[center][b]Part 1
El Barrio[/center][/b]

[b]Spanish Harlem
12:37 PM[/b]

It's officially East Harlem on all maps and zoning documents, but everybody knows this area's true name. Spanish Harlem, [i]El Barrio.[/i] Hard to believe it but in some places Spanish Harlem is rougher than Harlem. Poor latinos, working stiffs and gangsters alike, all shoved up under each other in public housing can only lead to clashing. El Barrio is a lot like Harlem was a few years ago, rough but proud. They're either too proud to run or too stupid. I suppose in the grand scheme of things pride and stupidity aren't too far apart.

The victim of last night's murder was from both Harlem and Spanish Harlem. Bobbito Garcia had a black mother and a Puerto Rican father. He grew up near Marcus Garvey Park, the dividing line between the two Harlems. The kid was apparently a hell of a pitcher with a fastball so fast that it was getting several long looks from college and MLB scouts. In both neighborhoods every boy clings to the dream of sports as their ticket out no mater how remote the possibility. Hell, I was three years into my prison sentence and still thought I had a chance to go the NFL. Pipe dreams are often just that, but Bobbito had promise... and then he had all that potential snatched away in the blink of an eye. His life, and everything his life may have amounted to, both good and bad, was gone. 

That afternoon I found myself in a back alley near a fruit market. It was the weekend so the sidewalks near the market were bustling and alive with people enjoying their weekend. A few street artist had set up near the market and were playing salsa music. I had a fresh apple in my hands that was half eaten, The unmarked police car pulled off the street and into the alley as I was going in for another bite.

"Cage," Sergeant Marcus Stone said as he got out. "Am I late? I forgot which street you said."

"It's cool, you ain't that late."

Stone works as a detective in the 28th Precinct, the NYPD's central Harlem headquarters. Like me, Stone was born and raised in Harlem. Unlike me, Stone was able to graduate high school and move on the NYPD academy. He's the supervisor of a four man detective squad working out the 2-8. Stone's a good man. His detectives? Eh, they leave something to be desired. Now the NYPD's official line on costumed vigilantes and other people like me are they are taking the law into their own hands. Thankfully Stone doesn't look that way. We have a deal that I help him out in any cases he catches, ones he doesn't think his men can solve, and they get the arrest. I get police info and they get the stat. Everyone wins. I like to think of myself as an... aggressive confidential informant. Last night I texted him about Bobbito Garcia. Another squad caught the murder, but Stone said he'd help me out anyway.

"Here," he said, passing me a manila folder with the NYPD logo stamped on it. "Can't let you keep it, unfortunately. but it'll give you enough to go on. You probably have a better idea of what to do than Hitchcock or any of his detectives."

I grunted and took the file, tossing the half eaten apple into a nearby trashcan. The papers inside the file left something to be desired. Two pages on the crime scene, a sole page devoted to the bullet trajectory of how Bobbito was shot. The report indicated that he was shot in the back at relatively close range, no shell casing found on the scene so a revolver is suspected as the likely murder weapon. The trajectory and statements from two eyewitnesses at the scene verified the rumors I heard in the crowd last night about Bobbito being shot in the back and the gunman running around.

"What about this," I said, showing Stone the photo of the bloody crown card. 

"No idea," Stone said with a shrug. "I think the detectives in Hitchcock's squad were putting in some calls to the Street Gang Taskforce, see if they had any logo like that on file. I thought at first maybe a new logo for the Latin Kings, but who knows anymore."

"Hold this," I said, handing Stone the photo while I pulled out my phone. "I can't keep it so I'll take a picture."

The picture taken, I gave the thing file back to Stone. He tucked it under his arm and leaned against his car. 

"You know the deal, Cage. You find any kind of viable lead or suspect and you send it my way."

"You know I will. I know you're not working on this case, but what do you think? I asked around last night and this kid seems like he had a good head on his shoulders."

"Good kids don't get killed gangland style," Stone said with a shrug. "I hope to God I'm wrong. I'd be a goddamn tragedy for a kid like this, someone on the way out, to do something stupid and get themselves killed. 

"On the surface Bobbito appears to be that rare innocent victim you sometimes see pop up. Mostly around here the people who get got have had it coming for quite a long time." I paused and then slowly nodded. "Cases like this are why I started doing what I'm doing. True victims out there who can't get anybody to speak for them, you know?"

"That why?" Stone asked, a switch seeming to flip his face from normal to impassive. "Or is there another reason? Altruism is noble, but I often find guilty is a much more powerful motivator."

I shrugged. "You're right. Thanks for the info, Stone. I'll be in touch."

"Mmm hmm," he said with a suspicious eye.

I pulled my hood up and walked down the alley into the throng of people gathered in and around the fruit market. Stone's files didn't give me much to go on, but I was able to get another look at that card. With the people I know, that should be more than enough to get the ball rolling.