House of Blues

She was embarrassed, which in turn embarrassed Skip. "I
need some information. "
    "I thought maybe you did."
    " But the money's not for that. That's just for
Tynette."
    Jeweldean looked unbelieving, but expectant.
    " Is there any heroin around?"
    "Well, I sure don't know. Why you think I'd
know?"
    "You know a guy named Delavon?"
    Jeweldean's pupils dilated. "Oh, Delavon. Well,
if anybody'd have any, it'd be him."
    "Where can I find him?"
    "You crazy, girl? You go mess with Delavon, you
get yourself killed."
    " Dangerous character, huh?"
    "He as soon cut you up as say hello."
    Skip shrugged. "I'll chance it. I've got to ask
him something."
    "Ax him? Oh, ax him. Honey, you don't ax
Delavon. Delavon ax you. He like a king, you know? He don' answer to
nobody."
    "Well, I'll be sure to say ‘your majesty. "
    For some reason, Jeweldean got tickled. "Girl,
girl. You're somethin' else, you know that?"
    Oh, can it. I'm a cop. She
waited for the giggles to subside.
    "You ser'ous about this?" said Jeweldean.
    Skip nodded.
    "Well, maybe Biggie do somethin'." She
paused hardly a second and hollered, "Biggie! Biggie, come on
out."
    In a moment, a wiry little dude snaked out of the
hallway, someone whose nickname was clearly ironic. He was about
five-feet-six and may have weighed 13o pounds with his shoes on. He
wore running shorts and matching tank top, in black and violet. His
athletic shoes were open, with their tongues hanging out, laces
dragging.
    "Biggie, this Detective Langdon; Ms. Skip
Langdon. You know her?"
    He nodded. "I heard about you." He meant
from Jeweldean.
    " She need to find Delavon."
    "Delavon! You don't want to mess with no
Delavon."
    "Sho' she does," said Jeweldean. "And
you gon' help her find him. And you gon' stay with her, make sure she
all right." She turned to Skip and held out her hand. "But
you give the money to me."
    She held out her hand for it. But Skip said, "I
don't think we should do it that way. It's too dangerous for Biggie."
    Biggie cocked his head. "You ain' worried 'bout
me. You white police."
    Jeweldean raised a hand as if to hit him. "Biggie!
Don't you talk that way to her."
    Skip shrugged. "Jeweldean says he'd as soon cut
you up as say hello."
    Biggie was nodding to himself, tiny little nods,
sizing her up. Finally, he said, "I'm gon' make a phone call,
see if we can work it."
    Ten minutes later Skip and Biggie were outside,
walking down the street, looking fairly conspicuous, a six-foot white
female, dressed for business, and a kid-sized black dude, now in a
pair of baggy pants, but still wearing the tank top, cool as you
please. Almost immediately Skip heard gunfire—two shots, that was
all. She jerked her head around; it had come from a falling-down
brick apartment building from which screams were now emanating.
Automatically she crouched, reaching for her radio. She called in a
1o-28 for emergency clearance and quickly gave the location of the
gunshots. "Stay here," she said to Biggie, and broke into a
run.
    "Hey!" He sounded outraged. "You can't
go in there. Hey!" He ran after her and grabbed her arm. "You
crazy, you know that? Hey, white po-lice, you crazy!"
    He wouldn't have grabbed her if she'd been a man, she
was pretty sure of it. She shook him off and kept running, uncertain
whether to bang on the door or slither to the side and try for the
back. But the problem was solved when a kid about seven came running
out the door, and she caught it before it closed. She raced up the
first flight of stairs, hearing commotion just above her.
    She reached the second landing, gun drawn, to find a
young man, about seventeen probably, down and bleeding, people
gathered around, someone working on his leg.
    "Police! Who shot him?"
    Silence.
    She sighed, lowered her gun, and once again delved in
her purse for her radio.
    A half-dozen cars converged in minutes, with lots of
officers to deploy, but she had no description of the shooter. He was
just "some dude" that, oddly enough, no one had seen and no
one knew. It was an hour before she had the scene cleaned up, and
when she emerged from the building, she harbored a dim, distant hope
that Biggie would still be waiting for her.
    But of course he wasn't. Nobody was on the street
except some gangster leaning against a fire hydrant.
    There was nothing to do but go back to Jeweldean's
and start over. She waved good-bye to the driver as the last police
car left. The leaner caught her eye. "I hear you lookin' for
Delavon."
    "Yeah. I am."
    "I take you to