Michelle Lewis sat in her car and watched Dante’s apartment nervously for some signs of life. Her brother had agreed to pay Roland Spencer a visit last night to make sure he stayed away from her son Antwan. Chew had been reluctant to begin with but he’d relented eventually and promised her he’d be in contact with Dante and get it sorted that very night. It was the morning now and Michelle hadn’t heard a peep from either her brother or Dante and had started to worry that something had gone wrong. As much as she hated Chew, as much as she downright reviled that sleaze Dante, she was still worried sick. She rang her brother more times than she could count but he wasn’t answering his phone so Michelle decided she’d wait at Dante’s and see if she’d find them there. After another fifteen or so phone calls to Chew she finally got out of her car and climbed the stairs of Dante’s apartment block. It was exactly the type of place a person deserved to live in. The corridors of the hallways reeked of piss and she could hear people shouting, the sound of springs being tested to their limits, and dogs barking as she walked through the building. Finally she stopped outside of Dante’s apartment and knocked on the door as discretely as she could. “Chew?” She waited for a few seconds, staring down at her phone in hope of some sign of life from her brother, before banging again a little louder. “Dante?” “Come on,” Michelle said nervously. “It’s me.” She pressed her ear up against the wall to see whether there was any movement on the inside. Still nothing. She banged on the door again, this time hard enough that it hurt the side of her hand. “This isn’t funny.” Michelle shook her head, convinced nobody was inside, and walked away from Dante’s apartment and down the stairs of the apartment building. She had no idea where they were, what had happened, or whether they’d gone through with it at all, but the fact she couldn’t get a hold of them made her fear the worse. In that case the last place she needed to be seen was here. She jogged down the stairs, keeping her face pointed downwards and her bouffant hair covering it as best as she could, before leaving the building entirely and re-entering her car parked outside. As she started it she stared back up and muttered a silent prayer for her brother under her breath. [center][b]*****[/b][/center] It had been a week to forget in Pickett County and it was shaping up to get even worse. First Jayson Aaron had been gunned down last night outside of the old gymnasium and this morning a girl been found with a bullet buried deep in her brain over at Spencer’s Tires and Rims across town. Sherry Calhoun had spent her morning canvassing Norman in the hopes of finding someone that had heard or seen something of use. So far she’d had twelve doors slammed in her face, been cussed out eight times, and flat out ignored three times. Sherry had become a Sheriff’s Deputy become she thought she could make a difference, she could help people, but on days like these she realised how difficult it could be to help people unless they wanted to be helped. She looked down at her list of names as she sauntered down the street to the next house and smiled as she recognised the name. Gus Harris was a deacon at the largest African Methodist Episcopal Church in Norman and though she’d never met the man before she had a feeling that he wasn’t about to go slamming his door in her face. His house was modest, smaller than many of the others on the street, but the yard was well kept and colourful flowers were littered around in pots along his porch. She knocked on his door and waited with her notepad at the ready. After a few seconds Gus appeared. He was wearing smart dress shoes, black pants, and a navy sweat over the top of a white shirt. Sherry noticed the skinny black tie around his neck. Were it not for the time Gus looked like he might have been going somewhere. As he opened the door and stepped out onto his porch he smiled at Sherry in a way that instantly put her at ease. “Good morning,” Sherry said as she responded with an earnest smile of her own. “I’m sorry to wake you so early.” Gus shook his head and gestured down at the smart shoes on his feet. “It’s okay, us church folk get up earlier than most people. To what do I owe the pleasure, Deputy?” “It’s not a social call, I’m afraid. There was a fatal shooting a few blocks from here down at Spencer’s Tire and Rims and we’ve been canvassing the area to see if anyone heard or saw anything.” “I saw the tape outside of Roland's place morning on my way to the store,” Gus said with a weary sigh. “Roland and I weren’t exactly friends but I’d never wish something like that on him.” Sherry made a silent note of Gus' comment in her head before shaking her head slightly. “The victim was Mr. Spencer’s secretary, actually, a Yolanda Thomas.” A pensive look appeared on Gus’ face that Sherry couldn’t quite read. It was somewhere between relief and bemusement. He hadn’t been the first person to presume that Roland had been the one shot dead. When she’d been briefed she had thought someone had gone after Spencer too. It was an open secret that Roland Spencer’s business practices weren’t exactly kosher but the man seemed to have a knack for avoiding scrutiny from law enforcement. “What? Why would anyone want to kill Roland Spencer’s secretary?” Sherry shrugged her shoulders. “That’s what we’re trying to work out.” Gus leant against the wall of his house and thought for a moment whilst Sherry looked on. “I can’t say I heard or saw anything out of the usual last night.” “I see,” Sherry nodded. “If you do remember anything don’t hesitate to give me a call.” She reached out and handed Gus a business card with her details on and began to descend down the stairs. Gus stood for a few seconds, staring down at it between his fingers, and called out to Sherry. “Wait, what about Roland? Have you been able to get a hold of him?” From the base of the stairs Sherry shook her head, staring up at Gus as he stood twiddling the card. “He wasn’t at the scene if that’s what you’re asking, but nobody’s heard a peep out of him since last night. Gone off grid completely.” Gus placed the card in his pocket and sighed. “You think, maybe, it was him?” Roland Spencer was a lot of things but from the sound of it murder wasn’t in his playbook. To hear the people round here tell it he was cleverer than to kill someone in his own business and think it wouldn’t come back on him in a heartbeat. “Weirder things have happened,” Sherry muttered skeptically. “But honestly? I don’t see it. Worse case scenario somehow he’s got himself mixed up in something above his pay grade and gone underground. Either way, if you get word of him tell him that the Sheriff's Department wants a word with him. It would be wise of him to stop by in a timely fashion.” The deacon remained silent and looked down at the ground as if lost in thought. After a few seconds he looked at Sherry and then around to the houses along the street that surrounded his own home. “You been having much luck around here? With the canvassing?” Sherry wanted to be able to tell him that people had helpful. Heck, for her to be able to say that they’d been responsive would have been something. The truth was that she knew nothing more about what had happened last night at Spencer’s Tire and Rims than when she’d set out that morning. At the rate it was going Sherry couldn’t see that changing anytime soon. “You’re the first one that’s even been willing to speak to me all morning.” “You can thank Old John Norman for that,” Gus muttered. “But Old John Norman’s been dead for decades and that girl deserves better than to be laid up on some slab for a second longer than she needs to be on account of his transgressions.” Sherry knew all about John Norman and what had gone on back in Pickett County back then. They said John Norman was the nastiest piece of work to ever grace Pickett, given that the African-American community still damned his name decades after his death, Sherry figured there must have been some truth to that. There were wounds in this place, wounds deeper than she could comprehend, and in truth she didn’t feel like it was her place to speak on John Norman or the things he’d done. Instead she frowned a little and looked up at Gus. “What are you trying to say?” “I’ll help you, Deputy Calhoun,” Gus said with a determined look. “I’ll get them to speak to you.” [center][b]*****[/b][/center] Sherry lifted a hand to guard her eyes from the sun and stared down at the full notepad the rested in her hands. Gus had escorted her along the next thirty or forty houses she’d canvassed and the different had been like day and night. Where once she was met with scowls and cusswords, the people behind the doors seemed all but too happy to talk with Gus there. Nobody had much in the way of information, whatever had happened at Spencer’s place seems to have gone unnoticed by the so-called Ghetto News Wire, but Sherry felt much better than she had in the morning. She had put some faces to names, shaken some hands, and that counted for something. As they stood on the corner of Gus’ street, she looked at the deacon and smiled. “Thank you for this.” He shook his head dismissively. “As charming as you are, Deputy, I’m not doing this for you.” “I know,” Cherry blushed at the compliment. “But still, I have a feeling you don’t hear that half as often as you probably ought to hear it.” Her radio sounded and she strode away from Gus for a second to listen in. It was Clint Land checking in. With all the bodies that had fallen over the past week or so the entire Sherriff’s Department was on edge. Gene had made it clear to them all how important it was that they get control of the situation before people’s faith in the department was eroded any more. The last thing they needed was someone taking a pop at someone in a badge. She assured Clint she was fine and informed him that she’d not learned much, before walking back to Gus stood on the corner. He looked at Sherry hopefully. “Any news on Roland? Has he been in touch?” Sherry shook her head. “Nothing.” They spoke for a time longer and Gus enquired how much longer it would be before Roland could be declared a missing person. Sherry shared his concern for Spencer’s whereabouts. There felt like there was something more going on here than Sherry could understand at the moment. Something told her once they found Roland it would all make sense. She said her goodbyes and thanked Gus again for his help before starting down towards the squad car that was parked a few feet down the street. As she grasped the handle of it she saw Gus walked towards her again, his hand pressed against his mouth in thought, and looked up at him as if waiting for him to speak. “We need to visit Antwan Dixon,” Gus said meditatively. “Something tells me if anyone knows where Roland Spencer is, it’ll be Antwan.”