out until they could recover. However, by the time the county commission approved the emergency measure, Marion’s drug war was in full swing. Nightly for nineteen long months, the scared residents of Marion were awakened by gunfire and explosions as the feuding families fought for control of Marion. Because of this on going drug war, almost every major member of the Moore and Walker family in Marion was killed, badly injured, or, soon, on the way to prison. By June of the next year, crack cocaine completely disappeared from the streets of Marion and the war ended as abruptly as it had started. This unexpected absence proved to be very beneficial for Randall and his marijuana sells. The sells skyrocketed and he quickly sold over one hundred pounds of weed in just six months. Because Purple Kush was the only illegal drug in town, he quickly became the king of Pickens Hill.

Before the drug war started, Randall decided to stop smoking crack to get his shattered life and health together. Because the infamous Moore/Walker drug war wiped out every crack business in Marion, he successfully overcame his habit. He moved in with Bobbie for a while and started picking up weight. Later, they married and purchased a small house. The three bedroom house sat on five lots on the corner of Pickens and Juniper Streets in the rural Perry County town. The lots sat on the very top of what officially was known as Pickens Hill. He also purchased a nice Dodge Ram 1500 truck.

One year after finding the twenty bales of weed, Randall now lived very comfortably and continued to control a large portion of the marijuana traffic in Marion and Perry County. When the Purple Kush sells went through the roof, the stash quickly dwindled. With only four bales remaining and desperately searched for a way to get more to keep his thriving enterprise going, he checked with few dealers in Birmingham. They had some Purple Kush, but they could not sell him the quantity or quality he need. After some convincing, one of the dealers finally agreed to introduce Randall to a good connection in New Orleans. Four weeks later, a white Bentley appeared on Pickens Hill and parked in the driveway of Bobbie’s trailer.

‘Shut up, Bear.’

Randall yelled at the golden brown bit bull dog sitting on the front porch. The dusty white car stopped and a tall African American male stepped out of the driver’s door and approached the porch. Shoving his left hand in his coat pocket and wrapping his fingers around the cold steel of the thirty eight, Randall firmly stepped off the porch and greeted the man half way.

‘How you’re doing? You must be Mr. Riggers.’

Not waiting for the man to answer, Randall took his empty hand out of the brown Carthart jacket and firmly shook the man’s half extended hand.

The chief now parked out of sight on the hill peered through a pair of high power night vision binoculars.

‘He looks familiar.’

Scott leaned his head to the side and took another look at Randall.

‘No, sir, he’s still in the car. I’m Scott. Before you can meet him, I’ll need for you to surrender the thirty eight you have in your left jacket pocket.’

Slowly pulling the revolver from his pocket, he unloaded the bullets and pushed the empty gun toward Scott.

‘I also need the twenty two that’s strapped to your right leg as well as the bowie knife in your boot.’

Surprised that the man knew exactly what he had and where, Randall reluctantly surrendered the rest of his weapons and the two men approached the white car. The hidden onlooker continued to stare through the binoculars at him as if trying to read his mind.

‘This guy’s face is familiar.’

The rear door of the car slowly opened and Frank Riggers stepped out and forcefully shook Randall’s hand.

‘Hi, I am Frank Riggers. I drove five hours to this hick town to do business. Now, let’s do business.’

Immediately, the trunk pops open and the three men walked around to the rear of the Bentley. Scott easily lifted the large suitcase out of the open trunk and placed it on the picnic table.

‘So how much do you need and how often.’

Frank sat in the folding chair he retrieved from the trunk. Seconds later, Randall purchased three hundred pounds of Purple Kush and scheduled another delivery for six months later.

Chief Hogan’s new Ford Expedition police cruiser slowly pulled out of the hiding spot overlooking Bobbie’s trailer and drove home.

‘He looks familiar.’

The drive to West Lafayette and Craig Drive took thirty minutes because he stopped to gas up the vehicle. The chief SUV slowly pulled into the driveway. As he came closer to his home, he noticed a figure leaning over the wooden fence surrounding his rose bush. The figure cut one of the stems with a knife and placed it into the collar of his suit jacket. Grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat, he exited the SUV and walked over to the figure.

I wonder why that motherfucker would stand there and cut my fucking roses without asking me. He does not know me that well.

Checking his temper, he moved closer and realized it was Randall Essex, an ex crack addict that somehow made a complete turn around.

‘I saw you leave your favorite hiding spot, Detective.’

His voice shook trying to restrain his emotions.

‘I couldn't tell if you were spying on me or getting busy with Stacey. The latter, I hope.’

The man laughed and walked by the angry looking chief and shot him a deep stare. Their eyes never wandered from each other.

‘So, what the hell were you doing on my property, Detective?’

The chief stopped and placed his briefcase on the ground and stared at him.

‘Look, bitch, don’t try to play tough with me. I’ve cut you and your fat ass wife a lot of slack since you are my fucking brother in law. I could’ve busted you a long time ago, but anyway; could you tell me who the guy was driving the Bentley. I believe he was wearing the dark brown wind breaker.’

He continued to stare at Randall. His hands were now buried in his pants pockets; he pulled out small mug shot.

‘Was that him?’

He pushed it into Randall’s extended hands. Randall looked at the picture. It was Scott McLean, an enforcer for Frank Riggers. He couldn’t let his brother-in-law know the truth because he heard how ruthless this drug dealer could be and he did not want to see the chief hurt. He handed the photo back to the chief.

‘Nah, but why; who is he anyway and what did he do?’

‘Nothing, this is just part of an ongoing police investigation. I really can not talk about it.’

The chief reached down and picked up his briefcase.

‘So, you’ve been inside to say hi to Martha?’

‘Not without police protection.’

The two men walked inside the one story ranch style home. Stephen married Martha Essex in 1986. Three years later, they bought this home on West Lafayette. The house needed a lot of work because it was old and sat abandon for years. However after years of loving care, it developed into one of the show homes for the annual parade of home. Stephen walked through the opened screen door into the front room.

‘Hi, honey I am home.’

An over weight black and white beagle slowly stumbles into the hallway. Honey barked excitedly and wagged her tail.

‘Woof, Woof, Woof, Woof’

The sound of her bark echoed through the house. By this time, Martha sauntered into the front room from the den and kissed Stephen on the lips.

‘Hi, Stephen, I am glad you made it home safe, but you could have left the trash on the curb. I told you I do not want that bastard in this house.’

She folded her arms and stared at Randall.

‘Well, I do love you too, sis.’

‘You do what? Fool, if you loved me you would not do what you do. You sell drugs and everyone knows it, Randall. My husband is police chief. How do you think that makes him look?’

Turning to her husband, she demanded.

‘I do not want him in this house, Stephen.’

Angry, Martha stormed out of the room. The beagle follows closely behind.

‘Woof, Woof’

Her voice resounded as if to comment on what Martha said. Honey barked again.

‘Get Out, Get Out,’

‘Man, I am sorry about that.’

The chief apologized and the two men stepped out on the porch. Randall walked down the stairs.

‘Man, don’t worry about it. At least she’s speaking to me and not throwing things like she did at the family reunion. Remember, she tried to hit me with the cake and hit Big Mama instead. That was funny.’

Stepping off the porch, Stephen stood next to Randall.

‘Look, I need you to get a message to the person that killed that crack dealer. Next time, dump the body outside of my jurisdiction.’

Randall shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and fumbled with his car keys.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about, but I will put the message out.’

He shook Stephen’s extended hand walked down the driveway and got on his twelve speed bike. Turned onto West Lafayette, he rode two miles back to Pickens Hill. It was still early and no one was around the fire pit as Randall slowly pedaled the bike down Jackson towards Pickens. A few moments later, he entered Bobbie’s trailer. The couple still uses it as a place to sell their weed and control the drug traffic on the hill.

‘Where is Justice?’

Bobbie was bagging some more weed into half ounce sacks. Stopping for a moment, she reached for the pack of Newport’s on the table.

‘I think she’s at the house. Do you want me to call up there to see?’

‘Nah, I’ll walk up there. I’ll be back before things get jumping. Will you be okay?’

Randall knew no one would mess with her but he had to ask anyway. She placed the loaded Smith and Wesson forty-five caliber handgun on the table.

‘Go take care of business, boss. Old Bessie and I will handle this.’

Meanwhile, Justice stood looking out of the window and talking on the phone.

‘Avery ‘Shorty’ Burgess, you don’t want to be a drug dealer. Let’s face it; it’s not a great gig. Drug dealers are seldom their own boss. They can’t work their own hours because they must have product available when the addict craves it. Although, they make decent money, they rarely get to keep it because most of it goes to the cartel, to the cops for protection, to the crew, and then lastly to them. I mean really, with eight hundred thousand dollars coming through your hands a week, as a major drug dealer, a Justice Department certified kingpin, you’ll only keep less than one hundred thousand dollars. That is not the only reason why you can’t, damn it. You just can’t because I do not want to watch you die.’

Justice leaned her one hundred and twenty-five pound frame against telescope attached to the window frame.

‘I mean I care about you, Avery, and yes, I do want to marry you someday, but money is not that important. Please reconsider, for me, okay.’

She said goodbye and hung up the phone. Shorty was her best friend and boyfriend, and she did not want to see anything happen to him. However, she knew if anyone ever sold crack inside Marion again, they would be dead in less than a month.

Justice knew exactly what she was talking about. Within a month of the end of the drug war, the trail of mysterious drug dealer murders began. All the street-level drug dealers with the “Bahaman Crew", Alfred Kinnaird, Walcott Cornell, Jeff Smith, Brianna Helens and Nicholas Carr, were brutally gunned down inside their crack house on Johnson Street at midnight. Next, four members of the Carr family began a crack house on Pickens Hill. Less than a month later, Mitch, Greg, James, and Curtis Carr were shot dead while selling at Turner Park. Two days later, Jessie and Margie McKinnon were found shot dead along a roadside just south of Highway 14. Her bullet riddle body still clutched the three kilograms of cocaine they drove to Birmingham to buy.

The Marion police department continually tried to determine exactly why the drug dealers were methodically being killed. However, it really did not bother them much because most of the dealers caught and brought to trial were given light sentences or were put back on the streets before the ink dried on the search warrant. A week after the Carr killings, the Marion Times newspaper received a short letter.

‘To the citizen of Marion- The recent eliminations of three drug dealing families should serve as a warning to others involved with the illegal drug trade within the city limit of Marion. The sell and distribution of crack cocaine is hereby prohibited inside Marion’s city limit. If you operate crack house or sell crack in Marion, you run the risk of having to meet me. The end result will be your death. Citizens of Marion, I’m here to help. I will make Marion a better place, one dead crack dealer at a time.’
The letter was signed the owl that watches by night. For eight months, the paper ran the letter from the shadowy vigilante killer dubbed The Night Owl.

Randall walked into the house. He quickly searched the front part of the house.

‘Justice, where are you?’

‘I am upstairs in the game room.’

She hung up the phone and walked down stairs. Justice Evans was the youngest daughter of Bobbie from her first marriage. She recently graduated from Xavier University in New Orleans and moved in with the couple.

After she walked into the room, Randall quickly grabbed her hand and led her to the couch in the living room and sat down.

‘Listen, I know you were there last night at the church. I just need to know did you see anything.’

His heart pounded inside his chest waiting for answer. Justice worked at the church most nights running the only HIV/ AIDS outreach program in the county. Although, she was not his daughter, Randall grew to love her like she was.

‘Did you?’

‘Nah, I was gone most of the night to Newbern. What was it I supposed to have seen anyway?’

‘Nothing, I just thought you might’ve seen what happened behind the bus station.’

‘Nah, I was long gone by then.’

Culmination of the cast of characters in order of appearance:

1. Chief Stephen Hogan, Marion’ Police Chief
2. Billy Grey, drug runner 1 – is killed at Mr. Riggers farm
3. Adam McKenna, drug runner 2 – is kill at Mr. Riggers farm by Scott
4. Frank Riggers, New Orleans drug kingpin get most of drugs back; supplies Randall
5. Sergeant Cedric Milner, Marion policeman
6. Corporal Stacie King, dispatcher survived bombing; had baby boy four months later
7. Randall Essex, recovering alcoholic and crack addict turned major weed dealer, lead character
8. Bobbie Hogan Evans, friend – later marries Randall partner in Randall drug enterprise
9. Robert Evans, Bobbie’s ex husband
10. Richard Moore, drug dealer, Cousin of Michael and Dennis – is sent to jail for murder and attempted escape doing life in prison
11. Jackson Walker, drug dealer – raped with pool stick by the Night Owl then later sent to prison up for parole in 15 years
12. Officer Carlos Steadman, Marion patrol officer
13. Jessie Mitchell, the store clerk
14. Scott McLean, head hired gun
15. Freddy Masterly, hire gunman 1
16. Martha Melton, Marion Motel owner – still owns motel
17. David Bristol, hired gunman 2
18. Mitchell Davenport, hired gunman 3
19. Marvin Orland, jailer shot by Mitchell Davenport recovered and continued to work at jail
20. Michael “M&M” Moore, head of the Moore family drug enterprise - killed by Walker family
21. Turley Graham, Jackson’s first cousin from Fort Wayne – killed in prison by members of Moore family
22. Dennis Moore, Michael Moore’s brother – killed by Jackson
23. Kendrick Walker, Jackson’s brother – killed during shoot out with Moore family
24. Beatrice Graham, Jackson’s first cousin – killed during shoot out with Moore family
25. Cedric Graham, Jackson’s second cousin – completely paralyzed when shot running from police; serving 15 to life of attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder
26. Oscar Graham, the patriarch of the Walker family – killed by Moore family while reading the bible
27. Ingrid Moore, Dennis’ uncle – killed along with family by Walker family
28. Martha Essex Hogan, Chief Hogan’s wife
29. Justice Evans, Bobbie’s daughter
30. Avery ‘Shorty’ Burgess, Justice’s friend, want to be drug dealer
31. Alfred Kinnaird, leader of Bahamian Crew – killed by the Night Owl
32. Walcott Cornell, member Bahamian Crew – killed by the Night Owl
33. Jeff Smith, member Bahamian Crew – killed by the Night Owl
34. Brianna Helens, member Bahamian Crew – killed by the Night Owl
35. Nicholas Carr, member Bahamian Crew, – killed by the Night Owl
36. Mitch Craig, head of the Craig family – killed by the Night Owl
37. Greg Craig, Mitch oldest brother – killed by the Night Owl
38. James Craig, Mitch youngest brother – killed by the Night Owl
39. Curtis Craig, Mitch’s second cousin – killed by the Night Owl
40. Jessie McKinnon, drug dealer – killed by the Night Owl
41. Margie McKinnon, Jessie’s wife and partner – killed by the Night Owl